“Yes,” I said.
“When do you think you will be ready?”
“We leave in three days for Norway, so …” I calculated in my head. “Two weeks, most likely.”
“I will be coming with you to Colombia.” Ivan looked proud. “I have been able to secure an informant at the lab.”
“That’s what you’ve been keeping secret?” Sue said. “That’s great.”
“We are very fortunate that a scientist who has a conscience and is very concerned about what is happening has reached out to me. It is very dangerous for them.”
“Excellent. That’s going to be a great help to us,” I said.
“I have spoken with Jack, and he and Lee will meet us in Bogota when we are ready. Then we will all proceed to a location near the lab and establish a safe line of communication with our informant.” Ivan stood and went to his briefcase, which was standing next to where we kept the liquor. When he returned to his seat, he opened the hard-shell case and pulled out a file folder holding paper. “Here is what we have received, so far.” He held out two sets of stapled pages.
Sue and I went to retrieve them.
“This is a summary that I hope to obtain details on when we reach Colombia. Apparently the genetically engineered wheat and soy are having a much faster effect on people than was expected, and the glyphosate contamination is compromising the population more strongly than anticipated. The United States has the largest proliferation and has been hit the hardest.”
“Maybe we’ll get to find out why the US is the biggest target,” I said.
“Yes.” Ivan turned to the second page. “Here is a chart that shows stages for their genetic engineering and pesticide proliferation that gauges their progress.”
Sue pointed to the lines on the page. “Look how systematically and intentionally they’re poisoning innocent people.”
“They are at stage four when they should only be at stage two,” Ivan said. “That is five to seven years ahead of where they want to be.”
“How many stages are there?” I asked.
“I am not sure.” Ivan directed us to the next page. “Stage one is the compromise of people’s immune systems. Stage two is the large increase of allergies and digestive issues. Stage three is an increase of diseases like dementia, colitis, and Crohn’s, kidney failure, heart diseases, obesity, autism, diabetes, etcetera. Stage four is the sharp increase of many cancers, but mainly colon cancer. I hope to find out the next stages from our informant.”
“Could it be spiraling out of control?” Sue asked.
“It suggests that they cannot manage what they have created.” Ivan stood. “Jack has not seen this information yet, so I must go fax it to him.”
“I need to call Jack about a few last seed bank details.” I went to the phone sitting on the bar. “I’ll tell him it’s coming.”
INTERLOGUE 4
Peter Bail had been in hiding. He’d done way worse in his life, so it would be a shame if he went down over killing a not-so-important someone like Morgan Elles. He’d been a soldier, then worked his way up to become Naintosa’s chief of security and most recently, a freelance security specialist. Each time killing had been part of the job.
He still wasn’t exactly sure how he’d slipped up enough to allow for Hendrick Schmidt V’s people to find him. But the offer had been one he didn’t want to turn down monetarily, especially since he’d planned to do it all along. Now he was getting paid for it.
Peter wasn’t surprised to hear about Dr. Schmidt IV’s death. He’d predicted someone was going to take him out. But he’d known Barnes hadn’t had anything to do with it, even though Peter wished he had. Peter’s ego was still bruised from Barnes kicking the shit out of him in the woods outside of Vancouver; he’d never thought the guy had it in him.
Peter wasn’t sure what he thought of Junior taking over the Schmidt empire. He always thought of him as a spoiled, entitled little dick. However, Hendrick V now controlled the purse strings, and they had a just-wipe-all-the-fuckers-out-and-be-done-with-them attitude in common.
After this and the next job were complete, he’d have enough money to retire in Belize for good and live like a king.
This time he was going to complete the assignment his way; he’d been given free rein. Peter had the list of people who had to be eliminated—not that he needed the names written down. He knew all the “soon to be deceased” well. The decision of who would go when was strictly based on geography. The first was closest to where Bail had been hiding; the only one currently in North America. After Dallas, it was on to England, and last, Oslo.
The main house was well inside the white fences of what used to be a working ranch. Peter had spent days figuring out how to get around the cameras on the property. The hardest parts were the open spaces between the rock outcroppings and buildings he used as cover. Luckily the grass was high because there were no cattle grazing. Then he had to navigate the motion detectors and more cameras that would sound the alarm in the house. But he knew what he was doing and was neither seen nor heard.
Peter had dressed in earth-tone camouflage to blend in with the environment and wore a brown Dallas Cowboys cap pushed low over his green eyes. His goal was to be a six foot two, lean and muscular shadow.
The stifling afternoon Texas sun would soon set. Inside the house, the air conditioning made it cool.
He’d made his way to Jack Carter’s bedroom and into his spacious walk-in closet. He saw that half of the clothes in there were a wealthy woman’s. There were jeans and cotton shirts that she would wear on a ranch, alongside designer labels and pastel-colored dresses, silk tops and sequined gowns. Peter deduced that Jack hadn’t yet had the courage to put away his wife Connie’s clothes after she’d died of cancer four years ago. Love meant weakness to Peter, and he never let it get in the way.
He made sure the silencer was screwed on tight, sat down on a fancy mahogany chair with a blue cushion and placed the gun on his lap. Jack would be coming home at any time.
Jack was responsible for the deaths of two of his operatives in Maui when Peter had been Naintosa’s security chief. He’d also had a part in the deaths of two operatives and Brad Caulder, whom Peter freelanced with when they’d tried to capture the resisters outside of Vancouver. Now it was payback time.
It wasn’t long before he heard voices.
“I’m going to have a quick shower.” Jack’s voice came from the entrance of his bedroom. “Trudging around that fractured site was dirty work.”
“Me too.” It was Lee, from farther away. “Then I’ll send the satellite photo of the seed bank to Nick.”
Hearing Nick Barnes’s name made Peter’s blood instantly boil. It couldn’t be soon enough for Peter to look Barnes in the eyes when he put a bullet between them.
“Okay, you do that, and I’ll start the watershed contamination report,” Jack said. “And we have to eat at some point. I sure miss Rose’s cookin’.”
“I’m going to get a beer to wash the inner dust away.” Lee was almost shouting now, obviously walking away. “You want one?”
“Sure.”
Peter had to wait until after Lee had come back with the beer and then went to have his shower. It wouldn’t be wise to take on both men at the same time. Actually, if Peter could shoot Lee from a distance, it would be best. He didn’t want to get too close to Lee Donald. Jack was different; Peter wanted Jack to know he was going to kill him. He looked forward to watching the life flow out of Jack.
Within two minutes he heard footsteps on the tile floor and then Lee say, “Here you go. I’ll find us something to eat after.”
“We should be able to scrounge enough for a couple sandwiches,” Jack replied. “We need to get groceries tomorrow, ’cause now we’re going to be here for another week and a half.”
Peter heard the bedroom door close and footsteps retreat. Now was the time. He moved in silence to the closet door and slowly opened it. Across the room he could see Jack putting down a bottl
e on the dresser and then unbutton his shirt.
That’s when Jack noticed him in the mirror and turned. It wasn’t a fast turn of surprise, but an almost expectant slow motion.
Peter raised his silenced revolver a few degrees higher, aiming to the middle of Jack’s head.
Both men took a step toward each other, narrowing the gap.
“You knew this day would come,” Peter said.
“Not sure what you mean,” Jack replied. “I didn’t know if you were dead or alive. Plus, you’re hired security, not a cold-blooded killer.”
“I’ve been hired to do this as preventative security.” Peter took three steps to the edge of the bed—if Jack lunged at him, it would be in his way.
“Who hired you to kill me?” Jack asked.
“I don’t think it’d be too hard for you to guess.”
“Why do you bother?” Jack stared at Peter. “Why do you do their dirty work? You know they’re evil and don’t give a rat’s ass about you. Why don’t you do some good with your life for once?”
“A man has to make a living. The others are next. You’ve all made me look bad, ruined my reputation. This will rectify that.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed, and he took a step forward. “Sounds like this has become more personal for you than just a job.”
“Maybe.”
“If you kill me and my friends, it’s not going to stop the world from finding out what your employers are doing to the population. The information is already out there. It’s too late.”
“I don’t give a shit about that.”
“If you get caught, do you think Davis Lovemark or Carlo Da Silva are going to rescue you? Do you really think they care about what happens to you? They probably want you eliminated too because you’re a loose end.”
“They weren’t the ones who hired me.”
Jack paused for a second and changed gears. “Ah, it’s the little fucker who likely killed his daddy, now wanting to clear out the opposition.”
“Now you got it.”
Jack stood straighter, and there was a slight movement of his right hand. “He’s the one who needs the bullet between the ears.”
“Normally I’d ask if you’d pay me more to have the bullet meant for you dispensed into my employer.” Peter’s finger flinched on the trigger. “But I want you dead.”
“I’m at peace with dying.” Jack looked calm. “I get to see my beloved, Connie, again. It’s you who has to live with what you’ve done.”
“That’s nothing that a lot of bourbon, pussy, and a beach won’t cure.”
“Suit yourself, asshole. I’ll take you out when you arrive in hell.”
The phone on the nightstand began to ring. That distracted Jack for a split second.
Honestly, Peter admired Jack Carter. He was a tough and smart old guy with a lot of spunk still in him. So, he pulled the trigger twice, before he changed his mind.
Jack fell back against the dresser, the back of his head splattered across the shattered mirror.
Peter sighed and then realized Jack’s fall had made too much noise. They’d talked for too long. He needed to get to Lee before he knew what was going on.
When Peter came around from the bed he noticed Jack’s right hand—there was a gun in it. How hadn’t he seen it earlier? If he hadn’t killed Jack when he did, that sly fucker could’ve taken him out. Peter was tempted to put another bullet into him for good measure.
In a slow motion he opened the bedroom door and peered out into the empty hallway. Peter’s rubber soled shoes made minimal noise, but he only took two steps out from the bedroom when he heard the squeak of skin tracking on tile.
Lee, in only his boxer shorts, muscles straining, came flying from around the corner.
Peter raised his gun and fired.
That didn’t stop Lee.
How could he have missed at such close range?
All the air from Peter’s lungs purged in the instant Lee hit him with full force.
Lee had gone to the hall closet for a fresh towel. The house was usually silent. Now he could hear faint talking, a phone ring, a muffled bang, and then a thud. Something wasn’t right.
Lee walked at a brisk pace down the short hallway to where it intersected—one way to the living area, the other leading to Jack’s bedroom.
As Lee turned the corner he saw Peter Bail, holding a gun, coming out of Jack’s room. In that instant he knew Jack was dead and only one objective entered his mind—kill Bail.
Lee barely noticed Bail’s gun raise and the burst of light come from the silenced barrel.
His target was Bail’s chest. It only took a few strides to propel his six-foot-three-inch body with 220 pounds of muscle and bone like a projectile. Lee pounded into his target, raising his right forearm up to Bail’s neck as they collided.
Bail was almost Lee’s size, but Lee had the momentum. Bail’s head hit hard on the solid floor; Lee made sure of it. The gun went flying, bouncing and skittering out of reach.
Both men were experts at this type of combat. There was a flurry of moves by both of them to gain control and inflict damage on the other. Blood mingled, splattered, and ran everywhere as each landed critical blows.
Lee’s single objective meant there was no other outcome. He focused, and everything went into slow-motion.
Both were on their knees, each preventing the other from getting to their feet. Lee deflected a left and then a right before seeing the opening as Bail’s right arm recoiled. Lee drove the heel of his left hand up, directly into Bail’s nose, shattering it. The force of the blow knocked Bail back off his knees and flat on his back.
Lee didn’t hesitate. He lunged forward and landed three hard elbows to Bail’s midsection, evacuating the air from his lungs and disorienting him. Then Lee wrapped his right forearm around Peter’s neck, squeezing as hard as he could and threw Bail’s upper body over and around him, twisting. The head stayed straight, but the body rotated 180 degrees. The neck snap was audible.
Bail went limp. He was dead.
Lee lay there for a moment with Bail’s body half over him, not relieving the pressure. Then he pushed the lifeless hunk of meat away.
Lee tried to get to his feet and slipped on the bloody floor. He didn’t know how much was his and how much was Bail’s. He used the wall for support. Looking down he saw a round hole in his skin, on his left side just above the pelvis—blood oozing from it.
He placed his hand over the wound to temper the discharge and with ginger steps went to the bedroom. There Lee saw Jack’s body. I’m so sorry I failed you, my dear friend. You’re the best man I’ve ever known, and I swore to protect you … yet I didn’t. A tear formed and ran down Lee’s cheek, making a clean line on his bloodied face. A tear hadn’t made the passage down Lee’s face since he was a child; when his own father, his first mentor, had died. I am so sorry for failing you.
The periphery of his vision blurred. Gray turned to black from behind Lee’s eyes as he collapsed.
CHAPTER 13
May 7, 2003
There had been no answer the two times I’d tried to reach Jack late last night. I saw the Roman numerals on the study’s antique clock and subtracted the six-hour time difference. It was 1:00 a.m. in Dallas, so I’d try him again in six hours.
I’d decided to tell Sue about my seed bank premonition. She should know before we went. “Sue?”
There were multiple pops of what sounded like firecrackers going off in the distance.
At the same time, the thin clatter of plastic bouncing off the hardwood floor made me look down.
“Oops.” Sue bent to get her pen. “What?”
It rolled toward my side of the desk. “I’ll get it for you.”
Splinters of glass blew out from the window and the screen of Sue’s computer exploded.
I was thrown from my hunched position, all the way to the ground. The top of the high-back chair had a hole in it, right where my chest had been seconds ago. It was propelled backward on its
rollers from the impact.
Sue was lying on the floor next to the desk staring at me, looking stunned. There was glass, plastic, wood, and chair stuffing raining down.
“We’re under attack!” Sue yelled.
“Crawl toward me.” Jorge had come to the edge of the doorway, revolver in his hand.
We could hear movement outside.
Sue crawled on her elbows and knees toward Jorge.
I went to get up on my elbows but slipped. There was a smearing of blood. I felt my ear—it was sticky, wet, and had a gash in it. That was my blood on the floor. A searing pain welled up. I rolled over, pushed off from a desk leg, and dove across the room. On the landing, I caught a piece of glass on my arm.
Sue got up, took a few strides and dove, just as books on the shelf exploded beside us. She hit me, bounced off and landed spread eagle in the hallway.
Jorge reached and pulled me by the arm the last few feet to get me out of the room.
Sue rolled over and sat up. “What the fuck is happening?”
“We didn’t see them coming.” Jorge sounded winded. “They shot Sam. Then Lorraine shot them. Another must be on the wall outside the study. I don’t know how many more there are.”
I got to my feet. Touching my ear, I felt the source of the blood—it was a trickle, not a gush.
“Let’s see.” Sue surveyed the side of my head. “You’re going to need stitches.”
“I’ll worry about that later.” I pinched the gash, and it stung but was manageable. “We need guns.”
“Ivan is getting them.” Jorge began to run down the hall.
Sue and I followed.
There was a washroom on the right, and I ducked into it. I didn’t even glance into the mirror, just grabbed a wash cloth on the vanity and ran back out. While I caught up to the others I pressed the cloth to my ear and then my arm.
As we came into the foyer, Ivan entered from the living room. He had a gun in each hand. Ivan passed the Glock 18 semiautomatic pistols to us, the ones we were taking to the seed bank. Then he pulled his own out from the back of his belt.
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