Vibrational Passage

CHAPTER 1

Walden was supposed to be in Washington today. An unexpected email from his boss had changed all that. He was jet-lagged, tired, and wondering what Peter Lyceum had up his sleeves calling this emergency meeting. There was nothing random about any of Peter's decisions.

The question hovering over him and gnawing at him was whether today was the day. Adding to his frustration, a call from Ian Hill just moments ago had only served to annoy him more. Walden hated taking calls from the President of Mendelrose. Conversations with Ian were reliably full of expletives and blame. Ian had yelled at him about having to make last minute arrangements to board a Concorde flight just to make it back to New York in time for the meeting. Taking his frustration out on Walden, Ian demanded to know what the emergency was about. When he found out that Walden was just as much in the dark as he was, Ian had sworn then abruptly hung up.

Walden had also taken the redeye out of Miami, a hasty change of travel plans to accommodate Peter. When the CEO of Mendelrose told you to jump, you not only asked how high you also made sure it was at the precise velocity required by Lyceum. Weather conditions were no excuse. The three executives called in for today's meeting were expected to arrive punctually no matter what-- or else face the consequences. The threat of Hurricane Erin had threatened his departure from Miami but luckily he had made it to New York, avoiding any flight delays that were sure to be caused by the storm churning just off the eastern seaboard.

He quickly walked across the plaza past the familiar bronze sphere and headed toward the North tower. The familiar façade of the giant tower Walden had worked in for almost ten years now loomed, disappearing into the glare of the sunny morning sky. He was not an expert on architecture, but had an amateur's appreciation of it. Some days he wondered while standing in the shadow of the massive twin towers, if the building's architect, Minoru Yamasaki, had designed the patterned steel frame that wrapped around the building to represent tuning forks.

Walden mused that if that was the intent, then the vibrational sound emanating from those forks could only be tuned to the sound of money.

As he entered the spacious lobby of this grand monument to wealth, his BlackBerry sounded. A message from Peter's executive assistant read: Your 8am meeting is rescheduled. Details to follow. -Felix.

Walden let his briefcase drop onto the floor as he furiously tapped out a message on his BlackBerry that he needed to speak to Peter immediately. Fuming, Walden stood there stuck, angry, frustrated, staring at his phone and waiting for an answer as if his ever elusive CEO would actually furnish one right then and there.

Exhausted and irritated, Walden had been traveling so much lately that when he looked around the spacious World Trade Center lobby, he felt like he was in yet another airport terminal. The silver casters lined up near the podiums against the wall could have been check-in counters for his next flight. Comforting sunlight streamed in through the giant lobby windows, filtering in as sunlight does into the open ocean. His eyes slipped across the rays of light and caught the glimmer of the dust particles held there... suspended.

Without notice, that threatening feeling of danger returned; it happened more and more lately, especially anytime he had to deal with Peter.

Walden shifted his attention from the tall windows, back to his silent BlackBerry and across his solid gold cufflinks, a gift from someone who truly understood his research. On each of them, was an expertly engraved honey bee. This small tasteful symbol was a strengthening reinforcement of what Walden had discovered.

For a second, he lost track of where he stood and why he was there. Sleep deprivation did that to him. His usually sharp mind wandered, his line of thought leading him to ponder the Merovingians, and his hope that they were right about bees-- as the ever-enduring symbol of immortality and resurrection.

His cell phone rang, snapping him out of his thoughts. Walden glanced at his BlackBerry, the words stared back at him – RESTRICTED. This has to be Peter he thought, Lyceum was notorious for blocking his number when he placed calls.

Trusting his intuition, Walden answered his phone, a stern tone in his voice, Peter, what the hell's going on?

The impatient, arrogant voice on the other end of the line was classic Peter. Walden's question was simply answered with a question. Are you at the office yet?

I'm in the lobby. What--

Get upstairs right now and stay put. Your presence is still required.

Not wanting to allow Peter to take control of the exchange, Walden quickly fired off a set of rhetorical questions, I assume you're trying to tell me you're sitting this one out? So I’m expected to fix this on my own. You never intended on making it to this meeting, did you? How long have you known…?

The line went silent for a few seconds.

In a stern and commanding voice, Peter spoke slowly with a measured precision that sliced through with commanding clarity. You just do your part… you want to help your daughter, you will do what you promised. And… Peter lowered his voice. Don't you think you've hurt your family enough already?

He paused to let the acid soak in before softening into a well-practiced condescension. Remember Walden, this is a rare opportunity I've given you. Frankly, I'm surprised you aren't more grateful.

Walden despised Peter's ability to get under his skin by manipulating the truth. Yes, he had admittedly made a mistake; he was paying for it daily. Peter cherished any opportunity of pouring vinegar into that wound. In less than two minutes, Peter had asserted his dominance, his absolute superiority, but Walden was going to make sure that this victory wouldn't be without price before he hung up.

If it works, Walden snapped back. He let that one sink in for a few heartbeats. And if it doesn't, you'll still do as you promised! His jaw ached with tension and he fought the urge to smash his phone onto the floor.

On the other end of the line, Peter laughed, but without mirth, demonstrating an exceptional amount of self-control in the face of Walden's defiance.

You've kept to the agreement, haven't told anyone? Especially Martha? Peter asked.

I doubt anyone outside our group could rap their minds around this.

Good to see that we understand each other. I'll see you tomorrow. The line went dead.

As Walden still held the cell phone up to his ear, a sinking feeling washed over him. He had run out of options, so he did the only thing anyone could do when trapped, he took a deep breath in and slowly released it as if surrendering to destiny. He still wasn't sure if he believed in the idea of fate or destiny, but he was at the end of his rope.

While it was easy for him to blame Peter for everything, he knew it was untrue. His own blind ambition partly fueled his current situation. And he knew it. He had long enjoyed the trappings of success, choosing to remain unconscious and unwittingly complicit for too long, thinking he could maneuver his way out of just about anything.

He picked up his briefcase and headed toward the bank of elevators. Scanning the morning bustle, Walden looked for his favorite morning security guard. When he noticed Clarence's absence, he was curious.

Still unsettled from his exchange with Peter, Walden fumbled before making his way into the elevator. As the doors slid shut with an ominous finality, a thought whispered deep from within him. 'It has begun.' Almost as a reply to this mysterious voice, the elevator shuddered, startling everyone. The small group of men looked at each other with questioning glances, wondering without words what they had just walked into. But with no more than this momentarily disconcerting glitch, the elevator began its smooth ascent and they all settled in for the ride.

While the elevator steadily climbed, he felt raw and vulnerable like a layer of skin was missing; Walden was venturing into the unknown. Today he was not the confident, self-assured man he envisioned himself to be at this stage of his life.

He fought back a feeling of panic, a bizarre sensation making his skin feel clammy. Fear meant weakness and he was a man who could walk into any room knowing there was no one mentally stronger. Usually, his heightened mental alertness and self-discipline gave him his unshakable confidence in any setting. But not today.

His father had frequently admonished him saying, Fear is an indicator that we lack experience with success. Successful people are not afraid. There had never been a question in the Sinclair household that Walden would succeed. In fact, he was expected to surpass his father's accomplishments. His father had told him that, the one percent he belonged to were able to bend, transform, and replace the deafening chatter of doubt which paralyzes decisive action with a heightened awareness.

He had been lectured to over and over; it was repeated as a mantra in the memory of his youth. But today, on this elevator heading into the sky, the wisdom in those words stayed remote, packed away, hidden. Today his past had been stripped from him.

Dressed in suits and ties, the customary armor of the businessman, the occupants in the elevator nodded towards each other, but no words were exchanged. Even after transferring elevators on the 78th floor sky lobby, no one talked. The elevator switch didn't even interrupt this studied moment.

Three of the men, including Walden, exited on the 89th floor. Walden peeled left while the other two walked off to the offices on the right.

His footfalls were muffled by the carpet as he walked toward his office. The hallway was quiet, except for a small group of Global Specialists who looked weary after a long overnight shift. They appeared anxious to leave before the rush hour began.

Even though anxiety, fear, anger and fatigue warred within him, he knew how to mask the emotional turmoil. He walked with a confident but casual stroll from the elevator to his office. Growing up in a household that had a public figure for a father and after many years of corporate training, Walden was a master of presentation.

His executive secretary, Ruth, better known as Ruthie by everyone in the office, had not arrived yet. Walden quickly glanced at his watch. She would not be in for another hour, if then. When he had spoken to her on the phone yesterday, she sounded terrible from a bad case of the flu. He had told, actually ordered her to take the day off. But Ruthie had a mind of her own, making her an outstanding executive secretary in Walden's eyes. But given the circumstances, he hoped she would listen and take the day off to shake the virus. Something bad was about to happen. He didn't quite know how it was going to look, but if anyone witnessed what he was about to do, they would not be able to believe their own eyes.

Keeping with his presentation he casually unlocked the door to his office, which he liked to call his glass box. It was a corner office giving him an impressive view of the city, though he rarely ever looked out his windows. What prompted Walden's nickname glass box was that the other two walls to his private quarters were made of smoky beveled glass, providing him with adequate, but not complete privacy from the rest of the office. Walden dropped his briefcase on his desk and fell back into his leather chair. Flabbergasted by what was waiting there for him on his desk, Walden focused on it for a moment. A large envelope with the Mendelrose logo on the return address label looked beat-up and stomped on like it had been dragged through the rain.

This package shouldn't be here, Walden muttered to himself. He was stunned and momentarily panicked.

He had gone to great lengths to have this parcel delivered over a week ago. What was it doing sitting on his desk? Walden began to examine the packet for clues. A big red stamp across it read: Return to Sender. How many days had it been here, waiting unclaimed and vulnerable should the wrong person happen upon it?

Walden calmed his racing mind by rationalizing that Ruthie would have kept his office door locked and been a watchdog making it impossible for others to snoop around his office. Still, this was the last place this package needed to be. It was one of the keys to Walden's backup plan. Rather than focusing on this problem, he considered his next move. He swiftly got up from behind his desk and went over to lock his door.

As he returned to his desk, Walden checked his watch again. He was not sure how much time he actually had left, but he was confident it was not much. His palms were sweaty when he reached for his phone and placed a call to Nicholas' cell.

Dr. Nicholas Lange was in charge of his team of geneticists, spearheading the second phase of one of Walden's clinical trials. As the President of Research and Development, Walden had permission to hand-pick his entire team of researchers. Nicholas had been his top pick from a group of respected biophysicists. Over time, Nicholas became one of the few colleagues he confided in, letting him know the reason why his research was such an obsession. Debate with other experts on the ethics of genetic engineering was not theoretical for Walden, it was personal.

Walden tapped his fingers on his desk as he waited for Nicholas to answer.

Damn voice mail, he muttered.

Without leaving a message, Walden hung up. He sat for a moment repeatedly rubbing his hand over his chin, thinking. He pulled out a coin from his pocket and fiddled with it then tossed it in the air and watched it land on his desk. Picking up the receiver once again, he had no choice but to place a call to Nicholas' private home number.

There were two rings, and then a familiar voice.

Hello?

Is this Emma? He was brisk and straight to the point.

Yes.

It's Walden Sinclair. He could sense a shift in Emma's tone.

Good morning, Dr. Sinclair, she said politely. Nicholas isn't here. Did you try his cell?

The resonance of her voice was smooth and assuring, just as it always had been. It somehow had a calming effect upon him. Not answering her question, he cleared his throat. Did Nicholas fly to D.C. like I asked? He picked up the coin from his desk and flipped it between his fingers.

Yes, she answered. Her voice was hesitant, she sounded concerned. He left early this morning. Is anything wrong?

Lost for a moment in his thoughts, he watched the coin flip from one finger to the next, one finger to the next, one finger to the next. His voice lowered to a hoarse whisper, Wish, Kiss, Suicide.

Excuse me?

Walden sat up straight and cleared his throat. He cleared his throat, wondering if he had just said that aloud. Perhaps she hadn't heard?

I'm sorry, what did you just say? She asked.

Frustrated by this unplanned, uncharacteristic slip of the tongue, Walden abruptly hung up. He tapped the coin on his desk, then flung it at the floor. It slammed against the door then fell to the carpet.

Walden was disappointed with himself. He was unraveling. There was nothing he could do about it now, what was said - was said; there was no point in trying to undo it now. Emma would eventually understand. These words would grow in her mind over time. Perhaps he was counting on it. After all, that slip was a clue and she seemed to like puzzles.

Years ago when he had first encountered Nicholas' wife, Walden had been at a crossroads, one from which there would be no turning back. Meeting her at that precise moment in time, had only reinforced his conviction that he was choosing the right path.

Emma was an enigma to him. She had a complex and layered yet shy intelligence; she was attractive, genuine, and quietly confident, everything he had never imagined a wife to a man in this type of profession could be. Seeing the happy intimacy between Nicholas and Emma together showed him that he had settled prematurely.

His relationship with his wife, Martha was strained now, far beyond repair. They had each made unforgivable demands upon each other.

In the beginning, she could make him feel larger than life. She liked to call him her knight in shining armor, and she had been so happy then. But after two miscarriages she had changed. Martha had become so desperate to have a child he had agreed to do things he never should have. He never would have if he hadn't made the promise to her after the second miscarriage that he would do everything in his power to make sure she had the child she so wanted.

They had begun the process of In Vitro Fertilization which had failed twice. Unable to see his wife suffer any longer, Walden had reluctantly agreed to the genetic modification she had requested. It had been a success. Confident and excited over what he had accomplished, he had given in to her desire for a son and daughter. The last round of IVF that yield their son Wally a little sister had drawn the attention of her Uncle Peter. Everything had gone downhill from there.

Walden scratched at his chin, still not comfortable with the fact that his beard was no longer there.

He secretly hoped for her sake, that Emma hadn't fully heard those three words that had slipped from his lips. Those three words just kept whirling in his head, a mantra given to him during one of Peter’s necessary trainings were increasing their space within his thoughts, especially today.

He wondered if Emma would understand. He had first met her at a corporate party of some sort when she had accompanied Nicholas as his date. It was loud and she had been forced to lean forward to hear him. She could have played along like so many others and pretended that she had heard what he was saying, but she did not. Usually when he spoke about his research, he'd notice the glazed eyes and boredom. But Emma actually seemed interested and appeared to be following his line of thought. Her authenticity was refreshing-- she had a way of treating him with respect, yet not yielding to him as anything other than her date's boss. It was surprising and annoying. Refreshing and puzzling.

Emma was completely unaware of her attractiveness, which made her even more appealing. This bothered him. Her quality pulsed through him and filled his mind. Even now on the edge of something strange, standing at the edge of a dangerous precipice, he could still remember the way her hair had accidentally brushed against his face at that party, whispering the sweet scents of rose and jasmine into an indelible memory.

Once, when he had taken his son Wally to buy some books he needed for a school project, Walden had carefully watched Emma at the bookstore she owned. She charismatically worked a crowd of middle-aged bibliophiles into laughter and then quickly changed gears to inspire a crowd of three-year-olds into a fit of infectious giggles. Emma had a way of putting people at ease and making them smile. His son had caught him smiling while watching her. It had unsettled him, like he had been caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar.

In the professional circle he swam in, a woman like Emma was nothing more than shark bait. While a woman like his wife Martha, born and bred in the shark tank, knew how to navigate the waters. At least that is what he liked to console himself with when he found himself enjoying Emma's company more than was appropriate. It was the sole reason why he kept Nicholas' wife at arm's length away from himself… always.

Walden's unfortunate and short conversation with Emma had jogged a memory. He had been feeling there was something lingering there that he could not quite put his finger on. In fact, it had been in his dream last night but had somehow slipped away when he had awoken. There was something in the vibration of her voice that had triggered him to remember. That memory now reinforced the choices he had made over the past few months.

Launched back into motion by his jarred memory, he yanked out a set of keys from his front pocket and immediately unlocked his bottom desk drawer. Walden dug out a large, brown envelope that was blank with no company logo on it.

For one brief second, Walden stopped and closed his eyes before beginning to rub them, allowing himself a moment of presence to breathe for what felt like the first time since he had stepped into his office. He took in a deep breath then let it out slowly, like he was letting air out of a tire. Then he got up, unlocked his office safe and grabbed out a sealed envelope.

He hesitated when he returned to his desk. His heart started racing a he grabbed his palm pilot out of his pocket and searched his address book, while turning his computer on. He wrote down the address right next to the words send to and was still writing the zip code down when he picked up the phone to request the in-house messenger.

Walden placed the envelope from the safe next to the returned package. He hated the idea of placing one person in so much danger. Each piece on its own meant nothing, but the combination of them together would control the recipient's fate. He had no choice now. He placed both packages into the anonymous brown envelope.

Walden got up, opened his office door then sat back down at his desk and waited.

His eyes swept over the paintings against the wall and was glad they were only lithographs. He would not be able to live with the thought of being responsible for the destruction of the original oil paintings. His desk was set in the far corner, his back somewhat to the windows which were shoulder wide giving him slicing glimpses outside. The prints above the bookshelves and filing cabinets were copies of his latest acquisitions.

Walden's favorite was a portrait of Lucas Cranach the Elder, it never failed to amuse him when visitors to his office assumed it was a painting of a famous family member. Anyone who knew art would know who it was, especially with the fact that next to the portrait was a blown up copy of the signature of Lucas the Elder. It was a sketch of a winged snake wearing a red crown and holding a ruby ring in its mouth. He liked to think the snake was sharing a sly smile.

To the right, the reproduction of Raffaello Sanzio da Urbino's, (better known as Raphael) School of Athens was always there supporting him when he looked up from his desk to ponder something or other. He had viewed the original at the Vatican on his first trip to Rome. During moments of agitation, he would find himself looking at the central figures, Plato and Aristotle, and somehow feel centered by the presence of the ancient Greek philosophers.

He had recently obtained a Titian reproduction, (his wife Martha did not want it in the house because she felt uneasy with the dark intensity of it) so now it sat on his bookshelf, leaning against the glass wall. It was the Allegory of Prudence, depicting the three ages of man.

There were the heads of three men facing in different directions, believed to be the faces of Titian, (the oldest on the left), his son Orazio in the middle, and a younger man (a cousin) on the right. Below the old man who was facing left, was a wolf, beneath the middle-aged man who was staring straight at the viewer, was a lion, and under the younger man who was facing right, was a dog. Above the three heads were the words, which when translated read, From the experience of the past, the present acts prudently, lest it spoil future actions.

His son Walden Jr., who preferred the name Wally, had been the only one to notice that all the artists in his office were from the 16th century. Proud by his son's eagerness to learn about art at an unusually young age, Walden provided every opportunity he could for him. Wally noticed details, which gave him an edge over other boys his age. Unfortunately, Walden also knew that this intelligence was hard for the little man, who seemed challenged when attempting to make friends at school.

Catching his mind wandering yet again, Walden nervously tapped his fingers on his desk in an attempt to focus as he began deleting files on his computer. He inserted a disk that would wipe clean his entire hard drive, and started a program he had been assured would do some interesting things to the corporate backup servers. He was about to dial the service line again when Mylo knocked on his open office door. His wrinkled shirt was not tucked in. With his sun-bleached hair disheveled and still wet, Mylo defensively started justifying, upon seeing Walden's face, that he hadn't responded to the page right away because he had just started his shift.

Walden had heard that Mylo normally surfed out at Montauk before work and was reliably late. The only reason why anyone tolerated him was the fact that his uncle was Doug Mattheus, Senior Vice President and Mendelrose's Chief Compliance Officer. Nepotism never bothered Walden. He actually liked the young man, even though he thought Mylo was a bit wayward and lost in the sense of career