“Oh, no,” Nicole replied, sitting forward to look back at me. “You’ve been a bit preoccupied, but I understand that entirely. And even in the midst of everything that’s been happening, you’ve been very sweet, letting me crash at your place on Thursday. And now, staying here. Having you around has really helped get things back to normal. Better than normal actually. Thanks, Sam.”
She leaned back toward me, placing her hands on my elbows. Then, we kissed, long and soft and tender. I wanted to take her into my arms, but her light touch held me fast. So, I did the only thing I could—melt into the sofa. Or at least it felt that way.
“It’s been a long day. I’m going to take a quick bath and then, to bed.”
I managed to catch enough of my breath to say, “OK.” She got up, turned, and left.
I got my drink of water in the kitchen and then went to the half bath off the living room to brush my teeth. The brush and toothpaste were the only possessions I had brought for these sleepovers, necessities because I always got a kiss before going home to shower and dress for the day. I returned to the couch and sat, thinking Nicole was right. Just having a reason and deciding to call Agent Marte had stopped the endless cycling of concerns in my mind. That left me thinking of Nicole, something I already did most of the time I wasn’t working or sleeping anyway. No, that’s not right. She made it into a lot of my dreams as well.
But the problem with thinking about her now was the simple fact that she would be sleeping just down the hall. She would be curled up, soft and warm, under a blanket just fifteen, twenty steps away. It was a thought that not only took over my mind but my body as well. Sleep wouldn’t be coming easily.
I stood and went to the corner of the living room where we had stashed an inflatable mattress, sheets, and a blanket. I heard the door to the main bathroom open; Nicole was apparently finished in there. I started spreading the sheet over the mattress when I heard light footfalls behind me. I turned.
Nicole stood in the doorway wearing a long, light blue T-shirt … and maybe nothing else. She walked over, placed a hand on my cheek, and drew it down slowly until her palm rested against my chest. My skin tingled along the path of her touch. My heart drummed in my ears. She looked up at me, her eyes dark pools drawing me in. I could feel the warmth from the bath radiating from her body, the sweet, light fragrance of soap on her skin. We drew closer, but with her hand between us, a gap remained. She raised her other hand and took my wrist. Then, rising to her toes, her lips brushed mine, lightly, raising goose bumps along my arms. She turned, pulling me along by the hand toward the bedroom.
What on earth made this the perfect moment?
That thought, which would usually lead to a cycle of mental examination, re-examinations, and what-if’s, didn’t. Rather, I was drawn into the moment—one filled with passion I hoped would never end.
Monday, May 13
10:07 AM – The St. Louis FBI Field Office
The hallway on level two of the FBI building was filled with the din of an organization hard at work. In the rooms along its length, phones rang, copy machines whirred, voices were raised in laughter, in discussion, in argument. Agent Rebecca Marte, however, didn’t notice as she walked slowly along the corridor. She paused midway in an open, common area. It boasted the only windows on this level that were not behind the walls of an office. She walked over and looked out, but nothing before her eyes registered in her thoughts. It had been an unusual morning, and her mind was filled with it.
First, Doc had called—Dr. Sam Price, she corrected herself in her mind. He had wanted to pass on some information; she had suggested lunch. At the time, she’d only been thinking it would be nice to get out of the office, talk to someone who knew the case but who also had a life outside of it. And given the breadth of topics, the casual setting was appropriate. But now she wondered what, if anything, was going on behind the curtain of her unconscious. Was there something percolating there, unbidden, in the silent reaches of her mind where Doc was more than just a witness to an attempted murder? If there was, the part of her mind she controlled needed to quash it.
But while her response to Doc had puzzled her in hindsight, it was the phone call to Dr. Greenwood that had tainted the morning fully with a feel of the surreal. Rebecca needed to talk to Clements about it. She turned from the windows and re-started her trek to his office. When she poked her head around the frame of his open door, he said, “I heard you coming down the hall five minutes ago. You could tap dance in those shoes.”
Rebecca smirked. “It’s just your ears trying to make up for your poor eyesight.”
Clements pulled the glasses from his nose and placed them on the desk. “They’re only for computer work. And if you doubt my eyes, we can decide this on the firing range.”
“You know, one of these days I’m going to beat you.”
“Yeah, promises, promises,” replied Clements. “You headed for Hawkins’s briefing?”
“I am, but we have 15 minutes. Thought I’d bring you up to date. But first, think Hawkins has anything new?” Rebecca came in and sat in a chair across the desk from him.
“Not that I’ve heard,” replied Clements. “He’s still got me and a couple of others working on how Constance got into the Conroy rally. We’ve gone through the security footage again and found nothing. So, now we’re re-interviewing the hotel staff. So far, nothing there either. You’re still working Greenwood, right?”
“Yeah, which is the reason I came by. Is it common for the stress of a near miss to catch up with someone?”
“Common?” said Clements. “I’m not sure about that, but it happens. What’s she done?”
“Nothing really. She’s just acting strange. I called her, thinking I’d touch bases and see how she was doing. But she kept pulling the conversation back to Conroy and what we were doing about his murder. She thought the FBI should be holding press conferences to laud the man and condemn his attackers.”
“Hmm, us looking for the Crusaders isn’t action enough,” Clements said more than asked. “How’d you answer?”
“I agreed with her feelings—he was a great man and the Crusaders are evil, but we have no reason to be calling press conferences. And besides, the only known member of the group is dead. Part of the time, she was angry, but mostly, she seemed confused.”
“Confused? In what way?” asked Clements, his eyes narrowing.
After a moment’s reflection, Rebecca realized the question was more difficult to answer than she had expected. It wasn’t so much what Greenwood had said as how she said it. “Well, she started a lot of statements that never got finished. Other times, it seemed like she couldn’t remember. Like at one point, I asked if she’d talked to any of her colleagues, just to get things out of her mind. Last week, she said she might do that. Anyway, her first response was that they would have all heard about Conroy, so there wasn’t any reason for her to call. And when I clarified, she got confused—almost like the shot at her had never happened.”
Clements sat back in his office chair, his eyes closing as he raised a hand to massage his forehead. “That doesn’t sound good.”
“Tell me about it,” replied Rebecca. “She got a little more lucid toward the end of the call. Like, I mentioned I’d met with Sam Price, just to change the topic. Him, she remembered and asked what I’d found. And when I said it was just a misunderstanding, she seemed relieved and the conversation became less strange. But I’m worried she’ll revert. She’s holed up on her farm with no one to talk to. That can’t be healthy.”
“And that’s why you’ll make a great agent,” said Clements. “You never lose sight of the fact that we’re dealing with people.” He stood up from his desk and turned to the window behind him. He looked out a moment, then back at Rebecca. “I think you’re probably right to be worried about Greenwood. Why don’t you give her a couple of days? If she’s out of it when you call back, we can contact next of kin.”
“That’s apparently a couple of cousins she rarely
sees, but I can do that.” After a few moments with no further comment from Clements, Rebecca glanced at her watch and said. “We should probably head over to Hawkins’s briefing.” Clements nodded, and they stood to leave.
“I don’t think he’s expecting much more out of the Greenwood incident,” said Rebecca as they started down the hall.
“Why do you say that?” asked Clements, glancing sideways at her as they walked.
“The Council for the Right is meeting tonight, and apparently he offered me up for another catering gig so I can keep an eye on them. And that’s not a criticism of Hawkins; I don’t see much left to do on Greenwood either. I’ve interviewed the three people that knew about the dinner plans. They all check out. And I’ve got a meeting with Greenwood’s neighbor, Mr. Holyfield, on Wednesday morning. After that, I can’t think of anything else to check.”
“OK, I’ll give it some thought,” said Clements. “Didn’t you have Holyfield scheduled earlier?”
“I hoped to get to him earlier, until everything went sideways at the Conroy rally. Then, when I called, he’d gone to Springfield to visit a sister.” Rebecca paused, smiling at the memory of contacting him. “I think he has one of those old answering machines that tapes incoming calls because it cut me off after about 30 seconds. I had to call a second time to leave the rest of the message. Anyway, when he phoned back, he sounded just like Greenwood described him—an older man just trying to be neighborly. If no one put him up to sending the text, I can’t see him being involved.”
“Good,” replied Clements as they entered the briefing room.
Once settled into their seats near the middle of the room, Rebecca leaned over toward Clements so she could speak softly. “I almost forgot. Sam Price called saying he had information on who knew Ms. Veles would be assigned to Greenwood’s project, so I’m meeting him for lunch. Apparently, you asked Veles about that?”
“I did, but why is he calling you?”
“You probably scared Veles,” Rebecca said in mock seriousness.
That elicited a quiet chuckle from her partner, along with the comment, “I seriously doubt that, although I’m clearly not as chummy with her as you are with Dr. Price. Your first text made him sound like the Crusaders’ handler. Then, he was just a guy in the wrong place. Now, it’s Sam, and you’re inviting him to lunch?”
Rebecca kicked herself mentally. While she had avoided his nickname, the camaraderie she felt had come through to Clements anyway. “Something about watching assassinations together on live TV, I suppose,” she said. That was probably part of the answer, but she was still wondering if there was something else. Hawkins cleared his throat to start the meeting, breaking into her thoughts.
Over the next several minutes, Special Agent Bradley Hawkins framed all of their lack of progress as steps forward. Even with all the physical evidence they had, they couldn’t identify Constance, but that eliminated everyone in the fingerprint, DNA, and facial recognition databases they had checked so far—and that was a lot of people. They didn’t know how Constance got into the hotel but had eliminated most of the staff and the numerous places they had checked before the rally. The explosive devices were composed of commercial-grade, domestic parts, eliminating military and foreign sources. Gyms and recreation centers that provided climbing and parkour training had been contacted; none had trained Constance. And so on.
It was progress by negation, but was it fast enough to avoid further death? Somehow, in her bones, Rebecca doubted it was.
11:06 AM – Near Washington University in St. Louis
Sister Prudence exited the rear seat of the car, leaving the door open behind her. She wore a blue and white striped T-shirt over white pants and sneakers. Not accustomed to such attire, she smoothed the shirt with her hands. Closing her eyes, she turned toward the sun, feeling its warmth on her face and arms. A slight breeze was infused with the pungent odor of wood mulch, compliments of the well-manicured lawns in this residential area and last night’s rain shower that brought out the scent. To the west, a brightly colored male robin used the water that had collected on the sidewalk for his daily grooming. After a moment, a female joined him.
Prudence looked across the top of the car as Brother Justice emerged on his side. He too adjusted his clothes: a dark, green T-shirt and jeans. Each of them bent into the back seat, retrieved a small pack, and put it on. Closing the car doors quietly, they scanned the residential area. It was still five days until the start of the summer session at the nearby university, so the area was nearly deserted.
They walked two blocks north, intersecting a major boulevard that ran beside the campus. There, they turned east, each of them reaching for the other’s hand. His black hair and golden-brown skin complemented her pale complexion and light brown hair perfectly. From a distance, they appeared the quintessential student couple enjoying each other’s company on a beautiful, spring day.
A careful inspection, however, would have detected some slight inconsistencies. For example, Justice appeared to be too young, looking more like a male in high school than college. They also weren’t talking to each other, a discrepancy that didn’t appear to be the result of an argument. Rather than angry, their expressions were perhaps best described as curious. The direction of their gaze was also wrong, their eyes searching their environs rather than the face of the other. The impression that they were maintaining a wary vigilance would have been further reinforced when a campus police car passed. Justice turned from the street as Prudence sheltered herself behind him as if sharing a secret.
There was, however, no attentive observer. In fact, no one gave them a second look. Why should they?
Soon, the couple reached their destination—a sprawling, three-story building across the boulevard from the main campus. Here, the couple split up. Justice walked to the front door, while Prudence circled around to the fire escape on the back of the building. He waited, his delay matching what they had practiced. Then, he opened the door and walked in.
A middle-aged woman looked up from a reception desk that sat in the middle of a wide, entry hall. As Justice started toward her, he looked up as if he had just noticed the surveillance camera mounted above and behind the desk. He waved and continued his slow walk. The receptionist smiled, recognizing the self-confidence she often found in these halls. Undoubtedly, he was seeking one of the advanced research groups that regularly met in this off-campus location. And while she knew the room numbers for most of them from rote, she pulled a sheet of paper from her desk to be sure.
But as the woman started to look up from the page, she realized the man wasn’t standing across the desk from her; he was beside her. She started to turn toward him when a sharp, cold pain arrested her motion. Her hands flew to her throat, coming away soaked in blood. Her blood. She tried to scream but produced only a low, gurgling sound. She was dying. Her eyes searched for compassion in the face of the only person who could save her—her attacker. He, however, was already moving away. She tried to push herself up from the chair but lost her balance and fell across the desk. The sight of the man bounding up the stairs two at a time was the last thing she would ever see.
Brother Justice quickly found the door with the temporary placard he sought: Conference Room 2-C, Dr. Rajesh Agrawal. The name meant nothing to him nor would the faces he found beyond the door. But in the burgeoning field of synthetic biology, Agrawal was a renowned scientist, perhaps on the cusp of great things. And while the members of his graduate and post-graduate student team were less well known, the faculty at the school would recognize them as some of the best and brightest minds from disciplines as diverse as genetic engineering, systems biology, biophysics, and control engineering. Even the interim between semesters was no distraction for these seven men and three women. In fact, the break assured their attendance, as they were freed from their daily routines of teaching and grading papers.
The quest that had the power to bring together such a collection of talent was nothing less than the creation
of synthetic life from non-living components. Should they succeed, the benefits were nearly unimaginable. Synthetic life forms could be used in environments unsafe or inaccessible to humans, such as the disposal of toxic materials or the manufacture of dangerous drugs. Or these manufactured life-forms might become the source of human body parts for those critically injured. They might even give humankind a window to the origins of life itself.
But with the immense potential for good came catastrophic risk. Through greed, intent, or accident, synthetic beings for high-risk work might become slaves and body parts for life-saving surgeries changed to designer components for a superior race. Mitigating those risks was a responsibility that Agrawal took seriously. So, for today’s meeting, he had invited a young, Catholic priest from a nearby parish. Not only could the young priest speak to the crushing responsibility inherited by his research team, he could do so in a way that resonated with students. With the incredible pressure to take shortcuts, Agrawal wanted to make sure they understood that humanity trumped fame, wealth, and power.
Brother Justice pulled two Sig Sauer, P320s from his backpack, each loaded with 17 rounds. Prudence carried two Ruger LCPs to accommodate her smaller hands. While the latter handgun carried only seven shots, the 48 rounds between them were more than adequate. And should they encounter resistance afterward, each carried a half-dozen extra clips.
Justice pushed through the door. As expected, he was in the front of the room, left of the podium where Dr. Agrawal stood. “With us today ….” The scientist’s words trailed off, replaced by a look of surprise and confusion as Justice shortened the distance between them from ten to three feet. “Excuse ….” Again, his statement was incomplete, cut short this time by a shot that hit him in the forehead. He slumped to the floor.
With the sound of gunfire, Sister Prudence came in from the back of the room and took a position in front of the door. Justice stepped forward and put a second bullet into Agrawal’s brain, just as he had been trained to do. He quickly retraced the five steps to the door at the front of the room.
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