The Cure

by Freddie Villacci Jr

  “As of last night, Caroline was still hanging in there.”

  Mack let out a breath. “Thank Jesus. Where the hell is she?”

  “Doesn’t say. Just says that she’s safe… no… no… no!”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “The Chinese have a large bid on the black market for Gracie and her formulas.”

  “Maybe no one will accept the bid,” Mack said.

  “It’s too big. Someone will.”

  Bic stood and pushed the desk to the side several feet. There was an old piece of plywood beneath it and he moved that as well, revealing a large safe securely hidden within the cement floor.

  Bic got on his knees and opened the safe. It was filled with tactical weapons. He handed Mack two silenced Berettas then handed him the duffel bag.

  They checked all their weapons, then concealed what they could within their clothing. What they couldn’t conceal, they shoved into the duffel bag.

  Bic handed Mack one of two EpiPens.

  “What are these?”

  “Adrenaline shot. If I pass out or lose consciousness, you need to hit me with the shot. Got it?”

  “Got a peanut allergy or something?”

  Bic didn’t answer.

  Mack sighed and put the pen in his pocket. He then chambered a bullet in each of his Berettas. “Loaded. What’s next?”

  “A visit to the butcher shop,” Bic said as he put on a pair of IT-style glasses.

  A wave of nausea came over Mack. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Even though he couldn’t see Bic’s eyes, he could feel them. “I’m still an FBI agent. I can’t be part of some serial killer ritual.” Mack hesitated, watching Bic’s face for some tinge of a reaction. “Yeah, that’s right, Bic. The FBI has you profiled as a serial killer. Freelancer or not. That’s what you are.”

  “That’s nice. You don’t understand, and their profile doesn’t really mean anything to me.”

  “You say you don’t do it anymore. Fine. Let’s skip the butcher. This isn’t about your father. This is about saving Gracie and Caroline.”

  Behind his Terminator glasses, Bic continued to stare ahead. A thousand different things could have been going through his mind. Mack wanted to know exactly what.

  “Talk to me, Bic,” Mack said softly.

  Bic removed his sunglasses and stared at his feet. “When I was seven, my drugged-out father beat my mother to death with a cast iron skillet. Right in front of me. When I tried to stop him, he shoved a pork chop in my mouth and choked me half to death with it. I guess when I went unconscious he thought I was dead and left me.”

  “You don’t need this anymore,” Mack said.

  “I still got a fear of choking.”

  “This isn’t you, Bic.”

  Bic put his glasses back on. “Let’s go.”

  71

  “Mr. Ivanov,” said Mr. Zhou genially as he entered the dining room.

  Jaco had been taken by surprise. The man’s steps made no sound and there’d been no warning that he had been coming. He rose from the Chicago penthouse’s twelve-foot dining room table.

  “Mr. Zhou, pleasure.”

  Mr. Zhou kept a distance of at least ten feet at all times. Probably something he learned as one of China’s top spies for the Ministry for State Security, thought Jaco. The lighting in this place, a penthouse that consumed the entire 83rd floor of a building on Michigan Avenue, was as dim as a bowling alley. But the lighting was adequate enough for Jaco to notice two things about Mr. Zhou.

  1) He was tall, and thin as a pipe cleaner.

  2) The tip of his left pinky finger was missing.

  Mr. Zhou took a seat at the other end of the table and folded his hands neatly on the glossy high-end wood. “A cure for cancer as effective as penicillin is to an infection has been found… China wants it.”

  “America wants it gone.”

  Mr. Zhou smirked, “Yes, I know. Their supposed free market isn’t so free, is it?”

  “I have no comment on the free market,” Jaco shrugged. “It’s kept me employed.”

  “Nevertheless,” said Zhou, “your people are eager for some restraints, are they not? With a cure for cancer, the US will agree to all our trade terms, and this cure will become the world’s ultimate bargaining chip. If your country wants the cure, you must agree to China’s terms.”

  “Listen, Mr. Zhou,” said Jaco, “with all due respect, I don’t care a rat’s fluffy ass about your Bond villain plans for world domination. What’s the world’s ultimate bargaining chip worth to you? That’s all I want to know.”

  Zhou stared coldly at him. “We will pay you ten billion dollars. Five billion for the formulas and five billion for the scientist, Gracie Green.”

  “What makes you think she can be bought?”

  Zhou smiled. “I’m surprised at you, Mr. Ivanov. You, more than any other man, should know the power of a sum. At any rate, in case the formulas are incomplete, a key step in the process is still in her mind.”

  “How about you can the balloon juice, Zhou. Let’s face it, this woman cured cancer. What else is she capable of? What’s it gonna be, huh? Mind control drugs? Bioweapons that alter DNA? That little girl’s mind is worth a lot more to you than what you’re offering.”

  There was something terrible in Zhou’s smile, like a piranha, but Jaco barely let it register. Zhou may think he’s the predator, but it was Jaco who controlled this room.

  “Twenty billion, the girl and the formula,” Jaco confirmed.

  “You are like a pufferfish, Mr. Ivanov,” said Zhou. He held up a placating hand as Jaco’s face went red. “It is a compliment. The pufferfish is one of the deadliest animals on the planet. In its tiny body it contains enough neurotoxin to kill thirty humans. But the most interesting thing is that there is a single animal, just one, that pufferfish toxin has no effect on. The shark can eat the deadliest fish in the ocean with no consequence. They even enjoy them as a snack. Do not tempt the shark that is China, Mr. Ivanov.”

  Jaco tapped a fingertip on the table for a moment. The gentle warning was getting under his skin, but he could tell that it was a promise, not a threat. “Fine. Eleven.”

  Zhou smiled and bowed his head once. “We have a deal, then.”

  Jaco stood and placed a piece of paper on the table. “Wire me ten million today as an advance, then we have a deal. Oh, and balance is due immediately upon delivery, I don’t do accounts receivable.”

  Zhou nodded to the man standing. He retrieved the piece of paper and brought it to Zhou.

  “The money will be in your account within the hour. We will prepare the rest in a numbered account which we will allow you to take possession of upon delivery.”

  “Fantastic. In that case, you’ll have to excuse me, boss. I have some work to do. I like to be thorough.”

  Zhou watched him walk away. “And I like professionalism. I’m sure your sister in Bulgaria and her four kids would appreciate it.”

  Jaco paused at the door, clenched his fists, then showed himself out. A shark indeed.

  Outside the Chicago high-rise, the skyscraper’s windows reflected the warm glow of the afternoon sun. The street was packed with cars and people walking in all directions. Jaco, in the middle of them, read a text he’d received from Peter Rains while he was in the meeting with Zhou.

  “Status?”

  Jaco texted back, “Everything should be completed within 24 hours.”

  This was ludicrous. Handing Gracie and the formulas to Zhou could ruin Peter’s career or get him killed. He hoped the latter. Peter needed to be taught the ultimate lesson of respect. Maybe he would show up at his door after he screwed him over and break the news to him—right before he put a bullet in him.

  “What now,” Jaco said as his phone pinged again. He looked at the incoming text, presuming it was a follow up jab from Peter Rains. He smiled. It was a deposit confirmation. Ten million dollars had already been deposited into
his off-shore account.

  He headed into the Rolex store with the intention of upgrading his nine-year-old Submariner to a GMT Master II.

  The shiny watches glimmered under the glass like sun diamonds in the sea.

  Now, he thought, what do you suppose would look good around my wrist when I hand Gracie over to the Chinese?

  72

  Quinn paced back and forth between the kitchen area and the modest living room of the FBI safehouse on lower Wacker Drive, while Gracie sat at the round kitchen table littered with half-eaten Chinese takeout boxes. They surrounded the book like towers of Camelot. Steve would have appreciated that.

  As much as this had Steve written all over it, she couldn’t help but think of her college days. This would be the scene on several occasions before a test. Her and Anna would order Chinese from Jing-Jing’s and stay up half the night quizzing each other.

  “This brings back so many memories,” Gracie said, still reminiscing. “How’d you know I’d like Chinese?”

  Quinn was in the middle of a text in the living room. He stopped. “Everyone likes Chinese. Anyway, how could over a billion people be wrong?”

  “I don’t think Chinese takeout over here is actually common over there…” Gracie teased, then looked at his phone. “Everything okay?”

  “Keeping my boss at bay. I think he’s onto me.”

  “Can you trust him? Maybe we should go meet with him.”

  “Not sure we can.” Quinn came to the table. “You want me to clear the table?”

  Gracie shook her head no. She liked feeling her best friend all around her. She took a deep breath and refocused on the words Steve had written on the inside cover.

  To all the hard-working men, the man eaters are coming for you.

  SavoTay xoxoxo

  She mumbled to herself, “What were you trying to say to me?”

  Quinn went behind Gracie and started massaging her shoulders.

  She rolled her head from side to side. “That feels good.”

  “You’ve been looking at that for hours now. It’s almost eight. Maybe we should send it to Langley.”

  “Maybe you should rub a little deeper,” she said.

  He obliged, and Gracie fell into deep relaxation.

  “Did he ever use any codes or anything like that?” said Quinn. “Maybe it’s certain letters from each word? He seems like the type that would be familiar with old rail ciphers or things like that.”

  “Steve was complicated. That’s all I can say.”

  Quinn continued to massage her. His hands kneading down her back. “Was SavoTay a nickname he used for something or someone, like maybe a friend of his?”

  “No, SavoTay? I don’t think… wait…”

  She tore the lid of a Chinese food container and scratched the word on it. SavoTay. “I remember when we first met, he would often speak in Pig Latin. Silly things like referring to countries.” She stared at the word as she spoke. “Tsavo.”

  “Is that a country?” Quinn asked.

  She did a quick Google search. “It’s a river in Kenya.” Gracie looked back at the book and read out loud, “To all the hard-working men, the man eaters are coming for you. Hard working men on the East Africa railroad.” Her body tensed. “The Halloween party.” She gasped, then stood as if she’d seen a ghost on the page.

  “What is it?”

  “I cracked it.” Gracie looked at him. “Tsavo man eaters… The Ghost and the Darkness.”

  “The lions?” Quinn’s face was quizzical.

  “It was Steve’s favorite movie, he even dressed up one year as Charles Remington.”

  “Okay, where does that lead us?”

  “The Ghost and the Darkness are stuffed here at the Chicago Field Museum. They’ve been on display for decades. Steve went there all the time to see them. He loved that place.”

  “Perfect, we’ll head there tonight. I can’t believe he left a scavenger hunt across the institutions of Chicago.”

  “They’re closed,” Gracie said.

  “You saw my lock picking skills. Plus, it’s better to be in there without a bunch of people—no one can hide in plain sight from us like they did at the library.”

  “Maybe we should get my uncle to help us?”

  Quinn placed his hand on the outside of Gracie’s arms with a caring touch as he spoke in a soft voice, “That man was the most notorious assassin on the FBI’s most wanted list in history—his file says he’s dead, and I’d have to arrest him if I saw him again. I’m sorry, but he’s a stone-cold killer. Your uncle is no different than the guy trying to kill you. He comes after innocent people and kills them for money. There are 22 cases that we know of.”

  Gracie’s nostrils flared. Her once fond memories of Bic now jaded with the knowledge of something truly horrific.

  She suddenly felt as if she was going to vomit.

  Quinn tried to comfort her. She turned to him for a hug.

  With her face buried in his chest, she mumbled, “He raised me, cared for me all my life—I’ve never felt so betrayed, my company was funded with blood money.”

  “Not your fault. The best thing we can do is get your research back and clear your name.” Quinn pulled away slightly. Still holding her shoulders, he looked her in the eyes, “I promise you I will make this right. All of it.”

  He kissed her gently.

  They didn’t stop.

  73

  “I can’t see a thing,” said Gracie. “Can’t we turn the flashlights on?”

  “Not yet.” Though he had somehow picked the locks and disarmed the museum’s security, he was sticking on this point.

  Moonlight shone through the glass ceiling of the thirty-foot-high main entrance hall that stretched from the north to the south of the Field Museum. The place seemed more alive than she’d remembered during her last daytime visit. Lingering over the top of their heads, casting a 40-foot-long shadow, was a T-Rex skeleton named Sue with a mouth full of railroad spikes for teeth.

  “This is way creepy,” Gracie said, grabbing onto Quinn’s arm.

  “Is it just me, or do you kind of feel like a snack in this place?” Quinn said, staring up at the grin of the most notorious carnivore in history.

  Once they exited the main hall, they turned their flashlights on and followed the map towards the lions.

  On the west end of the museum they reached the display case. On the glass, written in gold lettering, were the words, “THE LIONS OF TSAVO.” One was standing, the other lying on its belly on some rocks with thorn bushes behind them, no doubt taken from the Tsavo region for authenticity. Outside the glass, about waist high, was a plate with some facts about the cats and the region of Tsavo.

  Quinn shone the light on the lions. “These guys look like kitty cats.”

  Gracie lit up a photograph within the case on a tall piece of smoked gray glass. It was of one of the lions, with the man who’d killed it sitting next to it on display. “If you really want to see what these lions looked like.”

  Quinn stepped right up to the glass, took a close look, and read the caption at the bottom of the picture. “His length from tip of nose to tip of tail was nine feet, eight inches. Okay, that’s no kitty cat, that’s a certified beast.” Quinn continued to read the story etched in the smoked glass and shook his head. “They just don’t look right.”

  “They’re maneless. It makes them almost look like females,” she said, inspecting every inch of the display case. She looked to Quinn. “Are you going to help or keep asking questions?”

  Quinn got on his knees, shining his light underneath the front of the display case. After a thorough inspection, he poked his head out and said, “Just some gum stuck underneath. That’s all.”

  “What flavor?”

  Quinn stood. “Steve must have left you a clue. Maybe you should taste it.”

  Gracie appreciated the snarky comment with a smirk.

  “Nothing’s jumping out at
me,” he said.

  Gracie paced back and forth, looking at every inch of every item in the display case from different angles. Every time she got to the far-left side of the display, she reread every word on the gray smoked glass, which was six paragraphs highlighting the story of the Tsavo lions, plus two photographs.

  “Anything?” Quinn asked.

  “I’m just so confused.” Gracie shone the light at the lion lying on the rocks.

  Quinn came up over her shoulder. “Did Steve know anyone who worked here?”

  Gracie squinted. “Not that I’m aware of, but it wouldn’t surprise me. He came here probably once or twice a month to decompress.” She smiled at him. “We’re thinking the same thing, aren’t we?”

  “That we should get a look under that lion’s belly? Yep.”

  74

  Quinn had worked his magic on the lock of the glass case.

  Within, carefully, Gracie reached underneath the standing lion, patting and feeling where she could, trying not to disturb too much.

  She looked back, and Quinn was frowning at his phone.

  “Who’s texting you at three AM?” she said, still digging around.

  “My boss, wondering why I used a safehouse.”

  “Did you tell him?”

  “No. If I did, he’d demand I arrest you.”

  Quinn walked over and squatted down on the other side of the lion. “Find anything?”

  She sat back on her knees and sighed. “Maybe we have to come back in the daytime. There might be something I’m missing. A clue in another display or something like that.”

  “We’re running out of time,” Quinn said.

  He stared at the cat lying down. “Did you check this guy yet?”

  “I did.”

  “Hang on,” he said, and flipped it over on its side in a fluid motion.

  To Gracie’s surprise, the lion’s belly was a hollow cavity.

  “Now I know why they had this thing on its stomach,” Quinn said as he started digging into its underbelly.

  “Quinn,” Gracie finally said.

  “We need to find the flash drive.”