The man could be a problem, he thought, but kept a neutral look on his face.
The security guard eyeballed him up and down before asking, “What can I do for you?”
“Looking for an old Army buddy. Last name is Carrera.”
Mad Dog noticed the Semper Fi tattoo on the older man’s forearm. The ex-Marine squinted at him and then shot him a curious look once again. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
“No, sir,” he answered with military precision. “From the Boston area, sir. Just came to win some money down in Atlantic City, but figured I’d drop by to see my friend.”
Seemingly satisfied with the answer, the grizzled ex-Marine motioned with a gnarled finger toward the back of the library.
“Phone books, yearbooks, and Little League directories are all in the reference area. You might find what you need back there.”
He thanked the man and headed to the back, where another helpful librarian handed him a couple of yearbooks based on the dates Mad Dog had found for Antonio Carrera. He hit paydirt in the second yearbook, which had a picture of Antonio in his suit and tie. The young man was a dead ringer for his old friend Mick. Probably a younger brother.
As he flipped through the pages of the yearbook, he realized that Antonio had been on not only the lacrosse and football teams, but also the baseball team.
Assuming that the younger Carrera might have played on a Little League team, he asked the librarian for the directories, but as she was handing them over she said, “I’m assuming you found your friend in the yearbook.”
“I did. I was hoping to track down his address,” he said, since his searches on the Internet the night before had not yielded any phone listings for the Carreras.
“Do you know what year your friend played?” she said.
“Actually, I found his brother in the yearbook—Antonio Carrera,” he replied, and a broad smile erupted on the librarian’s face.
“You should have mentioned his name to me earlier. I can tell you where you can find Tony,” the librarian said.
Mad Dog smiled.
At noon on the nose Edwards dialed the number Carrera had given him. The mercenary answered on the second ring and his voice projected into the room via the speaker-phone.
“Dr. Edwards.”
Edwards glanced at Ricardo Morales. The other scientist sat across from him, his face expressionless as Edwards said, “Mad Dog was here to see Ricardo Morales. He’s a geneticist with our company.”
A long pause followed his statement before Carrera said, “A geneticist? You expect me to believe that this scientist is the one responsible for—”
“He’s been working with Wells for at least a decade. I suspect the two of them developed the plan to experiment on the terminal patients. After all, who would miss them?”
“You son of a bitch—”
“Not me, Mr. Carrera. As I said, it was Wells and Morales,” he urged.
“Where is Morales now?”
Edwards smiled and looked across at Morales as he said, “Long gone, along with the remaining patients in the program.”
Patients and a genetic engineering process that might be worth a great deal more than the one hundred million and options he stood to gain from the Gates deal. Of course, if Mad Dog did the job for which Morales had hired him, Edwards could have his cake and eat it, too.
“I’d get a lawyer, Dr. Edwards, because you’re not going to be able to hide behind Wells and Morales for long,” Carrera warned and the line went dead.
Edwards calmly pressed the button to shut off the speakerphone. “We have to eliminate Carrera, Ricardo.”
Morales shrugged. “I’ll put my money on Mad Dog successfully completing that assignment.”
“You did put your money on it,” he reminded the geneticist.
The other man laughed and said, “Luckily there’s a lot more where that came from. My partners are quite excited about the possibilities for the process.”
Edwards could well imagine that—genetically enhanced warriors and assassins would fetch a high price.
“What if Mad Dog fails?” Edwards asked, picking up a gold pen from his desk and nervously tipping it over and over again on his blotter.
“There’s Santiago and now Bradford. Either one can tear apart Shaw or her would-be hero.”
“If we can get to Carrera and Shaw before they reach the authorities,” Edwards replied, dropping the gold pen to the desk’s surface.
“And what if they do reach the police? Shaw’s time is limited even with treatment and from what I understand her protector’s reputation is dubious at best.”
Not all that dubious, Edwards thought, but didn’t say. If the house of cards started to collapse, he wanted to be able to extricate himself before it fell in on him. “We need a contingency plan that isn’t all death and destruction.”
“Not to worry. There’s enough money in a Swiss account if we need to disappear, and my friends have promised a great deal more based on what they’ve seen,” Morales replied. He rose from his chair, smoothing the lines of his expensive silk suit as he did so.
He looked more like a drug lord than a geneticist, Edwards thought with distaste.
“Let’s hope that won’t be necessary,” Edwards said.
* * *
It had been easier than Mad Dog could have imagined.
No need for any extensive searches, since the librarian had immediately recognized the Carrera name. Antonio was the youngest in the family and worked at a Mexican restaurant owned by his parents. It was apparently a local institution.
The librarian had also confirmed that Mick was the eldest and that there were two younger sisters—one serving in Iraq, the other a local doctor. The very helpful librarian had even provided the name of the hospital where the one sister worked.
Mad Dog had done some reconnoitering in the late afternoon, only to discover that a family emergency had resulted in an unanticipated closure of the restaurant earlier in the day. Luckily one of the workers had failed to get the message and had been loitering at the door when he arrived.
Twenty bucks later, the worker had confirmed that the eldest Carrera son—Mick—was probably in the area. The man had no idea where Mick lived, but had overheard one of the parents speaking about Mick recently and that his mother had left with a large delivery of food days earlier. Since she didn’t normally make deliveries, the worker had assumed the food was for a family member.
Armed with that information, Mad Dog had gone back to his car and powered up his laptop and broadband card. An hour later, he had the address for the hospital where Dr. Liliana Carrera worked and a photo of her from a brochure the hospital had made up for a recent gala.
Dr. Carrera was a pretty woman. Attractive enough to do. He might even keep her for some fun after using her as bait to draw in her brother and Shaw.
The thought of doing both the Carrera woman and Shaw made him hard. It was a shame that they’d soon both be dead.
By early evening Mad Dog had a solid lay of the land and an escape route in case things went sour. Last, but not least, he had done some additional investigations and decided where to take Dr. Carrera and Shaw for his entertainment and after, where to dispose of their bodies.
Now all that was left was to put his plan into action.
Liliana had heard the relief in Mick’s voice when she had called earlier. The treatment had worked and Caterina was feeling better. Their parents and younger brother, Tony, had closed the restaurant and driven off to a much-needed vacation to visit family in Chicago.
These developments had imbued her with a second round of energy. Enough to let her finish the last few hours of her shift with a spring in her step.
The only troubling aspect of her shift had been the occasional sightings of Harrison, who seemed to have gone into stalker mode. However, looking at the bright side of things, at least stalker mode meant he was keeping his distance.
As Mick had warned her to be vigilant, she
carefully scoped out the hospital parking lot before heading to her car. In the early morning hours, there was little activity and the path to her vehicle was well-lit and empty.
With a relieved sigh, she gripped her keys firmly. As she hurried to her car, a big SUV came screeching through the parking lot and jerked to a stop in front of the entrance to the emergency room.
The driver’s-side door flew open, and a man came around the front of the car.
His shirtfront was covered in blood and as he noticed her, he rushed over and said, “You’ve got to help me. My son had an accident.”
She’d seen parents like this before, eyes wild with concern, so she let him guide her back to the SUV.
“Calm down, sir,” she said and walked beside him to the back of the car, intent on helping them into the emergency room where someone could take care of them.
“He was partying with some friends and hit his head. There’s so much blood,” the man said, his actions jerky. Voice tight with emotion.
At the back of the SUV, he pulled open one of the doors and said, “He’s back here. I’m afraid to move him.”
Liliana brushed past the agitated man to get a look at his son, but the rear of the car was empty.
Before she could turn to face the man, a sharp sting came against her arm, and suddenly all her body functions seemed to be scrambled. She battled the sensation, realizing that this might be the man Mick had warned her about.
He was on her immediately, encircling her in his arms. Even in her weakened state, she tried to fight him, rocking back and forth to loosen his grip on her. Slamming her heel into his instep and earning a pained grunt.
Another sharp blast came, this time at the side of her neck. Her body bucked from the force of it and her knees gave way, nearly upending both of them. Yet she continued to struggle, knowing that one of the hospital security guards could only be yards away at the entrance to the emergency room.
Her assailant cursed at her continued resistance and pounded her body against the back door of the SUV as her vision began to fade.
Then another jolt of electricity surged through her system and plunged her into blackness.
The chirp of his phone roused Mick from the peaceful bliss of her arms. Not an alarm, but a phone call; he knew from the ring.
Franklin’s number flashed on the cell phone screen.
“What’s up?” Mick said sleepily, easing an arm around Caterina’s back to keep her close.
She sighed and laid her thigh over his legs, tucked herself tighter against his side, still half-asleep.
“Got some news from a friend down in the Camden PD that you might want to hear.”
Instantly alert, he tried to keep his body neutral, but Caterina must have sensed the change, since she sat up so she could watch his face.
With the peace shattered, he sat up in bed also, but once again wrapped his arm around her to urge her to his side. “Good news, I hope.”
“Maybe,” Franklin said and filled Mick in on all that he had gotten from his police department informant.
“Thanks. Let me know if anything else comes of it,” he said and hung up.
“Something important?” Caterina asked, glancing up at him, her eyes wide and trusting.
He nodded and filled her in on the news from Franklin. “The lab boys down in Camden were able to get DNA samples from two different people off the stake that killed Wells.”
“Two?” she asked, scrunching up her brows as she said it. “I remembered two men fighting before I found Dr. Wells. It could be their DNA, so that’s good, right?”
He knew what she hoped—some evidence would be found that would clear her of any wrongdoing. He hated to shatter her hope.
“The lab boys didn’t know what to make of the DNA samples. Too many irregularities, which led them to believe the samples were either corrupt or contaminated and therefore unreliable.”
Her shoulders slumped and she seemed to disappear right before his eyes. In a way she had, since her upset triggered another response, this one more immediate than the others before them.
She realized it almost instantly and held up her hands, examining their blue state against the blue of the sheets. “Corrupt like me. Contaminated like I am.”
He took hold of her hand and cradled her cheek. Gently urged her face upward. “It’s flesh and bone. Nothing more. It’s not who you are inside.”
She sucked in an uncertain breath, her body trembling beneath his touch, and suddenly she was back to normal and in control.
“Science sinned against me. Violated my flesh and bone. This isn’t what I am, only… When body and soul unite, what will I be?”
“There’s got to be a way to handle this,” he said, trying to calm her.
“There is no way to stop it, Mick. We can’t stop whatever is going on in my body.”
Surprise filled him that she was talking about a “we” even as worry took root. It was only a matter of time before they would have to administer the inhibitor drug again. Have her suffer through the fevers before undergoing another round of plasmapheresis to cleanse her blood.
But she was right that it wouldn’t stop what was happening in her body. With each cycle of replication, the experimental gene fragments implanted themselves more firmly in her native DNA.
He wouldn’t wonder about that. About what would be the eventual outcome of the constant battle raging between the cells that made her human and those implanted in her by Wardwell.
Instead he pulled her close and whispered, “We will handle this. We will find out what to do.”
She nodded, a small smile coming to her lips with his words and he bent his head and kissed her.
Another chirp of his cell phone registered as he opened his mouth against hers, only this time he sprang into action, grabbing his Glock from the nightstand drawer and racing to his office.
Caterina followed behind and arrived just in time to see what had tripped the first of the warning alarms.
The video feed on his laptop showed a small bag sitting on the path to his front door.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Don’t know,” he said and rewound the stored video to show the bag flying through the air from a passing car. A big black SUV was racing away. The video also showed that Liliana’s car was not parked in front of the house as it should have been.
Mick replied, “Liliana should have been home from her shift by now.”
He bolted from the room and Caterina followed. In the guest bedroom he had already put on his jeans. She grabbed a robe, slipped it on as she followed him down the stairs. Neither of them stated the obvious—Liliana wasn’t in Mick’s bedroom nor was she anywhere on the main floor of the house.
Mick disarmed the alarm, but before he walked out, he pointed to a round red button on the wall opposite the door. “If anything happens with that bag on the path, you lock up and hit that panic button.”
Then he tucked his gun into the waistband of his jeans, walked down the path, and picked up the bag.
CHAPTER 34
Nothing happened. At least not right away.
Caterina watched as Mick opened the bag and then seemed to crumple before her eyes. His shoulders sagged and his head dropped down. He turned and slowly walked back up the path, the bag in his hands. When he entered, he shut the door and reset the alarm calmly, but tension vibrated throughout his body.
“Mick, what happened?” she asked and laid a hand on his arm.
He reached into what appeared to be a plain brown paper bag and extracted a set of keys, a cell phone, and a note.
She didn’t need to guess whose keys, and the cell phone looked familiar. The message on the note was simple but dangerous: Wait for my call.
“Liliana—” she began, but Mick went into action, bolting up the stairs to his office.
By the time Caterina caught up to him, he had rewound the video before the moment when the bag had flown out of the SUV. He finally stopped the rewind and played t
he video.
At first there was nothing, but then the SUV came into view. It slowed before the house and the passenger side window lowered, allowing them a glimpse of Mad Dog.
Mick gazed up at her, anguish on every line of his face. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him close. Cradled his head against her and laid her head against his.
“We’ll handle this. We’ll figure out what to do,” she said, echoing his earlier words and taking solace in his reply.
“We will.”
Liliana woke to incomplete darkness and the odors of wet dirt and mildew.
Forcing herself to concentrate only intensified the steady throb in the middle of her skull, but she fought it back. Slowly the shadows took shape. Walls made of either stone or cement were wet with seeping water that puddled here and there on cracked floors littered with sand and debris. Somewhere ahead of her there appeared to be a tunnel of some kind that leaked in indistinct light, allowing her the limited glimpses of where she was being held.
From the tunnel also came the susurrus of distant waves and the occasional raucous cry of a seagull.
She was somewhere near the ocean.
But where?
She racked her brain for an idea of where there might be tunnels or sufficient mounds of earth to create a holding pen such as the one she was in.
The Highlands? Cheesequake? Sandy Hook? she wondered. A figure emerged from the shadows, his silhouette limned by the light from the tunnel.
“About time you woke up,” he said with some irritation and approached her.
She guessed him to be a couple of inches over six feet, as tall as Mick, but not as lean. Mid-thirties with a face which bore signs of a hard life. A noticeable scar at the edge of his lip and another that cut across one brow. A number of bruises, as well as a relatively fresh scrape, across one cheek.
“Mick kicked your ass good, didn’t he?” Liliana said.
He slapped her hard across the face, rocking her head to rebound against the high back of the chair on which she sat. Warmth trickled down the side of her mouth and the coppery taste of blood filled her mouth, but she couldn’t do much about wiping it away. Her hands were duct-taped to the arms of the chair. She tried to move her legs, but it was impossible. The pressure at her ankles confirmed he had bound her there as well.
Sins of the Flesh Page 21
