it as payment for his services. He told authorities that Cordell hadn’t paid him in months. Nothing was written down, so it was plausible. But it’s all unverifiable because he normally took cash payments.”
“What about the girl? Did Fender leave her at least one of the cars?”
“Nope,” spat Martina. “Fender was exercising his rights as a diabolical asshole and basically shut her out.”
Marko nodded in understanding, displaying a look of sympathy that Martina clearly read.
“What’s her name?”
“Kayla. Kayla Cordell. A beautiful girl, but she’s had to endure this tragedy mostly by herself. She was in grief therapy for months and relied on friends for handouts. She stays in a tiny, one-bedroom apartment and is behind on rent.”
“From a mansion to a one-bedroom; from eight cars and superbikes, to riding the BART train.” Marko’s expression was now grim and building in anger. “Does she visit her brother?”
“The nurse says that she barely visits him anymore. She lives in Pleasant Hill, but she’s only come once this year.”
“Pleasant Hill?” Marko said. “That’s only three and a half miles from Walnut Creek, and she still doesn’t visit him. Poor girl must be utterly devastated.”
“The nurse told me she once asked her advice about disconnecting his life support system because she could no longer bear seeing him like that. That was the last time she visited.”
“We have to move on this now,” Marko said. “You take care of the girl, I’ll take care of Fender.”
“Sounds good,” answered Martina.
“There’s always a higher plan, Martina,” he said pensively.
“I was thinking the exact same thing,” she responded somewhat more optimistically.
“Very well,” Marko said raising his head and taking a breath, “contact Kayla, we will visit him the day after tomorrow.”
“I so love this office!” she said as she walked to one of the glass panels looking at the forest side of the campus. Marko laughed.
“Martina, you have the same glass office one floor down with the same number of windows!”
“Yes, I suppose I should be grateful.”
“Tell me, Martina, what shall we call this project?” She strolled up to one of the glass walls of the office and looked out over the vast expanse of the campus, taking in the panoramic view from one corner of the massive glass office to the other. She turned back around to him with a look of enlightenment.
“LAZARUS,” she answered. “Project LAZARUS.”
He approached the same glass wall and joined her. He loved the Bay Area, and he loved this town of San Leandro. He never got tired of admiring the MIRA-CAL campus which blended seamlessly with the quiet suburban city less than 20 miles from San Francisco Bay, and from this height, he could see the Bay Bridge, Oakland and San Francisco in the distance. He contemplated her answer deeply.
“LAZARUS. A dead man rises from the grave,” he commented with a smile. “I like it.”
“Either that, or Project Phoenix, a great bird is reborn from the ashes.” He considered her second choice.
“I like LAZARUS,” he said finally, “because it connects Christ with this famous miracle.”
“Are you saying that you are equating yourself with Jesus?” Martina smirked knowing that he would have a philosophical response, and he did not disappoint.
“Not at all. Jesus was a man, a human being who could create miracles during impossible situations. Are we not doing this through our work?” He turned to her and looked into her eyes warmly with a glint of pride. “Isn’t that who we are? MIRA-CAL?”
* * * * *
But two years before this technologic Utopia came into existence, Marko’s life was shrouded in darkness, doubt and much grief. The pressure was unbearable. He had a lot of money and investors, but none larger than the Department of Defense which offered him a great challenge; a challenge that he later felt he should have never accepted.
They commissioned him for a Top-Secret project and basically gave him a blank check to make it happen. He would eventually satisfy the DoD, but he paid a heavy price for it in his life, his spirit and his soul. The project had reached its final stage of completion.
For all its magnificence and significances, this accomplishment was always overshadowed by the passive and active pressure he felt during those months when the Pentagon would demand results and signs of progress.
Unlike his other accomplishments and quests, he did not control the timeline, the government did. And what was worse, the project itself was too advanced, even for him. He knew he had made a terrible mistake accepting the commission.
He slept little trying to solve a problem that even his best staff engineers couldn’t even fathom. Nevertheless, the government kept hounding him, pushing him, then threatening him. He struggled with what he had to do, what he was paid to do, and the actually ‘doing’ of it. What the Pentagon wanted did not make sense scientifically. His schematics didn’t work. Although fascinated by speed, the math didn’t equate to the two types of speed he was required to deliver. The demand was ominous.
He had to create a human-operated hypersonic vehicle that could move faster than any flying object, but not fly. It had to break the sound barrier by more than ten times, but make no sound. It had to have the power of a rocket, but emit no heat exhaust, and have no way of being detected or tracked by radars or satellites.
There was nothing man-made like this on the Earth. And the only reason it was considered for construction was because it was reported that China was experimenting with their own similar vehicle.
The other speed problem facing Marmilic was when his machine would have to be completed.
It would take years just for the basic design, infrastructures and schematics, to think nothing of testing and tweaking. The person handling that vehicle had to be able to withstand the temperatures of the Sun itself and the biologic shock of traveling at speeds never before reached by any animal in history.
No pressure. The government gave him one year. One. And the materials had to be flawless, the engines, parts and gears all had to be designed in their lightest yet strongest forms.
Many nights, sometimes all night, Marmilic considered and calculated in silence. Despite having some of the best scientists and engineers in the world, he couldn’t yet assemble the craft to satisfy the requirements. It was impossible, he finally resolved. It couldn’t be done; and even if it could be done, it would only come from a miracle.
CHAPTER THREE
The Whisper of Silence
- Two Years Prior -
Raduč, Croatia
Lika-Senj County
Dr.
