The Black Market DNA Series: Books 1-3

by Anthony J Melchiorri

  “It was the doctor,” Chris said. “That’s what this is all about? When I first went to prison, he injected me with something.” He thought back to Jordan’s peculiar ending to the story sitting on the projection display in the office. “Jordan thought he figured it out, didn’t he? You wanted me alive because whatever you need from me, it’s already inside of me.”

  Chapter 32

  “Very good.” The businessman clapped. “Very good, indeed.”

  “Why would you do that? Why me?”

  The thin, suited man stood up and moved behind the desk. He paced back and forth before leaning on it. “Let’s see if you can figure this out. Mr. Morgan, before, I thought you were dispensable. Over the course of the past few months, I’ve realized you are more technically gifted than I initially supposed. I want to see if there might be a place for you within our organization.”

  “I’d never work for you.”

  “You already have.”

  “Not by my own free will.”

  “I gave you an offer. Nothing bound you to that offer, but you took it.”

  “You threatened me,” Chris said. “I couldn’t find another job. Didn’t have another choice.”

  “But you did have a choice.” The businessman played with the silver ring on his right hand. “Now, I might give you another. However, I want you to be well aware of what you would be getting yourself into. It might change your interest in these matters.”

  When Chris had first entered the black-market enhancement trade, Jordan had said something similar. He had warned Chris that once he sold his genetic enhancements and delivery systems on the black market, he could never go back. He could never remove the genes from the people that bought the manufactured enhancements. They would be permanently changed. Just as Chris would be.

  “Even if I wanted to go back to manufacturing your damn genies, I wouldn’t work with anyone who hires goons like that Todd character.”

  The businessman sighed, his yellow-gray eyes rolling in disgust. “Neither would I. I asked the men that followed you to bring in Mr. Thompson and his friend while they went out to lunch. My men made the unfortunate decision to convince a former client in your area to tail you and Ms. Harrow as they caught up to Mr. Thompson.”

  “Not bright men. That doesn’t inspire confidence for your organization or whatever the hell this place is.”

  “I can understand your reservations, but that’s an issue I’ll be addressing when my time with you is up. Regardless of your confidence, you’re now at the point where I’ll be able to dispose of you or you’ll work for me. It’s safe enough for me to tell you that I work with Ben Kaufman. He’s the technical side and the investor, if you will. I do the legwork, the human relations.” The man stood and paced back and forth. “You can either work with us or we can kill you. I understand it may be a difficult choice, but I’m not giving you weeks to make the decision again.”

  “I want you to answer my questions first.”

  “Very well. I suppose any potential employer allows a prospective employee the opportunity to ask a couple questions.” He sat down behind the desk again.

  “What did you have injected in me?”

  “An appropriate initial question. You’ve been infected with an inert, nonlethal, nontransfective viral vector that contains the genetic data necessary for improving the function of efferent nerves, along with increased motor neuron activity.”

  “All this to improve strength,” Chris said.

  “Yes, yes, that’s right.”

  “Why not increase muscle mass and size?”

  “Our genetic enhancements may be utilized in conjunction with enhancements like that if the end user so desires. On the other hand, think of the people who might wish to have concealed strength. Improving neuron motor recruitment capabilities might offer an individual more strength while providing their opponent little insight into their true potential. Or certain organizations may value a stronger soldier, a more powerful grunt that takes up less cargo weight.” He winked.

  “You mean the government is interested in your crap?”

  “Not mine. Ben Kaufman’s. Kaufman is associated with certain companies that have access to government contractors.”

  “But you would still need proof that this works in humans before the army or anyone purchases anything,” Chris said.

  “It’s also much easier to run a successful clinical trial after you’ve already performed human trials.”

  “Human trials? What group approved those?”

  “My group did. Most companies spend several years developing a whole slew of enhancements, years on animal models, and then too many years on clinical trials in humans before they realize it doesn’t work.”

  “Yes, I know that. That’s just the typical FDA approval process. Every company spends at least a decade or more to develop anything new.” Chris inhaled. “Unless you jumped straight to human trials.”

  “Correct. It’s much easier to test the enhancements on humans first, pick which works best. We’ve been able to do just that. Human trials were a resounding success. It’s especially easy to select volunteers when those volunteers are paying you for black-market enhancements.” The businessman smirked.

  Chris raised an eyebrow. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead, staying on his lip. He brushed it away. “But something went wrong, didn’t it? Why aren’t you and Ben Kaufman busy forging your animal trials and applying for FDA clinical trials with his contractor friends?”

  His shoulder dropping, the businessman gazed toward a corner of the office. “Others interested in similar technology compromised our operations by tipping off federal investigators. We disbanded for a while.”

  “And you couldn’t risk any evidence linking you to your new genetic enhancements or your human trials. You destroyed your labs, but you couldn’t afford to destroy your DNA.” Chris massaged the red marks around his wrists. “I don’t understand why you didn’t just replicate the DNA from your bioinformatic records when you started over.”

  The businessman turned away, momentarily silenced, and let out a long sigh. His expression appeared grim. “Mr. Kaufman is protective of his property, particularly his intellectual property. We kept no electronic copies of the makeup of the genes themselves. Between government agencies, amateur hackers, and our competitors, such electronic formats are more of a liability than a safeguard.”

  “So, the records were all on paper?” Chris said, his thoughts clicking together. “Does this have anything to do with the outbreak of arson incidents in the area a year ago?”

  The man nodded.

  “Your competitors burned down your labs before you could remove everything yourselves, right after you got word the police had received a warrant for the facilities.”

  Again, the businessman nodded.

  “They played you, didn’t they?”

  A crimson hue spread across the man’s face. His lips remained tight and his eyes narrow. “That they did. The only people that remained from these attacks were Mr. Kaufman, myself, and a couple other men that we could trust.”

  “You mean to tell me this whole operation—the genetic development and testing—was run by just the four of you?”

  “There were more of us.”

  “What happened to them?”

  The businessman stared hard with narrowed eyes but did not answer. He loosened his tie.

  “The DNA, though. You saved a sample of it in your viral vectors. Injecting it in people seems a bit...unnecessary...to store it.” Chris’s eyebrows wrinkled together.

  Now the man’s pallid lips curled again. “Not just store it, but produce it—let it replicate. We couldn’t let years of developmental work go to waste. We didn’t want to risk losing the last vial that we had left. Besides, the viral vectors we found available could passively replicate without genetic transfection in live animals. Without our lab space, we didn’t have access to the usual small mammals, and these particular viruses thrive best in a human
host anyway.”

  “I can’t believe it. You persuaded the intake physician at Fulton to inject it into random prisoners.” Chris shook his head, thinking of Vincent’s list. “No, they weren’t random. They all shared connections with the enhancement trade, didn’t they?”

  “That’s correct. A few were former employees of mine stupid enough to get caught. Others were small-timers, like you.”

  “You wanted to use that to your advantage, to manipulate us all while the virus replicated inside us,” Chris said. “We served as living bioreactors. Just vessels to replicate your vectors until you could collect us, collect the genes, and sell them.” Images of Vincent’s notebook, the lists, and Lash’s eyes flashed before him. “You needed to keep us alive, but your lackeys failed you. You almost lost all of it.”

  The businessman pursed his lips. His tie wrinkled as he folded his arms over his chest. “Almost. Our competitors tried to destroy our product.”

  “I don’t understand why you didn’t just inject the viruses into your own body.”

  “Mr. Morgan, did you ever inject your own experimental products into yourself?”

  Chris shook his head. He never had.

  “Just like a good narcotics dealer refuses to enjoy the very product he is distributing, we refused to affect ourselves.”

  Pressure pulsed behind his eyes as he pictured Veronica among her ruined art. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “My God. The virus you’ve used to house this DNA—it can be passed on with bodily fluids, can’t it?”

  “That is a flaw in its design.”

  “So these rivals of yours found out about me and the others, and they’ve followed me ever since?”

  “I suspect that’s the case.” He clenched his hands together on the desk. “However, my men never spotted anyone following you around. Mr. Nee grew cocky, though, trying to raise the price for the supplies and delivery technologies he procured. Obviously, someone whispered into his fat little ears—their eyes once again on our technology and, I suspected, on you.” The businessman gritted his teeth, his nose scrunching in a snarl. “Mr. Morgan, you’ve proved yourself adept at understanding this complicated situation. Would you mind putting this last piece of the puzzle together? Who possessed the knowledge, the connections, and the capability of stealing this technology from us? Who do you think took Veronica Powell’s blood? Who knew about your relationship with her? And who knew what you and Ms. Harrow were up to?” He leaned back in the creaking office chair. “I think this is quite a simple puzzle.”

  The small projection display on the desk glowed blue. Jordan Thompson knelt on the ground. No pistol pointed at him. Blood trickled down his forehead.

  “Mr. Morgan, you know that we both have vested interests in finding Veronica Powell. I cannot let this technology fall into the wrong hands, and you two are involved in a rather personal relationship. I want your help.”

  Chris nodded.

  “Mr. Thompson refuses to speak to us. You know what you must do.”

  Gulping, he closed his eyes. “Then you will let Tracy and me go, right? You can take enough blood from me to isolate your virus, but I want to know that we’ll be free.”

  “I can’t promise you anything right now.” The businessman leaned forward. From his sleeve, he drew the knife he’d used to cut Chris’s bonds. “But I believe Mr. Kaufman will be much more merciful if you can convince Mr. Thompson to cooperate. He may even let you have that permanent position with us.”

  Chapter 33

  “Please, just tell me where Veronica is.” Chris knelt in front of Jordan.

  Blood pooled in one of Jordan’s battered eyes from a burst vessel. Bruises appeared black on his dark skin. His shirt flapped against his body in tatters, soaking up sweat and blood. Chains clinked against the tile floor as Jordan shuffled on his knees. “I don’t know. I’ve told them: I don’t know!” A sheen of wetness glazed over his eyes.

  Chris stood up and pressed his eyelids closed, clenching and unclenching his hands. His pulse quickened, his heart pounding against his rib cage, his headache beating in the same rhythm. He took a deep breath. The sterile smell of cleaning chemicals mixed with the aroma of foul body odor and the metallic scent of blood. A stainless steel table stood at one end of the room. An open container of sterile gauze sat next to an array of scalpels, forceps, and assorted blades.

  In the opposite corner of the large suite, an armed guard stood near Greg. His wrists were tied in front of him, and he sat on a stool. His shirt lay in a sopping pile on the floor next to him. He appeared to have no broken bones. Even so, his head hung against his chest, and lacerations along his bare skin dripped with blood.

  Chris stepped over the chains connecting Jordan’s ankles to the heavy examination table. “Please, just tell me what you did with her.”

  “I didn’t do anything.” Jordan quaked. He struggled to his feet. “They’re brainwashing you. I don’t care about their enhancements or what they’re doing with them. I’m not in that business anymore.”

  Chris’s nostrils flared. He pointed at Greg. “What about him?”

  “He hasn’t left my side the entire weekend.” He coughed and spat a mass of saliva and blood on the floor in front of him. “I trust him with my life.”

  Facing toward Greg again, Chris caught his eyes. The green in them shone bright despite the pallor in his cheeks. Greg’s eyes shied away from Chris’s gaze and landed on Jordan. A pitiful expression spread across his face.

  “I don’t know what to believe,” Chris said, looking at the ground. He toyed with the knife that the businessman had given him, passing it back and forth between his hands. “You killed people before, when we worked together, and never told me. How am I supposed to believe that you didn’t try to have Veronica killed and harvest the DNA from her for yourself?”

  “Stop being so weak.” Jordan’s voice rose, more venomous than Chris had ever heard it before. “I warned you: if you think these people will let you live, if you think they will let any of us live, you are more ignorant than I could’ve ever dreamed. You trust these people over me? I may not have been completely honest with you, but I never lied. If you had asked me if I’d had people killed before, I would’ve told you. I regret every action I took in that business, and I wish I could change it. It took you going to prison for me to wake up.” He coughed again, falling to his knees. After the fit subsided, he looked up at Chris, his bloodied eye dilating uncontrolled. “Torture me, kill me. Do whatever you want with me. It won’t change the fact that you’re going to end up dead, too.”

  He coughed again and spat a slimy combination of mucus and blood onto the cold white-tiled floor. “I warned you. I told you to let this go.”

  Chris eyed the guard standing beside Greg. At the door, another guard stood, his arms folded and a pistol holstered in his belt. He guessed the businessman was still watching, waiting. He had to act. With a sudden swipe, he backhanded Jordan. He spun behind him, pressing the blade of the knife against Jordan’s throat.

  “Stop!” Greg jumped to his feet, and the guard slammed him back onto the stool. Both guards now stared at him.

  With a quick glance, Chris caught Greg’s eyes and nodded subtly. He leaned in close to Jordan’s ear. “Get ready.”

  Greg tried to stand again, yelling. The guard at the door strode across the room to help subdue him, bringing with him a length of nylon cords.

  As the guard walked by, Chris slashed at the back of the man’s knee with the knife. The blade dug deep into the man’s skin, and the guard crumpled, crying out in agony. The other guard jumped at the cry and, in that brief moment, Greg stood up with enough force to knock the guard against the wall.

  With his wrists still bound, Greg wrapped his arms around the guard and strangled him. Chris took the nylon cord the other guard had dropped. The man reached for his pistol. Jordan kicked at his hand and crunched the guard’s fingers.

  A large thud echoed from the corner as Greg dropped the unconscious body of one of
the cronies and stepped toward the other, who was writhing in pain next to Chris and Jordan. Greg delivered a couple of kicks to the guard’s head, leaving the man with a crooked broken nose and blood bubbling out of his nostrils. He cocked his leg back again but stopped when Chris placed a hand on his shoulder. The man lay unconscious.

  Chris cut the cords wrapped around Jordan’s wrists. “They’ve got a camera in here, so we’ve got to get moving.” He stood up and cut Greg’s ropes loose.

  Rubbing his wrists and flexing his fingers, Greg walked over to the examination table and tugged at the chain connected to Jordan’s feet. It wouldn’t give. He looked around the room, searching through the surgical tools and drawers, while Chris took off his own shirt. He fashioned the shirt into a sling for Jordan’s arm. When he finished, he tucked one of the guard’s pistols into the waist of his pants. He retrieved the other gun from the guard slumped against the wall and gave it to Jordan.

  “I can’t find anything to take care of that damned chain.” Greg threw a drawer across the room, and its contents spilled out, plastic syringes clattering across the tiled floor.

  “Does one of the guards have a key for the lock on his ankles?” Chris asked. “We need to get the hell out of here fast.”

  Greg shook his head. “The man in the suit took it.”

  His knees shaking, Jordan stood up with one arm on Chris’s shoulder.

  “You think you can push that thing out of here?” Chris asked, indicating the examination table that Jordan’s chains were secured to.

  Greg smiled. “Hell, the sled in college was heavier.” He kicked the little metal levers on the wheels of the table to unlock them. “Plus, this has wheels.”

  “The sled?” Chris cocked his head.

  Jordan smirked through his bruises. “He played football in college. He’s talking about the training sled.”

  “Great. Let’s get out of here.”

  Greg led them out, grinding his feet into the floor as he pushed the table through the doorway. Jordan limped out after him with Chris’s help.