by N. J. Croft
Lauren had never seen herself as a savior of the world. Now, she found herself smiling at the notion.
A quiet tap sounded on the door, and she turned as her assistant entered. “What is it, Mark?”
“We’ve been monitoring chatter on the web and picked up something we believed needed investigating.”
A flicker of annoyance pricked her skin. “And that was?”
“A flag set by you.”
Lauren frowned. “Descartes?” The project was on schedule; nothing could be allowed to go wrong.
“Yes. But more than that—a Professor Merrick?”
A thread of unease shivered across her skin. How long had it been since she’d heard that name? She crossed the office and sat behind her desk as she tried to see a possible connection.
“You set the flag over twenty years ago,” Mark continued. “But I can’t make out any link to the current project.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” Lauren said. Though neither could she. The old connection was a dead end—literally. Why would Merrick’s name come up now in connection with Descartes? She didn’t believe in coincidences.
“Tell me,” she ordered.
“A Dr. David Griffith. He’s a small town GP. Last night, he did an internet search for Merrick and Descartes. We probably wouldn’t have picked it up if it had been just one or the other, but both together set off the alarms.”
“Yes, they would.”
“We’re sending Carson to check it out as he was available.”
She frowned. “Hasn’t Carson been compromised?”
“His contact in New York went missing a week ago, turned up dead in a car accident. Carson has been sidelined since. But he’s been given the all clear, and we’re a little short-staffed right now.”
They were all busy. “Okay, let me know what he finds out from this doctor.” She got up and paced the room. “And put an immediate tail on Merrick. I don’t want anyone going near him that I don’t know about.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
As the door clicked shut behind him, she returned to her desk. Something about all this was making her uneasy. Memories from the past. A past she’d believed she’d closed.
But with Project Descartes about to go live, it was unsurprising those thoughts should be at the forefront of her mind.
She switched her scrambled link on. “We may have a problem.”
Chapter Six
The buzz of his cell phone woke Luke from a light sleep. The heavy blinds cut out most of the sun, but outside it was still bright daylight. He glanced at his watch. Four o’clock in the afternoon. He’d told Talbot, the man currently keeping tabs on Carson, not to call unless something was going down.
So far, Carson had been a big disappointment, and Luke was starting to believe that if he was linked to the Conclave, then he’d been inactivated. That wasn’t totally surprising if his contact in New York was believed compromised. Callum had faked a car accident with Fischer’s body, but it was hardly likely to fool the Conclave.
Luke sat up and grabbed the phone, glancing at the caller ID. It was Talbot. “What’s happening?”
“Carson is tailing someone, but I’ve got to say it doesn’t make a lot of sense.”
“Who is it?”
“A Dr. David Griffith.”
Luke thought for a moment. “He’s a doctor? Could he be a scientist? Maybe they need him for something.”
“Unlikely. He’s a medical doctor—a GP. I’ve had Stefan do a quick background check, and there’s nothing that would suggest any involvement. The guy’s a nobody.”
Irritation flicked at Luke’s nerve endings. “He can’t be a nobody. There has to be a connection, we’re just not seeing it.”
“What do you want me to do?”
Frustration clawed at his guts. Every instinct told him he was on to something, but things weren’t adding up. He’d devoted most of his adult life to unraveling the secrets behind the Conclave, yet the more he learned, the less he understood.
The Conclave had infiltrated just about every major organization on the planet, but as far as he could tell, at least at the higher levels, each man they recruited knew only one or two others. The person who had recruited them and eventually the one they recruited themselves. Any mistakes were ruthlessly eradicated.
Luke’s father had been one such. No doubt, he’d appeared an ideal potential member, with his wealth and connections to the arms industry. But he’d also been a deeply honorable man. He’d attempted to expose the Conclave and had died as a result.
“Luke?”
He shook his head to dispel the memories. “Stay with Carson until Callum gets there to relieve you. Do not lose him, but don’t show yourself, either, and don’t approach him. We need him to believe he’s in the clear. Keep me advised of your position. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”
He shut off the phone and got out of bed. He’d caught up on his sleep over the past week while he’d waited for Carson to make a move. Now he itched with impatience for something to happen.
He showered, made coffee, then switched his laptop on and opened up the secure server. He typed in “Dr. David Griffith” and read the report with increasing confusion. Talbot was right. There was nothing. Not even a speeding ticket. The man was perfect. No one could be that perfect. Was that a sign that he was more than he seemed? Luke couldn’t see it. He had an instinct for people, and that instinct told him that the doctor was everything he appeared.
He thought for a few minutes then typed in “Dr. David Griffith” followed by “Descartes.” He hit search and scanned the results, but there was no connection he could discern, and in the end, he slammed the lid down.
He’d go see for himself, maybe something would occur to him. And he had a feeling that time was running out.
Maybe they’d be better off picking up Carson. Though they were likely to get only the same useless information.
Just the next low-level soldier in line.
No, he had to let this play out.
Chapter Seven
Darkness had fallen by the time Luke arrived at the outskirts of the village, fifty miles north of London. He drove slowly through the quiet streets until he spotted the black SUV parked in the shadows between streetlights on the edge of the road.
Pulling up behind, he got out of his own vehicle and slipped into the passenger seat of the car ahead.
Callum tapped his earpiece to show he was listening to someone and glanced up. “You look like shit.”
“Thanks.” Truth was he felt like shit. “Where are they now?”
“In there. It’s the doctor’s surgery.” Callum nodded toward a building opposite. It stood back from the road with a parking area in front containing a single vehicle. Lights shone from the front windows. “Carson’s questioning him. So far it’s been just questions, but I have an idea Carson’s about to up the game.”
“What’s he asking?”
“Apparently, the doctor has been doing some searches on things he shouldn’t be.”
“Such as?”
Callum turned to him with a grin. “Descartes? Does that cheer you up?”
Oh yeah. The muscles in his belly clenched tightly. Maybe they were on to something, after all. “Do you have a comm unit for me?”
Callum handed him one, and Luke placed it in his ear.
“Sit down.”
A man’s voice.
“Look, I don’t know who you are, but I suggest you leave before I call the police.”
The sounds of a scuffle came down the earpiece.
“Now, tell me about Descartes.”
“I told you—I don’t know anything about any Descartes.”
A dull thud and the doctor’s next words were panicked.
“It’s a place…on the moon…I don’t know what else it means.”
There was a moment’s silence followed by a shrill scream.
“Shit.” Luke reached for the door handle, but Callum halted him with a hand on his arm.
“Where are you going?”
“To stop this.”
“Luke, think. This doctor is one man. We’re trying to stop an attack that could kill thousands, maybe more, and he’s our only lead.”
“We’ll take them both in. Find out what they know.”
“And you reckon they’ll talk if we ask them nicely?” Callum’s tone held disbelief.
“There are some lines we don’t cross.” While he had few qualms about questioning anyone connected to the Conclave, as far as he could tell, this doctor was an innocent.
Callum’s expression hardened, his mouth tightening into a narrow line. “Maybe we need to start.”
A low moan echoed in the earpiece. Luke gritted his teeth. “And if we do, what’s next? We might as well just give up and join the bad guys.”
He stared into Callum’s cold eyes until the other man looked away. Then he shrugged off Callum’s hand and climbed out of the vehicle. Another scream from his comm urged him on, and he raced across the road. From the conversation in his ear, time was running out.
Luke drew his pistol and edged around the building until he reached a window where light spilled from the interior. As he peered inside, the breath left him. The light clicked out.
“You’re too late.” Callum’s voice came over the comm.
“No fucking kidding.”
“What do you want me to do?”
He rubbed at the scar on the back of his neck. A dull pain throbbed in his temple. He pressed a finger to his forehead and tried to force his brain beyond the heavy weight of defeat.
“Luke?”
“Stay with Carson.”
He stood motionless in the shadows. A minute later, Carson strode out of the building just as a car pulled into the parking area, catching him in the fierce glare of the headlights. He turned, shoved his hands in his pockets, and strolled away, disappearing around the back of the building.
“Carson’s on the move—don’t lose him,” Luke commanded, keeping his gaze on the approaching car.
“I’m on it.”
The car parked in front of the surgery entrance. The headlights died, and the driver sat for a while. Hopefully, they would take the lack of lights as a sign the place was closed and drive off. Instead, a woman climbed out and slammed the door. The locks beeped, and her gaze shifted back and forth between the other car and the darkened building.
She appeared young, somewhere in her mid-twenties, tall and slender, dressed in a red skirt and black top, her long blond hair a vivid contrast against the darkness. As she turned slightly, her face was lit by the dim glow from the streetlights behind him. She was flawless. High cheekbones, wide mouth, pale skin, and eyes slanting under arched brows.
She walked toward the surgery, her movements graceful but tentative, then paused at the door and glanced around.
Luke took one last look at the woman, the urge to warn her flashing through his mind. He shook his head. Soon the place would be crawling with cops.
Time to get out of here.
Chapter Eight
Jenna paused in front of the main door into the surgery. Something wasn’t right. The place was too dark, though across the car park, David’s blue four-wheel drive stood in its usual parking space.
After pulling her cell phone from her bag, she punched in his number. It rang until voicemail kicked in, and she ended the call without leaving a message.
She gnawed on her lower lip. Should she just turn around and go home? Perhaps talking to him had been a huge mistake, and this was her chance to back out before she involved him any further.
But with enough medicine for only one more day, her father’s warnings niggled at the back of her mind.
In the past she’d hated his constant nagging, but now she would do anything to have him back. How could he be dead? Over a week, and the pain was still raw.
Jenna turned the knob, half hoping the door would be locked, but it swung open easily. Groping inside, she found the light switch and pressed it on. Unease roiled in her stomach, as though something bad and unknown hovered on the edge of her consciousness.
“David?” she called out, wondering again why he’d not left the front lights on.
As she stepped into the reception area, the door clicked shut behind her, the noise loud in the silence. The scent of a doctor’s surgery filled her nostrils, a mingling of people and antiseptic—familiar and unwelcome. The room appeared normal, nothing out of place, and she glanced across at David’s office.
The door was closed. That wasn’t unusual, yet a shiver prickled across her skin. She crossed the room, each step heavier than the last, until she stood in front of the door.
The wood was cool against her fingertips. She pushed gently.
The door opened at her touch. The office was in darkness, but the light from the reception area seeped into the room, revealing the shadow of a seated figure.
For an endless moment, she stood frozen in the doorway. She swallowed, licking her dry lips, forcing the word out of her locked throat.
“David?”
The figure remained motionless, and Jenna took a slow step forward. As she entered the room, her nostrils filled with a sweet, sickly stench, and she swallowed again. Her hand flew to her face, pressed over her mouth and nose.
When she knew she wouldn’t be sick, she drew in a deep breath and switched on the light.
The phone fell from her hand, hitting the tiled floor with a crack.
Jenna swayed as shock clamped her body in a viselike grip. The room blurred, and she reached out for the wall to steady herself. She forced herself to look, to make sense of the scene in front of her.
David was dead.
There was no doubt. He was tied to one of the solid wooden chairs, held upright by the rope around his chest. His head had fallen back, exposing the line of his throat, but the white wall behind him was splattered with a grisly medley of black and crimson.
She edged closer, needing to see his face, to confirm what she already knew. His eyes were wide open, and a neat black hole pierced the center of his forehead. Reaching out with a shaking finger, she touched his cheek. The skin was warm, and she jumped back.
Could the killer still be here? A man had been leaving the car park as she’d driven in.
Crouching on the floor, she fumbled for her phone without taking her eyes from the body. Her fingers trembled too much to press the numbers, but finally she managed, and after endless minutes, the police emergency line picked up.
“There’s been a murder.”
She gave the address and listened while they told her an officer would be with her within minutes.
Why? Why would anyone kill David?
Glancing around the room, she saw nothing was out of place. Only David.
She made herself look at the body again, take in the details. His wrists had been fastened to the arms of the chair with steel cuffs. The fingers of his right hand were splayed open and turned into a bloody, swollen mass. Dizziness washed through her, and nausea rose up in her throat.
He’d been tortured.
Swallowing, she turned away, unable to look any longer.
She stumbled from the office, back into the reception area, and sank into one of the hard chairs lining the room. The door stood open, and she wished she’d closed it as her gaze was drawn to the slumped figure. But she couldn’t make herself get up and go anywhere near David’s body again.
Her eyes burned, and she rubbed the tears away.
What could anyone possibly want worth torturing a man like David for?
His last moments must have been horrific. Had he known he was about to die? Tears welled up again. This
time she allowed them to slide down her cheek.
The police would be here soon.
While she hated to be caught up in the middle of this, she had to do whatever she could to help. Her mind went again to the man she had seen leaving the car park as she’d driven in. Had he been David’s killer? Her eyes closed; she visualized him, but he’d looked so ordinary.
Her thoughts were broken as a car pulled into the lot. She forced herself to her feet, crossed to the door, opened it, and watched two uniformed officers approach the surgery.
“Ma’am, are you the woman who called in the emergency?”
“Yes. Jenna Young.”
“You said there’d been a murder.”
She turned and gestured to David’s office without allowing herself to look inside.
“Jesus.”
One of them pulled out a radio and turned away as he made a murmured call. He came back to Jenna. “I’ve called in homicide. They’ll be here in an hour. In a case like this, we bring in the specialists from London.”
Jenna sat on one of the chairs as far away as she could get and tried not to think, but by the time she heard the sound of tires scrunching over gravel outside, she was going crazy.
Thank God. At least there might be an end to the night.
“Ms. Young?”
A man stood before her, tall, in black jeans and a black V-necked sweater under a leather jacket. His hair was dark and messy, his face lean and handsome. He smiled, showing slightly crooked teeth.
“I’m Detective Inspector Mitchell.” He nodded toward the woman beside him. “And this is Detective Jameson.”
Jenna offered a small smile in reply but couldn’t bring herself to speak.
“How are you doing?” he asked, taking the seat beside her.
She gave him a blank expression and a shrug. What was there to say?
“I’m sorry. It must have been a shock for you to find him. Did you know him?”
“His name was Dr. David Griffith. I’d arranged to meet him here tonight.”
“A doctor? Were you a patient?”
