The Dark Side of Angels

by Steve Hadden

  Reed took the phone. “Reed.”

  “Sir, we’re in Covington’s condo. Found emails and plans on her computer. Detailed layouts of the lab were sent to a deleted email account, and she searched for C4 information. There was also a deposit into a Cypriot bank account through a series of layered transfers yesterday for five million dollars. Then it disappeared. We’re still digging, and Cypress is dragging their feet as they usually do, but she looks good for this one.”

  “Keep digging and let me know.” Reed’s presumption of Covington’s innocence was being challenged by the evidence. He handed the phone back to Connelly. “We need to find Covington. Now. What about her local contacts?”

  “Family has been contacted,” Connelly said. “No family here. No friends, according to the two lab techs who were not at the lab tonight. We checked her University of Washington team members. One moved here seven years ago to take another job.”

  “Who?”

  “A Harrison Clarke. Thirty-two. Lives in La Jolla about four miles away.”

  Reed knew he’d have to take a chance. He looked at the SWAT senior team leader. “You guys ready to go?”

  “Yes, sir. Just need the address.”

  “Connelly and I will lead you there. Despite the fact it looks like she’s involved, I want her alive.”

  “If she cooperates, sir. Can’t guarantee that if they decide to fight.”

  “Got it. I expect your men to protect and defend themselves. We’ll go in hard and see if we can deter them from reacting.” Reed thought about Covington. “If she’s just a scientist and I’m wrong, she’ll go quietly. If she’s behind this, she’ll get what she deserves.”

  Another agent ran up to the group. “Sir?”

  “What is it?”

  “We found her backpack on the fence at the golf course and this on the cliff in the park.” He handed Reed an evidence bag. Inside, Reed recognized the empty syringe.

  “Sir. The …”

  Reed raised his hand, cutting off the young agent’s comment. “Why would she have a prefilled syringe if she was behind this? She’d have all the others and the information to make more.”

  He examined the device closely and saw that the plunger had evacuated the contents.

  “She injected someone?” Reed asked.

  “That’s what I was going to say. We think she injected herself.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “Don’t know, sir.”

  He turned to Lieutenant Chavez. “We need to get your people all along the beach.”

  Connelly pointed to his phone. “Clarke’s home is just a block or so from La Jolla Shores Park.”

  Reed started to move and glanced at the lieutenant. “Concentrate there.” He pointed at the SWAT team leader. “With me.” With Connelly in tow, he ran to his car and they both jumped in. He gunned the engine and sped past the officer who’d moved the barrier. After slamming the brakes on at the entrance to the parking lot, he waited for SWAT to join them. Then his phone rang. He checked caller ID. Private Caller

  “Shit.” Bluetooth had picked up the call and he took it as he pulled out onto North Torrey Pines Drive with SWAT on his tail. He didn’t want to have this conversation with the director with Connelly present, but he didn’t have a choice. “Reed.”

  “What the hell is going on there?” Welch said.

  “We think we may have her.”

  “We? What are you doing in the field?”

  “My mess, sir.”

  There was a pause on the other end and Reed pictured the director weighing Reed’s termination. He wondered what starting over at forty-four would be like.

  “Mess is right. I have both Attorney General Stemmons and the president on my ass. You promised me this would be secure. Belts and suspenders, you said.”

  Reed had no defense. “Covington received five million. Looks like highly skilled domestic terrorists with military-grade explosives.”

  “She could be working for anyone.”

  Reed swerved around a slower car. “Bill, you’re getting Sit Reps from the ops center?”

  “Yes. SIOC is plugged in. But I need answers now. You received the same briefings I did when this mission to secure the lab started. That CRISPR and the associated viruses are dangerous. Easily weaponized to spread like the common cold. It could render an entire army useless in a few days. Let alone what it could do to the human germline.”

  Reed slammed on the brakes. The road was blocked by a wrong-way head-on wreck.

  “Shit.”

  “What?”

  “Sorry, Bill. Not you. Can I call you back once we get her?”

  “Get this under control. Now. And call me back.”

  Welch ended the call.

  Reed pulled over the center divider and headed southbound in the northbound lane until he hit La Jolla Shores Drive. He turned right and cut off two cars in the intersection and pressed the accelerator hard. He stole a look at Connelly bracing himself in the passenger seat. “That was all confidential.”

  “Got it, sir.”

  Reed ignored the fact that his job was on the line, if it was still his at all. The director was right. In the wrong hands, this treatment could change the world forever. And while he suspected Covington was somehow involved, there were others. He’d deal with them, too. He hoped he was right and would get to Clarke’s in time and end this thing. And while he wanted to do it for the country and the world, he had only one thought at the top of his mind. He’d do it for Ashley.

  CHAPTER 9

  Kayla knew Harrison was her only chance to live. She had less than two minutes to convince him to help. She stood in the exact spot where she’d told him she was through. She remembered the warmth and softness of the white overstuffed sofa in front of her where they’d held each other on countless nights. But when she turned and faced Harrison, she felt the chasm between them. She could see there was still a hint of kindness in his eyes, but the resentment twisting his face seemed to be consuming him. Her desperation pushed her into that chasm again, and she fought back the urge to disengage and run.

  As she readied to speak, Harrison glanced down at the glass coffee table. She spotted the handgun and their eyes relocked, both knowing why he looked.

  “You don’t need that. I didn’t kill my team.”

  “You’ve said that already. But I don’t know what you’re capable of.”

  “That’s not fair, Harrison. You know me.”

  His eyes narrowed and the slack in his jaw tightened. “I thought I did. Until you cut me off at the knees.”

  He was right. They both knew it. Denying it would only make things worse. “You’re right. I got scared. I couldn’t handle how close you were getting.”

  “I’m over it. Now, I’m going to ask you to leave.”

  “No. Please listen to me.”

  He looked at his watch. “One minute.”

  “You have to trust me.”

  “Trust? You’re going to tell me I have to trust you after what you pulled?”

  She didn’t want to hear his criticism. Heat rose up Kayla’s neck and accumulated in her cheeks as the urge to strike back put her fists into a ball. Her response was more intense than usual. Part of it was the fact that she didn’t want to admit that Harrison was right. She took a beat to calm herself and decided to change tack. “I did it, Harrison. I’ve deconstructed the genome of Turritopsis. I’ve been able to translate the changes into the human genome. I was ready to start the human trials tomorrow. Then they blew everything up and killed my team.”

  Amazement flashed across his face. Kayla watched the tension in his body fade and her hope was buoyed.

  “CRISPR?”

  “Yes. The primate trials went perfectly. So did the lab testing with human cells. It’s real, Harrison. It reverses the aging process and all the diseases that go with it.”

  Harrison took a moment to absorb the information. He’d been a brilliant PhD candidate at her University of Washington lab.
Older than most due to his two tours in Iraq as a Marine, he’d made the most of the GI Bill. After her life had blown up, he was the one who helped her piece it back together. As a boss and an employee, they’d kept their relationship secret. They’d worked on decoding Turritopsis there, but when the funding came through for the next phase, Kayla chose to restart her life with a new lab in La Jolla. Despite her reticence, Harrison followed her, taking a job at San Diego State. And the red-hot affair that had never cooled had continued—until she dumped him.

  Harrison shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. You’re still wanted.”

  “I didn’t do it.”

  “Then go tell the FBI that.”

  “I can’t go to them. I told you, they’re in on it.” Kayla’s eyes welled as the words formed in her mind, but still she refused to cry. “Harrison, I need your help. You’re the only one. I’m done if you don’t help me. Please.”

  She could see a battle going on inside him. Awaiting his answer, she clasped her trembling hands together and brought them to her chin, holding back her mounting need to run. Every second he took pushed her closer death. It wouldn’t take long for them to discover her connection to Harrison. She guessed he was deciding if she was a psycho killer or a woman in need. Then he pulled out his iPhone and read from the screen. “Possible domestic terror attack at secret La Jolla lab. Laboratory head, Kayla Covington, wanted for questioning.”

  “What the hell is that?” she asked.

  “A tweet from the Union-Tribune. I can’t help you. I’d be aiding a fugitive.”

  Overwhelmed by frustration, she shook a fist at Harrison. “After all we had together, you’re going to let a tweet tell you what to do? Be a man, for Christ’s sake.”

  His face ignited and he bent down and picked up the gun. “Your time is up.”

  “I’m sorry, Harrison. I didn’t mean that.”

  “Get out. You’re lucky I’m not calling the FBI.”

  She stared at him, waiting for his expression to change. It didn’t. He walked back to the door. Gripping the doorknob in one hand and the gun in the other, he eyed her. A surge of regret swept her up, but she pushed it back down. She couldn’t afford to deal with emotions. To hell with it. She was running out of time. She walked across the marble entryway and he opened the door. She stopped and gazed into his eyes, but he looked away and pulled the door wider.

  “I’m sorry, Harrison.” Kayla looked out to the dark street and stepped outside. The door slammed shut.

  CHAPTER 10

  The cool air invaded the street from the ocean while Kayla carefully surveyed the area. Cars lined both sides and the streetlights were spaced so that every other car was in darkness. Standing on Harrison’s front porch, Kayla spotted movement to the left of the walkway first, then she saw the gun. Instinctively, she crouched as a terrifying current surged through her body. The dark figure dropped to a shooting position, taking aim at Kayla over the hood of a car. Glancing back at the closed door, Kayla thought she saw a glimmer in the peephole and hoped Harrison was watching. She wanted to pound on the door and scream for help, but she knew that might provoke the shooter. Kayla was a sitting duck.

  The attacker rose and stalked Kayla while still targeting her with the gun. The killer’s face glowed with a confidence that said Kayla was as good as dead. Kayla coiled her legs and readied to run, but she was stunned when she realized it was a woman—a woman who looked like her. For no apparent reason, the assassin dropped the gun to her side as she walked around the car and down the sidewalk. After hearing the door behind her open, Kayla was yanked backward, and a shot rang out above her head. Harrison pushed her inside, slammed the door shut and locked it. A bolt of panic-driven energy surged into her limbs and rocketed her to her feet.

  “Go. Go,” he yelled, pointing down the entry toward the kitchen. Behind her, she heard the front door splinter. Searching for the nearest exit, she moved through the living room toward the glass kitchen door that led outside. As Kayla reached the kitchen, she heard a gunshot and the door shattered. Harrison shoved her aside. He fired twice and Kayla heard someone groan in the darkness outside.

  Harrison grabbed her from behind and turned her toward the stairs to the basement study and garage. “Get downstairs.”

  The lights were still on, and she looked back and caught a glimpse of the hulking woman clearing the front entry. Harrison fired twice, and the woman ducked into the living room. As Kayla turned the corner to the stairway to the garage, two bullets ripped through the drywall in front of her, barely missing her head. The walls would provide no protection. Her heart hammered as her lungs begged for air. She turned down the stairs and felt Harrison’s hand on her back. At the bottom of the stairs, Harrison stopped and grabbed the bookcase along the wall. “Get to the car.”

  As Kayla entered the garage, she heard the bookcase hit the floor and two more shots. They didn’t have enough time to get out. She had to slow her would-be killer down. Channeling the adrenaline spiking in her body, she scanned the garage and spotted the collection of paint cans. She flailed through them and found a can of paint thinner. Grabbing it, she turned and found a rag on the workbench. Another shot rang out inside the house. Her hands trembling, she opened the can, wet the rag and stuffed it into the opening. She realized there was nothing to light it with, and frantically, she ran to the far side of the garage. He hadn’t moved it in two years. She opened the grill, dangled the rag over the igniter and pounded the button several times until the rag caught.

  She spotted Harrison shielding his face from the splinters from the incoming gunfire, returning fire as he backed through the doorway. Shoving him aside, she threw the can toward the stairwell. The air exploded and heat seared her face. She slammed the door shut and followed Harrison to his Dodge Charger. She leapt through the open driver’s door and scrambled into the passenger seat as Harrison got in and started the car. After slamming the car into gear, he crashed through the garage door. When they fishtailed into the alley, they shared a look Kayla would never forget. The belief in Harrison’s eyes was welcome, until she realized she had just made him a target, too.

  CHAPTER 11

  Reed scanned the scene from his car and his doubts about Covington faded. Fire leaped into the night sky and the smoke, carried by the onshore breeze, billowed to the left. An SDPD squad car was silhouetted in the flames from the two-story townhome. The two officers had exited their car with their guns drawn. Shielding their faces from the intense heat with their hands, they stood at the end of the walkway. SWAT pulled in and gathered at the front of their vehicle.

  Reed joined the SWAT team leader and said, “All we can do at this point is secure the perimeter. This is another crime scene.” Reed suspected that Covington had torched the place to cover another killing and expected to find the body of her acquaintance inside.

  “Got it, sir.” The team leader dispatched his team, and Reed followed two SWAT team members around the left side of the structure, leaving Connelly behind him. He heard sirens. Probably SDFD whose response was delayed due to battling two fires a few miles apart simultaneously. The heat seared his face as the fire crackled, growled and reached from the windows, pushing him farther away. While SWAT had oxygen masks, he didn’t. He was forced to cover his mouth with his arm and take a much wider path around the side of the house. His nose burned and his eyes watered. But he made it to the alley and saw the burned-out garage. Based on the reduced intensity of the flames, he concluded the fire had started here and moved to the front of the structure. The garage was empty and the door had been splintered. He grabbed his radio from his hip. “She’s on the road. Get Clarke’s vehicle information and get it to the roadblocks.”

  “Got it,” Connelly said. “I got a witness here you need to talk to.”

  Reed retraced his path and spotted Connelly on the far side of the street, standing away from the responding fire trucks. The woman next to him was Hispanic, probably in her sixties, with silver hair and wearing a dark robe and fur
-lined slippers.

  “Agent Reed. This is Mrs. Lupe Perez.” Connelly pointed to the townhome behind them. “She lives at 140.”

  “Mrs. Perez. What can you tell us?”

  “I told this agent what I saw.”

  “Can you tell me again, please?”

  She shrugged. “I was watching the news before bed and I heard a noise.”

  “A noise?” Reed said.

  “Yes. Like a gunshot. I ran to the front window and saw a person kick in the door.”

  “Can you describe the person?”

  The woman looked frustrated.

  “Man or woman?” Reed asked.

  “A woman. She had short hair that was spiky.”

  Reed immediately remembered the photo of Covington. “Hair color?”

  “Couldn’t tell. It was dark?”

  “Skin color?”

  “She was a white girl.”

  “What else?”

  “She had a gun. A handgun.” She formed a gun with her two fingers and her thumb. “Anyway, I heard a bunch more shots. Then the place caught fire.”

  “How many shots?”

  The woman looked into the sky and silently counted. “Maybe eight?”

  Reed didn’t like that. If it was Covington, she was armed and probably had killed Clarke and maybe a friend. “What else?”

  The woman shook her head. “Then you all showed up.”

  “No one got out?”

  The woman’s face saddened. “No. Poor Harrison. He was a great person. He helped me all the time.”

  Reed’s iPhone vibrated. “Thank you, ma’am. Keep talking to Agent Connelly.” He walked up the sidewalk to get away from the noise of the fire trucks. “Reed,” he said into the phone.

  “Mason, we found the daughter and the ex-husband,” his assistant special agent in charge back at the Joint Operations Center said. “Both live in Bellevue, just outside of Seattle. Ex is no help at all. Says she probably just snapped after killing her son.”