Chris performed a quick search on his comm card for Jordan’s company and placed a call.
A feminine voice answered, with a subtle robotic twang. “Equest Advantage. How may I direct your call?”
“Jordan Thompson, please.”
“I’m sorry. Mr. Thompson is unavailable. May I redirect your call?”
“Uh...Jordan’s assistant or secretary or something?”
“One moment.”
Chris drummed his fingers on the edge of the desk.
“This is Margot Durand.”
“I’m looking to speak with Jordan.”
“Who is this?”
“This is Christopher Morgan. A friend.” He wondered if he had left too many bread crumbs.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Morgan, but Mr. Thompson isn’t in. Can I take a message?”
“I know he isn’t in,” he said, his voice snappier than intended. He tried to speak with a more docile tone. “Has he just left for the day?”
“Mr. Thompson left at lunch and never returned. I’m sorry I don’t know more than that.”
“Thanks.” Chris ended the call, his arms limp by his side. He gazed distantly at the books on the other side of the wall, their spines blending together in a blurry mess.
Recollecting himself, he paced again. He placed another call to Jordan’s comm card, pleading in his head for an answer. He stopped a moment and glanced over the words projected by the holoscreen, still open and glowing. The line rang as he bent to study the holoscreen. It appeared to be one of Jordan’s stories, apparently about a truck driver from the late twentieth century that had crashed in a forested wilderness.
The ringing on the other end of the comm card stopped.
“Christopher Morgan.”
He almost jumped. He recognized that cold, monotonous voice. “Benjamin Kaufman.”
A slight chuckle echoed on the other end of the line. “Is that who you think I am?”
For a moment, he felt uncertain. He refused to show weakness now. “There’s no use pretending you’re just a mystery anymore.”
“If that makes you feel more comfortable, you may call me whatever you want.”
“Where’s Jordan?”
“He’s with us. I assure you he’s alive, but I can’t guarantee for how much longer if you don’t cooperate.”
“Yes, I know. I saw what you did to Veronica, you son of a bitch. You gave me no way to contact you, I’m ready to do what you want, and you do that to her?”
“Veronica?” Kaufman’s voice sounded almost questioning. “Ah, yes. Your partner before prison, isn’t that right? You’ve seen her recently, haven’t you?”
“Stop. I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t hurt Jordan.” He clenched his eyes closed. “And don’t touch Tracy.”
“Good. That’s all I need. We don’t like to hurt people if we don’t have to. It has come to my attention that you have discovered the samples that Randall Nee had produced.”
“Yes. The vectors that I designed.”
“Very astute. I just wanted Nee’s notebook, along with the rest of the samples. It’s that simple. Or it would have been, if you had been more willing to help sooner.”
“If you’d told me sooner, I would’ve delivered them myself.”
“Ah, I’m not quite certain of that. In any case, Mr. Thompson will serve as sufficient insurance that you can get this done in a timely manner, no?”
Chris shook his head, combing his hand through his hair. “Insurance? But I don’t have those samples, or the notebook for that matter. We only have two vials now.”
The line was silent for a moment. “You don’t have the rest of the samples or the notebook? Then why did my men say you stole both of those items from Respondent?”
“We did take them.”
“‘We’? You and the Harrow girl?”
“No, I mean ‘I’ did take them. Just me.”
“That’s not true at all, is it, Mr. Morgan? Ms. Harrow did take the samples with you. Let me guess: someone stole them. Or maybe she lost them.”
“I don’t know.”
“Mr. Morgan, you are responsible for Mr. Thompson’s life. Are you willing to let him die on account of a trite lie?”
“Someone took them from Tracy’s apartment. I assumed you would know about that. We left both the samples and Randy’s notebook there.”
“Ah, so Mr. Thompson told the truth when he said he possessed only two of the vials. I suppose we needn’t have treated him quite as rough as we did.”
Chris winced. “Will you let him go?”
Another drawn-out moment of silence passed. “I’m not sure about that yet. I’m going to need you and Ms. Harrow to join me first. If you can help me get everything I need, then we can talk about releasing Mr. Thompson.”
He hesitated, staring around at the room filled with paper books and oil paintings, devoid of modern technologies except for the projection screen that glowed in front of him. “Fine. Where do I need to go?”
“Nowhere, Mr. Morgan. We’ll come for you.”
The line went dead and Chris slumped in the leather office chair. A dull pain throbbed in his head, the pressure drop before the incoming storm. He thought to tell Tracy, to warn her that Kaufman and his men would be coming soon for them. But he couldn’t quite muster the strength to face her. He could envision the disgust on her face, the anger that he had given them up.
As he sat at the desk, he read the page that showed on the projection screen. The story of the truck driver, interrupted and incomplete, made him feel as if he stared at something naked. A nagging in the back of his mind warned him about reading this story before Jordan had completed and polished it. He knew Jordan wouldn’t appreciate it. Did that matter? Was that what he was concerned with? Kaufman held Jordan captive and all he could think about was the slight offense his friend might take because Chris read a rough draft of a story.
He mouthed the final lines of the story to himself. “The trailer lay open, barren. Frank turned to the disheartened driver with a look of terrible sorrow. ‘It is meant to be filled with your body.’ The driver, confused, showed his bare forearm where the ink from prison wound in imperfect crosses, wrapped with venomous snakes biting into the man’s flesh. ‘But I built the truck.’”
The passage appeared to Chris incongruous with the rest of the story. The preceding paragraphs had not introduced this character speaking to the driver. Nothing before this particular section appeared as convoluted and symbolic, either. What the hell did you write, Jordan?
Maybe a deeper meaning hid in those sentences. Maybe Jordan had left him a clue. Did this have anything to do with the message Jordan had sent him earlier?
A sharp cry from out in the hallway quelled those thoughts.
CHAPTER THIRTY
“Sit down next to her.” Todd, his arm shaky, held a pistol of his own toward Tracy. He had tucked hers into his pants. A slight laceration cut across her forehead, and blood trickled down, tracing her cheekbone. Her eyes wide and her lips closed tight, she no longer appeared as mean spirited on other side of a gun barrel.
Chris stood in the doorway to Jordan’s bedroom, stunned.
“Come here and sit by her. Now. Sit by her.” Todd pointed the gun at him and swung it back to Tracy. “Now!” His nostrils flared.
“All right, I am.” Chris held his hands up and inched toward Tracy.
“They told me they just wanted you.” His eyes flickered between them, making it unclear who he meant. “Now they want both of you. I do what they say. I just do what they say and it’ll be okay.”
“Ben Kaufman’s men are coming?” Chris tried in a soft voice.
“I told you I don’t know no Ben Kaufman. Don’t know him. I just do what they tell me. I can get my genies.” His arm shook as he held out the pistol. He used his free hand to steady the shaking arm.
“I know they’re coming,” Chris said. “Ben Kaufman said he’d be coming to get to us.”
“I don’t know Ben
Kaufman! I told you.” His lips curled into a delighted, sinister grin. “But, you broke the wrong card. My card. You broke mine. But I used the card they gave me.” He reached into his pocket with his shaking hand and withdrew the other comm card. “See? I called them.”
Chris frowned and leaned toward Tracy. “They got Jordan and now they’re coming for us.”
“Quiet!”
“We should’ve patted him down,” Tracy said. “God, I’m so fucking stupid.”
“Stop it. Just be quiet ’til they get here.”
Todd’s eyes darted between them. Chris was less concerned about Todd intentionally shooting them and more worried that the man’s nervous shaking would cause him to accidentally pull the trigger. “Could you stop pointing the gun at us?”
Todd scowled. “No.”
“I’m just worried that with you waving it about, you might kill us. And if you did that, I don’t think the guys would be happy.”
“You shouldn’t be worried about me!” All the same, Todd lowered the gun and stepped back against the wall. “If you so much as try to get up, I will shoot you. In the leg, maybe. But I’ll shoot you.”
“We know you fucking will,” Tracy said.
The slow drops of ice melting and falling against the windowsill seemed as steady as the ticking of a clock as they waited. A buzz sounded near the elevator entrance in the atrium. Todd looked back and forth between the two of them.
The entry notification system rang again.
“If you don’t get that, they can’t come up,” Chris said.
“Fine. Stand up. Move. Move.” Todd ushered them back out the door and into the hall. They congregated near the elevator door.
“You.” He pointed the gun at Chris. “Answer it. Let them up.”
Chris nodded and opened the security screen. The projection displayed two familiar faces. The men who had killed Randy and chased him around Fed Hill waited for his approval. For a brief moment, he hesitated, wondering if Tracy’s and his odds might be better with shaky Todd.
“Do it. Let them up!”
He pressed the button for guest approval and saw the two large men walk into the entrance of the building. The elevator hummed to life, and Todd prodded Chris and Tracy to move toward a bench near the small fountain. When the doors of the elevator opened, the two men stepped out, taking in their new surroundings.
The man that had choked Chris and later chased him through the Visionary Art Museum stepped forward. His blue eyes flashed between Tracy and Chris, his gaze landing on Todd. “You found them, huh?”
Todd nodded.
The man with the blue eyes pulled out a pistol and took three successive silenced shots at Todd. Todd’s eyes widened and he stopped shaking as he dropped his own pistol. His mouth agape, he fell backward into the fountain. While the spurting fountain changed colors, the water around his body turned a deep crimson as the cloud of fresh blood dispersed from the fresh bullet holes in his chest.
“You two. Get up and follow us.”
Chris stood first, his head swiveling toward the coat he’d draped across the back of the couch in the living area.
The man with blue eyes stepped in front of him and scowled at him. “You won’t need that.”
The other man, glancing at them with his dark brown eyes, offered a slight smile. “Besides, it’s warming up out there. As long as you don’t go for another run, everything’s going to be just fine.”
Brown Eyes motioned for Chris to head to the elevator. Instead, Chris stopped. “Tracy can stay here. Kaufman doesn’t need her.”
“We were told to bring the both of you.”
“That wasn’t the plan.” Chris shook his head, taking a step toward Brown Eyes. “She stays or I don’t go.”
His nose scrunched in a snarl, Blue Eyes grabbed Tracy by her collar and pressed the gun to her temple. “You both go or she does indeed stay.”
“Don’t touch her.”
Blue Eyes threw Tracy at him. She stumbled into his arms. When she stood, her eyes narrowed. Chris grabbed her wrist as she made tight fists.
“That wasn’t part of the deal,” he said.
“Buddy, you are in no position to be making deals,” Brown Eyes said. “If you don’t feel compelled to join us, we can break your arms, tie you up and let you watch while we take care of her right here.”
Wringing his hands together, Blue Eyes took a step toward Tracy. “She’s a pretty thing, too. It’d be a shame to waste her.”
“Don’t you touch me!” Tracy broke from Chris’s grasp. “You lay a hand on me and I’ll rip your balls off.”
Blue Eyes laughed and glanced at Brown Eyes. He rolled his eyes. “Let’s just make this easy and go see the boss.”
Grabbing Chris’s arm, Brown Eyes led them into the elevator. Blue Eyes holstered his gun and put a hand on Tracy’s shoulder to guide her in. She shook his hand off and spat at him. His thin lips spread wider as he gestured on the holodisplay in the elevator for the ground level. Despite the fact that Blue Eyes had holstered his gun, Chris didn’t feel compelled to make a run for it when they exited the elevator at the bottom floor. If he gave chase this time, the ending might not be so favorable as before.
They led Tracy and Chris to a black sedan.
Tracy looked up at them as she ducked her head into the car. “No Corvette today? Daddy take it away?”
“Can’t very well fit four passengers in a Vette, can we?” Blue Eyes pushed Chris in behind her. He joined them in the back seat and closed the door behind him. “Put your hands behind your back. Both of you.”
They both did as he told them. Blue Eyes yanked Chris’s arms closer together, making him wince in pain as his right shoulder stung. It didn’t burn as intensely as before, but it still felt inflamed. Blue Eyes bound both their wrists, got out of the car, and moved up to the front seat with his partner as Brown Eyes entered in a destination on the panel.
“Where are we going?” Tracy asked.
“We’ve got a business meeting,” Brown Eyes said, his gaze straight ahead.
The car took off and joined up with lines of other cars crawling between buildings during the afternoon rush hour. Lampposts, trash cans, pedestrians, and storefronts passed by. Icicles melted, and water dripped on the sidewalks. Chris saw the familiar green, red, and white awning of Il Fedelissimo and imagined the aroma of crushed tomatoes and fresh bread and pasta from within. His stomach growled, and he realized he hadn’t eaten anything since he’d shared coffee with Jordan that morning.
Tracy prodded him with an elbow, and he whipped around to face her. She blinked in quick succession. He frowned, not understanding the concerned look on her face. Raising her eyebrows, wrinkles forming in her forehead, she opened her eyes wide and pursed her lips. She glanced back out at the street and back to him.
Chris shook his head.
She rolled her eyes. “Remember what we did to Todd?” She tried to speak in a low voice.
“Shut it back there.”
Again, Chris frowned. He looked back out the window as they crawled along Key Highway toward the south end of Federal Hill. He could see the landmark antiquated neon orange sign above the Domino Sugars refinery on the harbor. Then his eyes widened and he looked back at Tracy, back out the window, back at her.
She nodded.
The two thugs had not bothered to blindfold them. The men might have neglected to think about it. They might be more slow witted than Chris had given them credit for. But if that wasn’t true, if they didn’t care that Tracy and Chris could note every street and every landmark they passed, there was one reason why they might not care—why Kaufman might not care.
Chris stared hard into Tracy’s cool eyes and gulped. She nodded back.
Wherever they were going, they weren’t leaving.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Unlike in the cabs that roamed Baltimore’s streets, Chris and Tracy could not change the destination of the car without access to the front seats. Kaufman’s lackeys prov
ided a formidable barrier to the car’s holoscreen. Both lazily stared out the windows as the car trolled down the street. Their broad shoulders blotted out much of the view through the front windshield.
To their left, sunlight glinted off white-capped waves between apartment and office buildings. Chris could even make out the green, bulbous dragon shapes of paddleboats in the water. He’d always scoffed at the stupid tourist trap, dismissing the idea of paying an exorbitant fee to labor oneself around a harbor smelling of fish and polluted water that stank of sulfur.
Now he envied the careless people propelling their boats through the gray water.
The views of the harbor became obscured once again by warehouses and factories, all with drab brown- and gray-hued facades. The glowing Domino Sugars sign atop the refinery stood far above them now, no longer visible through the windows as it disappeared beyond the roof of the sedan.
Tracy nudged Chris, and he turned from the window to face her. She clenched her jaw and scowled at him as if to scold him for his suspicious behavior. He straightened up and peered out of the corners of his eyes at her. Her right wrist twisted free of the nylon rope bonds.
She inched toward him, leaning slightly. Chris could feel her hand explore behind his back, tugging at the ropes that held his wrists. The sensation of a dozen needles spread in his fingers, no longer numb from lack of circulation. He wriggled his fingers to restore the blood flow.
With a subtle nod, Tracy indicated the two men in front of them. Both faced forward. Behind her back, she clenched her hands together. Chris nodded in understanding and Tracy inhaled deep. She mouthed “one, two, three.”
Like a mouse trap, her arms shot around the neck of the man in front of her. Chris followed suit, just a second behind her.
The vessels in her forearms popped and bulged, her muscles tense and tight. Brown Eyes worked his fingers around her thin arms, struggling to loosen her grip as he gulped for air.
Enhancement (Black Market DNA Book 1) Page 19