Wednesday, May 30, 2012

Precious Time

For the next several weeks, my Wednesday prompt will center around the subject or concept of time.  In todays fiction, write about a scene where time is of the utmost importance and there never seems to be enough time.

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    The president didn't know.

    Another best kept secret kept... secret. The bowels of Washington D.C. were awash with extreme excitement. Through a strand of hair scientists were able to recreate the genome to replicate Albert Einstein's brain. The experiments were complete and the final test was the transplantation.

    Ahmed Khalil had been the project designer and lead scientist in this ordeal. They had one shot and one shot only. Dr. Einstein's Deoxyribonucleic acid was detereorating rapidly. The split that had occured in the strand seemed to repeat itself in all subsequent mutations. They were out of specimen.

    Khalil could not trust anyone with the "fabricated" brain. He knew he had to deliver it himself. Dr. Sigmund Strachart had been chosen to receive Einstein's gray matter. It would eventually save his life. The brain cancer that was destroying Dr. Strachart's faculties was closing the window for such a grand plan, very rapidly. Time was of the essence.

    The good doctor had all his credentials in order. The vehicle and escort to the airport awaited Khalil as he finalized the process of sealing the container holds Albert Einstein's organ. It was imperative it remained as such.

    All intentions were for the package of remain with Ahmed at all times. It had been handcuffed to his left wrist. His security clearance was in order. All he needed to do was board the plane.

    But unfortunately to all involved, some had been kept out of the loop. A TSA agent near the scanner noticed Khalil slip past the checkpoint, without so much as a pat-down. He called after Dr. Khalil, but the doctor kept walking. The agent shouted again. Again Khalil ingored him.

    The agent did not trust a middle-Eastern man with a sacthell strapped to his arm. He didnt give a shit if he was profiling. He wasn't playing games. A call for back-up and Dr. Khalil was surrounded. He reached for his papers which was a mistake.

    "Please, I must get on that plane, or everything will blow up in our faces." Khalil choosing his words wrongly.

    "HE'S GOT A BOMB" had been communicated to the swarm of security.

    "You do not understand" the doctor started, reaching again for his credentials.

    This time the force of officers wrestled Khalil to the marble. He was detained while they papers were checked for validation. But it was obvious.
    Dr. Khalil was going to miss his plane. He demanded to speak to the agent in charge, only to be shouted down with bigotted slurs.

    "I will not take this abuse." Ahmed shouted back as he made a beeline for the door.

    As they deposited the transport case into the bomb disposal unit, Dr. Ahmed Khalil stared blankly at the ceiling from the bullet that pierced his brain. In their preparation of Dr. Strachart, he had lapsed into a coma briefly and then died. What was left of Albert Einstein, also finally found closure. All the time in the world wouldn't have been enough to save the planet from misguided science, or an attitudinal rent-a-cop with his boxers in a twist.