THE 133

Silver hill hospital Stamford Connecticut 31st October 1999.

The clock on the wall of the acute heart care unit read 11.50pm and a male nurse had just finished checking all the monitoring equipment. Satisfied everything was how it should be, he swiftly left the room, he had a date with an ice cold Bud and Chuck Robinson wasn’t one to disappoint.

11.53pm and an ear shattering alarm sounded which consequently sent the resident crash team into a manoeuvre any Special Forces team would have been proud of.

As the team arrived at the target room a heart rate monitor indicated the patient was already flat lining as well as emitting a long continuous low beep.

Dr Strang was the first to speak up. “ok listen up people, we haven’t lost anyone else today and even though it’s nearly tomorrow, we sure as hell ain’t loosing this one, so, attack pattern Omega”,

Dr Strang was an avid Trekkie and even in theatre he would occasionally use the Star Fleet vernacular.

“Two cc’s AAT”
“Two cc’s AAT” repeated one of the other crash team.
“Stabilise”, said Dr Strang.
“Stabilise”, repeated another crash member.
“Clear”, shouted Strang.
“Clear” shouted everyone, this time the whole crash unit stepped back to let the defibs resurrect life.

The patient momentarily lifted about three inches off the bed, still the long low beep accompanied by the long unbroken neon line on the screen.

“Repeat” screamed Strang; the process was repeated three more times before reluctantly and in an utterly desperate voice Strang cried “enough”.

The team didn’t even have time to mourn the unfortunate elderly female, now lying prostrate on the bed, pagers were going off and someone somewhere else would probably be engaged in a deadly battle for life with the great cloaked one himself.

Strang glanced at his watch as the other crash members underwent the oh so familiar routine of disengaging cables and various other items of equipment used in a cardiac arrest situation.

“Time of death 11.59pm, does everyone concur”? All the other crash members agreed. Dr Strang leaned over toward the recently departed and looking at the now deceased female said, “I’m so sorry hon, another minute and you would have probably made it”.

One of the other crash members, Sarah Tunney added “well it “was” Halloween after all”.

Just as the crash team were about to exit the room, the clock struck midnight and what transpired next would stick in the minds and souls of Dr Strang’s crash team forever!

“Pleeeeze help me”.

They all turned around and the sight in front of them just beggared belief.

There, sat up as if nothing had happened was the patient Dr Strang just a minute ago had declared dead.

The rest of the crash team immediately rushed over to the elderly patient and a barrage of checks and other examinations were vigorously preformed by the incredulous nursing staff.

Dr Strang knelt down at the side of the miraculously risen from the dead female and said; “Holy smoke honey you gave us quite a scare there, just didn’t wanna go eh?”

The elderly lady turned and stared at Dr Strang then suddenly grabbed him by the lapels. Strang didn’t object, he never did and as the old woman got right into his ear, she said, “I know?”

“ Know what my dear”? Said Strang, there were tears cascading down the woman’s face now and she was also shaking. She spoke again, “I know, I know?”

Strang waited patiently, the lady spoke yet again and staring right into Dr Strang’s eyes she said..

“I know what happens when you die!!”



US air force base, Malabar annex, Palm Beach Florida, 31st October 1999.

Staff Sergeant Gunnerson looked at his watch, 11.50pm and figured what the hell, one more finger wouldn’t do any harm and hey, you only live once.

“Bartender”, shouted Gunnerson, “hit me with another JD and make it a large one you only live once eh”.

The bartender almost mechanically poured the amber coloured liquid into Gunnerson’s glass, the big sergeant then lifted the glass to his mouth and on a shelf at the back of the bar a digital clock blinked from 11.58pm to 11.59pm.

The glass never touched sergeant Gunnerson’s lips and the two hundred and fifty pound six footer crashed unceremoniously to the ground.

“Jesus,” Cried the bar tender, “I told him he’d had enough but he wouldn’t pay any attention.”

One of the attendant air force personnel quickly felt the big sergeant’s pulse, “Jesus Christ,” he cried, “there’s no fucking pulse.” The bartender immediately snatched up the phone for an on base paramedic.

The airman that was trying to resuscitate Gunnerson was absolutely convinced the guy was dead, “it’s no good”, he uttered, “I know a fucking dead guy when I see one, Christ knows I’ve seen a few”.

The clock behind the bar blinked from 11.59pm to 00.00am and exactly at that moment, staff sergeant Benjamin Gustav Gunnerson opened his eyes and calmly got to his feet.

“Jesus on a fucking Harley ” shouted the bartender and everyone that had been involved in trying to save the big sergeant had now scattered away from him as if suddenly realising he was a carrying the plague.

Gunnerson blinked his eyes a few times and then suddenly, eyes bugging out of his head screamed the words
“I know, I fucking know”.

Immediately after saying that, the big staff sergeant, all two hundred and fifty pounds of him, head down, charged through the exit door (whilst it was still closed)

“Holy fuck,” uttered an amazed bartender, “ain’t that a bitch, well will you look at that.”

Everyone rushed over to what was a now very splintered door hanging off its hinges.

“Shit”, said leading airman Kawaski, he glanced at the bartender, “Well I don’t know what the big guy was drinking, but whatever it was had a kick like a sonafabitch, woooweee.”

“Something ain’t right here”, they all turned around to see the airman who had pronounced Sgt Gunnerson dead walking towards them.

“What the hell do you mean,” said Kawaski?
“That guy was dead”, said the ashen-faced airman!!

Toni Granneli had heard stories of people dying and then suddenly coming back to life but not like this, you just don’t die and jump up, dust yourself down, then charge through a fucking door.

Toni looked at the other airmen and said, “I’ve been a first class medic for four years, done two tours in Iraq one in Afghanistan, so you could say I’ve been in a lotta situations were I had to pronounce quite a few mother fuckers dead, as in no vital signs.”

Everyone continued staring at leading airman Granneli, he continued on. It “doesn’t figure out, you just don’t die, then wake up, pat yourself down and plough through a three inch wooden door, it just ain’t fucking natural is all I’m saying”.

Just at that moment a team of on base paramedics came hurtling into the bar, all glancing in curiosity at the hanging splintered door as they did so.

“Someone been fighting here boys,” said the leading paramedic staring at the splintered door?

“No”, said leading airman Granneli “someone actually just died, came back to life, screamed a little, then charged right through that there door like a god damn sonafabitch.”

“Is… that… so?” Answered the paramedic, with, it has to be said, an eyebrow raised higher than even the
Rock himself.

“Yep” said, Granneli, “that’s about the gist of it.”


Avinida D Sur, Panama city, Panama, 31st October 1999.

Hugo Sanchez was a happily married man of 32 and everything seemed to be going swimmingly for Hugo.

He had a beautiful wife (Maria) and an equally beautiful baby daughter of eight months christened Estefania.

Hugo and his young family were relatively well off for Panamanians and that was probably due to Hugo’s qualifications in marine engineering,

Hugo’s job was a safety inspector working for the Panama ship canal company.

Indeed this particular position paid handsomely, again by Panamanian standards so afforded Hugo and his young family a fairly lavish lifestyle.

Hugo kissed his beautiful wife on the forehead and then smiled admiringly at the apple of his eye sleeping peacefully in a tots R us crib.

“Please hurry back my love,” said Maria, “you know I don’t like you working nights.”

“Don’t worry my darling, it’s only another three nights and then I’ll be back on the day shift again and anyway,” said Hugo with a gleam in his eye. “Maybe Estefania needs some company eh, you know, like a sister, or a brother maybe, eh?”

As Hugo said those words he mischievously winked then smiled and this time kissed his wife a little more passionately.

“Hugo Sanchez, how dare you” laughed Maria, playfully slapping her husband as she did so “and in front of our beautiful baby daughter too, you should be ashamed.”

Hugo dramatically shrugged his shoulders and said, “you know me, I just can’t seem to help myself in front of a beautiful woman.”

“I know and that’s what worries me you beast”, again laughed Maria. “Now be off with you and go make lots of money so you can keep me in the lifestyle I am accustomed to.”

At that juncture, both husband and wife gave each other one more kiss and finally Hugo Sanchez set off for work.

Hugo climbed into his pride and joy, a brand spanking new fire engine red Dodge Nitro and as Hugo swung the monstrous 2.8 litre SUV toward the Via Simone Bolivar, which was the main highway to where Hugo worked, he glanced at his Rolex oysterman courtesy of the tax-free status of the Canal Zone.

11.45pm. “Oh shit,” Hugo cursed, , he had just realised he’d ran out of cigars and once in the compound and into work mode wouldn’t be able to acquire any there, he spotted a liquor store to his right and slowly drew the six tons of Detroit steel to a halt.

Once Hugo had exited the vehicle he duly alarmed it and proceeded toward the Seven Eleven.

Hugo figured something was wrong when a guy came from nowhere and slammed the liquor store door shut behind him.

“Move your ass over there,” Hugo couldn’t believe his stinking bad luck, he’d only walked smack bang into a hold up.

A hand grabbed Hugo by the scruff of his neck and roughly shoved him toward what were obviously the terrified owners, “I said move your fuckin ass over there,” cried the voice.

Hugo studied his assailants, there were three masked men and they were all armed to the teeth.

A few minutes later the three had achieved what they’d held the store up for and prepared to leave.

Just at that moment, the owner of the store, a stout looking man grabbed at one of the masked men thus revealing his identity. Big fucking mistake thought Hugo, why in the fuck didn’t he just wait until they’d left the store.

The brave/foolish owner was easily fended off and then pistol-whipped across the face, the unmasked robber then stood over him and screamed, “so you wanna be a fucking hero Mi Amigo, well you know what happens to heroes”?

The now bleeding owner defiantly spat a large gob of phlegm into the pistol-waving thug’s face and of course the inevitable reaction was a 9mm bullet straight between the eyes, his wife was next.

Just as the armed killer informed a now out of his mind with fear Hugo, “that there can be no witnesses,” a digital clock on the liquor store wall blinked to 11.59pm and the last thing Hugo Sanchez saw was a small explosion coming out of the barrel of a 9mm Mauser automatic!!

The clock on the wall then blinked to 00.00 and the recently deceased Hugo Sanchez got up off the floor, then calmly walked out into the humid panama night as if nothing had happened.


Autoroute Felix-Le clerc, Quebec, Canada, 31st October 1999.

Louis St Jean fiddled with a switch on the dashboard, then began to bounce up and down rhythmically, loved Grover Washington Jr did Louis.

Louis St Jean was 55 years old and a natural born French Canadian.

Louis had been a tanker driver at Dulux paints now for twenty years and as such had just recently been given charge of a brand new addition to the fleet, the latest in a long line of Freightliners and the one Louis was driving was an XL Century classic, the best of the range.

Indeed the inside of the cab resembled someone’s lounge, there was enough sleeping accommodation for at least four adults, it had an icebox, a small cooker and even facilities for satellite TV.

The cargo was another reason both the new freightliner and Louis were picked for the job in hand.

Dulux had just perfected a new kind of paint thinner and the main chemical exponent of the new thinner was directly behind Louis, “BUTANOL” all 36,000 litres of it.

As the huge freightliner approached Cap Le Madeleine, roughly 6km north of the St Lawrence river, Louis glanced at the clock inset on the dash of the XL.

11.55pm, no problem thought Louis, he was well on schedule even if there was a queue at the Pont Radisson, which was highly unlikely given the time of night and though it was Halloween, all the revellers would probably be tucked up in bed by now.

Louis shifted gear and gently put his right foot down, the response was a rumble worthy of any quake, “what a fucking beast”, chuckled Louis.

It was at that moment Louis spotted it!!

He didn’t know what to make of it at first, but Louis was certain the vehicle heading in the opposite direction was on the same side of the road Louis was.

“What in the fuck!!” Louis now realised the vehicle in front was a large truck, not dissimilar to the one Louis was driving.

“Holy, get over you motherfucker,” Louis shouted, the approaching truck was getting nearer by the second and heading directly for Louis’s freightliner.

Louis quickly geared down and popped the air breaks as the clock on the dash read11.58pm, gently guiding the huge behemoth to the left and on the wrong side of the road Louis realised he was sweating and for good reason,he now knew why the opposing truck was on the wrong side of the road.

The driver had obviously fallen asleep and Louis was now close enough to see him slumped over the wheel, indeed it was a miracle the truck driver hadn’t already crashed.

Probably the reason for that was in most parts of North America, the roads were unrelentingly long and straight and as such, most vehicles, especially long haul trucks were equipped with cruise controls, so even though he’d fallen asleep, as long as the road stayed straight, he would stay alive.

The second Louis pulled the horn; in the hope of awakening the slumbering truck driver, he wished he hadn't!!

In a nano second three pivotal events came to pass.

(1) the sleeping driver jolted awake on hearing the horn blast.

(2) Realising “he” was on the wrong side of the road, he instinctively swung his truck to the correct side of the road, straight into the path of Louis St Jean and his 75 ton highly combustible carrying freightliner.

(3) A small dashboard clock blinked to11.59pm.

The result was catastrophic and the second the two metallic behemoths kissed, a huge fireball erupted that was of biblical proportions; indeed later news reports indicated that the fireball was seen in both Montreal and Quebec!

The scene looked like it was from the pit of hell itself, 130 tons of mangled steel barely visible in the heat searing inferno that engulfed it, indeed the heat was so intense, highway road signs up to two hundred meters away had melted.

00.00am and if anyone had been unfortunate enough to have witnessed this disaster, they would have also seen walking out of the epicentre of that inferno and as calmly as you like, a lone solitary figure.

In fact the image was straight out of a scene from “The Terminator” itself.

Louis St Jean looked back at the devastation in front of him and then sank to his knees screaming, “Holy fuck, I know!!”

***********


Magdalene College, Cambridge University, England November 4th 1999.

On hearing a telephone ringing impatiently on the other side of the door, a tall grey haired distinguished looking gentleman fumbled in a breast pocket for some keys and then entered a room he called sanctuary but was in fact a study.


Professor Henry Ross was 58 years old and had been teaching at Cambridge University for fifteen years. Henry was also a widower, he lost his wife to cancer 12 months ago and still felt the same pain and grief as much today as he felt the day Elizabeth died in his arms.

Someone somewhere said “time is the greatest healer of all," Professor Ross would dearly love to know who came up with that little gem and after punching them in the mouth, he would say exactly the same thing back.


Professor Henry Ross had a PhD and various other letters after his name, indeed Henry Ross was quite the esteemed gentleman and though he didn’t like to, could and invariably did, mix in the highest of circles and it was one those higher circle members who was now speaking to Henry Ross on the telephone.

“Henry dear boy, so nice to speak to you, by the way I’ve been trying to get hold of you for a couple a days now, watcha been up to, nothing naughty I hope?”

Henry grimaced, his dear friend on the other side of the pond had obviously forgotten.

“It’s the anniversary Mike.”

Mike Reagan Head Dean of Harvard University Cambridge Massachusetts audibly gulped down the phone.

“Oh Christ, how stupid of me Henry, I’m so very sorry, Oh my God is it a year already, well Henry you know what they say?”

“Please don’t” interrupted Ross, “I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Well, I think I better get straight to the point”, said the utterly embarrassed Dean.

“Given your expertise in the paranormal and unexplained physic phenomenon Henry, I have a little proposition for ya?”

“I’m listening” said Henry Ross.”

Mike Reagan carried on. “Have you ever heard of a guy called Dieter Fring?”
“Can’t say I have”, replied Ross,
“Well,” said Reagan; “he’s the new honcho in charge of the AMA (American Medical Association) and apparently, he wants our help”.

Henry was now listening a little more intently, if the AMA wanted assistance in something they couldn’t understand then, well, it was definitely worth paying attention to.

“What’s the problem?” Queried Ross.”
“Fring wouldn’t say too much, but it sounds like something out of a Steven Spielberg movie”, said Reagan.

He continued on after what sounded like a quick sip of some kind of beverage. “What I did glean out of him Henry will scare the pants off you.”

“Go on then”, said Henry, a little impatiently, he loved Mike dearly and had known him for nearly thirty years, they were both roommates right here at Cambridge, however Mike had the habit of veering off in various tangents.
The dean continued on.

“Well according to Fring, four days ago, Halloween to be exact.”

At that point, Mike Reagan chuckled, “I know, could it have been any other day, but Fring said they seemed to be getting reports of various people dying or being clinically pronounced dead from various hospitals across various states.”

Ross was rapt with attention and the head Dean of Harvard carried on. “Now you might think, so what, people are dying all the time, even now as we speak, no offence Henry,”
“none taken” replied Ross.
“But the thing that’s spooked the AMA in general and Fring in particular is, these deaths aren’t deaths as such.”

“I don’t follow” said Ross, “you’re either dead or you’re not, you can’t be both.”

“Well you see that’s why Fring rang me, according to him, these particular subjects all died at 11.59pm on the 31st October and exactly 60 seconds later “all” of the same subjects came back to life and that’s not all.

Fring said something about the reported so called re risen patients “all” have an interesting story to tell and let me tell you, the AMA are busting their collective balls to keep this one away from the media.”

“What’s the story,” asked Henry?

“There’s a flight booked with your name on it7pm tonight, Heathrow terminal 5, I’ll see you tomorrow at Logan international, so long dear boy ”and at that point Reagan hung up.



Air Lingus flight EI 157 touched down onto the tarmac at Logan airport, Boston Massachusetts and even though Henry’s flight was delayed by two hours, it was still only 5.30 in the morning Eastern Standard Time.

Shortly after clearing US customs and immigration, Henry Ross heard a familiar voice shout. “Henry my dear boy.” A beaming Mike Reagan smiled a smile that would surely concern the atomic energy commission.

Ross briefly thought to himself, what is it with these Americans and their perfect teeth and why the devil was Mike “happy” at this ungodly hour of the morning?

After the obligatory man hug and a series of back slaps the two pals headed for Mike’s black 5 series BMW.

As the big beamer headed through the Ted Williams tunnel, Mike brought Henry up to speed on the strange series of events that so concerned the AMA as to drag a noted Professor of unexplained psychic phenomenon 3,000 miles across the ocean.

“There’s been more weird reports of folks dying and then mysteriously deciding they didn’t wanna die after all”, said Reagan.

“Do you have any more details” replied Ross?

“Yea,” answered Reagan “and I have to say Henry this whole thing’s scaring the shit out of me, I don’t mind saying.”

“It can’t be that bad surely,” replied Henry, “like every other case I’ve investigated there’ll be a fundamental scientific based reason behind it, there always is, you’ll see”.

Mike glanced at his dear friend and after engaging the access ramp to highway 95 he continued the update.

“Fring told me yesterday there’s been, up to now, 67 cases in the US alone each and every one of em popping their clogs at exactly 11.59pm and then arriving back on planet earth at exactly midnight and that’s not all, according to newswires it isn’t just the United States, Fring mentioned Canada, Panama, even Columbia.”

“Have there been any reported incidents anywhere else,” said Ross?

“Well that,” he glanced in the direction of his cell phone, “hasn’t rang yet, so up to now, I think Fring said there were 129 reported cases that we know of.”

“Whereabouts in the US and Canada,” said Ross? Reagan reached into his breast pocket and handed Henry a slip of paper, Ross saw that on the notepaper were the locations in Canada first, then the US, followed by the various other none North American countries such as Jamaica, Panama, Ecuador and Peru.

Just at that moment, The Bolero by Maurice Ravel began playing in the form of a ring tone on Mike’s cell phone; Reagan activated the hands free and patiently listened.

Five minutes later he said goodbye to whoever it was he was speaking to and briefly turned to his friend.

“That was Dieter and the spookometer’s just gone up another notch.

There had been one or two more cases up until midnight, there hasn’t been any since.” Reagan paused while he negotiated a turn, off highway 495 into Massachusetts avenueand then continued on.

“According to Fring the total amount of officially reported cases is now 133.”
“strange tally,” said Henry,
“I know,” replied Reagan “and get this, Fring didn’t see it at first, but if the tally stays at 133” and Mike turned to stare a little longer at Henry this time and then said. “All these folks died and miraculously came back “in the same time zone,” Ross stared back at Mike and even he was a little spooked.

“Are you sure?” Said an incredulous Henry,
“Look at the list” returned Mike, “then add Peru, the Bahamas and Cuba, in fact”, said Reagan “do me a favour Henry, if you reach into your side pocket on the door there should be a Rand Mc Nally map in there.”

Henry reached in and fished out the US motorist’s bible. “Now,” said Reagan “remember what I just said about the other countries, in fact all you have to do is draw a straight line.”

Sure enough Dieter Fring was absolutely correct, all these people died or didn’t as the case maybe, stretching thousands of miles and all at exactly the same time, all 133 of them!!


As soon as Henry and Mike Reagan reached Harvard, Henry was shown to the guest accommodations, having informed Henry there would be a meeting between himself, Henry and Dieter Fring later that day, Mike Reagan departed to let an extremely jetlagged Professor get some well earned rest.

2pm.

knocking on the Dean of Harvard’s study door, a recently rested and rejuvenated Henry Ross entered Reagan’s private office.

Standing along side his dear friend was a large tall man in a suit that looked like it was straight out of Savile row.

The tall blond man stepped forward to firmly shake Henry’s hand and introduced himself as Dieter Fring.

As soon as the introductions were over the three academics got down to business and it was Fring who spoke first.

“As you are aware Henry, there’s some pretty strange stuff going on here and I hope by the time it’s over you’ve shed some light on it because personally, in all my years in the medical profession I’ve never come across anything quite like this.”

“Is the tally still 133,” said Henry?

“It is replied Fring and if you were spooked on why that amount and all in the same time zone, you’ll be even more spooked when you hear what I have to tell you next.”

Henry turned briefly on hearing a short knock on the study door.

“Enter,” cried Reagan. An assistant came into the study carrying a silver tray with a large silver teapot along with three fine bone china cups.

“Ahhhh first things first though, TEA”, said a delighted Reagan. The female assistant poured the aromatic Earl grey into the three cups and passed them to the grateful recipients, especially Henry, where tea wasn’t so much a tradition as an institution.

Fring waited until thirsts where sated and then carried with the briefing.

“We would like you to go and see four people Henry, you know, interview them, talk to them, call it what you will.”

“I’m listening,” replied Henry.
“Mike has arranged all your transportational requirements,” Fring continued.

“First off, you’ll travel by automobile to Stamford Connecticut, once there you will speak to a Mrs Martha Hingerson, she’s one of the 133, after that it’s a flight from Boston to Quebec; the subject there is a Mr Louis St Jean, the next stop is back to the US, in this case it’s the Air force complex at Malabar, Palm Beach and the subjects name here is Staff Sergeant Ben Gunnerson.

The last and final trip is out of the country again, this time it’s to Panama City, Panama; again this subject is a male, name of Hugo Sanchez.”

“Quite the trip,” quipped Ross, Fring waded seamlessly straight onto the next part of the briefing.

“First subject, Martha died of a heart attack, as did Sergeant Gunnerson, third subject, Mr Sanchez was shot point-blank in the face with a 9mm Mauser automatic.”
“What” cried Henry “and he’s still alive?”

"Yep”, answered Fring, “according to a Fuerzas De Policia crime report, when finding the Perps and recovering the murder weapon, two dead people were found in the liquor store (the owners) Three bullets had been discharged, two of them were found lodged in the craniums of the two dead owners,” then Fring paused, “here’s where it gets really hinky gentlemen.

The third was found on the floor, a ballistics report confirmed the bullet “had” been fired!!” Henry Ross didn’t say a thing he just stared along with Mike Reagan straight at the man from the AMA.

“And if you think that’s weird, a two truck head on collision, combined inertia 130 tons.

One of the trucks was a liquid tanker carrying 36,000 litres of BUTANOL, the fireball was seen gentleman, up to eighty miles away and wait for it, the driver, a Mr Louis St Jean walked away and he swears the last thing he did before the collision was look at the dashboard clock and of course we all know what that said?”

Again Fring carried on further, “however, it’s what all these people are saying that’s scaring the AMA half to death.”

“Oh and what’s that,” queried Henry? Fring stared long and hard at the Professor, then said, “they’re all saying the same thing.”
“Which is”, said Henry, now completely spellbound. Fring spoke softly.
“They all seemingly know what happens when you die!”


Four hours after the briefing with Mike Reagan and Dieter Fring, Henry Ross, along with the aid of a Mr Rand McNally, had managed to arrive at the first of the four miraculously risen from the dead.


When Henry saw the address of Mrs Martha Hingerson, he nearly burst out laughing. “You have got be kidding me,” he said to a very straight faced Dieter Fring. All Fring said was and in a solemn manner, “I only wish it was a joke Henry” he then swiftly departed back into the medical centre at Harvard.

Henry Checked the street sign and then smiled again, *Halloween Blvd* and yes, even though Henry had to keep looking at it, the house number was indeed “666.”

A thought flashed through Henry’s mind, well if you chose to live in a house with that number and on a street called Halloween, well, then as far as Henry was concerned you were just asking for trouble.

Not that Henry was superstitious in any way, indeed it was Henry’s job to alleviate anything associated with “the unexplained” it was though, you know, just down right bloody weird.

Henry gave three short raps on the door.

Almost instantaneously a frail looking lady appeared at the front porch door and taking Henry by complete surprise, caught hold of his left hand and led a somewhat startled and bemused professor back down the steps and toward Henry’s silver Chrysler neon.

“Ummm, I take it you’re Mrs,”
“call me Martha,” interrupted the little old lady and gesturing toward the passenger door, clicked her fingers impatiently.

“Did you want to go somewhere?” Said an incredulous Henry?

“How’d ya guess,” replied Martha and cracked a smile that instantly reminded Henry of an old witch and given the address, plus the nature of this whole affair, Henry could have sworn, for the first time in his life he was getting Goosebumps and this old dear was starting to scare him.

Once inside the vehicle, Henry glanced at his new passenger and said, “anywhere in particular?”

Old Martha just cracked another witch grin and then said “oh nowhere special, just a nice little drive round the block’ll be fine.”

Henry threw the Chrysler in gear and gently eased forward, they drove round the block and whilst Henry negotiated the various turns and intersections Martha began to talk.

“I believe there’s more than me?” She glanced at Henry and he gave a quick nod in agreement, “133 to be exact?”

Henry instantly pulled to a halt and in an urgent tone said, “How the hell did you know that, there’s been a media blackout and no one from the AMA would have divulged that information, so how did you know?”

The old lady, again with the strange grin said, “I’ve seen what happens when you die, do you want me to tell ya?”

Henry just stared point blank at the old dear and couldn't make up his mind whether she was toying with him or just plain crazy, maybe it was the latter, maybe that’s what happens when you’ve been pronounced dead and then suddenly you just wake up, who knows?

“Well do ya?” snapped Martha.

Henry shook himself out of his reverie and said, “oh yes, sorry, go ahead, please.”

Martha Hingerson leaned over and staring straight into Professor Henry Ross’s face she spoke softly and very seriously.

“First things first, there’s no bright light, let’s put “that” to bed right a ways,” Martha carried on.

“The first thing I saw was this big tall person, who was wearing some kinda gown or cloak, couldn’t figure out which, then this thing walked over toward me getting closer and closer and closer.”

Every time Martha said closer, she moved her face closer to Henry’s and it was spooking the holy crap out of him.

Martha continued the tale, “I couldn’t see who it was at first, there was no face or anything, then these two long bony hands came up and pulled that big black hood right back!!”

Henry was completely enthralled and whispered, “Who was it?”

At that point Martha looked away, like she was staring at something and then she began to openly cry.

“It was my dear Mother and she said this is what happens when you die, it’s always someone you know, a person who you miss the most, a sort of familiar guide, then she said something else.”

Again, Henry whispered “what?”

“Mommy said “they” weren’t ready yet!!”

Henry was just about to say, what the blazes do you mean “they‘re” not ready and who the hell’s they? When Martha answered that question for him.

“Mommy wouldn’t say who, but she did say something else.”

“Go on,” Henry was appalled with himself for even listening to this superstitious claptrap, but a transfixed Henry Ross still hung on to every word as Martha Hingerson dropped the next atom bomb

“We’ve only been given added time,” Martha started to sob a little and then stared back into Henry’s eyes and carried on,

“Mommy said all of us, you know, all 133 are on borrowed time, she said, that we were all technically dead and that this was only a short reprieve until “they” sorted the problem out.”

Henry was aghast, he couldn’t believe it, was he hearing right, this old lady was actually telling him a hundred and thirty three people died all at the same time and because of some, some celestial power or being or whatever, making a cock up?

Henry was having a problem with his quite substantial vocabulary and it wasn’t often Henry Ross got stuck for words.

He glared again at Martha and said, “you’re absolutely sure about this Martha, because to be quite,”
“you don’t believe me;” interrupted Martha and she cracked that bloody smile again, as if the situation wasn’t weird enough.

She carried on, “no, no one else does either,”
“you’ve told other people?” it was Henry’s turn to interrupt this time.
“Just family, well, what’s left of it anyway” replied Martha.

They both sat for a few seconds in silence and then Henry stole himself for the 64,000 Dollar question.

“Did, errm your mother tell you when?” Martha began to laugh and opened the passenger door as she did so, turning to Henry, Martha said, “of course she did and “you” wanna know?”

At that point Martha, armed with that horrible leering grin leaned forward and making a beckoning motion with a gnarled old hand said, “C’mere.”

Henry wasn't sure if that was wise, considering the obvious unbalanced state of mind she was in.

However Henry reluctantly acquiesced and duly leaned forward.

Henry shuddered he could actually feel the old dear’s whiskers tickling his left ear lobe. Martha then spoke.

“Mommy said, whatever you do, be sure not to tell that Limy nosey parker professor anything at all” and with that, swiftly exited the Chrysler cackling like some escaped lunatic.

Henry didn’t even try to shout Martha back; he’d heard enough and as such drove off in the general direction of Logan International at such a speed he nearly fishtailed.


9.am the following day and shortly after parking the Hertz hire car, Henry walked down a street called the Rue De La Reine.

Louis St Jean lived in quite a nice neighbourhood for a trucker, having said that, Henry was probably unfairly comparing North American Truckers to their UK counterparts who were on substantially lower incomes than the ones in the new world.

This time the house had a name instead of a freaky number like the one back in Connecticut and Henry strolled through a large white gate that said La Maison D’ Iberville.

This was the first time Henry had ever been to Quebec and even though history said Great Britain defeated France in the battle for Canada you wouldn’t think so once you got here.

“BonJour Monsieur, Ca va?” Henry quickly turned around and saw a large bald headed man suddenly appear from behind a rose bush and who then proceeded to shake Henry’s already outstretched hand.

After the short polite introductions Henry asked Louis if he didn’t mind continuing the conversation in English, Louis said he didn’t and the two men both sat down on a nearby bench.

Louis quickly got to the point and described everything in horrific detail of what happened that night on the Autoroute Felix Le Clerc and just like Martha back in Stamford, Louis spoke of a mysterious cloaked figure who on getting nearer turned out in this case to be Louis’s late wife,who much to Henry’s alarm, had also died of Lung cancer, the same as his beautiful love Elizabeth..

When the crunch question came, as to how long they’d been given, once again the shutters came crashing down and all Louis would say was, “Au vous le promet Monsieur.”


16 hours later, Henry in yet another hire car and after another plane journey arrived in the bone sapping heat of Central America.

Soon after leaving the airport Henry managed to find with relative ease the Avinida D Sur where of course resided the Famalia Sanchez.

After knocking on the door a striking looking woman answered.

“You must be professor Henry Ross," she said with a dazzling smile that would have lit up a football stadium.

Again after a short round of introductions and accepting the best cup of coffee Henry had ever had in his life, Henry Ross engaged Hugo in a similar conversation to Martha and Louis and before arriving in Panama, a short stop in Florida.

That one by the way was as equally disturbing as the conversation with Martha Hingerson, indeed Sergeant Gunnerson’s state of mind wasn’t the same as it was before he died, but he did say exactly the same thing as everyone else, nuts or not.

Even though Henry had already heard from Fring about the way Hugo died (allegedly) he still visibly winced as Hugo relayed all the gory details and when he got to the part of the cloaked stranger, Maria, Hugo’s stunning wife produced a set of rosary beads and rather disturbingly started to recite the Lord’s Prayer.

As in all the other cases when it came to asking the date or time of the celestial egg timer finally running out of sand, the answer in this particular case was a blank stare followed by a swift Spanish incantation followed by an extremely vigorous sign of the cross.


Four hours later and at 35,000ft (club class) Henry paused for thought and tried to make some kind of sense of what was going on here.

He went through each of the four subjects he’d interviewed and even though all four couldn’t be any further apart from each other as in who they were and the lives they led.

They all had one thing in common and like, according to a recent telephone call from Fring, all the other 129 these poor people, if true and to be honest Henry wasn’t so sure any more, were waiting for what was in their eyes, “the delayed inevitable” and as such, Henry was becoming a very troubled man.

There wasn’t anyone sat near to Henry so he decided to get his head down, he wouldn’t be landing at Dulles for another three hours yet, plus he was absolutely worn out.

[Henry was walking toward something, he couldn’t tell what at first then suddenly, he realised it was some sort of cloaked figure.

The mysterious figure got closer and closer and as soon as the cloaked form was only inches away from Henry’s face, two long bony hands slowly lifted a large black hood back from it’s head]

Henry jolted awake and instantly realised he was sweating buckets. “Are you okay sir?”

A blond woman wearing an American airlines uniform was stood over him, smiling, she said, “Is that your other half sir?”

Henry looked up and said, “whatever do you mean?”

It was the airhostess’s turn to look bemused now, she carried on, “the name sir, you just screamed a name out, in fact it woke one of the passengers up, you were obviously having a dream.”

Henry looked mortified and tried to remember what he’d just dreamt, he glanced up again and said, “What was the name?”

The smiling blond airhostess stared albeit in a pleasant way at Henry and then said, “Why sir, you shouted Elizabeth!”

Henry was nearly paralysed with fear, looking at the palms of his hands he realised they were all clammy. “Ooops,” said the smiling airhostess, “I think someone may have had a nightmare and I just happen to have the cure for that,” she winked at Henry and said, “a large one?”

Henry nodded, “coming right up,” said the attendant and swiftly departed. Shortly after a generous helping of Couvousier XL and his sanity slowly returning, Henry tried his best to grasp what had just happened.

He now remembered the dream and given the recent stories he’d heard from Martha, Sgt Gunnerson, Louis and Hugo, well, if you put that together with his dream, it was all exactly the same.

Why though? What significance did that dream have with the 133 case and why Elizabeth? Then the penny dropped, yes, that must be it, it was almost a year to the day that his beloved ex died in his arms and possibly the similarity with Louis St Jean’s case in Quebec was somehow still in his subconscious.


A few hours later and after clearing customs at Dulles international Henry hailed a cab,

“Where to sir,” said the uniformed cabbie,

“2223 Massachusetts avenue please,” replied Henry.

“That the medical headquarters,” queried the cabbie as he popped the meter?
“Yes that’s correct” smiled Henry and as the yellow cab made it’s way into the crawling rush hour traffic of Washington DC, Henry shuffled a few bits of paper and prepared for his briefing with Dieter Fring, CEO of the American Medical Association and his dear friend Mike Reagan, Dean of Americas oldest University, Harvard.


Henry sat patiently on an old winged back leather chair, pinching the creases of his trousers, as he waited until both Mike and Dieter had read his report and conclusions.

Fring finished first, waiting politely for Mike to finish, Dieter Fring began to speak.

“I really don’t know what to say,” uttered Fring, “there just isn’t any logic to this whole Goddamn business.”

“I know what you mean,” added Reagan, “I used to watch stuff like this on TV in the sixties, The Twilight Zone I think it was called.”

“Ok,” said Fring “lets recap, 133 folks from all walks of life, none of them ever having any contact with each other, most of them hadn’t even been out of their respective countries.”

He paused briefly then carried on, “all of them dying, medical records verify most of the cases being pronounced deceased, again each and every single one of them came, for whatever reason, miraculously back to life exactly 60 seconds later and as Professor Ross’s report confirms, his four subjects along with the other 129 have the same, it has to be said, disturbing notion that they’ve all somehow been given a reprieve and that they are “all” of the opinion they’re *all* waiting to be called back.”

“The thing is,” Henry spoke up for the first time and said, “if this is all true, which I don’t believe for a second any of it is, I mean I know it all sounds a little weird, but if these crazy notions were to have any foundation what’s so ever, well, can you imagine the calamity that kind of news would cause all round the world.”

Henry carried on, “what ever happens we must be absolutely certain none of this leaks out to the media; heaven only knows what the fall out would be.”

“I tend to agree, said Dieter Fring; the President would have my balls in a cookie jar if we were to let this little moggie out of the bag.”

“There’s something else that we’ve all been forgetting,” said Mike Reagan. Both Dieter and Henry looked straight at Mike and virtually said together, “Oh, what’s that?”

Mike stood up and walked over towards a real Georgian fireplace that had been specially fitted into Dieter’s office, he paused for a few seconds, with his back to Both Dieter and Henry, then slowly turning around said.

“What if and for the record, I’m not saying I believe any of this, but, “if,” this story about the waiting “is” true and all 133 do actually “ Die “again,” as it were, on that particular day, well all I’m saying is how would we explain that one to the media if it did get out?"

All three men fell silent for a moment, indeed no one had thought of that one and Dieter Fring, for some unfathomable reason had this horrible nagging thought that what if there “was” some truth in all this, hard as it was for a man of Science and Medicine to get his head around.

Indeed when you studied the case in general and took a long hard look at all the various statements from people living thousands of miles apart, well, there was, I suppose a powerful reason for starting to believe the unthinkable and Dr Dieter Herman Fring had a decision to make.

The silence was broken as the head of the AMA spoke up, “Gentleman, I have made a decision and even though I fully concur with Henry’s findings and concluding thesis on this matter, I think we need to investigate this issue further and the only way to do that, is get all 133 under the same roof.”

“You mean here,” said Henry?
“Indeed,” replied Fring.
“How the devil are you going to do that?” Interjected Mike Reagan.
“Yes,” chipped in Ross, “how can you be sure, given the state of mind some of these people are in and there is the sheer logistical aspect of it, especially the foreign element.”

Dieter Fring smiled, however it wasn’t a happy smile, disturbingly it was one of cold calculating satisfaction and Henry felt his skin crawl.

“My Alma Mater is Harvard,” and at that point Fring glanced at Mike, “as you well know Mike and two of my closest friends who graduated with me at Harvard are, Edward Robinson (Director of the FBI) and Charles Miller (Director of the CIA)”

“That’s two very powerful friends to have,” said Henry.

“I agree” said Mike Reagan.

“Well,” Fring continued on, “Edward will see to the domestic side of things and Charles, I’m sure will assist in the overseas side of the operation.

Once we have acquired all the 133”, said Fring “we can fully investigate and hopefully draw some conclusions on as to what the hell is going on here.”

“What happens if one or more of the subjects decide they don’t want to be part of this operation,” asked Henry?

“The matter isn’t open to discussion and I’m afraid none of them will have any choice in the matter. If for some reason there is something going on here and I personally still don’t believe there is, then we have to treat this as a top secret, covert even, operation of the utmost confidentiality and you have to agree gentlemen neither one of us have ever encountered anything quite like this and as such have to treat this whole business accordingly.”


Soon after that Henry headed off along with Mike to check into the Washington Hilton, after a sumptuous dinner along of course with one of the Hilton’s legendary Martinis, Henry headed for the sack.

Just before Henry let the Sandman take him he wondered what would happen once all the 133 had been, in Fring’s subtle choice of words “acquired.”

Instantly Henry thought of Martha Hingerson and then one by one the other three subjects Henry had interviewed. In a bizarre sort of way Henry was almost glad that Fring was going ahead with this operation, he “was” rather curious as to how the other 129 had died and then of course miraculously not, as the case was.

Swiftly going through the nightly ritual, staring at a photo of his beloved departed Elizabeth and as always, shedding a tear, Henry Ross drifted off to sleep.


Medical Annex 13, AMA Headquarters, Washington DC, 15th November 1999.

Shortly after that briefing in Fring’s office both Henry and Mike had flown back to Boston en route to Harvard.

A few days later a call came through that Operation Harvest was now complete and as a result, after walking through what seemed like a series of endless doors and security checks, both men came face to face with what really was the most amazing collection of human beings on the planet, “THE 133”


The second Henry caught sight of all these people he knew they’d been sedated.

“You’ve noticed too,” said Mike Reagan.

“But why,” replied Henry?

“The answer to your question is compliancy gentleman.” Both Henry and Mike hadn’t seen Dieter Fring before and now there he was, as if he’d just materialised out of nowhere and carrying some kind of clipboard.

“I say,” said Henry, “is this really necessary?”

“I’m afraid so,” replied Fring, “you just can’t uplift 133 folks from several countries by saying, excuse me sir/madam, but given what’s just happened to you, “we” in Washington would like you to come over to our place so we can perform a few experiments, just a few checks, nothing to worry about, all expenses paid of course.”

Henry was aghast.

“Don’t look so surprised Henry,” retorted Fring, “your government would have done exactly the same thing, there just wasn’t any other way, I only wish there was.”

“My god,” said Mike Reagan “they look like a collection of guinea pigs!!”

As both Henry and Mike looked around they could now see in more detail what was actually going on.

“As you can see, said Fring, there are a variety of tests being carried out and of course with out any form of sedative we just wouldn’t be allowed access.”

Henry thought Fring made it all seem somewhat clinically precise, just the like the proverbial scientist would before slicing open a lab rat for dissection purposes.

Fring continued with his commentary.

“Tissue samples, ECG’s, blood tests, MRI scans you name it, these folks are having the works and all at the American tax payers expense, in fact you could say they’re all having the medical of all free medicals.”

Fring’s attempt at humour was lost on Henry and so the tour carried on, along with Fring disappearing to only god knows where.

Henry and Mike stared incredulously at the sedated subjects that had wires, tubes and various other medical appliances attached to them.

As the bizarre excursion continued, Henry noticed a familiar face.

Lying prostrate on one of the many beds in that room was the sleeping figure of Mrs Martha Hingerson from Stamford Connecticut and Martha appeared to be sedated more than most.

Henry smiled to himself, I wonder why? The feisty old girl would have given her abductors quite the fight and certainly wouldn’t have left her home with out some kind of resistance, hence the heavy sedation.

Henry Ross began to feel sorry for the old bird, indeed for all these unfortunate people, surely there could have been some other way, or maybe, just maybe this whole affair should have been just plain left alone?

Henry, in an, I suppose, show of affection, casually reached out and gently took hold of one of poor Martha’s gnarled hands.

Instantly and without warning,Martha Hingerson’s eyes flashed open and she reared up off the bed, grabbing Professor Henry Ross by his lapels!!

Henry didn’t even have time to react before Martha had whispered a single word into his left ear, one second after that word had been uttered, Martha flopped back down onto her bed, completely unconscious as before.

Mike Reagan grabbed Henry by both arms and steadied his friend. “Jesus Henry are you ok?” Henry wasn’t ok and he felt like he was about to hyperventilate. “Here,” said Mike, as he pulled a chair out for Henry to sit on.


A few minutes later Henry had somewhat recovered and asked Mike if he’d seen what had just transpired? “Nope,” answered his friend, “didn’t see a thing I was looking over at one
of the other patients when out of the corner of my eye I spotted “you” staggering, at first I thought you’d fainted, are you sure you’re ok?”

“Yes I’m fine” lied Henry, in fact Professor Ross was terrified, what in the hell possessed a woman, heavily sedated, to suddenly wake up and grab him like she did?

Only Henry knew it wasn’t what Martha did, it was what Martha had said that scared Henry half to death.


Later that evening 7pm Eastern Standard Time,Henry Ross, alone, using his clearance status codes issued by Fring, accessed the complex called Annex 13, he then settled himself down in one of the observation booths and waited!

While Henry waited, he tried to grasp what earlier today Martha had said to him, well, of course that’s why Henry was secreted away here in this observation booth, but surely this again was the crazy rantings of an equally crazy old lady?

Henry began to doodle on a notepad, right next to the word Martha had uttered in Henry’s ear, was she right, was it really going to happen “TONIGHT!!”

10.30pm and Henry still sat patiently in his booth, he was tempted to have a walk around, but decided against it, he knew Fring would probably be watching the monitors and if there was some semblance of truth in what the crazy old girl had said then the last thing he needed was Dieter Fring poking his oar in.

Plus, Henry selfishly smiled to himself “if” there was anything weird and wonderful about to happen, then “he” Henry Ross wanted to be the one that witnessed it first hand.

The thing though that was puzzling Henry, if indeed Martha was correct in predicting the actual day, was when?

He glanced at his watch, 11.pm there was only another hour left before today became tomorrow, so if anything was going to happen it better get a move on.

The clock on the Annex wall now read11.45pm and incredibly and terrifyingly for Henry, all the previously sleeping or sedated 133 suddenly got up and walked as one to the centre of Annex 13.

“What the Hell” ..Henry immediately left the booth and headed out to the floor of the Annex.

As Henry walked towards the 133 he spotted Louis St Jean, the Canadian trucker, Henry shouted toward Louis and said, “Louis, what the Hell’s going on?”

Nothing, no answer came from Louis.

Henry also noticed Hugo Sanchez from Panama and again Henry shouted the same question and again the same response, it was if they were all in some kind of trance.

Henry decided he needed help and just as he started to head for the door he heard a voice and it was coming from the assembled 133, “stop!!”

It was Martha and she was wearing that same horrible grin on her face again.

As Martha slowly headed toward Henry she stopped grinning and pointing up at the huge clock on the Annex wall she said two words.

“They‘re coming!!”

As soon as Martha had said those words she again slowly retreated backwards to the waiting group.

Henry glanced up to the clock and also at his watch, of course why didn’t he figure it out before, the clock blinked from 11.58 to 11.59 and the sight that met Henry Ross was surely one that was never meant for mortal eyes.

One by one all 133 started to, well, Henry couldn’t find words to describe what was going on and I suppose the only apt description would be that they’re were all dying in exactly the same way they did on that fateful night in October.

“Oh my Jesus God almighty,” cried Henry and he sank to his knees whilst clutching his chest..

There directly in front of him, where people dying in some of the most appalling ways imaginable.

Louis St Jean seemed to combust into flames and the screaming was horrific,

Hugo Sanchez had a bemused expression on his face punctuated by a 9mm bullet hole in the middle of his forehead, other people were dying or already dead in some of the most dreadful ways possible.

Train Suicides, building jumpers, car crashes and of course in poor old Martha and Sgt Gunnerson’s case compared to the other nightmares, just plain old fashioned heart attacks.

All of this was re enacted out in front of a totally disbelieving and terrified Henry Ross and poor old Henry felt like his heart was going to explode and as a consequence lost consciousness.


Henry opened his eyes and immediately saw the cloaked figure from his dream, two long bony hands slowly drew back the large black hood and this time Henry “knew” who it was and he wasn’t afraid.

“Hello my darling” said the cloaked figure,

“Hello Elizabeth,” replied Henry, “am I?”

The figure slowly nodded its head and smiled.

“How?” Said Henry and as the figure gently took Henry by the hand to wherever they were going, it suddenly paused and looking into Henry’s eyes said.

“Why my darling, you simply died of a broken heart” and with that, both the cloaked figure and Henry Ross continued on walking through the door to eternity!


THE CONCLUSION


Immediately after those bizarre events had transpired on that fateful evening, 15th November 1999, the biggest clean up operation in Federal history swung into action.

Absolutely no traces of any bodies were found or recovered and all traces of any involvement with the AMA were ruthlessly and totally eradicated.

The immediate families of all 133 were persuaded to keep silent about any such talk regarding mysterious deaths and equally mysterious resurrections on October31st 1999. Those foolish enough not to were consequently never seen again.

Mike Reagan, Dean of Harvard encountered his unfortunate demise in the form of an unexplained helicopter crash en route back to Harvard; there were no traces of the unfortunate crash victims.

****

Dieter Fring sat quietly in his study at the AMA headquarters in Washington.

Bright orange flames danced merrily in the real Georgian fireplace as Dieter for the umpteenth time replayed on a DVD player those incredible events involving Henry Ross and the 133.

A phone rang and immediately Fring asked if it was a clean line, the response must have been in the affirmative because Fring continued to speak.

“Are you sure,” he said in a somewhat earnest manner, “so there’s no chance of anything being traced back to us?”
“Negative” said the voice on the phone,

Fring smiled and said, “be sure to thank the President for me won’t you, because without his help none of this would have been possible.” Fring hung up and took another hit from a 50-year-old vintage cognac.

Stopping the DVD player he ejected the culprit disc and walked over to the roaring fire.

Fring paused for a few moments and thought, just for curiosity how much the networks would actually pay to see what was on that little piece of plastic?

Instantly he dispelled any such thoughts and as Dieter Fring tossed that little plastic bombshell into the fire he said out loud, “It just ain‘t worth dying for!!”



THE END



*******