Murphy sat at his home computer in darkness, the artificial glow from his computer screen illuminating his immediate surroundings with bizarre, unearthly light. He had no idea what time it was, but would not have been surprised to find that it was past midnight.

He was piecing together, bit by bit, the reason why Elly had joined the NSF. It had something to do with… with… and what was MJ12? He caught several references to it. And why was Bob Page’s name in here? What could the multi-billionaire have to do with it?

What about the Grey Death?

Later that night, as he lay in bed, he tossed and turned. "What does it mean?" he muttered fitfully. "What does it mean?"

As he descended into the depths of slumber, his dream began. At first it was like a movie, with a camera moving through the halls of – the Liberty Island HQ. He’d been there several times and knew the layout. Through the retinal-scanned doorway… down the steps, through a door and down more steps, turn right, then left into an office with –

The woman behind the desk had a large part of her head missing. She was clearly dead. The view kept moving left, through another door and finally into a room he knew to be Joseph Manderley’s office. As it entered, he saw a man in black standing in front of the desk.

He had an object in his hand and was waving it about. The dream was too fuzzy to make out what it was.

At this point music began to play in the background, a happy tune for violins and cello. As the view moved along the wall, still facing the desk, it became clear that the man was not there for a personal visit - he was holding a gun. Manderley was trembling and tried to sink down his chair. The man in black quickly reached out and heaved him up, pulled back the hammer of his gun, and aimed. The music began to swell in volume, becoming more and more triumphant, but as the man’s finger slowly squeezed the trigger, the music turned dark and disturbing.

The shot fired silently, and Manderley’s body fell from his hand and slumped to the floor, his dark blood staining the carpet. Only now did the image focus on the man in black, sliding up to his face. Now Murphy could see who it was.

It was him.

Murphy awoke abruptly in a cold sweat, his sheets tangled around his legs and waist. He sat up quickly, shook them off and stood up. He was shaking like an earthquake.

He didn’t sleep any more that night.

*      *      *

The next day, at work, he kept thinking about his dream. Unlike normal dreams, this one didn’t fade over time and he found it just as disturbing at the end of the day, when he returned to his apartment. He sat behind his computer again until late at night, still working out why his daughter had done what she’d done.

All of a sudden, it hit him. He checked his sources again, and again. Each time he got the same results. He sat, unbelieving.

Was it possible? Here was all the evidence. But… it seemed absurd. How could UNATCO, maybe even the US government, be under the direct control of Bob Page, the philanthropic people-politician? Then he saw.  The Grey Death, the scourge plaguing the world, was his tool and the Ambrosia, the miracle-cure, was his power. He could restrict the supply as he wanted – he could decide whether to let you live or die.

His hands were trembling as he opened the last file in his daughter’s datacube. As he read through it, his eye was drawn by the name of Steve Hawke. He read the entire entry, knowing that once he finished his life would be changed forever. Now he saw the connection, and Steve’s purpose.

John Murphy was too disturbed that night to sleep.