“Probably another half hour.” Dr. Schmidt reapplied the modified muzzle after removing his surgical gloves. The small shaved area behind the occipital skull’s prominence could pass for injury during a fight to the untrained eye. “I’m a bit concerned about what distance we’ll get out of this chip.”
“I don’t know whether to be relieved or distressed that a wolf’s ocular nerves resemble a human’s. I checked on its mate, who seems to be doing well except for stumbling several times while pacing the enclosure.”
“That’s one of the side effects we hope will wear off in time. When the chip is fully assimilated, it shouldn’t have any adverse effects. Otherwise, it’ll alert anyone who catches onto our plot, a way to identify those chipped.” Schmidt’s Yorkshire accent thickened while scrutinizing the results of his handiwork. “One thing we couldn’t account for before testing—their resting body temperatures are higher, which will influence how long the chip lasts and more importantly, the effectiveness of its transmissions.”
Skin glue used over subcutaneous stitches eliminated the telltale tracks of surgery. The techs had shaved very little hair and the doctor had made the surgical incision crooked to better pass for an injury occurring in the wild.
“I thought these microscopic beasties were indestructible, that you’d completed testing on the East Coast as far as temperatures. That’s what I was told by the Delaware techs before your arrival.”
“We don’t yet know all the effects on human physiology. There’s been certain difficulties encountered during testing, but I like the new chip design.” Schmidt heaved a sigh, as if preparing a speech for a toddler. “Think of them as parts of an equation. The nanos are building blocks, yes. But they’re the same as all living organisms in that they combine, work together to form a larger mechanism. They are also affected by thousands of variables.”
“Okay, building blocks. I can work with that.”
Schmidt warmed to his subject. “This isn’t new technology. A spokesman from the Institute in Pennsylvania explains it in better layman’s terms. People seem to think of nanos as machines, but they’re engineered living cells, albeit a little more sensitive to temperature extremes due to genetic manipulation.”
Reinhardt listened as Schmidt droned on, passionate in his need to express his viewpoint. Only the bottom line mattered. Either they worked, or they didn’t. Boredom sent his gaze to the less interesting sections of the basement.
Eight cells, each six-foot square, contained selected implant recipients. Three held young men, strong, with intelligence shining from narrowed gazes. Each sat either cross-legged or on their butts with feet crossed at their ankles. All wore jeans and T-shirts, one sporting a leather jacket. Unmitigated hatred promising death radiated around them.
Schmidt’s ramble meant little until the word reporter sent his heartbeat faster. He’d spent too much time planning to have it unraveled by a nosy investigator.
“Our time table changed with one slight irregularity. One of my subjects in Delaware did the unthinkable. She escaped.”
“Ah, the hiking tragedy I saw on the news, clever guise. I would think you’d be more careful here, unless you have another facility ready if a hasty retreat is necessary.”
“No. We’re not set up to test at other locations. The smaller we keep this party, the more likely we are to succeed.”
“I also think it’d be wise to chip a few authorities in specific positions to monitor and control the unusual occurrences that will soon happen.” The more Reinhardt could learn, the more he could control.
“Aside from the peons who’ve already undergone testing, we’ve slated strategic personnel for monitoring, those high enough to let us thwart exposure.” Schmidt glanced toward the empty cells and sneered. “I’ve noted almost perfect results so far.”
“If you incite trouble among the homeless again, don’t you think someone will pick up on that detail?”
“We’re using a different cross section for the extra sets of eyes. Trouble is coming from a different angle in this area.”
“The recent cop shooting?”
“Yeah, that was Morfran’s work, per headquarters. He’s been ordered to keep local authorities busy with federal officers meddling in their investigations.” Schmidt squared his shoulders and puffed out his chest.
Arrogant doctors. “Speaking of irregularities, I had a visit from your friend, Morfran.” After a conversation with the dark-clad enforcer, Reinhardt determined the foreigner to be a stickler for schedules and an executioner who enjoyed his work, too much.
“A, the German is no friend to anyone that I could imagine. B, He gave me a schedule to keep lest I fall victim to an unfortunate accident.” Tension from the doctor’s shoulders radiated down to induce a slight hand tremor. “From what I understand, he has oversight here, but with strict guidelines from Dover.”
“I got a similar message, with the bonus of unwanted assistance.” Reinhardt reflected on his accumulated stash of evidence and wondered if it was enough of an insurance policy to ensure his protection.
“I’d call that a good reason to stay on schedule. Even though he follows orders, he doesn’t mind ad libbing from time to time. I’ll have these test subjects released in the reserve later today. They’ll be monitored around the clock.”
“How will you reacquire them for autopsy after the chips have dissolved?” Stealthy rooting through the doctor’s files had yielded results on previous surgeries, all performed on locals. Which meant he kept a surgical suite other than the current basement facility. Keeping close tabs meant more leverage over the doctor when the time came.
“I’ve inserted micro GPS trackers. I’m not sure how long we’ll be able to monitor them since we can’t control where they’ll roam. If we don’t get them back—it doesn’t matter in the long run. We’ll take what we can get.” Signaling to his assistant to remove the animal, Schmidt narrowed his gaze on Reinhardt, speculation giving way to suspicion. “You seem overly involved. I don’t believe money is the driving factor in your cooperation with this endeavor or you wouldn’t have shadowed every step of the procedure. What are you getting out of this?”
“Me? I get a reduced tariff in exporting my goods overseas, so I have good reason to want your success.” Reinhardt’s momentary slip induced a panic requiring several deep breaths to clear. Exposing his hidden agenda might have been a mistake.
“Ahh. Which means I’ll be working on a congressman, probably one that chairs a crucial committee. Interesting.”
Once the congressional subject is kidnapped, Schmidt wouldn’t dare expose me for fear of his participation coming to light. To insure cooperation, he’d send the good doctor a short video clip where he’d just described his botched work in Delaware. There was no reason they couldn’t all benefit as long as they kept Morfran out of the loop.
Reinhardt’s vision of the foreign exterminator excavating his gray matter in some deserted woods tightened the knot in his throat. Enthusiasm for attaining power could cost more than he could afford. “I have a press release to give. Companies are clamoring for the CR implant, thinking it will give their employees access to specific computers, vending machines, schedules, etc. All with a rice-sized grain inserted between their thumb and index finger.”
“Huh, keep ’em busy looking at the left hand, so they don’t notice the right. Nice.”
“Exactly. I’ll check in with you later.” Reinhardt pushed through the double doors leading to the extensive lab in the basement. In retrospect, he had little to fear from Schmidt. The doctor seemed as leery of Morfran as everyone else. Death awaited anyone exposing aspects of their operation and the good doctor was no fool. They’d already learned that doctors were expendable.
A crucial aspect to which he’d been excluded involved the identity and location of prior test subjects. Thanks to updated security monitors, he’d soon have that, too.
Chapter Ten
Megan shouldered open the heavy door while Luc’s ditty concer
ning the joy of cleaning toilet bowls rang in her ears. Every woman needs an overgrown child in her head. A bright red scarf covered her earwig while ensuring it stayed in place. The perverse pleasure Luc had taken in accessorizing her sack-type uniform made street rats look like Cinderella dressed for the ball.
Before she’d signed the log to begin the long night’s work, he’d texted a pic of his alternative choice in wardrobe—a French maid’s uniform consisting of a lace front, no back, and a black thong. She’d saved the picture and deleted the text.
After four years of college, four more in vet school, and a much-prized internship, she’d endured questions about qualifications for scrubbing toilet bowls. Life couldn’t sink much lower until Jackie’s face flashed forefront in her mind. Maybe it can.
Megan and two other girls cleaned the H-shaped building under the watchful eyes of security cameras, present everywhere except the restrooms, the only place she’d found safe to exercise her right to backtalk Luc’s running commentary.
The men’s room on ClickChip’s first floor mimicked the others in layout and materials, which she’d scrubbed with equal lack of enthusiasm while wondering what karmic act had sent her life spiraling into oblivion. Before pushing back into the main hall, she eyed a brightly colored urinal cake. Um, a nice addition to Luc’s breakfast. Unfortunately, even the girls were subject to random searches upon leaving work. During two weeks of night shift, she’d established her routine and affirmed her role as an honest, if ditzy, and slow worker.
“I’m finished with this one. What’s left?” Megan had slowed her pace, working meticulously to gain a few minute’s reprieve without her team member’s presence. Her cleaning partner, Meredith, paced outside the door.
The supervisor waited at the end of the hall, an older redhead with a mop of disorderly locks tied in a messy bun. “You’ve still got the maintenance room. It’s your turn, tonight. Meredith and I will wait in the break room. Everybody pulls their share and being slow doesn’t cut it.” Charlotte’s mop bucket, pushed via the long handle protruding from the wheeled tub, rolled noisily over wood-grain tile.
“We haven’t cleaned the maintenance room? O-Okeydokey.” Megan affected her best dull-witted smile and waved. “I’ll catch up as soon as I’m done, and we can eat together. I brought some brownies for us to share.” Excited chatter during lunch breaks had concerned holiday plans and the men in their lives. Thanks to Kaylee and Lexi’s careful planning, the cover kept her in character and rubbed Lucas the wrong way. The fact Meredith had a thing for men in uniforms, and the roving guard routinely flirted with anyone with indoor plumbing provided more opportunity to irritate the man who’d declared her a shrew.
When the two women disappeared around the corner, grumbling about slow-witted bulbs, Megan reviewed her mental template of the offices.
Through her earbud, Luc adopted the high-pitched harangue of a school marm. “I want to see my reflection shine in the porcelain bowl.”
“How about I just give you a shiner. That way it stays with you.” It was yet another night of his caustic remarks. “This is me, rolling my eyes out loud, asshole.”
Lexi’s admonishing throat-clearing silenced Luc before she advised, “Okay, Megan. Now that they’re out of sight, I’ve got the security feed on a loop. You can search Reinhardt’s office.”
“Jeez, I studied nine years after high school to earn minimum wage emptying trash.” Adjusting her special clear-lens glasses had become a habit. Caden’s arsenal of private investigator toys had come in handy.
When she’d first asked about cleaning the second floor, the supervisor explained that only certified domestic help could service the clean rooms and it would be months before Megan could be trained. Luc had promptly offered to teach her anything she needed to know.
Though she had little knowledge of caustic chemical baths, high-energy plasmas, and intense ultraviolet lights, she did have a triple-digit IQ. Still, it was a relief to realize the records she sought would be digital, in an office, and not in a sterile environment.
Down the hall she pushed her bucket and cart of supplies. At the end of the opposite wing, Reinhardt enjoyed an office overlooking forest and farmland on two sides. The third wall of glass provided visual access of the rear courtyard. Who wastes money building a structure in the shape of an H?
“Where are the security guards, Lexi?” Megan whispered, keeping watch behind her as she reached to key the lock of the devil’s lair. Once tucked safely inside, she breathed a sigh of relief.
“One’s on his post outside the clean rooms, Kilregard is talking with the girls in the break room, and Mike’s on the entrance near the elevator.” Lexi advised.
High ceilings and three walls of glass offered a spacious feeling and bucolic view. Menacing amorphous shadows created by thickening nimbostratus clouds wreathed her in uncertainty. From what she’d learned, the CEO was nobody’s fool and maintained top-notch security. Unseen cameras noted all movement.
Built-in bookshelves comprised the back wall, the only one lacking glass. It was too dark to read what titles aroused the owner’s attention.
“Ahh.” Stumbling over the edge of a rug jostled the hidden camera attached to her uniform, hence Luc and Lexi’s view. “Sorry, guys.” Luc had insisted on securing the button-sized camera to her uniform.
“You all right?” Luc’s concern lacked any semblance of mockery.
“Yeah, just clumsy. I’m not cut out for this crap.” Her grip tightened on the key fob concealing the concealed flash drive. Her fingers trembled in time with her racing heart to lend an air of insanity to the night’s mission.
“What—scrubbing floors or cleaning toilets?” Luc’s sense of humor reappeared with a subdued chuckle.
His attempt to lighten the mood would be better served by a different tack since his caustic remarks spurred her to return like in kind. In addition, his sarcastic defense against the growing attraction between them wouldn’t hold forever. Romantic entanglements furnished distractions in a work environment, difficult at best, lethal in her present situation. In counterpoint, her intention to order the damned frilly uniform and wear it as a fuck you, this is what you can’t have, hiked up one corner of her mouth.
The pristine desk was bare except for a laptop and polished nickel lamp. The space screamed confidence, power, and most of all, money. The mere act of sitting in the ergonomic chair reminded her of a child trying to fill her father’s shoes. Only Reinhardt wasn’t her father and would do worse than stripping her ass if she was caught. It took two tries to insert the flash into the laptop.
“You’re doing great, Megan. Turn on the computer and I can do the rest.” Lexi’s voice remained calm, as if late-night snooping were commonplace in her world.
“Megan, do another full circle so we can see the room again.” The all-business baritone lacked Luc’s normal flippancy and carried the conviction and confidence she desperately needed.
Luc’s position at the southern tree line ensured audio contact and smooth visual feed and a sense of comradery. More than a mile’s worth of their trudging through scrub brush while grumbling had enlightened her to Luc’s thoughts of the midnight hike. She’d smiled with each cursed epithet, declaring how warm and comfortable the building was kept. Right now, a cool breeze would dry the sweat accumulating on my face.
Light brightened the screen before going blank in the startup process while bars of moonlight crossing the desk made her wonder if Jackie’s murderer would ever be held accountable. “Guys, they can’t be doing experiments on the second floor, could they? Not in such close proximity of their clean rooms and the foot traffic back and forth. I’d think they would want to keep that part of their operation separate.”
Several clicks and the screen saver depicted an idyllic island setting. “Hmm, I’d love to go to Hawaii.”
“Focus, Megan.” Luc’s no-nonsense command.
“Okay, Megan. I’ll take over, now.” Lexi advised.
Screen after screen
of reports flashed on the large monitor before a schematic of the building froze Megan mid thought. “Wait! This diagram is just a large rectangle, yet it bears ClickChip’s logo and is the same dimensions which means—”
“Which means this is a diagram of the basement.” Lexi finished. “You wouldn’t know of it because you’ve had no excuse to go in the elevator.”
Perspiration dotted Megan’s forehead and dampened her sports bra, the resultant prickle disturbing her focus. “So, there’s only one way to get to the basement? From what we’ve learned about Reinhardt—that doesn’t fit. You’d think they’d have at least one more access.” Megan pointed to the schematics, then looked around. “This room isn’t as long as I’d expect after seeing the first-level floor plan.”
“You’re right. I’ll bet there’s an access from Reinhardt’s office.” Lexi’s excited speech included a slightly higher pitch.
“The entrance has to be along the inside wall, beginning on the outside corner,” Lucas suggested. “That way you’d have more head clearance at the base. See what you can find in way of a lever or switch in the bookshelves while Lexi riffles the files.”
“You got it, boss. I’m on it.” This time, she remained mindful of her step.
Megan understood why Matt, Billy, and Ethan McAllister hadn’t participated in the digital raiding of corporate files. Plausible deniability. With Caden and Lucas no longer on the force but their faces well known, they couldn’t risk more than supplying equipment and providing background support.
It didn’t alleviate the itch derived from putting her neck on the line, which she would have done anyway. At least with McAllister help and supplies, she stood a chance.
In her methodical search for an entrance into the devil’s warren, Megan pulled on each shelf of the built-in bookcase. Nothing budged. Withdrawing a penlight from her apron, she thought of the spy movies she’d watched over the years. “I’m looking on the floor for any scratch marks made by a hinged case.” Nothing.
McAllister Justice Series Box Set Volume Two Page 8