Adverse Effects

by Joel Shulkin

  She dialed Wilson’s number and waited for an answer. After four rings, she heard Detective Hawkins say, “Hello?”

  “It’s Cristina Silva. I need your help.”

  “Dr. Silva? Where are you?”

  “Washington. I know who Quinn is, and I know where to find him.”

  “We’re a half hour out from Washington.”

  Cristina stiffened. “We?”

  “You need to— Hey!”

  There was what sounded like a brief scuffle, then a familiar rough voice said, “Hello, Cristina.”

  “Santos. What are you doing with Detective Hawkins?”

  “Tracking Detective Wilson.”

  Cristina felt breathless. “Quinn said he was dead.”

  “I believe he’s still alive.”

  A wave of euphoria washed over her. Wilson, alive! That changed everything.

  “According to my tracker,” Santos continued, “I think they are taking him to ReMind.”

  “He’s a prisoner?” Her brief joy vanished, replaced by fear. “What do they want with him?”

  “I imagine they plan to use him to force your hand. Don’t worry. We’ll help you deal with them.”

  “There’s not enough time. Quinn’s expecting me.” Cristina’s mind flooded with images of Wilson, bloodied and beaten. “If I don’t go with him, he’ll figure out I learned the truth and kill Wilson.”

  “Go with him? Cristina, what did you do?”

  “I made a mistake, but I’m going to fix it.” She massaged her wounded shoulder. The ibuprofen she’d taken on the flight helped dull the pain, but it wouldn’t last—and neither would her memories if she didn’t act quickly. “Just get here as soon as you can.”

  “Wait, Cristina, you can’t—”

  She hung up.

  Are you sure about this?

  Cristina straightened her back and gathered her courage.

  “To save Wilson,” she murmured, touching the locket around her neck. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  A sleek black limousine purred alongside the curb as Cristina emerged from the airport exit. After she gave the driver a nod, he opened the door.

  Mitchell poked out his grinning face. “Good morning, Doctor. I hope you had a pleasant trip.”

  It took every iota of strength for Cristina to refrain from choking him. At least he didn’t seem to suspect she knew the truth about him.

  “Unforgettable.”

  She climbed inside and sat across from Mitchell. The driver shut the door.

  Mitchell raised the privacy screen and deactivated the intercom.

  Cristina ripped off the wig and glasses. “I’ve wanted to do that for ten hours.”

  “Too bad. I think it’s sexy.”

  Cristina cringed at his repartee. On the flight back, she’d analyzed everything he’d ever said to her—from their first meeting in the hospital to their reunion in DC. No question remained in her mind that he had orchestrated everything. And here he was, still pretending to be her savior. At least he didn’t seem to know she’d learned the truth. As much as it repulsed her, she had to play along for now. Pretend to be working with him. At least until she found out where they were keeping Wilson.

  “The immigration officer thought so too. He was too busy checking out my legs and asking if I danced samba to inspect my passport.”

  “Let me see it.”

  The thought of his finger grazing hers made Cristina want to vomit. She handed it to him.

  He scanned it. “Sabrina Carvalho. Where’d you get it?”

  “My sister Maria had it. She found it in my apartment after I disappeared.”

  “I see. Well, lucky for that.” He returned the passport.

  “Yes. I’m so lucky.” She tucked the passport in her purse. “Quinn said he’d meet me after I went to ReMind. Are you sure he’s actually Julius Simmons?”

  “Positive. Halfway through clinical trials, Russian locals killed four researchers. The Chief Security Officer hired private contractors for protection. Two months later, each city experienced surges in gang violence, sparked by police assassinations. And get this: they’d hired the CSO only two weeks earlier, and he surged up the corporate ladder. Then the CEO disappeared, and the CSO took the helm. Guess who?”

  “Julius Simmons.”

  “Naturally. Who else would be obsessed with fixing Recognate?”

  Who else, indeed? Cristina studied his airbrushed smile, marveling at how someone could lie so easily. She slipped one hand inside her coat, probing for the inner pocket where she’d smuggled the letter opener bought at an airport shop. It wasn’t sharp, but if she caught him by surprise, she could drive it through his windpipe. Her pulse raced. “Quinn has stolen everything from me. I want to destroy him.”

  His smile faltered, briefly, and then he grinned. “I always loved your passion. I wouldn’t trust anyone else.”

  It took all Cristina’s will to keep her expression stoic. Bracing herself against the cabin, her shoulder twinging, she leaned over and crawled into the seat next to him. His eyebrows raised but he otherwise didn’t react. She leaned closer, her hand tightening around the letter opener.

  You really think you can kill him in cold blood? Sabrina’s laughter filled Cristina’s mind. You couldn’t even kill Andrea.

  Cristina’s resolve wavered.

  Before she could react, Mitchell yanked her closer, pressing his lips against hers. Cristina recoiled, repulsed. But Sabrina shoved her mind away and returned his kiss. Fireworks exploded in her head. Her arms wrapped around his neck, devouring him. The touch of his fingertips against her cheeks thrilled her.

  Cristina looked down, watching her body embrace his.

  What’s happening?

  I’m taking back control. Before you ruin everything.

  Mitchell’s tongue probed her mouth. His hands explored her waist and hips. She tried to pull away, but her body wouldn’t respond.

  We have to stop him. He did this to us.

  You don’t know anything. You have no idea who you are.

  Carl Franklin and Jerry Peterman materialized nearby. They offered a rifle and started firing. Bullets whizzed past her head. A dark-skinned boy appeared, running toward her, crying for his mother. He fell, dead, a knife protruding from his back.

  No. Stop.

  You need to give him the formula. He can fix Recognate. Make these memories go away. He can fix me.

  Cristina’s stomach hardened. You mean us.

  I mean me. You’re just a shadow. And it’s time to turn on the lights.

  “No!” She shoved Mitchell away and scrambled to a corner of the limo seat, gasping for breath.

  He stared at her, tense, as if afraid to touch her. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s starting. The memories are returning.” She clutched her chest, trying to reassure herself she was still whole. “And I don’t think I’ll survive.”

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  As the limo stopped in front of the ReMind building, Mitchell touched Cristina’s shoulder. She withdrew reflexively, regretting it when his face darkened. Did he suspect she knew who he was?

  “I injured it in Rio.” She massaged her shoulder. “And it’s hurting pretty bad. I think I should stay here.”

  What are you doing? You need to go in there and give him what he wants.

  Why? So you can get rid of me?

  If you cooperate, I’ll let you stay in the background. But if you defy me, I’ll tell him your plan, and he’ll kill Wilson.

  “Is there something else going on?” Mitchell asked, his face screwed up with concern. “Something you’re not telling me?”

  Cristina hesitated.

  Ticktock.

  “No, nothing.” She forced a smile. “I guess I can handl
e the pain, after all.”

  “Okay.” His face remained stoic for another moment and then he smiled back and helped her out of the car. As they approached the entry, he said, “Remember, our plan is to trick Simmons into confessing he ordered the murders to cover up his Recognate problems. The CIA isn’t allowed to operate on US soil and we can’t trust the FBI, so this is the only way we can get the truth.”

  “And he’s just going to confess to us?” If Mitchell was Quinn, perhaps Simmons could be an ally.

  “He will if you tell him how to fix Recognate,” said Mitchell.

  “But I don’t know how to fix it.”

  “Lie. At least until you remember. With any luck, he’ll slip first. Once we take down Simmons, the CIA has researchers who can study Recognate and produce it properly.” Mitchell gave Cristina a grin she presumed was meant to be reassuring but came off smug. “Don’t worry. We’ll get you the right treatment.”

  Cristina’s heart pounded as she followed Mitchell inside. She still didn’t know what role Simmons played or what awaited her. A letter opener wouldn’t be enough against the two of them. Her only hope was to bluff until she could bargain for Wilson’s life, or Santos arrived.

  “Welcome back, Doctor,” Kitty said as they approached the reception desk. She lifted the phone. “I’ll call Mateo to escort her.”

  “I’ll take her there myself,” Mitchell said. “I need to update him on a client.”

  “Of course, sir.” Her teeth glittered. “Have a nice day.”

  They rode up the elevator. Cristina noticed a bulge under Mitchell’s jacket. Had to be a gun. Her nerves shot into overload. The walls were crushing her. She needed to escape.

  Uh-uh. No escape now. You run, you’re done.

  Her stomach fluttered.

  Mitchell eyed her. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she said. “Just nervous.”

  “Keep it together. This will all be over soon.”

  The doors opened. They traversed the long hallway and stopped at the oak door. Mitchell opened it, and Cristina entered.

  “Dr. Silva.” Simmons rounded the corner into his office foyer, arms spread wide. “I hear you have excellent news to share . . .” His grin faltered as Mitchell appeared. “Oh, I didn’t expect you.”

  “I ran into Dr. Silva downstairs,” Mitchell said. “I wanted to hear what she has to say. Our client is demanding a working product.”

  “Yes. Of course.” Simmons’s mouth twitched, then he was all business. “Let’s talk.”

  They sat across from each other. Simmons folded his hands in his lap. Mitchell crossed his leg over his knee. Cristina clenched her fists, desperately trying to think of a way out of this mess without losing control to Sabrina.

  At last, Simmons asked, “Well? What’s the answer?”

  She glanced at Mitchell. He gave her a blank stare in response.

  Slowly, she said, “Neither Jerry nor Carl had active metabolites in their bloodstream. They suffered acute withdrawal.”

  “Impossible. Frank insisted they received their monthly supply uninterrupted.”

  Kobayashi’s story replayed in her mind. There was only one possibility. “What if they received placebos?”

  “Placebos? We don’t use placebos in an open-label trial.”

  She swallowed. It was a dangerous card to play, but she had more up her sleeve. “I know about Rio.”

  “Cristina,” Mitchell murmured.

  Simmons scowled. “What about Rio?”

  “The subjects went insane when their supply was cut off. That’s why ReMind hired a mercenary group to take care of it.”

  The CEO’s eyes burned. Prickles ran up and down her arms.

  Unexpectedly, Simmons burst into laughter. “You’ve got a great imagination, young lady.” To Mitchell, “Did you put her up to this?”

  “You’re denying it?” she asked.

  He pulled a file out of his desk. “We reviewed your blood tests. THC levels are markedly elevated, and chromatography confirms synthetic cannabinoids. Since you don’t seem like a spice user, I assume you’ve been taking Recognate. At high doses.”

  Her cheeks cooled. “Yes.”

  “You stole from us. But that’s not the immediate problem.” He shut the folder. “You’re diaphoretic and your pupils are dilated. How long since your last dose?”

  “Four days.”

  He sighed. “Then you need my help as much as I need yours.”

  The intercom buzzed. Simmons pushed a button. “What is it, Kitty?”

  “Two federal agents are here to see you.”

  Cristina glanced at Mitchell. He looked as surprised as she was.

  “Fine. Send them up.” Simmons leaned across the desk. “Now, no more games. If the problem is withdrawal, as you claim, how do we fix it?”

  “There might be a way,” she began, trying to stall. “But it may cause more deaths.”

  He pressed his fist against his lips and stared at his desk. “Then we’ll have to shut down the study.”

  “Why would you do that?” Mitchell asked. “The investor is ready to sign.”

  “I know, but Dr. Silva is right. Too many lives have been lost already. We need damage control, or we’re screwed.”

  The office door clicked open.

  Mateo appeared. “They’re here.”

  “Send them in.” Simmons looked at Mitchell. “We may as well deal with this all at once.”

  Mateo disappeared. Footsteps plodded on the hardwood floor. Cristina turned.

  Agent Forrester stormed into the office, followed by Vasquez.

  Cristina’s mouth went dry.

  “This is unacceptable, Julius,” said Forrester. “You should’ve told us this drug was flawed before we agreed to use it for witness protection . . .” Forrester stopped in his tracks. He glared at Cristina. “What are you doing here?”

  “Please sit, Agent,” Simmons said. “She’s here to help.”

  “This whole mess is because of her.” He pointed at Cristina. “You’re under arrest.”

  “I don’t think so,” Mitchell said.

  Forrester wheeled around. Focused on Mitchell. Cheeks reddened. “I recognize you.”

  Mitchell sighed. “Well, that’s a shame.”

  Something clicked behind Forrester. He turned. Agent Vasquez held a gun to his head. A silencer hugged the barrel.

  “Grace?” he whispered.

  “Sorry, Charles.” She fired.

  Agent Forrester crumpled to the floor.

  “What the hell?” Simmons yelled. “You can’t—”

  “Quiet!” Agent Vasquez trained the gun on him, then glanced at Mitchell. “What now, Mr. Quinn?”

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  The stink of gun smoke and blood lingered. Each tick of the desk clock reverberated in the room’s deadly quiet. Quinn held Cristina’s gaze for what seemed to be forever. Her heart pounded.

  “Well, shit,” he said, grimacing. “That was an unfortunate twist. I hadn’t expected you to find out quite like that.”

  She continued to stare at him, fearing what he might do next.

  “Hold on. You don’t seem surprised.” He squinted. “You already knew who I was, didn’t you? What gave me away?”

  Cristina stayed silent. Let him fret over how he slipped up.

  “What’s going on?” Simmons cowered behind his desk. “Why did you kill Agent Forrester?”

  “Business, Julius.” Quinn shrugged. “Isn’t that what you always say? Charles Forrester would’ve shut us down once he found out who I was. Instead, I shut him down. Just like in Rio.”

  Simmons balled his fists. “This isn’t what we agreed.”

  “We agreed you’d get a fancy desk and a figurehead position. You didn’t care how you got it.” Quinn jabbed hi
s thumb against his chest. “I’ve held this company together. Not you. Now I need Cristina’s help.”

  Cristina was startled. “What makes you think I’d help you after what you’ve done?”

  “What I’ve done is keep you alive. You’d be dead if it weren’t for my orders. Hell, I saved your life in DC when Andrea tried to kill you.”

  “Only because you want to know how to fix Recognate.”

  “Information that will benefit all of us. With a working drug, we can save you and change the world.”

  “You’re insane,” Simmons said. “Change the world? You just killed our FBI liaison.”

  “We don’t need him,” Quinn said. “Vasquez will handle the Bureau. Anyway, I’ve got a dozen other potential buyers lined up.”

  “Who?”

  “That doesn’t matter until we have a stable drug.” Quinn turned to Cristina. “That’s why I need you. I tried to keep you out of it. The best minds worked nonstop and failed every field test.”

  “Field test.” Something in Cristina’s mind clicked. “You switched Carl’s and Jerry’s Recognate for placebos.”

  “I did what had to be done. If they tried calling the number on those bottles, they would’ve reached an inoperative number. I had to keep Simmons out of the loop.”

  “Those others, the psychotic breaks Simmons told me about. That was all you.” Cristina’s stomach heaved. “You killed your own men.”

  “When you remember, you’ll understand.”

  “I’ll never understand a monster like you.”

  “Sabrina Carvalho did. She wanted adventure. Excitement. A new life.” Quinn leered. “That’s why she suggested we test Recognate on ourselves.”

  Cristina’s body warped inside out. “What?”

  “Jorge Silva got too close. The only way to hide you from him and the rest of the CIA was to turn you into someone else. Carl, Jerry, Federico and you.”