The Black Market DNA Series: Books 1-3

by Anthony J Melchiorri

  He plopped onto the edge of the bed, tracing his fingers over the stubble on his chin and cheeks. A shiver coursed down his spine and through his arms.

  “What’s Lash’s real name?”

  “What?” Chris’s head shot around to face her.

  “What’s his real name? I want to see if you’re right.”

  “How?”

  Tracy raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

  Holding one hand up in a protective gesture, he scratched at his head. He hadn’t even known Vincent’s real name; how could he remember the name of a man he hardly knew? Then he recalled one man who had known Lash from outside prison. The man had taunted Lash, called him out, blackmailed Lash in front of other prisoners. He had yelled from the safety of his own cell.

  During recreation, Lash had silenced the man. But it wasn’t that man that had spoken Lash’s name. A couple of security guards had broken up the fight. One had announced Lash’s name loudly, telling Lash to come with him immediately. “I think it was Eli, or Elijah, Bierma.”

  “Unique enough.” Tracy input the name on her comm card. Her mouth fell open. Chris imagined he could hear her heart stop beating. “When did the riot happen?”

  “October twenty-second.”

  “Three dead in a fire that police suspect may have been a result of arson. Marianne, Beatrice, and Calvin Bierma. Survived by their husband and father, Elijah Bierma, incarcerated in Fulton State Prison. October twenty-third.” Her eyes left the comm card projection and caught Chris’s. “This can’t be a coincidence.”

  “No. No, it can’t be.” He grasped at his throbbing temples as his blood pulsed in his ears.

  Chapter 26

  Lost deep in sleep, Tracy rolled to face him. Even in the darkness, her lips curled ever so slightly in a satisfied little smile. Chris draped an arm over her shoulder, hugging her warm body against his. He stared into the shadows cast by the dresser nearest the window, where the soft glow of streetlights plunged through the windows. No matter how hard he pressed his eyelids closed, he could not fall asleep.

  His thoughts drifted to the past. In high school, he had tried out for Spring Awakening and Into the Woods. He’d been first in line for The Crucible, too. But try as he might, he’d never scored a single part. Instead, the drama instructor would put him on set construction duty. Mrs. Sage had told him he wouldn’t ever amount to much of an actor. Tomorrow, he would need to forget her damning words. As the reality of his situation with Ben Kaufman—if that’s who the businessman really was—sank in, he realized that he would need to feign innocence the farther he delved into Kaufman’s illegal genetic enhancement exploits and the surrounding deaths.

  Those thoughts swirled in his mind, blending into dreams until morning came with the glare of light on his face. The heat on his skin felt as if the window were a magnifying glass and he an unfortunate ant, victim of a giant, malevolent child.

  Tracy slumbered on next to him. They were close enough to Respondent that they didn’t need to rush from Jordan’s place, so he left her to make himself a cup of coffee. He trudged into the kitchen, where the aroma and gurgle of brewing coffee provided him a small respite from the heaviness in his sagging eyelids.

  “Morning, my man.” Jordan, freshly shaved and wearing a crisp button-down shirt, smiled. “Tracy do that to you?”

  Chris rubbed the faded bruises on his neck and yawned. “What?”

  The coffeemaker sputtered to a stop.

  “Just a joke.” Jordan sighed. “You look awful. Coffee?”

  Chris nodded and Jordan poured the hot liquid into one of three empty mugs he had placed on that counter.

  “You still use an old coffeepot like that?”

  Jordan smiled. “I know it seems antiquated, but I find it better suited to serving guests. With a single-prep maker, it’s every man for himself, and that doesn’t seem to me well suited for a welcoming atmosphere.”

  Chris lifted himself onto a wooden stool at the breakfast bar in Jordan’s kitchen. The black granite bar offset the clean white floors and crimson cabinetry.

  After pouring a mug for himself, Jordan leaned on the edge of the breakfast bar. “Did you and Tracy give any more thought to what I said last night?”

  “We did. I think we’re going to just take this thing a little further.”

  Jordan appeared disappointed, but his mouth curled into a wry grin. “Is it the both of you that want to find out who this businessman of yours is, or is it just her?” He traced the rim of the mug with his index finger. “She has an insatiable appetite for solving mysteries, doesn’t she?”

  Chris smiled. He admired Tracy’s intellectual curiosity and her dogged fervor when pursuing answers to seemingly insurmountable problems, whether it was finding the proper genetic coding sequence for a colon cancer treatment or unraveling the mystery behind Kaufman. “Definitely. But I also think she’s right. She’s always stubborn when she’s right. I figure I get a hold of this man and tell him it’s now or never. I’ll give him what he wants before he hurts anyone else.”

  Jordan cocked his head. “You don’t know why Randy died. You don’t know why any of those people died. How can you be sure he won’t kill you even if you do follow through on his request?”

  “I can’t,” Chris said. He inhaled the steam that rose from his warm mug. “But it’s the best I can do. The police aren’t in a position to believe me, anyway, if I don’t have any evidence. They’ll think I’m just throwing them on a wild goose chase to prevent them from bringing me in for Randy’s murder.”

  “Which you think will make them suspect you all the more.”

  “Right.”

  With no further acknowledgment of his decision, Jordan pressed his mug to his lips and closed his eyes.

  “Why are you up so early, anyway? I never would’ve believed you were up at this hour if I didn’t see you myself.”

  “For my guests, of course.”

  “I know you always play a good host, but I never saw you up at this hour unless you had stayed up the whole night. What’s the story?”

  “You’ve caught me.” Jordan held up his hands. “I’ve made it a daily habit to rise early and fulfill my writing requirements for the day. One thousand words, no matter how long it takes me, must be written before I do anything else. I do take my novel writing seriously, you know.” He took another long drink from his coffee. “And I don’t mean to be rude, but you’ve interrupted my daily ritual.” He smiled.

  “By all means, get to your writing. Don’t let me stop you.”

  “Then that I will do. I bid you adieu.” Jordan bowed, flourishing his hands as he removed an invisible hat.

  “You’re ridiculous. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

  Jordan smiled as he opened the door to his study and nodded back to Chris. He disappeared into the office, and the French doors began to close behind him.

  “Ah, wait a second.”

  A door swung back open and Jordan poked his head back out.

  “Does the name Ben or Benjamin Kaufman mean anything to you?”

  Jordan frowned. “I’m not sure that it does.”

  Chris recalled his conversation with Tracy last night. She had said she didn’t want to involve Jordan in their pursuit of the businessman and his identity. He covered a yawn with his hand and continued on anyway. “Does our deal from last night still stand?”

  Jordan nodded.

  “In that case, could I ask you a huge favor? Is there any way you might find out if any Benjamin Kaufman had been involved with illegal drugs or gene production or enhancements or anything like that?”

  “That’s a rather broad net.”

  Chris pictured Tracy’s face flashing red in his mind. He trusted Jordan, though. He needed the man’s help. “I know, I know. I’m sorry, but we found the name connected to mine, among others from that list Tracy told you about when she first came here.”

  “Mmhmm. I’ll see if Greg can scrounge anything up on this Benjamin Kaufman o
f yours. Do you suspect he’s connected to your mysterious businessman?”

  “Maybe.” He shrugged. “But who knows anymore?”

  ***

  Taking separate cabs as an extra measure of safety from any suspicious coworkers or secretive stalkers in black Corvettes, Chris arrived at work almost ten minutes after Tracy. He walked through the lobby and up to the elevator without sparking any special considerations from the two security guards stationed in the lobby. None of his fellow elevator passengers greeted him with anything more than a cursory smile. Still, he could not quell the electricity coursing through his nerves.

  His fingers trembled, so he clenched his fists. He made his way past the usual desks until he reached his.

  A hand patted him on the shoulder and he jumped.

  “Whoa, sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” Paul said. “You okay? You don’t look so hot.”

  “Just exhausted. What’s up?”

  “Claire came by for you earlier.”

  “Claire? Why?”

  “She said she wanted to talk to you when you got in today. Didn’t tell me anything else.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” In truth, he dreaded the news. Apprehension filled him. His armpits already responded with a nervous sweat. He trudged back down the hall to the entrance of the floor and took a right toward the office of the vice president of research in the executive suite.

  He greeted the receptionist, Scott, outside the suite.

  “Claire wanted to see me,” Chris said.

  “She’s in meetings for the rest of the morning.” When Chris didn’t respond immediately, Scott gave him a look of condescension. “You know, to figure things out now that Randy’s gone.”

  Chris frowned at the nonchalance of the receptionist’s euphemistic acknowledgment of Randy’s murder. “When can I meet with her?”

  Using a hand gesture, Scott brought up Claire’s schedule on his holoscreen and pointed at a time visible only to him. “Looks like she can see you after lunch, one p.m.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And please don’t be late. She’s busy today.”

  “Yes, still dealing with Randy’s untimely retirement, I’m sure.” Chris rolled his eyes. “I’ll be back at one.”

  As he made his way under the intense glow of the overhead LEDs, he felt a buzz in his pocket. He pulled out his comm card and pressed it to his ear without checking to see who called. “Hello?”

  “Someone called me looking for you today.” It was Veronica.

  He stopped in the middle of the hallway and continued in a more hushed voice than before. “Who called for me? What did they want?”

  “I’m not sure.” Her tone seemed calm, collected. “He didn’t leave a name, and he called from a secured link. When I told him you weren’t here and we were no longer together, he just ended the call.”

  Chris leaned back against the wall, pressing a palm against his forehead. “God. Okay. Did he threaten you or anything?”

  “No, nothing like that. Guy didn’t sound mean or anything.” The line went silent for a moment. “I don’t think it’s a big deal. I shouldn’t have even bothered you with this.”

  “I think maybe I should come over to talk about things. Just in case.”

  Paul gave Chris a concerned look as he passed him on his way down the hallway. When Paul stopped, Chris dismissed him with a wave.

  “I know you think you’re protecting me, but are you sure there isn’t something more? I enjoyed Sunday, but I’m not sure I’m ready for a relationship with you again.” The smile on her face, her unwillingness to understand the danger, was apparent in her voice alone.

  He clenched a fist. “No, it’s not about that.” A lab technician from Regulatory glanced at him as she walked by. “Listen, I think you need to leave. Get packed up and I’ll drop by at lunch. We should talk again and I’ll make sure you get out of Baltimore.”

  “I’ve got dress rehearsal at seven.”

  “Please. At least hear me out at lunch.”

  “All right, fine. Christopher Morgan, you’ve always been a demanding man, haven’t you?”

  “I’ll see you at twelve.” He ended the call and arched his back against the wall. Maybe it was just an innocent call, an old friend, a client, or someone who didn’t realize that he and Veronica had ended their relationship more than a year ago. He wanted to believe that the call was innocuous but knew that was untrue.

  Back in the lab, he pulled on a pair of disposable gloves and buttoned up his white lab coat. He checked a couple of real-time monitoring systems connected to their experimental groups in the cell culture incubators. Amid all the turmoil in his life, these little tissue samples, snug in their cylindrical bioreactors, responded positively to the genetic replacement therapy system he had designed with Tracy. All signs pointed to high levels of transfection efficiency. The newly incorporated genes had performed well: levels of adenomatous polyposis coli, the protein encoded by the gene that they delivered to these samples, remained at a healthy concentration. The colorectal cells in the cultures no longer proliferated uncontrollably—no more cancerous cells.

  “Why so glum?” Kristina stopped pipetting protein concentrates into small plastic centrifuge tubes. “Your data look great. Thinking about Randy again?” She placed a blue-gloved hand on his shoulder and looked up into his eyes as he turned away from the projection screen.

  “Just distracted.”

  Kristina smiled weakly. “It’s okay. We all miss him. I know it sounds corny, but you know Randy would want us to keep moving forward.”

  “You’re right.” He forced a grin. “It does sound corny. Now would be about the time Randy would make a boorish joke about you saying that, too.”

  Where Kristina’s smile had been a slight curl before, she beamed now. “God, yes. I’ll miss his pathetic sense of humor.” She turned to a projection display on the lab workbench behind her. A flurry of blue lights danced across the display. “I know you didn’t know him for too long, but he seemed to like you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He just seemed excited when you came to work for us. Randy always talked a lot, but when he was excited, he could go on for days. You couldn’t get a word in edgewise. So, when he said he was hiring this new PhD by the name of Christopher Morgan, he talked you up for eight hours a day.” Kristina grinned.

  Chris forced a laugh. “Stop flattering me. My cheeks are going all red.” He scanned through another projection screen of graphs flashing green.

  Turning back to the display in front of her, she continued. “The only times I’ve ever seen him that excited and chattering was when we got a new grant or new product approval or, I guess, when we terminated a couple of projects due to a lack of funding. He got awfully chatty when he fired one of the old lab techs for stealing syringes from the lab, too.”

  “Come again?”

  She paused her manipulations of the figures in the projection display. “Oh, there was a lab tech that—”

  “No, sorry. I mean, about Randy.”

  Her gaze lifted toward the ceiling. Her voice seemed almost dreamy. “Oh, he was just so positive, I think. Always wanted to appear optimistic. When things went really well or really poorly, he’d just get so excited.”

  “Like when he talked me up.”

  “Yeah, like that.” Kristina paused. “Hmm. Maybe it secretly frightened him that you came to work for us, and he was acting overly optimistic instead.” She laughed. “I’m just joking, of course.”

  Chris forced another laugh through his lips but grimaced behind her back.

  Kristina closed out of the holoscreen and took off her gloves. She flung them into a waste container. “I think he realized how good your work was. Pardon another corny cliché, but I think he knew your research would be great for the company and save a few lives.”

  ***

  At his desk, Chris scrolled through research papers, skimming the documents. His mind raced as his eyes glazed over.

  Maybe
someone had tailed him to Veronica’s. Or someone had tipped Kaufman off about their previous relationship. Why, though?

  “I think I might grab lunch with Kristina and Paul today. You want to join us?” Tracy leaned against the edge of his desk. “You seem like you could use a little air.”

  “No, thanks. Besides, I’ve got a one o’clock with Claire that I don’t want to be late for.”

  “What’s the meeting for?”

  He shrugged. “We’ll find out.”

  His comm card buzzed, vibrating in his pocket. He slipped the card out. When he saw the ID of the incoming caller, his pulse quickened and he shoved the card back into his pocket.

  “You can answer that,” Tracy said, indicating the comm card with a slight nod.

  “No, that’s fine. I’ve got work to do.”

  Tracy folded her arms across her chest, the muscles in her arm tightening. “No one is expecting any of us to come back and cure cancer the Monday after Randy’s funeral.” She leaned in closer. “You don’t need to work yourself to death.”

  “Sometimes I think it’d be better if I did. Wouldn’t have gotten myself tangled up in all of this, huh?”

  “Doubtful. You seem to be a magnet for bad luck.” She leaned in. “Don’t forget to pick up your coat at the end of the day.”

  Chris’s comm card buzzed in his pocket again. He waited for Tracy to disappear behind the partitions beyond his desk and return to her own. The buzzing stopped before he felt it safe enough to retrieve his card.

  Another missed call from Veronica.

  He glanced around the room, looking for a place with privacy. He stood up and made for the hallway to the elevators at a quick pace.

  An arm reached out and grasped his wrist. “Are you going to the cafeteria?” Tracy looked at him with a confused expression. In his haste, he had neglected to remember that his most direct pathway to the elevators brought him right by her desk.

  “I think you’re right. I need to get myself out of this place for a bit, so I’m going to go grab lunch out.”

  “Where? I’ll come with.”