The Project 05 - The Tesla Secret

someone had begun to interfere.
    Someone had pointed Harker's dogs at the Demeter operation. It was like throwing sand into a machine with closely cut gears. Years of preparation had been destroyed in hours by an insignificant team of ignorant, washed up soldiers led by a woman. It wasn't the first time she'd derailed one of AEON's operations. Every time he thought about Harker, Foxworth wanted to take her throat in his hands and crush it.
    Harker drew her power from the Presidency. President Rice didn't play by the rules. He couldn't be bribed, or persuaded to see reason about things that mattered. He was weak, opposed to war. Without him, Harker would become irrelevant.
    Rice's opponent in the upcoming US election was AEON's puppet. Voting was untrustworthy, no matter what the polls predicted. Foxworth had no intention of waiting until November to see his man elected.
    He was going to assassinate Rice, then eliminate Harker.
    He gazed out at the changing London skyline. A light rain spattered the glass. Beyond the Thames, the giant Ferris wheel Londoners called the Eye stood out against the gray sky.
    A sudden stab of blinding pain staggered him. He placed his hand against the thick glass of the window to steady himself. His vision blurred. Then his sight cleared and the pain on his skull receded. He walked unsteadily to his desk and sat down.
    A door on the other side of the room opened. A tall, smartly dressed woman with pale skin and long black hair came in. She moved with unconscious ease and sexual promise. She glowed in a cream-colored suit that set off her hair. Her red blouse showed just enough cleavage to intrigue the eye. Her dark eyes glittered with unspoken thoughts.
    Mandy Atherton had been a model at the top of her profession when she'd met Foxworth two years before. In the cutthroat world of high end fashion and beautiful women there was always someone scheming to take her place. Mandy was no fool. She knew where her future lay, and it wasn't with the fashion industry. It lay in a rich man's bed.
    Lately Foxworth had been finding it difficult to perform, but that wasn't a problem for Mandy. Besides, she had other ways to satisfy her needs. She was inventive and intelligent as well as attractive. During working hours she acted as Foxworth's executive assistant.
    "Malcolm, Doctor Morel is here."
    "About time. Send him in."
    Doctor Morel wore a goatee and mustache and a three piece dark suit that had cost a great deal of money. He was 50 years old, balding and beginning to show a paunch. He looked like an actor portraying Sigmund Freud. Custom shoes that added to his height and expensive cologne hinted at his vanity. In his right hand he carried a smooth black leather briefcase full of select medications.
    Morel was under five and a half feet tall, one of the reasons Foxworth liked having him about. Aside from the bonus of his height, Morel was also discreet. He was a man who knew how to make his clients feel pampered and respected. More important, he knew how to make them feel better.
    "Goddamn it, Morel, what took you so long? I can't think with this headache."
    "Sorry, Malcolm, there was construction on the M1. I came as quickly as possible. Please, sit down."
    Foxworth insisted that associates he saw all the time call him by his first name. Worker bees called him "sir".
    Foxworth sat at his desk. Morel placed his case on the desk, opened it and pulled up a facing chair. He took out an instrument and shone a light into Foxworth's eyes.
    "Look up. Now right. Now left." He put the instrument away, took out a vial of clear liquid and a syringe.
    "Any other symptoms, Malcolm? Blurring of vision? Hearing problems? Any problems with balance?"
    "Never mind that crap. Just give me something for this headache. I've got an important meeting in twenty minutes."
    "Of course." Morel filled the syringe, squirted a few drops. "Pants, please."
    Foxworth stood. Morel noticed he was a bit unsteady, but said nothing. Foxworth exposed his buttock. Morel gave him the injection.
    "You'll feel better in a minute or two," he said. "Are you still unwilling to put yourself in for a few tests? Just overnight."
    "I don't want any tests." Foxworth felt the drug working. The pain receded. He took a deep breath. "I don't need any tests. These headaches are just stress."
    "Malcolm..."
    "Morel. I said I don't want any bloody tests."
    Foxworth's voice had gone cold. Something ancient and dangerous lay just beneath it. Morel took an