Crime Zero (aka the Crime Code) (1999)

by Cordy, Michael

  The camera suddenly focused on one of the men who had been standing behind the President. A tall, thin man identified by an excited commentator as Vice President Smith, he looked shellshocked, paralyzed by terror. "I'm sure somebody will take control of this awful situation soon," said the CNN commentator more out of hope than knowledge. But Yevgenia could see from his stricken face that the Vice President was not going to be that someone.

  At that moment there was a thumping noise, and the camera shifted back to the podium. The woman who had been standing behind the President was now tapping her hand on the microphone, her eyes looking straight at the camera, her gaze unflinching. She was a striking-looking woman with a thick bob of auburn hair streaked with silver. Her face was open and strong, and although she was clearly in as much shock as anybody else was, she was not debilitated by it.

  "Please resume your seats. This briefing isn't yet over," she said. Her voice wasn't loud, but the tone was so calm and clear it cut through the collective panic, stopping everyone and making all turn to her. Gradually the journalists returned to their seats, and a semblance of order was restored as the Secret Service men and two paramedics lifted the President and removed him from the room. One man, who looked like a doctor, came over and whispered something in the woman's ear, and her chest heaved as she took in this new information.

  "My name is Pamela Weiss. I am the President-elect of the United States of America. I have just been informed that what you have witnessed was a heart attack. The President, Bob Burbank, is now being rushed to the hospital, where he will receive the very best medical care. A full bulletin will be issued as soon as his condition is known."

  For the briefest of moments she paused and glanced behind her at the Vice President, who still stood frozen to the spot, his eyes dead with shock. Pamela Weiss cleared her throat, and Yevgenia could see her steeling herself. She couldn't help admiring the woman as she continued, "I'm sure that all the country's thoughts and prayers are with the President and his family at this moment. But let no one be unclear, friend or foe. This changes nothing. The U.S. and UN position on Iraq is unambiguous. The President's words stand."

  The volume faded then, leaving just the silent screen. Yevgenia wondered who had the controls. But all the generals stood silently taking in what they had just witnessed, their hands loose by their sides.

  Suddenly one of the high-backed chairs at the large table in front of her swiveled around, revealing the rais in full military uniform. In his right hand he held a TV remote. His thick black hair and mustache were still unnaturally devoid of gray, and his jowls heavy. As was his wont he had been listening in on her meeting, trying to hear what she really thought.

  "We definitely can't delay now, Dr. Krotova," he said in a delighted voice. "We have the wonderful weapon you made me, and we have this opportunity." His face was smiling as he stared at her, though she knew that his smile stemmed from what he had seen on TV, not from what he had heard her say to the generals. "General Akram," he said, not taking his eyes off her, "you and the others will organize for the invasion to begin as discussed. The timing is perfect. Whatever the Weiss woman says, the Americans will be distracted.

  "Come," he said, beckoning to Yevgenia with the remote as if controlling her.

  Nervous, she walked past the generals and stood in front of him. Smiling, he beckoned her to come closer until she was bending down; his thick mustache almost scratched the skin of her cheek. His breath smelled of stale cigars. "Find out what is killing these soldiers," he whispered, "or I will kill you and all your family." The smile didn't leave his face as he spoke, but she believed every word he said.

  Chapter 24.

  Mendoza Drive, Palo Alto. Thursday, November 6, 7:37 P.M.

  Waiting outside Kathy Kerr's isolated house on Mendoza Drive, neither Kathy Kerr nor Luke Decker was aware of events on Capitol Hill. Their only concern was to steal into her house unnoticed.

  "They've gone," said Decker, getting back into the car after checking out Kathy's house for the third time in the last hour. "But we still shouldn't stick around when we go in. They're soon gonna find out you've escaped. Five minutes, like we agreed. No more."

  Kathy Kerr nodded her agreement as she sat silently in the passenger seat of the rental Ford Taurus.

  He turned to her. "You sure you want to go through with this?"

  "Yes," she said, staring at her house. It looked the same as before, but now the white facade, which she had always viewed with such affection, seemed sinister, as if concealing some threat behind its darkened windows. In her mind's eye she could see Jackson, armed with a gun and syringe, waiting behind the front door, like the last time. "You're sure no one's waiting inside?"

  "As I can be," said Decker. "I've checked the whole place. There's no one there. You've got no security alarms or lights I should be aware of, have you?"

  She shook her head. "Nope. Before we go in, should we call your journalist friend again to see if he's heard anything more from Pamela Weiss yet?"

  Decker shrugged and dialed the cell phone resting on the dash. The phone rang in the car, and then Hank Butcher's voice mail kicked in. Decker hung up. There was no point leaving another message.

  "Shit," she said, "why doesn't he turn his phone back on?"

  "Don't worry, we know from his message that Pamela Weiss probably isn't involved. And she's not likely to get back to him until she's checked things out herself. Hank isn't shy. He'll call back if he gets any response. When he does, he'll want the rest of your precious evidence." Decker smiled at her, his eyes glinting in the half-light. "Ready?"

  She took a deep breath, picked up the empty canvas bag she had brought with her, and opened the car door. "Let's go."

  She took the spare key from under the right plant pot and opened the front door. The house was silent, but apart from a vague mustiness in the air there was nothing different about the place. It was as if the last few days had been nothing more than a bad dream. Feeling her way through the darkened rooms, she led Decker to the back of the house and the yard beyond.

  As soon as she stepped into the yard, Rocky began to screech with excitement. In the moonlight she could see him standing by the wire mesh of the large wooden pen. His teeth shone white as he grinned madly at her, delighted to see her. She ran to the door, released the bar and latch, and walked in. He jumped on her, chattering and screeching, almost knocking her over as he hugged her. Decker moved to support her, and Rocky suddenly turned on him, baring his fangs.

  "No, Rocky," she said quickly, stroking Decker's face. "He's not hurting me. He's a friend." Decker froze and didn't move while Rocky sniffed him suspiciously. Then Rocky reached out a long hand and roughly prodded his shoulder. It was a grudging gesture done more for her benefit than Decker's, but it signaled that the ape accepted him.

  Kathy checked the store of food in the automatic dispenser at the far end of the pen and could see it was almost exhausted, as was the tank of drinking water beside it. The pen was in need of cleaning, but otherwise Rocky seemed unaffected by his recent neglect. Once she was reassured on this point, Kathy went to a tire hanging from a tree in the middle of the pen. Reaching into the bottom of the tire, she felt for a ridge of duct tape and pulled it off. Attached to the tape was a key.

  Then she walked over to the trunk, unlocked the padlock, and raised a lid. She felt a rush of relief when she saw her files and personal memorabilia inside. All untouched. All safe. She reached for her canvas bag. "It's all here," she said.

  Decker checked his watch as he stood guard. "Great, now hurry up."

  "Don't worry, it'll take only a moment. I'll just get a few of Rocky's things; then we can go."

  "Rocky's things? Why?"

  She busied herself sifting through her journals, taking all the important ones, and putting them in the bag. She picked up the complete selection of computer discs and stacked them in too. "Well, we can't leave him here."

  Decker shook his head in exasperation. "Why the hell not?" h
e demanded. "He's big enough and ugly enough to look after himself. For Christ's sake, Kathy, he's not the one in trouble; you are. Where the hell are you going to keep him?"

  "I know somebody in a zoo down at Atascadero who'll take care of him until all this blows over. Come on," Kathy said casually, picking up the bag. "Let's go."

  Decker frowned but said nothing as the three walked out of Rocky's pen, past the tall Douglas fir, toward the house. She smiled up at the dark sky bejeweled with stars as Rocky walked beside her, his hand in hers. She had begun to feel hopeful for the first time in days when suddenly Rocky let go of her hand and disappeared into the dark. Turning in surprise, she saw Decker drop the bag of discs and files and launch himself at her. He pushed her to the ground, and rolled her behind the fir tree.

  Then she heard them as well, two men coming out of the house, whispering to each other. One of them raised something in his hand, and the whole yard was bathed in light so bright she could only look down at the ground. Three yards beyond the shelter of the large tree trunk, the bag of files was illuminated in the blinding light, its contents spilling onto the grass.

  "Shit," said Decker beside her, pushing her tight against the trunk. "What the hell are they doing back here?"

  "I don't know," she said in shock, as if he actually expected her to know the answer.

  "Rambo was a great help, wasn't he?" spit Decker.

  "Rocky." She corrected him automatically. The light was now shining directly on the tree they were hiding behind.

  Decker scowled and retrieved a gun from his shoulder holster. "More like Bambi if you ask me."

  "I told you, he's no longer violent."

  "I wouldn't sound so goddamned proud if I were you. Right now we could do with some good old-fashioned aggression."

  She heard the men walk toward the open bag of evidence and pick it up. It was frustrating, but there was nothing she or Decker could do about it. The light was so brilliant that if they moved a fraction beyond the protection of the tree, they would be not only blinded but starkly visible too. "I told you," she hissed. "Rocky gets aggressive now only when I'm under threat."

  Decker turned and gave her a wry grin, which despite the circumstances made her smile. "Kathy, I don't know about you and Bambi, but I've been under threat before, and trust me, this qualifies."

  Suddenly the spit of a silenced gun cut through the night, and she felt the thudding impact of a bullet hit the tree. Then a man's voice said, "Come out, or we'll come and get you."

  Chapter 25.

  FBI Headquarters, The Hoover Building,Washington, D.C.Thursday, November 6, Evening

  "Madeline, this is getting out of hand. Perhaps we should slow down, look at what we're doing." Alice Prince adjusted her glasses and toyed with her pendant.

  The FBI director sat back in her chair and drummed her fingers on the desk. They were alone in Naylor's office on the fifth floor of the Hoover Building on Pennsylvania Avenue. It was an oppressive masculine room. Dark wood paneling covered the lead-lined walls designed to thwart electronic surveillance devices. Photographs of famous predecessors lined the walls. But the most striking feature was the obsessive neatness of everything in the office. The piles of reading were stacked so perfectly that not one book or leaf of paper protruded. Even the pads and pencils on Naylor's desk were in regimented lines. But then even as a child she had exerted extreme control over her environment, even more than Alice had. "Relax, will you, Alice? Everything is under control."

  Alice Prince rose from the small conference table and paced around the room. Everything wasn't under control. Most important, she wasn't under control. She was used to planning projects like Conscience and Crime Zero at an academic level but generally left the operational aspects to others. Madeline Naylor had murdered two men today, and she had participated.

  Even though Madeline had administered the kiss of death to Burbank, Alice felt a direct responsibility for killing the President. After all, she had genetically engineered the viral vector Madeline had smeared on her lips, had created it to target the heart cells of a particular individual, the President, matching that man's unique DNA sequence, seeking out any fatal flaw it found there, bringing it forward in time. Harmless to any other human, Madeline's kiss had been fatal to Bob Burbank.

  It had served its purpose. Citing the constitutional amendment of 2002, both the Senate and House had sworn Pamela in as President two hours ago, effectively bringing forward her inauguration. The Vice President had expressed no objection.

  But Madeline had killed the journalist too. Just for asking the wrong questions. Kathy Kerr was now also on the loose, and she was probably the only person on earth with comparable knowledge of viral vectors. If anyone had the technical talent and experience to stop Crime Zero, it was Dr. Kerr.

  As far as Alice was concerned, things were far from under control. "Perhaps we should cancel Crime Zero. Just stick with Conscience. There's still time."

  Madeline Naylor sat forward and shook her head. "Stop worrying. You know that Crime Zero is the only long-term option. We've discussed this already, and you know the arguments better than I do. Everything is going to be OK. Kathy Kerr isn't going to be a problem. Look, Pamela's going to be arriving any moment now. I'll explain everything after she's gone. Just stick with what we agreed to say. No more. No less. OK?"

  Alice sat down and released a huge sigh.

  "C'mon, Ali, you know I'm right. Haven't I always been right in the past? Think of Libby. Think of the future. Think of our vision. Just focus on the benefits--for everyone. OK?"

  The phone rang, and Madeline picked it up. She listened for a second, then looked up, her dark eyes willing Alice's collusion. "She's here."

  *** The recently sworn-in President threw two sheets of paper on the table. "I've got ten minutes. Tell me what the hell's going on. I've got enough on my plate without worrying about Conscience. The last thing I need now is some journalist raising questions about the very project that got me elected."

  Pamela Weiss was dressed in black, and her face was pale with stress.

  "Pamela, we can explain any concerns you have," said Madeline coolly. She sipped a glass of mineral water and looked completely unfazed by Pamela's anger.

  "OK, this journalist Hank Butcher has given me this list of issues and questions to respond to before he goes public with new evidence." Pamela slapped her hand on the papers she had just flung onto the table. "I'll go through them for you. First of all, who the hell's Dr. Kathy Kerr? She claims that Project Conscience is little more than a test before it moves on to something more drastic, which apparently involves killing criminals with dangerous genes rather than curing them. This of course would be preposterous except that apparently there have been some deaths at San Quentin caused by a mutation of your vector."

  Pamela straightened and walked around the table with her arms crossed, the fingers of her right hand drumming on her left arm. She wasn't just angry, Alice realized now; she was hurt too.

  "And that's not all," said Pamela through gritted teeth. "She also claims that the serum we secretly tested on criminals is actually different from the one that gained FDA approval. And that you had her committed to a mental asylum so she couldn't expose this 'conspiracy.' "

  Alice fingered the teardrop amulet around her neck and breathed deeply. Madeline was staring right at her. "Well, let's start with Dr. Kathy Kerr," Alice said. "I may have mentioned her before. She's a British-born scientist, and it was her initial project on curbing aggression in male primates that gave me the idea for Conscience. I recruited her nine years ago to head up one of the research teams, and she has been working for me ever since. She is brilliant but unbalanced. Apart from her original work she has contributed little over the last few years, and she's bitter. When we gained FDA approval for a serum she played no part in developing, she became defensive and angry. I promised her shared credit, but she refused."

  Alice felt uncomfortable with the lies, but they were what was required. Madeli
ne had said so.

  Pamela frowned. "So what are you saying? That she invented these claims out of spite?"

  "Mainly, yes."

  Pamela's frown deepened. "Mainly? You mean, some of them are true? What about the San Quentin deaths? A whole list of symptoms is on this sheet of paper, symptoms that end up with either suicide or a brain hemorrhage."

  "That did happen, yes."

  "What!"

  "But it was a mistake."

  "A mistake? That's not what Kerr told Hank Butcher. It's no goddamn wonder he thinks our endgame is killing violent criminals. How did it happen?"

  Alice adjusted her glasses. "Well, those men received corrupted samples. It was a one-time occurrence. A routine check highlighted the bad batch, and we managed to stop it before it was sent out to any more test subjects. The fatal samples had nothing to do with the proper serum we tested on the others. Somehow the batch was tampered with."

  "Tampered with?"

  "We can't prove anything. But when we checked all our procedures, the only weak link was the involvement of Kathy Kerr. She has access to most of the ViroVector facilities, and she has the knowledge. It would appear now that she has been disaffected for some time, and perhaps she sabotaged the batch to subvert the project. Luckily we discovered it before the problem became more widespread."