“No, I’ve just seen them go in and out. Who are you guys?”
“The guy who is going to kick your ass if you don’t keep answering questions. What are you cooking here?”
The kid’s complexion grew chalky. “Quality control samples for the antibiotics.”
“Bullshit,” Snell said. “You don’t have a high security underground lab for quality control.”
The gun pressure under his jaw kept the kid’s head tilted back, but he skimmed his brimming eyes to Snell.
“I swear, that’s all they are. At least that’s what they told me they were. I just do a handful of things to them. Talk to the first shift guys. They’re the ones that cart their stuff away at the end of the day.”
“What’s your name?” Jake asked.
“Henry. Henry Dobbins,” he said, voice quivering.
“How long you worked here, Henry?”
“I don’t know. A few months, maybe. I’m part-time. I go to school during the day. My dad got me the job. He works in the office upstairs.”
Jake dropped the gun from the kid’s jaw. Henry rubbed the red spot formed from the pistol barrel. Vials spread across the table over Henry’s shoulder. They were six inches long, the same size as those stacked in the silver briefcase.
“Where’s the Ares vials?” Jake asked.
“The what vials?”
“Ares. The poison.”
The kid’s eyes crunched. “Ares is what they call the hallway outside. Ares Road. Some inside joke with the security guys, but I never understood what the hell they were talking about.”
Jake pressed in again. “I’m talking about Ares the poison.”
“I don’t know anything about a poison. We make antibiotics.”
The kid was clueless. “What about the day shift you mentioned? What were they working on?”
“You got me. They usually have everything cleared out before I show up.”
“So, you didn’t see anything they were doing?”
“Well, once. Some green stuff in vials, looked like dishwashing soap. They were in those full-on hazmat suits and closed the blinds and locked the door when they saw me. After that, if I showed up before they were done, the fat-ass security guards made me wait upstairs.”
“And these guys always controlled those vials?” Snell asked.
Henry paused. “Except for once. They took out one batch last week during Lowry’s shift. I don’t think they were supposed to go out because everyone was scrambling around. The top dog even came and chewed everyone’s ass. Think they fired Lowry because I haven’t seen him since.”
“The top dog?” Snell asked.
“Mr. Drabek. I’ve met him twice. That night and earlier today.”
Jake shot a look to Snell. “Why today?”
“He came and picked up something out of the control cage in the corner.” Henry pointed to a five-foot high, beige box with a keypad on the front. “I don’t even have the code to it.”
Jake glanced at Snell; brow furrowed. “What did he do with it?”
“I have no idea. It was a silver briefcase. One of those metal ones. He took it and left. He’s not the kind of guy you ask questions.”
To the back of the lab was a closed door, wood paneled.
“What’s in there?” Jake tilted his head.
“A bathroom.”
“Let’s go.”
Henry’s eyes became saucers. “Wh-wh…why?”
Jake raised the gun again. “Because I said so. You do it and you’ll live long enough to finish school.”
Henry nodded like a Bobble Head doll. He raised his hands and marched his skinny frame into the bathroom. Jake poked his head inside, no doors and a stucco ceiling. No ceiling panels for Henry to crawl out. Jake fixed a withering stare.
“Listen carefully, Henry. You sit here and do nothing. And I mean nothing except breathe and you do it quietly. You have a cell phone?’
Henry pulled an iPhone out of his pocket. Jake plucked the battery and handed the dead phone back to Henry.
“Wallet?”
Henry fished out a scratched, leather billfold and handed it over. Jake opened it and removed Henry’s driver’s license. He chucked the wallet in the sink behind the kid.
“Now,” Jake continued. “How many security guys are in there?”
Henry’s eyes flipped to the ceiling. “Two. Maybe three.”
“Which is it?”
“I don’t know. They come and go. I don’t pay close attention.”
“You’ve been cooperative, and I appreciate it. You may hear some shouting, maybe even some gunfire, but you sit here and don’t move. We should be in and out of here in a matter of minutes. Do I need to tie you up?”
“No, sir.”
Jake held up Henry’s license and waved it in front of his acne-scarred face. “You try to get out, raise any kind of alarm, or tell anyone you saw the two of us, and I will come to 11428 Mulberry Street and shoot you in the face. Got it?”
Henry’s head jerked in agreement, the threat of impending death bringing tears to his eyes. Jake backed out the door and shut it. He crossed the room to Snell.
“You sure he’s secure in there?” she asked.
Jake huffed. “That kid will stay in there till the Rapture.”
“We should move.”
“Hold on,” Jake said. “I have an idea.”
* * *
Two floors above the underground lab, Wyatt Drabek twirled a glass of scotch and watched the clock. An hour until the meeting. The two ounces of amber liquid in the glass cost more than any one of his warehouse workers made in a day. In a few hours, he would be rich. He had a large stash of money, but not like this. With this kind of money, he would dump Blue Heron and disappear. He even had some property in queue in Aruba, an anxious realtor ready for him to sign the deal.
He sipped the scotch, enjoying the burning sensation as it worked down his chest. Despite his meticulous planning, Voleski weaseled his way into his business and stole the main stash of Ares. For that he blamed Stanton who would be dealt with when this affair was said and done. Stanton was a useful tool and loyal employee, but Drabek couldn’t allow that kind of incompetence to go unpunished.
The silver case lay on top of his desk. The five remaining vials filled with the sought-after poison rested in special cut foam. The last of it. They’d tried to duplicate the conditions that produced Ares but failed. The five vials were a third of the amount agreed upon, but he would have to take a chance with his overseas friends. If the big guy turned up with the main stash of Ares vials, Stanton would take him out, and Drabek would hand them to his rich, new friends. If the big guy didn’t show, Drabek would have no choice but to hand them what he had and make impossible promises for the rest.
He opened the security program which allowed him to view any of the dozens of security cameras stationed around the building. Some in plain sight to deter theft, some hidden in places where nobody but he and Stanton knew. Drabek clicked through the screens one at a time, seeing nothing unusual around the perimeter or on the dock. The skeleton crew finished loading the last truck of the day and filed out of the building to go home.
He clicked to the security office. Nobody there. There were two guards on duty, and one was supposed to man the guard station at all times while the other made the rounds. Drabek scrolled through the various cameras in the darkened office areas but noted nothing.
“Damned idiots,” he muttered.
He snatched the walkie talkie off his desk and tried to raise his worthless guard service. Neither Jenkins nor Hughes answered. He double-checked the channel on the radio and tried again. Nothing. The white hairs on his arm tingled.
From his computer, he clicked on the security cameras in the lab. The main camera in the hallway was black. With a trembling hand, he set down the drink and leaned forward, sweat popping on his tanned forehead. He clicked through the first two empty lab rooms. When he reached the third, he jumped out of his chair. A hulk of a man and his ex-wife
pilfered through the Ares lab, guns out.
He picked up the phone and punched in the extension for the security office, the one with the professionals Stanton brought in. At the time, Drabek thought it was overkill. Now he was glad. He didn’t want to kill his ex, but if she was here, he was screwed.
“Two intruders are right outside your door. They are both armed and will be heading your way any minute. Be ready. Kill them both.”
He waited for the proper affirmative response and hung up. From his cell phone, he dialed Stanton’s number. His man answered after the first ring.
“They’re here. Kill Logan.”
Drabek clicked off without another word. He dialed Ware one last time. This one would probably end his blackmail. Pictures of the Police Chief with a transgender prostitute would only go so far.
Chapter Forty-Four
Guilt for pulling a gun on his partner in the hospital parking lot sat like a lead ball in Stanton’s gut. He wouldn’t apologize for his actions as they were necessary for the mission, but a check-in call might smooth things over. He called Devaroux at Truman Medical Center and relayed his status. His partner reported nothing was happening at the hospital. Stanton told him it would be over soon and to sit tight. Devaroux wasn’t happy about it but agreed.
From the window, Stanton tracked the cones of lights from a SUV circling the block before it paused behind the east section of the building in front of him. He couldn’t see the vehicle, but the beams lit up the cracked asphalt street. The car stopped for thirty seconds, crept into view, and disappeared. Dropping off the troops. The vehicle’s windows too dark to see who was inside.
Across the courtyard, a beam of light danced upward through the section of building across from him. While Stanton stopped at the third floor, whoever was across the courtyard continued to the roof. An unwise move. It was two additional floors to navigate in the event a quick getaway was necessary. It would take a matter of seconds, but sometimes seconds were the difference between life and death. Besides, going to the roof was overkill. He could get a clean shot of anyone in the courtyard from any floor.
A similar beam of light bobbed in the section of the building on his left. This guy a step slower than his partner, but smarter. The light went dark on the third floor. A shadow figure settled at a window. Across the courtyard, the other guy took position on the roof. The long barrel of a rifle unmistakable against the moonlight.
Stanton hid behind the protective brick wall splitting the windows of the room. No doubt the other two guys would be scanning the adjacent buildings. There was no sense exposing himself until there was a reason.
What if there was a third guy or a fourth? It would make sense to have a guy in each section of building surrounding the courtyard. He closed his hand around the gun in his shoulder holster and closed his eyes listening for sounds of movement from below. He let two minutes go by and heard nothing.
Seconds later, his cell phone vibrated. He answered, listened and hung up. Devaroux wouldn’t have to wait long after all. He dialed Devaroux’s cell to give him the order to kill Logan.
* * *
Down in the lab, Jake trotted to the shelves and plucked an empty travel case, silver like the one Voleski hauled around. He set the empty case on the table and spied the clock on the wall.
“Damn,” he said.
“What?”
Jake jerked his head toward the wall. “Look at the top of the clock.”
Snell squinted across the room. A tiny, black circular aperture. A camera sitting in the rim of the clock reading 11 P.M.
“That’s not good,” she said. “Maybe nobody’s watching.”
“Maybe,” Jake said. “Doesn’t matter. Too late to go back now but keep your eyes open.” He flipped open the briefcase, empty save for the pre-cut foam to carry vials. He snapped it shut and carried it to the lab entrance along with a box of empty vials. Snell followed.
“What are those for?”
Jake set the box on the floor outside the lab door. “I have an idea. Don’t let me forget these on the way out.”
They stepped to the door at the end of hall. Jake held up the keycard. He kept his voice low.
“You ready?”
“They know we’re coming.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Doesn’t change our course of action. Ready to get your girl?”
Snell pointed her gun at the door. Jake waved the keycard in front of the pad. The light turned green, and the lock clicked open. Jake swung open the door.
Chapter Forty-Five
Inside the ER waiting room, Devaroux lumbered to his feet. He didn’t want to do it, but a job was a job. He navigated the chairs, giving the kid bleeding from a shoulder wound a wide berth. Killing Logan would be worth it to get out of the damn hospital.
He followed his preplanned route, along the long hallway which fed the rest of the hospital, taking the stairs to the second floor. He exited, head low, and eyes locked on his phone even though there was nothing on the screen. He didn’t want to make eye contact with anyone. The less memorable he made himself, the better.
Devaroux stopped outside the door labeled “Supply Room.” He already knew the door was locked. He raised the phone to his ear and pretended to have a conversation when anyone walked by. Forty seconds later, the door opened, and a skinny man in blue scrubs pushed a metal cart filled with white boxes and toilet paper rolls. The man barely glanced Devaroux’s way. Before the door closed, Devaroux slinked inside.
Racks of cheap steel lined walls filled with boxes of gloves, toiletries and towels. Devaroux found what he wanted in the corner. A blue canvas bag stuffed to the brim with laundry. He tossed dirty towels to the floor and within seconds found a white coat—wrinkled, but otherwise clean. It hung below his knees. He snagged a clipboard from one of the shelves. It was a thin ruse but would hopefully be enough to get him into Logan’s room without a second glance.
He left the supply room and moments later stood inside the stairwell, heart beating fast in anticipation. Reaching under the lab coat, he grabbed his Beretta from his waistband and the silencer from his jacket pocket. He screwed the silencer in place and tore a hole in the bottom of the right pocket of the lab coat, wide enough for him to dip the gun through.
Devaroux scaled the stairs, plodding one at a time, trying to keep his heart rate low, the adrenaline flowing like a roaring river. At the top of the stairs, he opened the door to an unoccupied hallway. He kept one hand on the gun in his pocket and held the clipboard with his other, acting as if he studied the blank pages on top.
Fifty feet to the hallway leading to Logan’s room. Nurses in bright uniforms darted, heads down reading charts or juggling whatever instruments they held. A couple of doctors in lab coats slugged past, mere feet apart but unaware of each other’s existence, their bone weariness etched on their face. None of them paid Devaroux as much as a glance.
He spied room 360 forty feet ahead, on the other side of the nurses’ station. The policemen were gone as promised. Thirty feet beyond was the stairwell that would be his exit route. Slip into the room, a quick double tap, one into Logan’s head and another into his chest, and back out to the exit. Devaroux would be out of the Godforsaken hospital in less than two minutes.
He kept walking, forcing himself to keep a casual pace and tightening the grip on the gun.
* * *
Bear paced the cramped hospital room, feeling like a caged animal, his cell phone glued to his ear. He tried every number he knew but couldn’t reach anyone at the Kansas City Police Department. He even went as far as to call the switchboard to ask why the guard detail disappeared. It made no sense. He was in the midst of being transferred for the third time and resisted the urge to throw the cell against the white walls when a weak and froggy voice spoke behind him. It was music to his ears.
“Bear?”
He spun and teared up at the hooded but open eyes of his old buddy, Jack Logan. Bear strode to the bedside, grasping the outstretched hands of his longtim
e friend, mindful of the IV tubes snaking to dripping, clear bags.
“Jesus, Logan,” Bear said. “You had us worried.”
“Us?”
“Jake and me. He called me after he found you in the office.”
“He okay?” Logan asked.
“Fine. He’s tracking down that stupid briefcase.”
Logan closed his eyes for a moment. “Shouldn’t have got him involved in this one.”
“You couldn’t have done any better than him.”
“Did he find it?”
“Yeah. Now we’re tying up loose ends.”
“Am I going to be okay?” Logan lifted his hand and eyed the IV needle.
“Doc seems to think so. I’m not sure though. You look…”
“Like shit? Never heard that one before.” Logan rolled to his side, half-propped on an elbow, wincing as he did so. “Where are we?”
“Truman.”
“How long?”
“Couple of days. You’ve been out like a light.”
“Feel like I drank a gallon of whiskey and fell off a fucking building.”
“You look like it.”
“Asshole,” Logan said, coughing. Bear poured a glass of water from a pitcher on the bedside table. He stuck a straw in the cup and fed it to Logan who took a couple of messy sips.
“What happened?” Bear asked.
“Four guys in suits showed up at my office. Thought they were Feds until they started talking. Wanted the briefcase. Told them I didn’t have it, but I don’t think they believed me. One held me down and the other beat me like a piñata. The other two just stood back and watched.”
Bear tightened his grip on Logan’s hand. “I’ll kill the sons-a-bitches. Who were they?”
Logan rubbed a palm against his bloodshot eye. “The two that watched were in blue suits, close cropped hair, had an ex-military look. The other two wore black suits, better quality. I hope my blood ruined them. They did the beating. It was weird, though. They were together, but definitely from two different groups.”
Jake Caldwell Thrillers Page 47
