“I’ll cover the beers,” Hawkins said.
ADC Ridgeway laughed. “Massey’s it is. But make it in thirty. I need to speak with both of you in my office. It’s urgent.”
∞∞∞
“Take a seat,” Ridgeway said. She handed Jordan a file folder. “Your next case,” she continued. “Serial killings in New York City. Ritualistic by the looks of it. NYPD has asked for our help.”
From the file, Chris retrieved a copy of a handwritten letter and read the note. “He’s daring the Police Commissioner to catch him? That takes a pair and a half.”
Jordan asked, “Has the Bureau office in New York been informed we’ll be joining their investigation?”
“They know you’re on your way. You’ll be liaising with Special Agent Max Penner and his team. They’ll provide you with whatever support you’ll need.”
“When do we leave?” Chris asked.
“9:00 A.M. tomorrow morning,” Ridgeway said.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Jordan said. She and Chris stood to leave.
ADC Ridgeway shook their hands. “Be safe, agents.”
“Always,” Chris said.
CHAPTER 61
COLONEL QUENTIN HALLIER returned the guard’s salute, pushed open the stainless-steel doors leading into the morgue and flipped the wall switch. The fluorescent ceiling fixtures crackled, flickered and flashed to life. The black bag lay on the autopsy table.
Hallier opened his cell phone and placed a call.
“Ford.”
“It’s Hallier, General. I’m at Los Alamitos. Merrick’s body has arrived.”
“And Channeler?”
Hallier unzipped the bag. The top-secret device remained attached to the dead man’s wrist.
“Intact, sir.”
“Remove it and keep it safe. Escort the body back here for destruction.”
“Yes, sir.”
Hallier removed the spent syringe from his pocket. We have a further complication, sir,” he said, “LEEDA has been compromised. I have the injection device. It’s empty”
“Merrick injected himself?” Ford asked.
“No, sir. Egan did.”
“Tell me you have him in custody.”
“I’m afraid not, sir.”
“What is his status?”
“Unknown at this time.”
“What does that mean, Colonel? Either the Commander is in custody or he isn’t.”
“We were unable to reach Commander Egan before he injected himself, sir. He’s… missing.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“What are your orders, sir?”
Ford was furious. “My orders, Colonel? What in God’s name do you think my orders are? We have a one-of-a-kind, multi-million-dollar military asset somewhere out there that we can’t find because we’ve turned off every goddamn means of tracking it. My orders are that you fly back here with the body and Channeler, put together a recovery team, and find Egan. I don’t care how you do it. Just track him down, wherever the hell he is.”
“And when we do, sir?”
“Deal with him… with extreme prejudice.”
“Understood, General.”
“You bloody-well better. Either your team brings Egan in alive or you retire him permanently. I’ll be damned if I’m going to have an asset with his abilities out of our control and running rogue.”
“Copy that sir. Egan will be handled appropriately.”
Ford was right, Hallier thought. Merrick, Egan, the Channeler and LEEDA projects, the scientific team at Dynamic Life Sciences… all of it had been under his direction. The fact that Merrick had been able to figure out a way to steal the project right out from under them was inexcusable.
Ford continued. “What about project records?”
“Unsalvageable, sir.”
“How the hell is that possible?”
Hallier recalled a text he’d received less than an hour ago from Dr. Han informing him of a security breach at Dynamic Life Sciences. He relayed the update to Ford.
“Last night, DLS’s computer system was the target of a time-delayed electromagnetic pulse bomb. It detonated at 9:00 P.M. The facility is offline, sir. They’re completely in the dark.”
“Surely they backed up their data?”
“The attack was thorough, sir. There’s nothing left. The entire server farm dedicated to the GENESIS project is six-feet under.”
“Let me guess. No backup, for reasons of national security.”
“I’m afraid so. No one except DLS computer staff and Dr. Merrick had access to the room.”
“What about outside of DLS?” Ford asked. “Could Merrick have backed up the data externally?”
“We’re checking into that, sir.”
“Hardcopy?”
“No physical files. Just a notepad in Merrick’s desk drawer containing a list of names. All but three had been stroked out. There was a number for a cell phone in Moscow which matched a name on the list: Marina Puzanova.”
“You think Merrick planned to sell Channeler and LEEDA to the Russians? To this Puzanova?”
“It’s possible, sir. If that’s the case, maybe what happened at Long Beach was orchestrated.”
“Meaning?”
“That it could have been a demonstration. Using Egan… attacking the University... maybe someone wanted to see first-hand that the technology worked before they bought it. Long Beach would be all the proof a buyer would need to confirm Channeler’s capability. Merrick would have been paid billions. Any country with deep pockets and a non-extradition treaty would grant him asylum in a heartbeat, assuming he lived to collect the money after the transaction had been completed.”
“Close it,” Ford said.
“Sir?”
“Shut it down. Bolt the goddamn doors. Bring every piece of equipment back to DARPA for examination, right down to the last computer chip. Have data forensics determine if anything in those servers is salvageable.”
“Copy that, sir.”
Ford sighed. “I can’t believe this. Hundreds of millions of dollars and a decade of defense research… all gone, possibly in Russian hands. Do you have any idea how far back this will set our defense initiatives if this turns out to be true? There’ll be hell to pay, Colonel. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to take the heat.”
“I understand, sir.”
A voice came over the intercom on Ford’s desk. “General?”
“What is it?” Ford barked.
“An urgent call for you sir,” Ford’s assistant said. “The White House is on line one.”
“Thank you, Connie.”
To Hallier, Ford said, “Get on this, Colonel. Get me answers. And bloody-well get me Egan!”
“Yes, sir.”
The line went dead.
Ford took a deep breath then pressed the flashing button. “This is Brigadier General Ford speaking.”
The White House operator spoke: “Please hold for the President.”
CHAPTER 62
TARAS VERENICH, now Taras Antipov, floated on his pool lounger, sipping a scotch on the rocks and enjoying the warmth of the Costa Rican sun on his face. Beads of coconut-scented perspiration trickled across his brow and crept into the corners of his eyes. He unrolled the terry towel neck support, blotted away the stinging sweat and looked out over the edge of the saltwater infinity pool. Mist drifted lazily over the jungle treetops below his mountainside estate.
He had paid three-million in cash for the place, but in terms of the seclusion it offered the property was priceless. A single-gated road led into the property, manned around the clock by six armed guards, whom he rarely saw, yet grossly overpaid to ensure his safety. Taras seldom had a requirement to leave the estate. Whenever he needed supplies or food or women he simply flew into town and used a driver. His helicopter sat on a landing pad at the edge of the property.
The location of the estate was its key attribute, so ensconced into the rugged hillside that it was practically unreachable from the hillside below and as
impenetrable as any mountain fortress. The landscaping of the grounds had been designed with Taras’ personal safety in mind and featured a state-of-the-art underground security system consisting of military-grade improved explosive devices which would prove fatal to any trespasser unfortunate enough to set foot on any of the twenty pressure-plates strategically buried under the grass. A discrete pathway provided Taras with safe passage off the grounds and into the surrounding jungle if ever a quick escape should prove to be necessary.
His thoughts turned to Marina and how she would react when she arrived in Los Angeles and found him gone. She would be furious. But did she really think he would be stupid enough to wait for her to put a bullet in his head? And what was this bullshit excuse she had given him that the reason for her trip to America was because she believed her son was in danger? He shook his head. Arrogant bitch. He was far more intelligent than she gave him credit for. He was sure The Company knew it too. They would never have been able to gain the financial foothold they now enjoyed on the West Coast had it not been for him turning Rosenfeld by taking advantage of his weakness for fine art and using him to launder millions through his many companies.
The Company owed him his freedom and he was taking it, whether they liked it or not. He’d just decided to move his retirement date up by a decade or so.
Granger was dead, or so he assumed, and the FBI had come sniffing around his office asking questions about Rosenfeld. Both were good reasons to get out while he could, unscathed.
All signs pointed in the same direction: The Company’s American operations had come under scrutiny. Which meant now was the time to disappear. The Company had made him rich, but he had done the same for them. As far as he was concerned they were even. Living here in his mansion-in-the-mist for the rest of his days would be his reward, one he had planned for and dreamt about for many years. Finally, it was here.
Taras spun the last mouthful of scotch around in his glass and gulped it down. In need of a refill, he hand-paddled over to the edge of the pool, raised himself out of the floating chair and stood on the ladder. A tremor ran through the side rails and footstep. An earthquake? He quickly stepped out of the pool and onto the deck.
On the opposite side of the pool, the water level dropped suddenly. Taras watched as a series of small waves radiated across its surface, gained momentum as they flowed toward him, then broke over the edge of the concrete deck and splashed at his feet. Inside the mansion, a heavy ceramic vase fell from its pedestal in the main hall. Taras heard it shatter on the marble floor.
The crash of the vessel was followed by a dazzling burst of brilliant pink light. Taras shielded his eyes. “What the hell?” Taras said aloud.
Although confident he was perfectly safe in his hilltop hideaway, Taras nevertheless carried a fully loaded Colt semi-automatic pistol with him at all times. He lifted his towel off the chaise lounge, grabbed the weapon and chambered a round.
Footsteps on the marble floor. Inside the mansion.
Coming closer.
A man he had never seen before suddenly stood in the open terrace.
“Well, that was pretty damn cool,” the stranger said, walking toward Taras. He looked strong, tough, military.
“Who the hell are you,” Taras said. “How did you get in here?”
“Actually, I’m still trying to figure that one out for myself,” Ben Egan answered. “But you have to admit it’s one hell of a way to make an entrance.”
Too shocked to speak, Taras raised the weapon and pointed it at the Commander.
“I really wish you wouldn’t do that,” Egan said.
The man’s physical appearance began to change right before Taras’ eyes. His skin turned gray and thick and looked as tough as a rhinoceros.
Terrified, Taras fired round after round at Egan. He continued to squeeze the trigger even after the last bullet had been fired and the clip was empty. Click-click-click...
The slugs bounced harmlessly off Egan’s skin and fell to the ground. Egan knelt down, gathered up the spent rounds and threw them into the pool. Taras watched as his skin instantly returned to normal.
“Who are you?” Taras said. His arm fell to his side. The gun slipped from his fingers and fell. It clattered on the pool deck.
Ben Egan stepped to the edge of the pool. “I have a message for you from Dr. Jason Merrick.”
Taras shook his head. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
Egan began to walk around the edge of the pool. Taras backed up.
Egan stopped at the bar cart. “You mind?” He poured himself a Scotch, tossed in a few ice cubes, took a sip. “Single malt,” he said. “Personally, I’m more of a blended man. But back to business. Does the name Paige Merrick ring a bell?”
Taras said nothing. He appeared to be in shock. He supported himself by holding fast to a pool chair.
“Okay, okay…” Egan continued. “I can see you’re a little weirded-out, what with the whole appearing-out-of-nowhere-and-being-bulletproof-thing I’ve got going on. Let me throw out a few more names that you might recognize: Ashley Granger? How about Aaron Dowd? Marina Puzanova? Itzhak Rosenfeld? Tell me when I’m getting warm.”
Taras nodded.
“Ah, Itzhak Rosenfeld!” Egan said. The Commander set down the glass on the bar cart and clapped his hands. “All right. We’re going to play a game. I hope you like Jeopardy! Your category is ‘21st Century Seriously Fucked-Up-Homicidal-Psychopath’s.’ Ready? Here’s the answer: ‘This organization, of which you are a member, murdered Dr. Merrick’s only daughter, Paige.’”
Taras looked over his shoulder.
“You have ten seconds to answer and your time starts... now.”
The escape route, Taras thought. He could make a run for it, navigate his way around the strategically-buried IED’s. Not knowing their locations, the son-of-a-bitch would be blown to pieces when he tried to follow.
Egan chimed out the musical notes from the iconic television show: “Ding, di-ding-ding-ding… ding… ding... boom-boom. Time’s up. So, what’s the clue?”
“Fuck you,” Taras said.
The helicopter...
“No, that’s definitely not it,” Egan said. “It’s ‘Who is The Company.”’ But in light of your current predicament I can appreciate how you might consider ‘fuck you’ to be a reasonable answer.”
Taras gathered his nerve. He tried to run.
Egan raised his hand. Pink light shimmered on the pool deck. Taras’ feet locked in place. He looked down, then up at Egan. “Jesus Christ,” he said.
“Yeah, I know,” Egan responded. “Pretty cool, huh? The military always gets the best toys.”
The look on Taras’ face revealed the sheer terror he felt inside. “This can’t be possible,” Taras replied. “You can’t be possible.”
Egan walked around the pool and faced him. “Trust me,” the Commander said. “I’m quite possible and this is very real. You never answered my question about Paige Merrick. You remember her, don’t you?”
“Why would I?”
“Because you and the people you work for murdered her.”
Taras struggled to free his feet, couldn’t.
“I didn’t kill anyone.”
“Maybe not personally. But you arranged for her to be transferred out of the country.”
“That was Granger, not me.”
“But you knew what would happen to her.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“It was to Dr. Merrick.”
Taras smiled at Egan. “Paige Merrick,” he said. “Now I remember her. She was one sweet piece of ass. I’d heard of her dad but never knew him. Was he doing her too?”
Egan clenched his fist.
Verenich’ feet left the ground as Egan lifted him high into the air. The attorney screamed as he floated high above the pool. Egan released him. He fell into the salt water.
“Motherfucker!” Taras yelled.
“I told you,” Egan said, “the military
always gets the best toys. If you thought that was neat, you’re gonna love this.” Stage three of the GENESIS project, Integration, was now complete. Ben Egan had become the physical embodiment of Channeler and LEEDA and was now the most technologically-advanced biological weapon known to man, the only one of his kind in the world; the ultimate super-soldier.
He opened his hands and directed Channeler’s energy into the pool.
Around Taras, the salt water began to conduct the strange pink light. Bubbles floated up from the bottom of the pool. Steam began to rise from its surface. The water was becoming warmer. Taras tried to swim but the pink light held him in place.
“Please, don’t kill me!” Taras pleaded. “I don’t want to die. Not like this!”
Frightened out of their treetop perches by Taras’ cries a flock of birds took flight. They glided above the mist momentarily, then descended into the jungle, out of sight.
The water temperature began to climb. Smaller bubbles gave way to larger ones. The water started to simmer.
Taras began to scream.
The pink-hued water began to boil.
As fast as they formed on Taras’ body, blisters puffed, oozed and burst. A pungent scum spread across the surface of the water. Sinew separated from bone as Taras’ body dismantled itself. What was left of the attorney fell apart and drifted down, forming a layer of human sediment on the bottom of the pool.
Taras Verenich, aka Taras Antipov, was no more.
Egan broke the connection. He stared in fascination at his hands. Dr. Merrick would have been proud. Integration had been a success. He looked down at Verenich’ remains. “It’s over, Doc,” he said. “Rest in peace.”
The view of the jungle valley was peaceful, serene. Egan walked to the bar cart and poured himself another Scotch.
The remote control for the satellite television in Taras’ poolside bedroom lay on the bar cart. He turned it on.
Verenich had been watching KTLA News in Los Angeles. A reporter stood in front of the remains of the fallen Pyramid, commenting on the bizarre events that had taken place at the University. The anchor thanked her and moved on to the next story:
The Sin Keeper Page 25
