Chris arched an eyebrow. “Yeah, imagine that,” he said.
“Sorry, my man. Maybe I’m going senile.” He rubbed his chin and pointed at the projections of text on his comm card. “Do you see what I see?”
“Besides the obvious?” Chris asked. “It seems like none of these individuals had access to decent healthcare. But I don’t think that has anything to do with the cause of their deaths.”
“No, no.” Jordan shook his head and dragged a hand over the list of names. “But I don’t think it helped. These were all fairly public deaths. Bar alleys, parks, shop entrances. Now that could mean two things. We’re seeing a bunch of desperate individuals die of something because they couldn’t get treated—”
“Or we’re just not witnessing what happens to the people that died in the hospital.”
“Right. It’s easy enough to comb through police blotters, which is what these reporters seem to have done,” Jordan said. “But we don’t know what’s going on in the hospital. Maybe it’s time for you to press your doctor friend a little harder.”
The idea of seeing Dr. Haynes again wasn’t all bad—Chris wouldn’t turn down the chance to see a beautiful woman. But he couldn’t come up with a convincing way to reintroduce himself. “And what am I going to tell her?” He feigned a smile. “Hi, I’m just a friendly former enhancement dealer who wants to see if my products are killing people.” He let the fake grin decay into a frown that he imagined looked as foul as the dread percolating through his thoughts.
Jordan gave him a dismissive wave, as if that could clear the fetid worries clouding Chris’s mind. “We’ll figure something out.” His eyes focused back on the holodisplay, he pointed to a couple of names. “I do seem to recognize these ones. Just a second.”
Standing up, he went through the French doors to his office. A few moments later, he came back with a sheet of paper. “Can’t leave these kinds of documents lying around on a computer or comm card for an ambitious hacker to find, so I have a couple records I kept by hand.” His eyes darted back and forth over the document. “Aha.” He held the list in front of him and pointed at a name. “Here’s a Mr. William Novak, right? That matches one of the names.”
Chris glanced at a holoimage of Novak provided by a news stream. This was supposed to be the man who had died at his feet. The strong jawline, wide-set eyes, and combed-back hair looked far different than the bloated, bruised face that had bled out. But with a little imagination, he recognized Novak. “That’s the man.”
Jordan slumped back on the sofa. “Well, we did provide him an enhancement at one time. But that was almost three years ago.”
“So he might’ve been right.” Chris sank bank into the couch. He pressed his palms to his temples. “We might’ve done this.”
Scowling, Jordan glanced at his records and back at the list of potential victims. “I don’t know. Only two of these fellows were customers of ours. Of course, there’s no guarantee the names on either my list or this one are one hundred percent accurate, but I’m inclined to believe that not every single one of these individuals bought our enhancements. Besides, three years is an awfully long time to finally show symptoms of something as dreadful as this supposedly contagious cancer.”
“I suppose so.”
“You’re a smart guy.” Jordan shook the sheet of paper at Chris. “What do you think the odds are that all this happened at once because of something we sold a couple years ago?”
“True.” Three years seemed a long incubation period given that the cancer had reportedly struck dozens of patients within just the past week or so. It would be a terrific coincidence for so many of their customers to suddenly show these symptoms. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it wasn’t our genies. But that could mean someone else’s gen mods did cause these problems.”
“Which would mean it’s not our fault.” Jordan lifted his dark eyebrows in an imploring expression.
“I suppose.” Chris rested back in the seat cushion and took a long drink from his mojito. The refreshing mint enlivened him as it danced across his tongue. “Someone else could be selling shoddy enhancements to these people. Assholes. Distributing defective vectors.” His eyes widened. “The doctor told me that, according to their observations, symptoms presented in patients within forty-eight hours after reported exposure to genies.” He cursed inwardly for allowing his guilt to obscure this fact in his mind before. He’d let emotions overrule logic. Now rationality drove away some of the dread he’d had—and a slow realization sank in: he’d missed something. “She didn’t give me too much detail, but I bet the hospital administration is operating on the assumption that this is a standard communicable disease.”
“It would only be safe for them to do so.” Jordan’s forehead creased, and his mouth opened slightly. “But if you think it’s a shoddy enhancement, not an infectious disease, then...”
“If it’s a crappy enhancement and not a disease, the symptoms would appear rapidly in a person getting a full dose of the genie.”
“Hence these guys dying the streets,” Jordan said, reaching for his glass.
“But if someone got a smaller exposure, especially a miniscule amount, the number of transfected cells would be much smaller.”
Jordan’s hand froze in midair, the mojito forgotten. “It would take much longer for the cancer to metastasize, but it could still happen days, maybe weeks down the road.”
“So the incubation period will be drastically different from patients exposed to the virus or whatever it is compared to an enhancer taking a full dose.” Chris’s fingers trembled as he voiced his new, ominous thoughts aloud. “I might actually be infected. I might still be carrying the vectors, but they were too dilute for the doctors to notice.”
“You’re right.” Jordan grabbed Chris’s wrist. “If your doctor said she couldn’t find anything in your blood, maybe we need a higher-concentration sample to identify the genie or viruses responsible.”
“Then we can keep an eye on my blood and see if it shows up.”
“To find what’s causing this, it would’ve been easier if we had Novak’s blood.”
Chris thought back to the soiled clothes stuffed into his trash, the shirt and jacket saturated with blood and sweat. “I might have the specimens we need.”
***
He carried a black plastic trash bag down the stairs from his condo and toward Jordan’s waiting car. His stomach had rumbled from hunger earlier. But he momentarily forgot his appetite when he dragged the soiled garments from the trash. The passenger-side door and trunk opened as he approached.
“That’s a rather ripe sample you’ve got there,” Jordan said. “I can smell it from in here.”
Chris lugged it into the trunk. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“I’m glad you’re too much of a slob to take out your trash.”
“It’s easy to forget about some dirty clothes you stuffed in your garbage when you get stuck at the hospital for a couple of days and are afraid you’re responsible for killing half the city,” Chris said, his eyebrows crunching together. “I just hope two days’ time isn’t too long for whatever might be in his blood to have degraded.”
“I have to say, I miss our covert research missions.” Jordan gestured over the car’s holodisplay to set their destination. “I can’t remember the last time we made a nighttime excursion to the labs.”
“Not since we were distributing genies.”
The rest of the ride remained silent, punctuated only by the slight hum of the driverless electric car and the occasional bump over the city’s less-manicured streets. The vehicle’s autocomfort systems slowly introduced an odor-neutralizing spray into the car. Relieved of the stench of the rotten clothes, Chris’s hunger returned.
They passed by the Rusted Scupper, and his mouth watered as he recalled his first meal of blackened rockfish there. He’d gone with his ex-lover Tracy, just started his former job at Respondent, and thought he was ready to make a new life for himself. He’d been terribly wr
ong, and now, just as he embarked on a new venture with Jordan, he dealt with this new debacle. It seemed as if the world was out to get him.
No, not the world.
He knew better. His mistakes had caught up to him. He’d planted the seeds of these problems years ago, too egotistical and selfish to realize how his actions would haunt not only him but also the others who had drifted in and out of his life ever since. He pictured Veronica, probably holed up in her apartment, enveloped by her art, or practicing with her dance company in their studio.
The car stopped in front of the Maryland Biotech Incubator building.
“Let’s see if there’s anything left to find.” Jordan edged out the door.
Chris grabbed the sack of bloodied clothes, and they scanned their cards for entry. The security desk sat empty, the guard apparently off on rounds. They took the elevator up to their floor. Jordan stopped in front of the glass doors and bent down. He picked up a small plastic wedge stuck between the doors and glanced at Chris.
“What’s that?” Chris asked in a low voice. “Is someone working late?”
“Mandy? Hugh?” Jordan’s voice seemed diffident, unlike the normal confidence he exuded.
Chris’s pulse pounded in his ears, and he scanned the office area but saw nothing immediately out of place. No one responded to their repeated inquiries.
Slipping between the doors, they peered under the desks to assuage their worry. Jordan nodded to the laboratory. None of the lights were on, but Chris noticed a drawer remained ajar. It contained nothing valuable—just packs of unused plastic tubes used to store cells. He closed the drawer as Jordan peeked into the walk-in cooler room.
“No one in here.”
A lock on one of the freezers was undone. Chris opened the door. Digging in plastic boxes and storage drawers, he picked through the chemicals, cell experiment supplies, and frozen DNA samples. An empty space between the racks of tubes drew his attention.
“Jordan!”
“What’s up?”
He pointed to the void, a square imprint left by a now-absent box.
“What did you keep in there?” Jordan asked.
“The test samples of CDXT.”
“Did you move them somewhere else?”
“Hell, no.” Chris gestured to the spot. “I put them here. Today.”
“What about Hugh or Mandy? They didn’t do anything with them, right?”
Chris perused the contents of the freezer again. “I don’t see them anywhere.” He closed the door. “Did someone steal them?” His eyes widened. “The buyer you met with...Did you give him the lab tour?”
“Of course. You can’t be serious, though. Corporate espionage like this?”
“We haven’t finalized the patents for it yet. It’s not unreasonable to believe—”
Chris stared through the glass partitions of the lab and straight toward the expansive windows of the adjoining conference room. A shape, silhouetted against the bright lights of Baltimore’s skyline, flitted through the darkness.
Chapter 8
Chris lunged toward the lab exit. A flash of light exploded from the shape. The loud report echoed through the space, and the glass wall of the lab shattered. Pieces clattered to the floor, and he dove over the shards and behind a desk.
“He’s got a gun!” he yelled.
Jordan had ducked behind a lab bench and was making a call on his comm card.
Chris had never wanted to see the police so badly. Another two shots rang out. They slammed against his desk. His heart raced, and adrenaline surged through his blood vessels.
Footsteps crossed from the conference room and over the floor. He could just wait for the intruder to leave. Let the person take the samples and whatever else he had stolen.
But instead of hearing the footsteps echo down the hall, he heard them grow nearer.
He crawled toward another desk. The intruder rounded the corner and fired two more shots into the alcove where Chris had hidden.
If he ran now, he could make it out the door and to the stairs. He might have just enough of a head start to get away.
The intruder, bathed in the darkness of the lab, peered under the desk where Chris had been moments ago. He stood and scanned the office.
Chris held his breath.
The crunch of boots over broken glass caught his ears. He glanced from his hiding spot. The attacker pointed his gun near where Jordan had taken refuge.
Chris could sprint down the hall now, with the attacker’s back to him, but he couldn’t leave his friend. After grabbing one of the office chairs, he charged at the intruder. He leapt over the glass shards and heaved the chair at the hulking individual. It crashed against the man, and in his surprised reaction, he fired off two rounds.
Ducking low, Chris dove for the man’s legs. The attacker fell. His head cracked against the lab bench, and his gun clattered across the floor. Jordan scurried out from the other side of the bench to secure it.
Jordan leveled the weapon and motioned for Chris to move out of the way. “The police are on their way.”
He joined Jordan. The man lay at their feet, his chest heaving in deep breaths. His eyes were closed.
“See if he’s got anything else on him,” Jordan said.
Crouched by the man, Chris patted him down and checked for weapons and whatever the man had procured from the lab. He stood, empty handed. “Where are the samples? He doesn’t have anything on him.”
“Maybe he left everything in the conference room.”
Chris jogged over to the room. Jordan kept the gun trained on the fallen attacker, who appeared to have gone unconscious.
Something sprinted out of the shadows near the conference room entrance. It bowled Chris over, and he sprawled on the floor. The second intruder, thinner than the first, raced out the office doors. Chris started to give chase.
“No!” Jordan called. “Don’t. You can’t run out there and get yourself killed. Just wait for the police.”
Catching Jordan’s gaze, Chris stopped. Jordan was right. He had no idea who he was running after and whether the person would lead him straight into an ambush.
With a sudden grunt, the larger intruder rolled and kicked his feet up. Jordan flew against the stainless steel door of the walk-in cooler and slid to the floor. The pistol clattered next to him.
As the man lunged for Jordan, Chris sprinted. He leapt and wrapped his arms around the man’s neck. With ease, the man peeled him off and flung him down.
Chris fell back on his elbow, and pain coursed through his arm. The man cocked back a fist as Chris scrambled to his feet. He dodged the punch and jumped backward over the lab bench to the other side. His foot caught on one of the nozzles connected to a gas line, and he tumbled.
As the man rounded the corner, Chris scanned the lab for a weapon. He yanked open a drawer and pulled out a couple of plastic-wrapped syringes with attached needles. Snarling, the intruder lunged. Chris stepped aside, but the man caught one of his feet.
Hitting the ground, he uncapped one of the syringes.
He stabbed at the man’s neck. The attacker grabbed his wrist. He squeezed, and Chris yelled in pain. The syringe slipped from his grip and fell harmlessly to the floor.
The man lifted Chris and slammed him against one of the lab benches. His fingers tightened around Chris’s throat as he cocked back a massive fist.
A loud bang exploded against Chris’s eardrums. His ears rang as the attacker’s chokehold weakened. The intruder’s eyes were wide, his mouth agape. Another bang, and the man slumped to the floor, leaving Chris gasping on the lab bench.
Jordan, his chest heaving, stood behind the fallen man. With the pistol in his hand, he glanced at Chris through narrowed eyes. “You okay?”
Chris rubbed his neck. “I think so.” He knelt by the attacker. The man’s limbs lay sprawled awkwardly, and his eyes remained open. His tongue lolled from his mouth. Muscles bulged in his arms, body builder sized. Undoubtedly, he was an enhancer. Chris checked
the man’s pulse. “He’s dead.”
Outside, footsteps echoed through the hall.
Jordan’s eyes darted to the glass doors of their office. “But they’re not.”
They both tensed, crouching behind the lab bench.
“Police!” a voice called.
Jordan dropped the pistol next to the intruder’s body and they rose, their hands up. “We’re in here,” he said.
Two officers, guns drawn, rushed toward them. Two others followed. Chris recognized the long brown hair and matching green eyes of the detective with them. “Dellaporta? Seriously?”
She ignored him, her brow furrowed. “Damn it, Morgan. What the hell have you gotten yourself into now?”
“Wish I could tell you.”
The officers patted Chris and Jordan down. “They’re clean. May I scan your comm cards?”
They both nodded, and the officer pulled out his own card. “IDs check out for a Jordan Thompson and Christopher Morgan.”
Dellaporta stepped over the broken glass. “Why don’t you guys tell me what the hell happened?”
They stepped around the dead intruder and joined her.
“This guy had an accomplice,” Chris said. “Ran out before you came here. Did you see him?”
“Did you hear that, Jackson?” She knelt and patted down the dead attacker’s body.
Another officer nodded. “I’ll call another unit. You got a description for me?”
Chris shook his head. “Didn’t see the person’s face. They might’ve been about five foot ten or so. Skinny. They hightailed it out of here, and I think they stole a batch of our therapeutic vectors.”
Dellaporta raised an eyebrow, her fingers on the intruder’s wrist.
“I’m serious. They aren’t enhancements. They’re gene mods to treat cancer in dogs, for God’s sake.”
She holstered her gun and stood. “Whatever you say, Morgan.”
“Uh, Detective,” one of the officers said, his eyes glued to his comm card. “Can I show you something?”
The Black Market DNA Series: Books 1-3 Page 30