B007GFGTIY EBOK (29 page)

“No. The room is clean.”

Hayden picked up one of the aluminum vessels. A liquid slopped around inside.

“That’s the vaccine.”

“Glad to hear it,” Hayden said.

Rebecca took the flask from him and examined it herself.

“You can see how something designed for good can be turned into a weapon,” Lockhart said.

“Only too well,” Hayden said.

“It’s frightening,” Rebecca said.

“Rebecca, I want to talk to Hayden for a little while, in private. Feel free to look around.”

“OK. Have fun.”

Lockhart escorted Hayden out of the lab, back into the anteroom. The door automatically locked after them.

“How’s she going to get out?” Hayden asked.

“Don’t worry, she can open the door herself. The door has to lock afterwards or the air lock won’t work.”

When they returned to the main lab, the outer door locked as well, but Lockhart went one step further and swiped his card key through the slot, causing the door to beep.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Hayden said.

Rebecca looked up from inside the lab. She went to the door and tried it. It was locked. She looked confused.

“Let her out.”

“After we’ve finished our business.”

“No. Now,” Hayden demanded.

“Sorry, it doesn’t work that way.” Lockhart pressed a button on the intercom. “Don’t worry, Rebecca. Sit back and relax and you’ll be out soon.”

“Let me out.”

Lockhart took his finger off the intercom.

“What do you want?” Hayden asked.

“You’re going to show me that password-protected file you’ve got online and you’re going to erase those files for me.”

“What if I don’t?”

Lockhart produced a remote control similar to a car’s keyless remote. He pressed the intercom for Rebecca to hear. “If you don’t play ball, I’ll activate one of those canisters—and this time, it won’t be a sedative. It’ll be genetically modified bubonic plague. Now what do you say?”

S
antiago crawled inside his stricken Toyota to help Rice. The deputy was hanging upside down, held in position by his seat belt.

“I can’t reach the release,” he said.

Santiago pressed the button, the seat belt snapped back, and Rice tumbled onto the roof liner, landing hard on his neck.

Two shots tore through the passenger window, spraying them with glass. Rice stiffened, the color draining from his face.

“Rice?”

The deputy just shook his head.

Blood leaked from under Rice and pooled around him.

“Christ,” Santiago murmured. “Don’t move.”

Rage and anger fueled Santiago. He burst from the car with an agility that defied his age and size. He snapped to his feet and jerked his 9mm off his hip in one fluid motion.

Mr. Dodge darted toward Santiago, dropped to one knee, and fired. The shot went wild, but Santiago ducked behind his car for cover.

He looked in at Rice. The bullets he’d taken had taken years off him. He looked like a kid, full of innocence and wonderment.

Santiago’s Toyota might have been his only cover, but he had to draw the gunman away from the vehicle. The chance of a stray bullet hitting either Rice or the spilled gasoline was too high. It sounded like a smart and prudent plan, but he was in the middle of a featureless field with nothing to use for cover. Mr. Dodge would pick him off before he got ten feet.

“Throw down your weapons and come out where I can see you,” Mr. Dodge yelled.

“Hang in there,” Santiago told Rice. “I’ll take care of him.”

“C’mon, I don’t have all day. Or do I have to put another bullet in your partner to get your compliance?”

“OK,” Santiago yelled back, but he remained crouched behind the vehicle.

“Throw out your weapons.”

Santiago tossed his 9mm away from him. It bounced to a stop ten feet from the front of end of his Toyota.

“All your weapons. I’m not stupid. Hurry it up.”

Santiago felt pretty stupid. He didn’t have a backup piece.

Rice unholstered his 9mm and slid it over to him.

“I’m just getting the deputy’s gun.” Santiago leaned in and took Rice’s 9mm, but he also grabbed the nightstick resting next to him. “I’m throwing out his weapon.”

“Do it.”

Santiago tossed the 9mm hard into the air. It climbed, spinning end over end and catching serious hang time. He sprang up. The gunman’s gaze had gone to the flying gun, just as he’d hoped. He hurled the nightstick at him, tomahawk-style. The nightstick flew straight and true.

Mr. Dodge spotted it too late, but he still fired off a round before it smashed him in the face, shattering his nose and sending him to the ground.

Santiago hadn’t waited to see if his throw connected. The moment the nightstick left his hand, he dived for his 9mm. He snatched it up, aimed, and fired two suppressing shots. He needed the son of a bitch alive. He wanted someone involved in this orchestrated slaughter to answer for all that had gone on. The gunman snapped to his feet. Blood cascaded down his face from his busted nose. The pain must have been immense and blinding, but he trained his gun on Santiago. Santiago didn’t wait. He aimed and fired. His bullet punched Mr. Dodge in the right shoulder, knocking him back. Santiago clawed himself to his feet and raced toward the gunman, with his 9mm aimed at his chest.

Mr. Dodge forced himself up into a sitting position and lifted his pistol.

“Don’t even think about it,” Santiago warned.

Mr. Dodge ignored him and aimed.

Santiago dived on top of him, his bulk crushing the gunman’s pistol between their bodies. The son of a bitch wouldn’t risk shooting himself.

Santiago pinned Mr. Dodge’s free hand down with his free hand and jammed his 9mm against the side of the gunman’s head with the other. Mr. Dodge bucked underneath Santiago. He felt his hold on the gunman slip under his superior strength, and he was forced to take the gun away from Mr. Dodge’s head and use his hand to support himself.

Mr. Dodge was worming his gun hand out from between their bodies. Santiago knew he wouldn’t think twice about shooting him and head-butted the gunman across his already broken nose. Bone and cartilage crunched, but the son of a bitch took the blow, just huffing blood and snot clear of his clogged nasal passages. He head-butted the man again and again, ignoring the lights dancing in his own vision. Blood spread across Mr. Dodge’s brow. Santiago wasn’t sure whether it was his or the gunman’s.

He felt Mr. Dodge jerk his gun arm from between their bodies. Santiago grabbed his wrist and the man’s tendons felt like steel rods as his wrist twisted in Santiago’s grasp. The gun’s muzzle curled toward Santiago’s temple. He tried to force it away, but Mr. Dodge pressed its hard, unforgiving end against his skull.

Mr. Dodge grinned through bloody teeth. “Time to die.”

“I don’t think so.” Rice smashed the nightstick across Mr. Dodge’s forearm. The shattering of bone turned Santiago’s stomach. The gunman’s face blanched and his gun arm fell away.

Santiago sat up and drove a roundhouse punch into Mr. Dodge’s jaw. The blow was hard enough to send him into the realms of unconsciousness.

Santiago rolled off Mr. Dodge and fell on his back next to him. Rice stood over him, hunched over and holding his right side. He was pale and weak, but managed a bright smile.

Santiago smiled back. “You took your damn sweet time.”

Rice wrestled the pistol from Mr. Dodge’s grasp while Santiago got to his feet. “Give me that thing before you hurt someone with it.”

Rice handed the gun over.

“You look like shit. Get in his car and rest up.”

Rice nodded. He hobbled over to the Charger, which still had its engine running. Santiago hoped Rice was going to be OK. He went back to the Toyota and scrabbled inside to get his cuffs.

Another shot rang out.

Santiago scrambled to his feet. Mr. Dodge relaxed from a shooter’s stance. He’d produced another gun from somewhere and had shot Rice in the back as he reached the edge of the field. Rice fell forward without so much as a grunt. Santiago aimed at Mr. Dodge and fired. His shot struck the gunman in the shoulder. He swung around and aimed at the detective as Santiago fired again. A hole opened up in Mr. Dodge’s chest and he went down.

Santiago raced over to Rice, dropped to his knees, and rolled his deputy over. His eyes were open, but they were unseeing.

“Mark, I’m so sorry.” Santiago held his dead colleague in his arms.

Movement by the car distracted Santiago from his mourning. Mr. Dodge was preparing to take another shot.

“Fuck you.”

Santiago fired a shot into the Toyota’s bleeding gas tank. The car erupted into flames, spilling burning fuel over Mr. Dodge. He listened to the gunman scream and watched him burn as he rocked his friend’s body.

“What’s it to be?” Lockhart asked.

Hayden glanced at Rebecca trapped in the lab. She looked angry instead of scared. Her beautiful eyes burned balefully at Lockhart. Her hatred for him was almost tangible.

“What choice do I have?”

“None whatsoever.”

“So you aren’t combating biological weapons, you’re creating them,” Hayden said.

“Guilty as charged.” Lockhart showed Hayden into Eskdale’s office.

“That’s everything shredded,” Eskdale said and stepped from the machine.

“Now, it’s your turn, Hayden.” Lockhart pointed to the PC on the desk.

Hayden took a seat in front of the computer. Lockhart rounded the desk and stood behind him. He made sure Hayden saw the transmitter in his hand, his thumb poised over the button.

“Professor Eskdale is a brilliant man. The British cracked the genetic sequence to the bubonic plague. While others saw cracking the code as a defense against a potential outbreak, he saw what else could be done with the code.”

“Like what?” He didn’t want to hear Lockhart’s speech, but if he kept the guy talking, his focus would be off Rebecca.

“You see, Mother Nature is a bitch. She creates some nasty little trapdoors for the human race. But whatever she can do, man can top it. Once we had the code, there was nothing stopping us from bending it to create a new and improved plague. The pathogen in those canisters is far more efficient than the original plague, and current vaccines can’t combat it. If I were to press this button, it would be too late for Ms. Fallon six hours after she was exposed. All thanks to Kenneth here.” Lockhart slapped a hand on Eskdale’s shoulder. “Impressive, huh?”

“Spectacular,” Hayden said and typed in the URL for his online storage account. “So, what was your terrorist attack?”

“A demonstration. My clients wanted to make sure what they were buying worked. What better way than to fake my own terrorist attack? Beckerman set it up. It was his idea. All in all, it worked very well. It got plenty of media attention and drew you out of the woodwork.”

“Who were those Chinese guys I saw you with? Your customers?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“So this is all for money?”

“It makes the world go around.”

Hayden had hoped for more. If so many people were to die, then they should die for something. Even if it was love or hate, he could understand it; they were passionate emotions that in some twist of nature justified themselves. But all this for money? It was just so shallow.

“Why kill everyone at MDE?”

“Chaudhary didn’t like the taste of what he was being fed, challenged poor Kenneth here and stole a file.” Lockhart patted the professor like a faithful dog. “Kenneth couldn’t subdue his fears and I knew I couldn’t allow Chaudhary to live.”

“You used the drug.”

“Yes. Like I say, Kenneth is brilliant. He made his name in drug development before he switched to genetics. He’s still a skilled technician in that regard. I wanted a weapon which was effective but wouldn’t raise too many questions, and Kenneth had something on hand.”

“And Shane?”

“Chaudhary showed Shane what he’d found and, people being people, Shane sent you a copy. I saw a trend developing and I knew no one at MDE could be allowed to make the same discovery.”

“Did Bellis know what you were doing?”

“Not until after Fallon’s death. His suicide was convenient and saved me the trouble.”

Hayden felt numb. He listened to Lockhart’s account of his atrocities, but the true horror of what he’d done hadn’t sunk in yet. He doubted if it ever would.

He glanced at the screen. The website was up. “Here’s my account.”

Lockhart and Eskdale crowded around Hayden. After a minute, the screen filled with a list of file names.

“Which are Marin Design Engineering’s files?” Lockhart asked.

Hayden sorted by date. “These last twenty-five entries are MDE’s, and this last entry is the file Shane sent me.”

“Delete it all,” Lockhart instructed. When Hayden hesitated, Lockhart’s expression soured. He shoved the remote in Hayden’s field of vision and thumbed the button. “Hit your delete button before I hit mine.”

Hayden locked gazes with Lockhart. His heart pounded, but he showed him no fear. Lockhart wouldn’t respond to a frightened man. “I’ll do it. I’ll delete it, but I have a request.”

“A request,” Lockhart repeated, as if trying out the words for the first time.

“I can do it,” Eskdale said. He leaned into Hayden to shove him aside.

Lockhart stopped him with a raised hand. “What’s your request?”

“I want to know what’s on the file. Chaudhary and Shane died because of it. I just want to know what was so damn special about it that so many people were killed.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Eskdale said. “Just delete it.”

Hayden read Lockhart’s expression. He was considering Hayden’s request.

“James, you can’t be honestly considering this.”

“Shut up, Kenneth. Your mistakes created this mess. OK, Hayden, I’ll show you. You say this file is password protected. Who do you think password-protected it?”

More games. Hayden didn’t have time for it, but he had little choice under the circumstances but to play along. “Shane or Chaudhary.”

“Chaudhary, really?”

Lockhart really was trying Hayden’s patience, but he bit back. “OK, I thought Shane protected the file.”

“Well, you bet on the wrong pony,” Lockhart said with smug satisfaction. “It’s Kenneth’s file. Chaudhary stole it from him. At some point, he sent it to Shane and Shane sent it to you. Kenneth, open it for him.”

Eskdale frowned but did as he was told. He brushed Hayden aside and typed in the password. The computer accepted it and unlocked the file.

Hayden felt incredibly dumb. It had never occurred to him that Chaudhary had come into possession of the protected file. It made sense. If he’d unearthed the answers, he wouldn’t have buried them. He would have gone to the police or the media, but he hadn’t because he didn’t know what the file contained. Shane had signed his death warrant by believing in the conspiracy and accepting the file.

Lockhart smiled. Hayden recognized a winner’s smile when he saw it. He held his gaze before turning to the screen.

The document was untitled. It was a PDF file, the pages scanned from handwritten notes. Eskdale’s name marked the upper left hand corner of every page. His handwriting was neat and legible, and although Hayden didn’t understand a word of it, he recognized the format. He was looking at the pages from a lab notebook containing experiment histories. This was Eskdale’s how-to guide on weaponizing the plague.