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The Adamas Blueprint

A Novel By

Boyd Morrison

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MORRISON/THE ADAMAS BLUEPRINT

CHAPTER 1

September, 1995

Kevin, no time for details. The same men who killed Stein are after me.

Michael Ward’s fingers trembled as he lifted his hands from the keyboard. He’d tried calling

Kevin three times, but Ward kept getting the damned answering machine, and leaving a message

was out of the question.

He needed a cigarette badly. His hand fumbled through his shirt pocket and removed the pack

of Benson and Hedges. Only one left. He’d have to get another pack before they left for the

airport.

He lit the cigarette despite the shaking and took a deep drag, trying to pull every milligram of

precious nicotine into his system. He felt the smoke fill his lungs, and the trembling subsided. His

attention returned to the words on the screen. He almost laughed at their absurdity, but he was

afraid if he started he wouldn’t be able to stop.

A wave of nausea hit him. Ward shook off the feeling. There wasn’t much left in his stomach

anyway, just half a bottle of Pepto Bismol he’d drained when he got home. He’d been spending

MORRISON/THE ADAMAS BLUEPRINT

the Friday in his South Texas University office working and listening to the radio when he’d heard

the news of Herbert Stein’s death. The story had been short, but it was enough. An execution-

style shooting, the body thrown in a dumpster. Ward got sick twice, once in his office trash can

and again before climbing into his Mercedes. Even now, he still didn’t feel like a man who was

about retire to the Bahamas with $10 million.

With the cigarette stuck in his mouth, he continued typing.

Irene and I are leaving Houston. I think we’ll be safe where we’re going, but I need your

help to be sure. NV117 wasn’t a failure, and Clay wants it. The details are in a notebook. I’ve

recorded everything you’ll need and put it in a safe place. DA483H3 is the ...

“May we come in, Dr. Ward?”

Ward jerked visibly at the sound of the voice. He recognized the distinct enunciation of each

syllable and his heart started racing. He turned his head to see two men standing in the doorway

to his study. David Lobec and behind him, Richard Bern, Clay Tarnwell’s men here to finalize the

deal. They were early. The meeting wasn’t supposed to start for another two hours.

He silently cursed himself for not grabbing their passports and running as soon as he saw his

wife. Five minutes , he’d told Irene. Pack whatever you can in five minutes, then we head

straight to Intercontinental and get the first flight out. She’d begun to protest, asking if he’d lost

his mind. I’ll explain everything in the car, but we need to get the hell out of here. When he’d

practically shoved her up the stairs, she’d gotten the message. He was dead serious. Now they

were out of time, and Ward’s mind raced for options.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the blinking cursor on the screen and realized that the

words on the computer might be seen from the front of his desk. Without glancing back at the

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