The Descartes Evolution

by N. J. Croft

  But he needed more time. He would break Haughton and get Jenna back. They would uncover the secrets of Descartes and stop the terrorist attack. And then he would tear the Conclave apart.

  Haughton was staring at him, shock stamped on his features. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But for the first time, Luke heard a tremor in his voice.

  “The Conclave.”

  Haughton sank down into his chair.

  “To get back to my friend,” Luke said. “I know the Conclave has her, and I want her back.”

  “I can’t help you.”

  “I think you can.”

  Haughton shook his head. “You can’t have any proof about my company’s involvement in any massacre.”

  “Not yet, but we’ll get it.”

  Haughton ignored the comment. “I know nothing of any Conclave.”

  “You don’t know much, apparently. Tell me, do you know what it’s like to lose someone you love?” Luke’s tone was gentle.

  Haughton’s gaze shot to his, but he didn’t answer.

  “To know they might be in pain? Terrified?”

  Haughton glanced away. When he turned back, his face was hard. “I’m sorry you’ve lost your friend, but I can’t help you.”

  “Oh, you will be sorry. And you can help me. You won’t want to, but I’m hoping you’ll find the alternative harder.”

  “The alternative? Are you threatening me?” His voice held a faint tinge of anger. The man was an arrogant fool. Maybe he thought he was beyond the things that affected normal people, but he’d soon find he was wrong.

  “Yes.”

  “I’d like you to leave.”

  “Not just yet. You see, I’m going to give you a glimpse of how it feels.”

  “How what feels?”

  “I’m going to give you a glimpse of what it’s like to lose someone you love. To worry that at this moment someone could be hurting them. Of course, that is presuming you love your wife and daughter.”

  “What?”

  Luke allowed a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Haughton had to believe he would go through with this. The truth was Luke wasn’t sure what he’d do. He’d done some hard things over the past ten years. He’d killed, and he’d condoned the torture of men, but they had always been who he considered the bad guys. Most of them had been murderers or worse. Haughton’s wife and daughter were innocents.

  But so was Jenna.

  Forcing the concern aside, he faced Haughton. “A colleague of mine is holding your wife and daughter. If you do not cooperate fully with me, he will cause them pain. Now the question you need to ask yourself is, are you willing to sacrifice them? Because, if you don’t cooperate, it will come to that.”

  The color drained from Haughton’s skin, leaving him pale. “I don’t believe you.” But his voice lacked conviction.

  Luke pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and punched in Callum’s number. “He needs convincing.”

  He handed the phone to Haughton, who raised it to his ears with a trembling hand.

  From across the desk, Luke heard the scream that shrilled down the phone. Haughton’s hand tightened until his fingers looked like claws.

  “Rachel?”

  She must have spoken. Luke couldn’t hear the words, but Haughton went from white to a sickly shade of green. He pressed the phone against his ear. “Rachel, just be strong. I’ll get you out of there.” He glared at Luke. “I don’t believe you. They’re innocents. You’re bluffing.”

  The bastard was willing to risk his loved ones. Either he didn’t love them enough, or he was too scared. Or he didn’t believe Luke was serious. He grabbed the phone from Haughton.

  “He needs a little more convincing.” He held the phone out to Haughton’s face.

  This time the scream lasted for long seconds. Afterward, the room was silent except for Haughton’s labored breathing.

  “Next time it will be your daughter,” Luke said. “What is she, six? Seems a pity she should pay for your mistakes.”

  Sweat beaded on the man’s forehead; his eyes darted around the room as though he could find a way out. “You’re animals. You have to let them go.”

  Unexpected fury whipped through Luke. “Animals? Yesterday I stood on the remains of an African village. All that was left of over two hundred people was ash. How did they die? Was it quick? Painless? Do you care?” He ran a hand through his hair. For ten years he’d pursued this, but he’d always felt so cold, emotionless. Now red-hot rage burned through him. “Do you even fucking know?”

  Emotions always got in the way, and he swallowed the anger. He waited as Haughton also brought himself under control.

  “I can’t tell you anything. They’ll kill me.”

  “And if you don’t tell me everything, I will kill your wife and daughter and make you watch. So you have a dilemma. Your death, perhaps at some unknown time in the future. Or your wife and daughter’s death very, very soon.”

  “My daughter’s only a child. I don’t believe you’d do it.”

  Luke considered the other man for a moment. “Perhaps I could tell you a little history, Mr. Haughton, to convince you of my sincerity in this matter.” He sat back in his chair. “This is a matter of public record, so you can check I’m telling the truth. Ten years ago, I, too, had a wife and daughter. My daughter was a baby, only three months old. A few years earlier, my father had died under suspicious circumstances. I started asking the wrong questions of the wrong people, and they decided to get me out of the way. So they blew up my car. Obviously, I survived; my wife and baby didn’t. They were torn to bloody little pieces. I came around with bits of them plastered to my skin.” He allowed the hatred to fill his eyes. “Now, you’re the one thing standing between me and getting the people who did that to them. Look at me and tell me you really believe I’m not sincere.”

  Haughton was silent for a minute. Luke raised the phone. “Callum—”

  “No, wait,” Haughton held out a trembling hand, and the tension inside Luke relaxed.

  He kept his face expressionless as he lowered the phone. “Yes?”

  Haughton sagged as though his bones crumbled. Then he nodded, a quick jerk of his head. “I’ll tell you what I can, but I don’t know much—none of us do. It’s the way things work.”

  Luke smiled. “Let’s hope you know enough.” He thought about what to ask. There were two strands of information he needed to pull together. The first was the terrorist attack, the when and the where. The second was Jenna. There was one thing that tied them together.

  “Tell me about Descartes.”

  Haughton’s eyes widened at the name. “How—” He broke off and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, Luke knew he had won. “Descartes is the name of an ongoing project.”

  “Its purpose?”

  He shrugged. “As far as I can tell the purpose is twofold. The technology used is new; they’re still testing it.”

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t know, and I’m telling the truth. Some sort of bioagent, but I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “You haven’t tested it here?”

  “It wasn’t in my remit.”

  “So Ivory Coast was a test?”

  “Yes. We needed to know how effective the chemical would be when used out in the open. Whether it would travel. Whether it could be contained. And the tests went perfectly. The chemical was one hundred percent lethal. No survivors, and it cleared from the atmosphere in under twenty-four hours, leaving no trace.”

  “And they plan to use this chemical in some sort of terrorist attack over here?”

  “I’m not sure where. I don’t get told the details, but from the quantity involved, it’s something big.”

  “Why?” Luke said. “What can they gain from it?”

  “Do yo
u understand anything about the Conclave, Mr. Hockley? Do you know why the Conclave exists? Power. That’s what we want. What’s the most powerful struggle in the world? Life and death. My bet is the Conclave is proving to the world they have that power and are willing to use it.” He smiled. “It sort of puts us on par with God, don’t you think?”

  “You’re insane.”

  “Perhaps.”

  A shrill ringing sounded in the room.

  Luke’s eyes narrowed. “What is that?”

  “The fire alarm.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Haughton pressed the console on his desk. “Juliana, what the hell’s going on?”

  Her voice came back slightly panicked. “I don’t know. I’m looking into it.”

  Luke stood up and came around the desk. “You have CCTV?”

  Haughton switched on the monitor on his desk. He pressed a few buttons, and the reception area came up on the screen. People were streaming out of the stairwells and heading for the doors.

  “Could you have been followed?” Haughton asked.

  “Maybe. It’s more likely you’re being watched. Come on, we have to get out of here.” He gripped Haughton by the arm. “Just a warning. If I don’t call in every thirty minutes, my people have orders to kill your wife. Another thirty and your daughter will die. It’s in your best interest that I get out of here alive. Are we understood?”

  Haughton nodded. He stood up and walked, not to the double doors Luke had entered by, but a smaller one at the back of the room. It led into a bathroom, a farther door opposite led out of this. Haughton took a key card from his pocket and swiped it through the lock.

  Luke drew the pistol from his shoulder holster and switched off the safety. “Where does this lead?”

  Haughton glanced from the gun back to Luke’s face. “My private quarters. We can get up to the roof that way. I have a helicopter up there.”

  “You can fly it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Go on.”

  Haughton pushed the door open, and Luke followed him through into a luxurious hallway. Haughton might have said money wasn’t his motivating force, but he was certainly fond of the trappings of wealth. He led the way along the hall to a steel door, swiped the card again, and then they were in a narrow stairwell. They climbed up and finally came out onto the rooftop of the building.

  Luke placed a hand on the other man’s arm, preventing him from stepping out. His gut was telling him this was too easy so far. Straight ahead, through the open doorway, stood the helicopter—a small four-seater. Between them lay an open stretch of concrete.

  “We’re going to run for it.” If they stayed up here any longer, they would never get off this roof alive. He’d been stupid not to realize they’d be watching Haughton and couldn’t afford to make such mistakes. His mind wasn’t focusing.

  “Go.”

  Pushing Haughton in the small of the back, he shoved him out in the open, with Luke just behind.

  Gunshots sounded, and Luke’s muscles tensed, waited for the tear of bullets into his flesh. Instead, Haughton staggered and went down.

  “Shit.”

  Haughton was a liability now, expendable to the Conclave, whereas they would want to take Luke alive to find out who he was working with and how much he knew.

  Whirling around, he squeezed off some shots and saw two figures dive for cover behind a small concrete wall. He didn’t look at Haughton, but a groan told him the man was still alive.

  Without pausing the shots, Luke reached into his pocket and pulled out a stun grenade, glad he’d come prepared. He pulled the pin and tossed it over the wall, then reached down, grabbed Haughton by the upper arm, and dragged him to his feet.

  A brief examination revealed he’d taken two shots, one in the leg, one in the stomach, but he was capable of moving, and Luke ran with him in the direction of the helicopter.

  There was no sound from behind them and when they reached the cover, he turned to Haughton.

  “How badly are you hit?”

  “I’ll live. Let’s get out of here.”

  He opened the door and managed to scramble into the pilot’s seat. Luke strode around to the other side and climbed in as the blades started to whir. Haughton was pale, his face set, but he appeared in control. For a short while, he’d be okay, not that they had any choice. There was no movement from across the rooftop, but they would doubtless have reinforcements on the way.

  He took out his cell and punched in Callum’s number. “They’re after us. We’re leaving Flexley by helicopter, and we’ll need picking up. I’ll leave my phone on—you can track us on the frequency. Haughton’s been shot, so we’ll need medical supplies.”

  He put the phone away as they rose into the air. They hovered for a moment, and he looked down onto the roof, finding two men down. “Head out of the city. North.”

  He kept his eyes peeled for any likely place to land. They were on the outskirts of London, so soon the buildings gave way to farmland. After ten minutes, he called Callum again. “Do you have us?”

  “Yeah, Talbot is the nearest. He’s heading in your direction. Should be close in another fifteen minutes.”

  “Okay. I’m going to find somewhere to go down. Haughton doesn’t look good.”

  Sweat beaded on the man’s forehead, and his right hand trembled where it gripped the stick. Luke turned to stare out of the glass and spotted a large flat field that might be a possibility. He touched Haughton’s arm and pointed down.

  Haughton adjusted the steering so they banked, before leveling up over the center of the field. The helicopter lurched to a landing, but they were down. Haughton switched off the engine and slumped over the controls. Leaning across, Luke placed his fingers to the other man’s neck; the pulse was steady, if a little weak.

  He unstrapped himself and climbed down, noticing a busy road alongside the field about fifty meters away. On the other side was woodland. He carried the injured man to the shelter of the trees where he could watch the road. After laying Haughton on the ground, he tended the man’s wounds with a medical kit he’d pulled from the helicopter.

  “Can you walk?”

  “I think so.”

  Luke pulled Haughton to his feet, but when he tried to take a step, the leg gave way beneath him. Luke swore, but caught him before he hit the ground, and pulled him upright. “Keep your hand on my arm. We’ve only got to get to the road.”

  There was a ditch between the field and the road, and he knew Haughton wouldn’t make it, so he hefted him over his shoulder and climbed down into the ditch and up the other side.

  A helicopter droned in the distance off to the south, giving them only minutes before they were discovered. He put Haughton down; the man swayed but managed to keep to his feet. At that moment, a black truck pulled up beside them, and the door opened. Luke pushed Haughton onto the back seat and climbed in behind him. “Drive.”

  They pulled away and slid back into the flow of traffic. If the helicopter had satellite coverage of this area, they would pick them up sooner rather than later. At least the traffic was busy. Up ahead was a tunnel.

  “Pull over in the tunnel,” he told the driver.

  …

  Lauren rested her head against the back of her chair and rubbed her eyes. She hadn’t slept in two days, but there was little else she could do now. Everything was in place. Tonight she would move out of the city. London was not somewhere she wanted to be once they released Descartes.

  A low knock sounded on the door; she sat up straight as Mark entered. He appeared hesitant, and her eyes narrowed on him. She remained silent as he stopped in front of her desk and stood before her, shifting from one foot to the other.

  “You might as well get it over with and tell me,” Lauren said. “What’s gone wrong?”

  “We don’t really know.”

&nbs
p; She gritted her teeth. “Tell me.”

  “We got the woman, Jenna Young. She’s being interrogated at headquarters.”

  A flicker of unease ran through her. She remembered the photograph of the woman, that hint of recognition. Who was she? And how was she tied in to Descartes? “Has she talked yet?”

  “No, but there’s something else.”

  He paused, and her unease flared into anger. “For Christ’s sake, Mark, tell me.”

  “She killed Lynch during the interrogation.”

  Shock tore through her. Lynch was a sadistic son of a bitch, but he was an excellent interrogator who never took undue risks. “How?”

  “I’ve sent the security film to your monitor.”

  Lauren leaned across and switched on her computer. Mark came around to stand behind her. The screen flickered to life. A woman lay curled up on the floor of a white tiled cell, her long blond hair covering her face. She wore gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt, torn and stained with blood. “She fainted during the interrogation,” Mark said. “Which is itself odd—the drugs should keep her conscious.” He leaned across and fast-forwarded the film.

  Lauren watched as the woman rose to her feet, crossed the room, and rinsed her face in the small sink. She was easily recognizable as the woman in the photo—Jenna Young. Lynch entered the room, spoke briefly, ripped her T-shirt, and felt her up. Mark slowed the film again as Lynch pushed her face up against the wall and pulled down her pants.

  Jenna moved incredibly fast, whirling and jabbing her elbow into Lynch’s throat. Lauren frowned as Lynch was thrown across the room. She pressed the pause button and glanced up at Mark.

  “Could the drugs have done something? Given her some sort of adrenaline flash that enhanced her strength?”

  “Not according to the doctor. He’s never known any reaction like this.”

  Lauren reached across and restarted the film. Lynch rose to his feet; he looked pissed but not badly hurt. Jenna spun and kicked out, hitting him squarely in the chest, and he went down again. This time he did appear hurt, and Jenna stood back and watched as he stumbled to his feet and collapsed back into the chair. She leaned toward him and spoke.