Chapter 34
The girls were still some distance short of Horsham when Sally’s phone rang. It was Ced.
“Hi, Sal, we’re a couple of miles from the estate. Peterson was quite shocked when the professor called him just now, but he’s agreed to see him. So I’m about to get into the back. Sal, are you there? Say something.”
“I can hear you, Ced, I just can’t get as excited about it as you.”
“For heaven’s sake, Sal, there’s no need to sound so mournful; I’m not about to be executed. Look, I’ve been checking out the house on the Peterson estate using Google Earth on my phone and it’s easy. The grounds around the house are full of trees and bushes. There’s loads of cover. All I’ve got to do is slip out of the car into the bushes, move around the side of the house for a look-see, text the prof, get back in the car and we’re out of there. It’ll be a piece of cake.”
“Unless they’ve dug up all the bushes since the photos were taken,” protested Sally. “I still think it’s a hell of a risk, Ced.”
“Nonsense, Sal! I’ll be very careful, I promise.”
“No heroics, OK?”
“Look, Sal, I’d better go; we can’t be far from the gate. Love you, hon.”
“You too, marathon man. And for God’s sake, be careful!”
“Here’s the wall of the estate now,” said the professor as Ced pocketed his phone. “I’ll pull up and you can clamber into the back.”
“Couple of things before I do that,” said Ced, pressing a few buttons on his phone. “First, your phone is definitely on vibrate only?”
The professor pulled out his phone and adjusted it.
“It is now.”
“Good. Mine too. I won’t text you until I’m ready to leave.”
He reached up to the car’s interior light. “I’ll switch off this light so that when I get out, it doesn’t go on. You need to lock the car when you get out, so that none of the guards can snoop inside it. I can get out from the inside – you don’t have child locks activated, do you?”
The professor’s eyes crinkled in mild amusement and appreciation of Ced’s attention to detail. “No Ced, I don’t. Not for many years now. You’ll be able to get out.”
“Good, that’s it then. Good luck with Peterson. I’ll fold myself up in the boot – oh, yes, I’d better release the button on the rear seat so I can push it down.”
“Good luck, Ced, and take care.”
Ced climbed into the luggage area of the hatchback and Young shut the tailgate. Running his hands through his hair for the umpteenth time, he drove on up to the main gate, stopping in front of the guardhouse. He lowered his window and turned his head to show his face to the guard.
“Hallo, Eddie, Sir Wally’s expecting me.”
“Yes, sir, he called just now. You’re working late on a Sunday, sir.”
“No peace for the wicked, Eddie.”
The gate slid open to let him in and then closed again immediately.
“OK, Ced, we’re in,” he called.
“Magic,” came the muffled reply.
He followed the roads to the house and parked near the bushes Ced had seen on Google Earth. Looking up, Young saw the guard, Jeffrey, walking over to meet him. He grabbed his briefcase and got out quickly, shutting the door behind him and beeping it locked.
“Not too much danger of it being nicked from here, professor,” said Jeffrey, casting an inquisitive glance at the car, his face unsmiling, as always.
“Force of habit, Jeffrey,” laughed Young, pocketing the keys.
They walked into the main entrance hall and Jeffrey escorted Young into the sitting room where Peterson was seated behind his desk absorbed in some papers. He looked up as the door opened, stood and walked over to Young. He offered his left hand since the right one was bandaged.
“Well, Frank, this is a surprise on a Sunday evening. Don’t you ever stop?”
“Good heavens, Wally!” cried Young, looking at the plasters and bruises on Peterson’s face. “Whatever happened? Are you OK?”
“A bit sore, to tell you the truth, Frank,” replied Peterson, his face not completely hiding the lingering anger he still felt about the incident of the previous night. “The whole thing was a silly accident, and entirely my own fault. Took a spin around the estate in one of the old Land Rovers. Brakes aren’t too good and I was going a bit fast. I had to swerve out of the way for a deer that appeared out of nowhere and I drove into a tree. Stupidly, I wasn’t wearing a seat belt so I got what I deserved.”
Young ran his hands through his unruly hair and shook his head.
“Sounds like you were jolly lucky to get away with a few cuts and bruises, Wally. You should take more care of yourself; you’re an important man.”
Peterson shrugged. “Drink, Frank? I feel as if I could do with one.”
“I’ll wait until I’ve run through these papers with you, if that’s OK,” said Young. “I need to keep a clear head.”
“As you wish,” said Peterson, pouring himself a scotch. “Take a seat and you can explain to me what all the excitement is about.”
“Sorry for the short notice, Wally,” said Young. “I’ve been going over these results all week and today I finally decided that I wasn’t delusional or even stark staring mad. Having formed that opinion, I couldn’t wait to pass on the information to you.”
“Certainly sounds exciting,” said Peterson, trying hard to inject some enthusiasm into his voice.
Young took a deep breath and started, intending to make the story long and slow to give Ced plenty of time, knowing full well that Peterson had already seen the information. Nevertheless, Peterson knew only part of the story and Young wanted to keep it that way. He also intended to obscure some of the facts relating to Claudia and Sally, neither of whom he’d named in his notes.
He took the sheaf of papers from his briefcase and placed them on the table.
“Before I get to these, some background. One of my ex-Ph.D. students came to me a couple of weeks ago with a very strange tale. He works–”
“He?” interrupted Peterson, his strong tone clearly expecting Young to give a name.
“Yes, he,” said the professor, surprised at how forceful Peterson’s question had been. “His name’s, er, Barry Bassett,” he said, improvising and surprised at the name that had popped into his head. Barry Bassett was one of his wife’s three dogs. “He works for a Forensic Laboratory near Birmingham that carries out DNA profiling of buccal swabs taken by the police. He’s interested in rare alleles and he’s convinced that junk DNA has a function.”
“Not that old chestnut,” scoffed Peterson, rather unconvincingly.
“You may laugh, Wally, but it seems he’s come up trumps.”
He paused, watching Peterson sipping his drink.
“Well?” said Peterson, when the pause didn’t end.
“Actually, Wally, I should say that in telling you all this tonight, I’m breaking a confidence. But what’s contained in these papers is so profound that I felt obliged to tell you, regardless. After all, with all the funding you provide to my lab, I effectively work for you.”
Peterson nodded in approval but said nothing.
“Thanks to Barry,” continued Young, “I have made probably the most significant discovery since the elucidation of the double helix. It’s going to transform genetic research and the treatment of many diseases. Not immediately, but in the medium-to-long term. I’m talking about using genetics to combat and resist disease in a way that’s never before even been dreamed of. And not only that, Wally, but also to resist ageing.”
Peterson did a reasonable job of feigning surprise.
“That’s quite a claim, Frank. I think you’d better explain.”
Young told him about Claudia’s results and how she had tracked down John Andrews, referring to her all the time as ‘Barry Bassett’. He explained that quite by chance, the Andrews’ paintings had led her down a different track with her friend Ced Fisher. He took
Peterson through Ced’s frustrations with his program and the final realisation that his program was correct.
Having reached this point, he returned to the potential commercial implications and how he thought it only reasonable that Peterson BioTech should benefit. He explained that he thought that ‘Barry’ would agree and that there should be a place on a research team for him, given how he was instrumental in the discovery.
Peterson nodded absently, not in the least bit interested in Barry Bassett. “So you say that this man’s DNA structure not only gives him absolute immunity to all disease, but it has also arrested his ageing?”
“Exactly, except I don’t think arrested is the right word. Having reached maturity, I don’t think he’s capable of ageing further at all.”
“Remarkable. It would need to be demonstrated, of course. I mean, it’s all very well to come up with this theory from your tests, but the proof of the pudding and all that.”
“Quite,” said Young. “We’ll need to genetically modify some lab animals to give them the same properties. With rats, we’d soon know whether they are ageing or not. And in vitro studies of Andrews’ blood would help, if he can be persuaded. As I’ve told you, he’s so far been very resistant to any involvement.”
He noticed the hint of a smile flash across Peterson’s face.
“But this is your area, Wally,” he continued. “You’re the public relations man and you certainly have the resources to persuade Andrews to come to the party.”
Peterson took another sip of his drink. “You know, Frank, all this testing is going to take some time – several years, probably. I think, given the nature of this discovery, we need to be sure of the immunity situation as quickly as possible. I wonder if Andrews could be brought on board and persuaded to be subjected to a few immunity tests – using innocuous viruses and bacteria, of course – ones that would do him no harm if we’ve got it wrong, but which would quickly confirm his immunity if your theory is correct.”
Young was genuinely shocked. “You can’t be serious, Wally! You can’t go conducting basic research of this nature on a person! It’s ... it’s against every code of ethics that was ever written. Supposing his immunity is selective in some way we don’t understand; we could end up killing him. Heavens, man, we can’t bulldoze our way through the research; we have to be patient and methodical. There must be no room for doubt.”
Peterson smiled condescendingly – this narrow-minded scientist could hardly be expected to appreciate the bigger picture.
“I hear you, Frank, but you have to consider a few things here. Not so much with the immunity per se, but its relation to ageing. From what you are saying, it seems to me that it might be possible through the development of gene manipulation to extend people’s lifespans. You and I aren’t getting any younger, Frank, and I can’t think of two more worthy recipients of such treatment than us. Why shouldn’t we benefit from this discovery? But, in order to do that, we can’t have the research taking years. The matter has to be expedited.”
Young sat back and ran his hands through his hair once again. “My God, Wally, I think you’re serious. You of all people should know that the business of gene therapy, gene manipulation and so on, is still very much in its infancy. There’s a long way to go from here to extending someone’s life. We’re probably far too old; the sort of research I’m anticipating could take decades.”
“Supposing we channelled everything in that specific direction?” countered Peterson.
“It won’t be some magic potion that gives you immortality, Wally. Stop dreaming of eternal youth and get real.”
“I disagree,” said Peterson smoothly. “If Andrews’ genetic code gives him immunity from disease and ageing, why shouldn’t that code be deciphered and given to others? My resources are profound, you know, Frank; I could mobilise an army of researchers for this.”
“You know, Wally,” smiled Young, “we need to go through the data together. You’re a biochemist and geneticist; it’s very important that you are in total agreement with my interpretation and don’t just accept everything I’ve said without question.”
Peterson suppressed a groan. He’d already been there but he couldn’t admit it to Young. He would have to humour him until he’d made a decision over what he was going to do with him.
Ced checked the time on his watch. It had been twenty minutes since Young had walked into the house with Jeffrey. There had been no text. It was time to move.
He slowly pushed the backrest forward and uncurled his body to crawl into the rear passenger space. Once there, he raised his head to look around, again keeping the movement slow. There was no one outside the house. He gently unlocked the door and opened it. He waited, but, again, all remained quiet. He carefully slid from the car to the gravel and gently pushed the door closed. There was the slightest of clicks but it alerted no one. Keeping crouched down and with the car between him and the house, he moved quickly into the nearby bushes.
The shrubbery was denser than he had anticipated and it was with some difficulty that he made his way through it and round to the side of the house. Here he found that Sally had been correct: the layout of the garden had changed since the Google Earth photo had been taken. Instead of a large area of bushes and shrubs, a dense hedge about eight feet tall ran down the side of the house, a gravel path separating the two, but on the outside of the hedge, a lawn had been planted that extended to a wooded area some hundred feet away. Although he was effectively screened from view from the house, anyone walking onto the lawn or on the edge of the woods would see him. He would have to be very careful.
Keeping close to the hedge on the lawn side, Ced moved slowly along it, trying to work out the house’s layout. The part he could see was relatively new, a two-storey extension to the rear of the house stretching some eighty feet. At the point where the original house met the extension, he could see a room with a light on, but a window blind prevented him from seeing into it. A door next to the window led onto the gravel. Beyond that, several larger windows looked onto the gravel path from rooms in the extension. Some had lights burning in them, the July evening light blocked by the nearby hedge.
Ced was about to weave his way through the bushes for a closer look when he heard a door open a few feet from him. Two guards came out and lit cigarettes. He shrank down and remained motionless. He was relieved to see that rather than starting a patrol, the guards appeared to be having a break.
One of the guards leaned back against the wall and took a deep pull on his cigarette. He was only about six feet from Ced, but, with no thought that there might be somebody beyond the bushes, his eyes didn’t focus in that direction.
“Been up to see Henry this afternoon, Jeff?” said the guard.
“Couple of hours ago, Mart. He looks pretty good to me; I think he’s milking his bruises for all he’s got. It’s unlike the boss to give time off like that and Henry’s taking full advantage of it. Bloody skiver.”
“I can’t believe how that Andrews bloke got the drop on him like that. Really caught him napping. Andrews is lucky it weren’t me that he hit. Peterson wouldn’t have been able to stop me. I’d have decked him and beaten him to a pulp.”
“S’pose it ain’t too surprising that Andrews can look after himself. If he’s a spy for one of these other companies like the boss says he is, then he’d expect trouble occasionally. He’d need to know how to throw a few punches.”
“I reckon he got lucky. But it’s all very well for Henry slowly working his way through his scotch upstairs; it just leaves the two of us to look after the house. It’s OK today, I s’pose – it’s Sunday – but he’d better be back to normal tomorrow.”
Martin sniggered. “You know, Jeff, I thought you’d blown his brains out when I heard you fire that shot.”
“A warning shot, Mart. I could have dropped him if I wanted, but the boss said he wasn’t to be hurt. Mind you, he felt that pile driver of yours into his guts all right!”
“You betcha,”
grinned Martin. “He didn’t see that one coming!”
“Right,” said Jeffrey. “Well, we’ve got him all trussed up like a hog now; he ain’t going nowhere. All he’s got to look forward to are a few sessions with that vicious Frobisher bitch. Once she’s stuck a few needles into him, he’ll be as quiet as a mouse, and probably stay that way forever. I’ve seen the results of her work before.” He shook his head. “Not pretty, I can tell you.”
“Yeah,” nodded Martin. “Rumour has it that there’s one or two of her experiments buried on the estate. If this bloke really is a spy, he won’t be getting out of here, that’s for sure. By the way, who was that other geezer who arrived just now?”
“That’s the professor. He’s one of the boss’s paid monkeys who do all his research for him. Lives in his own world, that one. The boss pats him on the head, pays him some money for his research and he’s happy. He must have hit the jackpot to come down here on a Sunday night; he certainly looked pretty pleased with himself. He and the boss are heads together in the sitting room right now.”
He took a last pull on his cigarette and stubbed it out on the sole of his shoe. Martin followed and closed the door behind him.
Ced listened carefully, but he couldn’t hear the sound of a lock turning or bolts being thrown. He waited a few minutes in case there was any further activity, but the light went out and all was quiet. He walked slowly along the outside of the hedge, peering through it when he came to windows where there were lights burning. The rooms appeared to be laboratories. There were arrays of analytical instruments on the benches, each with numerous illuminated displays, switches and computer monitors, while biohazard handling cabinets lined the walls.
Through the second window, he could make out a figure in a white laboratory coat walking around. He decided to risk going closer, hoping the increasing gloom outside contrasting with the light in the laboratory would prevent him from being seen. He pushed carefully through the hedge and moved gently to the gravel path, easing his weight down slowly to minimise the telltale crunch that could give him away. He could see that the figure was a woman who was moving from one instrument to another, checking readouts and writing notes on a clipboard. He wondered if she was the ‘vicious Frobisher bitch’ the guards had referred to. She certainly had a grim purposeful look on her plain-featured face. He watched as she went to one of the large fridges, removed a vial and then left the room.
Ced crept slowly up to the window and tried it, but it was locked. Walking very gingerly on the gravel, he continued towards the rear of the house, coming eventually to another door. It was also locked. Looking along the remaining length of wall, he could see that the other rooms were in darkness and beyond them, a large open area of gardens.
He retraced his steps along the gravel path until he reached the door that led into the guards’ room, noticing on the way that the white-coated woman had returned to the laboratory. He tried the door handle and found it to be unlocked. Opening the door, he slipped quickly into the room, closing the door quietly behind him. In the semi-darkness inside the room, he could make out two other doors, one of them slightly ajar. He peered through the crack and saw the large entrance hall. The two guards were standing by the main door, engrossed in quiet conversation.
He stepped back and gently turned the handle of the other door. It opened into a brightly lit corridor. To his left was another door that must open into the main entrance hall; to the right the corridor led away towards the rear of the house. Along the corridor, there were doors leading off both sides, the ones to the right clearly opening into the various laboratories he had seen from the outside. He estimated the door to the laboratory where he had seen the woman working was about thirty feet along the corridor.
Trying the first door on the right, he opened it to see a small unlit laboratory, an internal glass partition looking onto the adjacent room, also unlit. Through a similar glass partition in the second room, he could see into the laboratory where the woman was working, writing notes on her clipboard from a display on a monitor. He was relieved that she had her back to him: if she had been looking his way, there was a good chance she might have seen him.
Back in the corridor, he moved to the left side. The first door he tried was locked, but the second opened. The light was on. Tensing, he peered into the room. To his amazement, he found himself looking at John Andrews, who was strapped to a metal chair by his arms, legs and body, his face a mask of simmering anger as he glowered at Ced.
John opened his mouth to speak, but Ced brought his finger up to his lips as he quietly closed the door. He was relieved to see the room had no half-glass partitions.
He moved closer to John. “Are you OK?” he whispered.
“So far,” muttered John. He frowned at Ced accusingly. “I know you, don’t I?”
“Ced Fisher. I came to your gallery a few weeks ago.”
“Of course. What the hell are you doing here? I assume you’re in this thing along with these other lunatics?”
Ced shook his head. “On the contrary, I’m here to help you escape. I feel very responsible for your predicament. So does Claudia.”
“Is she here too?” said John.
“No, she’s waiting in the car outside the estate, along with Sally, my girlfriend, the one who–”
“I know, bought several paintings from me. You’ve got some explaining to do.”
“Yes, I know, but it’s a long story which will have to wait,” replied Ced. “Have they hurt you?”
“No, not yet, but they have every intention of trying. So far they’ve taken a litre of my blood, sedated me for hours on end and that female ghoul of a scientist who wants to carry out experiments on me has injected me with what she called a cocktail of bacteria and viruses. She said they were basically harmless, that she’s testing my response. From what they’ve told me about myself, and from what I know already, I don’t think there will be any reaction. But you wouldn’t understand that.”
“Actually, Mr Andrews, I understand perfectly well,” said Ced. “I know all about you and I’m in awe. I know about your age and that you knew Piero della Francesca. And I know about your remarkable immune system. Believe me, I’m determined to get you out of all this.”
John was shocked. “It seems as if suddenly the whole world knows about me,” he said bitterly.
“No, Mr Andrews, only a very few people do. Unfortunately, some of them aren’t very nice people, so the sooner we get you away from here, the better.”
“Well, you could start by undoing these straps,” said John.
Ced walked round behind him and bent to release the straps securing his legs. As he did, John whispered urgently to him. “Wait! I can hear her coming back; her heels are quite noisy. Leave that strap in place so that it looks OK and get into the bathroom; it’s through that door.” He nodded towards a door at the far end of the room.
Ced adjusted the strap and slipped quickly into the bathroom, closing the door just as the door from the corridor opened. Hannah Frobisher came in carrying another metal dish containing a vial and a syringe. John saw that this time she was wearing disposable rubber gloves.
“How are you feeling, Mr Andrews?” she said, her smile lacking any warmth.
“Not good,” he lied, his eyes fixed on the new vial and syringe. “I think I’m running a temperature.”
“What! Let me see!” She quickly put down the dish on the side bench and bent to look at the readouts displayed on the monitors for his temperature and blood pressure.
She looked up and smiled at him coolly. “Very funny, Mr Andrews. You’re either trying to wind me up or you’re having a psychosomatic reaction to the first injection. Not to worry – everything’s normal. You’re absolutely fine. Which, frankly, is what I should expect.”
She smiled evilly at him, her eyes sparkling. “Now, I’ve a little surprise for you. I’ve been reconsidering the immunity-testing programme that I’ve set up for you and, given that I’m totally convinced of your
ability to see off all comers in the disease world, I can see no reason why we shouldn’t accelerate it. I know that Wally is very keen to get the results from all the obvious disease candidates out of the way and then move on to more esoteric studies on you. Neither of us can wait to see how your system handles exposure to various levels of radiation. If your body can resist that, it would be truly remarkable.
“But we have to get the ordinary diseases out of the way first. So, I’ve decided to take the bull by the horns and pump a few more little beasties into you. I do this in the full confidence that they are going to have no effect on you at all. As far as I’m concerned, it’s a totally no-risk situation. About the only thing you’ll feel is the prick of the needle as it punctures your skin.”
“What?” shouted John. “You really are stark staring mad, aren’t you? You’ve only just pumped the first lot of your rubbish into me and now you want to pump in more without waiting for the results? What kind of scientist do you call yourself? Have you no patience at all?”
She laughed. “Very good, Mr Andrews, quite a performance, but I’m afraid you really don’t know what you’re talking about. You see, the trick of being a pioneering scientist is knowing precisely when and how you can cut corners. And I am completely confident that what I’m about to add to the earlier cocktail that’s already being neutralised by your body will do you no harm at all. You see, there’s simply no point in waiting.”
She raised her shoulders and put her hands together in front of her face. “This is so exciting! Wally’s going to be so pleased,” she exclaimed gleefully. “Let’s get going, shall we?”
She turned to the bench, put on a facemask that she pulled from her pocket and picked up the vial from the dish.
“What have you got in there?” said John angrily.
“It’s an interesting little cocktail, one that I have to be quite careful about handling myself since I don’t have the advantage of your immunity. I’m not going to tell you what’s in it; I don’t want to get your blood pressure up,” she sniggered. “But I will say that it’s far less friendly than the first one I injected.”
She paused, her head on one side as she acted out thinking about something. “Actually,” she smiled conspiratorially, “I will tell you one of the components. It’s rabies. Imagine that, Mr Andrews, you’ll be injected with a full, powerful dose of rabies, and nothing will happen!”
She pushed the syringe needle into the vial and withdrew the yellow liquid. Very carefully squeezing the plunger to remove the air, she put down the vial and turned to walk towards John, holding the syringe out in front of her in both her hands, her eyes focused on the needle.
“Here we are,” she said excitedly.
John wasn’t listening – he was also concentrating on the syringe. As she came within range, he suddenly kicked out hard at her with his right leg, his foot connecting sharply with her hands.
Frobisher squealed in surprise as her hands jerked back hard towards her upper body, turning as they did. Her head snapped back and the syringe needle buried itself deep in her neck. Instinctively grasping the syringe tighter, the palm of one hand caught the plunger and pushed it down the barrel, discharging about half its contents into her body. She stood there grasping the syringe, her face a picture of horror, knowing only too well the consequences of the injection she had given herself.
Not waiting for any reaction from her, John lashed out again, his foot thumping hard into her abdomen and sending her tumbling backwards. Her hands were still grasping the syringe and she made no attempt to break her fall. She sat down hard on the floor, her head cracking into the wall. Stunned by the blow, her whole body sagged and her hands dropped to her sides, the syringe remaining firmly embedded in her neck.
“Fisher!” cried out John in a loud whisper. “In here, quickly!”
Ced rushed in from the bathroom, stopping in surprise to see the semiconscious woman on the floor.
“Christ!” he exclaimed quietly.
“Undo these straps quickly, and don’t touch her!” commanded John.
Free of the constraints, he pulled off the probes, stood up and pointed to the bathroom door.
“Stand in that corner there!” he said. “You mustn’t go anywhere near her; I don’t want there to be any risk of that stuff coming into contact with you.”
He bent over and took Frobisher’s hands, hauling her to her feet and swinging her round to sit in the chair. Grabbing a towel from the bench, he tied it as a gag and then secured her hands, feet and body to the chair with the straps.
Her eyes flickered as she came round. John stood up straight and looked down at her without any pity. “Rabies, Dr Frobisher? That will be a pretty painful death, I understand. I wonder what else was in that injection?”
He saw the horror in her eyes as she struggled against the constraints.
He turned to Ced, who was still standing in the corner, looking pale.
“Did you hear our conversation?” asked John.
Ced nodded, his eyes still on Frobisher. “I was about to rush in, but you beat me to it,” he said.
John smiled grimly. “I think you arrived just in time; releasing my legs was all that was needed.”
Coming to his senses, Ced walked around the still struggling Hannah Frobisher. “We’d better get out of here,” he said.
John nodded. “Yes, but before we do that, there’s one thing that I must do first. They took a litre of my blood. If we leave now, they’ll still have it to work on. I want to find it and flush it down the drain.”
“It’ll be in one of the fridges in the lab,” said Ced. “I saw her working in there through the windows from outside in the grounds. It’s along the corridor.”
Ced opened the door quietly and peered up and down the corridor. They had made very little noise and Hannah Frobisher’s single squeal had not been loud. No one had been alerted.
Ced opened the door to Frobisher’s laboratory and looked around. “It’ll be in one of those fridges,” he said, pointing “You start looking while I text the prof.”
“The prof?” asked John.
“I didn’t get in here all by myself. Professor Frank Young, who was Claudia’s supervisor for her research and who worked out all the stuff about you, is with me. All his results and notes were stolen from him by the owner of this place–”
“Peterson,” said John.
“Yes,” replied Ced. “The prof engineered getting in here and he’s currently with Peterson distracting him while I look for you. I’ve got to tell him it’s time to go.”
Rare Traits (The Rare Traits Trilogy Book I) Page 35