While Justice Sleeps

by Stacey Abrams

  “Obstruction of justice. Conspiracy. Evidence tampering.” The list was punctuated by smacks against Agent Lee’s palm. “Not to mention perjury.”

  “Actually, we never lied under oath,” Noah interjected, only to receive a swift kick to his shins from Ling.

  “If I hadn’t taken down the kidnapper, who the hell knows what would have happened?”

  Rita shuddered in Avery’s arms, and Avery shot Agent Lee a quelling look. “We screwed up, I get it. But now we’ve got proof.”

  “Proof? You mean the busted-to-hell computers Phillips pumped lead into before he died?” He didn’t mention that he already had teams working on reconstruction. “He could have had grenades in there. Anything.”

  The fresh shudder from Rita had Avery bundling her to her feet. She half carried her to the door. “Agent Lee, is there a quieter room where my mother can lie down while you relive her trauma?”

  Agent Lee rubbed at his face in chagrin, then approached Rita with hesitant steps. “Well, crap. I’m so sorry, Mrs. Keene.” He shoved his fists into his pockets and barely fought off the impulse to scuff his heel against the carpet. He knew better than to subject a kidnapping victim to the harsh sound of anger. Swallowing remorse, he jerked open the door. “Agent Madison!”

  The field agent who’d tended to Rita on-site appeared in his doorway. “Sir?”

  “Please take Mrs. Keene down to your office, if she still refuses to go to the hospital.” At Rita’s spastic nod, he relented. “Your office for now. Make her comfortable and see if she needs anything.”

  Avery turned to hand her off to the woman, but Rita clung, nails biting into skin. “No, no. I’m okay. I want to stay here. With you.” The piteous voice pleaded, “Don’t make me go.”

  Tucking her mother’s head into the curve of her shoulder, she rocked her lightly, whispering, “I’ll walk down there with you, Momma. Then I’ll be just down the hall, for a few minutes. I promise.”

  With Agent Madison behind her, she helped Rita to the agent’s cubbyhole of a space. She settled her into the lone chair and wrapped the police blanket more securely beneath her chin. Crouching low, she stroked the fading streak of a bruise that mottled the gaunt cheek. “Are you hungry? Do you want anything? Coffee? Water?”

  Rita darted a look up at the agent and leaned in to Avery. “I need—I need—”

  Avery braced for the request, her stomach plummeting. “What is it, Rita?”

  “Can I have a candy bar? Something sweet? I need a chocolate bar.” The tremulous smile she gave her daughter accompanied a soft pat to her cheek. “Chocolate will take the edge off.”

  “You’ve come to the right place.” Agent Madison circled her desk and rummaged through the drawers. “I keep a secret stash in here. Snickers. Hershey’s. I’ve even got a Zero in here, I think.” Candy bars piled on the cluttered desktop and spilled over into an untidy selection. “I’ll get you a Coke or some water to wash it down.”

  The agent went to retrieve the drinks, leaving them alone for the first time. Rita curled her fingers against Avery’s shoulder. “In that last place you put me, they told us that sugar and caffeine have the same effect as, well, you know. Almost.”

  The gallows humor twisted at her heart, and Avery broke. “Momma, I’m so sorry. So sorry they did this to you.” Her head hung low, eyes shut in misery. “I should have brought you home with me.”

  “Why? So I could rob you and still get taken?” Rita tilted her chin up, gave a husky laugh. “I don’t blame you, baby. Cheapest rehab yet. Maybe this time, they scared me straight.”

  Avery flinched. “Don’t joke.”

  Pushing aside the panic that spurted still, Rita traced a line along her daughter’s chin. The stubborn jut she’d gotten from her father. Through her shock, she’d heard enough of the FBI’s yelling to understand that Avery had done something stupid and courageous. Something for her. “I’m sorry, baby.”

  “Momma, I was so scared for you.”

  “He banged me up some, but nothing that won’t heal.” Then, because it had to be said, she added, “I’m the same woman I was last week, Avery. You did the right thing sending me away, and this isn’t your fault.”

  “If he’d shot you—” She cut herself off, the guilt a vicious bite.

  “If you hadn’t found me,” Rita countered, “I’d be dead. So you go down to that angry man’s office and finish whatever this is you’ve got going. Oh, and make sure they keep men watching your building. One of the men said they planned to torch your apartment. Make it look like I set it on fire with a crack pipe or something.”

  “They won’t have a chance to do anything else, Momma. It’s almost over, I promise.”

  “I believe you.” She pressed a kiss to Avery’s forehead, inhaled the scent of her only child. “You go on now. I’ll be good down here.”

  “You sure?”

  Rita smiled. “I’ve got a stack of candy bars to hold me. Go on.”

  Aware of the timing of the next part, Avery let herself be urged out. She rose, bending to hug her mother tight. “Ten minutes tops, then I’ll be back down here, and we’ll get you home.”

  “Ten minutes,” Rita dutifully repeated. She squeezed Avery once more. “I’m okay.”

  Avery slowly left the room and headed down the hall to Agent Lee’s office. A long, cold shudder racked through her, and she stumbled. Breath backed up in lungs too tight to expand, and Avery crouched low, gasping. Her hand flexed against a wall of cabinets lining the hallway.

  She’d nearly killed Rita. The realization slammed into her and wrenched a sob from her closing throat. If Agent Lee hadn’t agreed to ferry them to the warehouse. If he hadn’t made his shot. If. If. If.

  The word tumbled around, careening off doubt and guilt and panic. She’d nearly killed her mother to save another man, and she still might fail.

  “Ms. Keene?” Agent Madison stood a pace away, her eyes soft with concern. “It will pass.”

  “What?”

  “The adrenaline. From fear. Now that you’ve gotten her back, it’s flooding through you. It’ll pass.”

  Avery started to argue—to tell the well-intentioned woman that her trials still had a third act. But instead, she gained her feet, her knees wobbly. “Thank you. I’d appreciate it if you’d stay with my mother. She’s detoxing. It can be—difficult. I’d like to get her into a treatment bed as soon as possible. Can you help?”

  “I’ve got her, and I’m sure the Bureau can make the arrangements.”

  Avery nodded gratefully and continued down the hall to Agent Lee’s office.

  Inside, Agent Lee had managed to find a semblance of calm. He’d also received a sheet on Chief Warrant Officer Marcus Phillips, of late, attaché to Major Will Vance of the S&T Directorate. When Avery entered the room, he passed her the file. She scanned the contents without comment.

  “I notice you’re not surprised.”

  She wasn’t. Though having a name for the dead man was news, his former employer was not. Avery handed the file to Jared and folded her arms. She decided to stand, assuming it would be easier to take the agent’s anger on her feet. “I didn’t have proof,” she acknowledged. “But based on what I’ve learned, I had good reason to believe Major Vance was involved.”

  “Any chance you’d like to tell me what you’ve learned?” Agent Lee propped a hip on his desk. “If you don’t mind, of course.”

  “I do.” When his brows winged northward, she apologized: “I’m not finished yet.”

  “Finished with what?” Before she could respond, he shook his head. “Never mind. Let’s do the easy question first. How did you know Major Vance had your mother?”

  “I guessed.” Avery hated to be difficult, but until she’d played her final hand, she couldn’t be honest with him. Real remorse filled her voice. “You’ve been very good to me, Agent
Lee. However, if I tell you what I know, you’ll get shut down. Because there’s not enough evidence for you to act.”

  “But you can stop the president’s adviser on your own?” The derision was palpable. “Avery, you’ve saved your mother and Justice Wynn by pulling him off the bench. Now it’s time to turn this over to the FBI and let us do our jobs.”

  “With what I can prove, you can’t guarantee a conviction against Major Vance.” Avery stepped forward and held his eyes with a solemn look. She’d given him a glimpse, but now he had to let her finish her course. She reached into her purse and removed the plastic bag from Justice Wynn’s study. “Test this pill bottle for prints and let me know what you find. In forty-eight hours, I promise you the bust of your career.”

  “I don’t haggle, Ms. Keene. I gave you twenty-four hours, and the clock’s just about run on that.”

  Jared intervened: “Then you can go and question Vance about his attaché. He’ll tell you Phillips was freelancing, and you’ll have nothing to contradict him. I’m sure Vance has manufactured evidence of a right-wing group that Phillips will be conveniently aligned with.”

  Knowing he was correct did nothing to sweeten Agent Lee’s temper. “I’ll make something work.”

  “You’ll lose him.” She clasped her hands behind herself. “DHS versus the FBI. National security threat or war hero?”

  “I’m not getting into a pissing match with you or Vance. I’m doing my job.”

  “Which will be easier if you let me do mine.”

  “What exactly do you think your job is, Avery?”

  “I’m Justice Wynn’s guardian. Let me stand up for him.” She faced Agent Lee fully, stubbornly insistent. “Forty-eight more hours, and then they’re all yours.”

  FORTY-NINE

  Tuesday, June 27

  At seven the next morning, Avery and Jared arrived at the St. Regis hotel. Indira Srinivasan opened the door and welcomed them inside. A bodyguard began to frisk Jared, who stood patiently. After patting down Avery and wanding them both, the guard stepped away. “They’re clean.”

  “Good morning,” Nigel offered, rising. He extended a hand to Jared. “Mr. Wynn.”

  “Mr. Cooper.” Jared took a seat on the opposite sofa, and Avery sat beside him. “Dr. Srinivasan.”

  “Indira and Nigel.” Nigel settled beside Indira, who opted to perch on the arm of the sofa. He stroked her hand absently. “Titles seem so formal when we’re about to go bankrupt.”

  “I don’t want to destroy your companies,” Avery corrected. “Jared needs the work you’ll do together.”

  “What work?”

  “Tigris and all the rest. I know all about it.”

  “And yet you let them win by tendering Wynn’s resignation, Avery.” Nigel lifted a glass of Perrier to his lips. “I expected a better return on investment.”

  Before Avery could respond, Indira interjected: “Nigel gave you sufficient information to unmask your president and his henchman.” She waved a hand at the papers on the low table, identical to the ones emailed to Avery. “Why do you require our presence?”

  “The information that Nigel sent to me requires authentication.”

  “Then have Dr. Papaleo do so,” Indira stubbornly argued. “Or get a subpoena for our records.”

  “We believe Dr. Papaleo is dead. And getting the Indian government to compel you to comply with a warrant will take years.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Absolutely, and you know it. By then, President Stokes will have hidden himself in a country with no extradition treaty. GenWorks will have missed its chance to share technology with Advar, and you both will be out billions. Assuming, of course, your companies don’t go under after a string of congressional hearings, FDA inquiries, and charges from the International Criminal Court.”

  “Then what do you suggest?” Indira stood, and Avery rose to face her. “Publicity didn’t work. Supplying you with the documents didn’t either. What else can we do?”

  “Before I tell you, I have one more question.”

  “Yes?”

  “Did you know how far Hygeia went?” Avery took a step closer. “That the Tigris Project didn’t stop at theory?”

  “What?” Nigel shot to his feet, alarmed. “That’s impossible. Neither Indira nor I would sanction the actual production of the Tigris technology. That would be barbaric.”

  “But that’s exactly what happened, isn’t it?” Avery focused on Indira, who gave no reaction. “Ani Ramji likely died because he did more than theorize about how to weaponize the human genome. He proved it.” Her eyes boring into Indira’s, Avery said accusingly, “He tested his technology, and it worked. When you bought out Hygeia, you didn’t stop the research. You tried to replicate it, expand its potential, but Ani refused to help you.”

  “Didn’t happen,” Nigel refuted. “The technology has promise, but they never had time for human trials, right, Indira?”

  Avery nodded to Jared, who dropped a folder onto the glass-topped table. “There’s proof.” Stark images downloaded from Ani’s flash drive spilled across in graphic detail. Mangled bodies captured in cold, sterile light.

  Indira turned away.

  “Indira?”

  She stared out at the grand specter of the White House. “The chairman of Advar funded my dream of a company. When he called about Hygeia, I could not say no.”

  “To what?”

  “The prime minister had learned of a dangerous, promising project funded by his ministry and funds from overseas. A consortium of scientists and governments who wanted to stop terrorism.” She clasped the window frame, her back to the room. “You Americans recall 9/11 as a singular event. But in India, to be Hindu is to be hated by the Muslims. Bali, Mumbai, London. All over, they explode themselves as living sacrifice.”

  “So why not make them experiments?” Jared finished harshly. “Is that how they justified it?”

  Indira whirled around. “I only found out about Tigris long after the human trials. After we took over the company, I found records of hundreds of prisoners enticed from the Brahmaputra Valley and from Kashmir and targeted by Tigris. As the new president, I conducted a thorough investigation and evaluated the technology to determine if it had other uses.”

  “Like purging Muslims?” Avery asked quietly.

  “I am a scientist. Editing genes is our mission, and Dr. Ramji’s team had discovered a way to use viruses in ways I had not imagined.” She paused, her expression stoic. “Later, Dr. Ramji wanted to atone, so he began to publish the truth. Neither government could afford the potential scrutiny, nor could our company. We had only inherited his work. It was a bilateral decision to target Dr. Ramji and his colleagues. I was not in charge, but I was kept apprised.”

  “And you said nothing,” Avery reminded her.

  “I cannot contradict heads of state, Ms. Keene. Instead, I focused my attention where it could be effective. I convinced my board to let me assimilate the Hygeia technology. Their efforts were horrific, but the implications are astounding. We can cure diseases like Boursin’s and Parkinson’s in less than a decade. Using viral vectors to edit gene sequences.”

  “So the technology already exists. Once we merge, you simply require our pharmaceuticals.” Nigel backed away. “President Stokes knows about all of this, doesn’t he?”

  “Of course. He authorized American funding of the project when he was vice president,” Indira replied derisively. “When Tigris was about to be discovered, he issued the Exon-Florio decision. That’s when our chairman learned that U.S. intelligence was terminating the scientists who participated. I contacted Major Vance to call them off, but it was too late. Only Dr. Ramji remained.”

  “That’s not all of it, is it?” Avery asked.

  “No.” Indira squared her shoulders in defiance. “Dr. Ramji’s findings were unique, but not irre
placeable. Qian Ku has similar technology, similar research, but they are only a few years behind. I will not let them beat me. This can be used for good.”

  “And what happened to Dr. Ramji?” Jared asked.

  “I don’t know.” Indira lifted her hands defensively. “I truly don’t know. Not until Nigel told me about your father’s research did I realize Ani might have managed to share his information. My investigators tracked him to Chennai, and I notified Major Vance. I assume—”

  Nigel sputtered, “You had him killed?”

  “I don’t know.” Indira returned to the tableau where the trio stood frozen. “The Tigris incident cannot be allowed to stop this technology from moving forward. It will save an incalculable number of lives.”

  “And cure you, too?” Avery asked.

  Indira gave a slight shrug. “If I benefit from our creations, then I will have more time to devote to saving others. I see no harm in my salvaging a measure of personal privilege from this debacle. I did not create Tigris, and I did not murder its subjects.”

  “You are a criminal, Dr. Srinivasan,” Jared said starkly. “Whether you ordered their deaths or not, you are complicit.”

  “Prove it. I will deny this conversation took place. You will be unlikely to find confirmation among the Research and Analysis Wing—India’s CIA.” She motioned dismissively to Nigel. “He may be appalled, but right now, he’s calculating the share price of our stock once we are able to announce that we’ve developed a biogenetic technology to cure Alzheimer’s and arthritis and cancer.”

  “We’ll agree to provide affidavits to the Court confirming the documents from Dr. Papaleo on our side,” Nigel offered solemnly. “Indira will locate sufficient information to support your theory without admitting any wrongdoing by Hygeia, beyond the heinous research that preceded her tenure.” He gestured to the photos with a shudder. “These pictures disappear.”

  “And you escape unscathed?” Avery retorted, incredulous.

  Reaching down to the table, Indira lifted a china cup next to the images of the dead. With a delicate sip of tea, she suggested, “You must choose your poison, Ms. Keene. But as a sweetener, I will also reauthorize research into the antidote to Sleeping Beauty.”