Thibaut sat forward, his palms propped on the top of his cane. “Absolute proof I was, and still am, correct. DNA and gene manipulation is possible. They are as obedient as animals.”
Thibaut’s thin glance slid to him, and Cale experienced a moment of fear he’d never known. There was no way to predict this man, or the woman standing behind him. His gaze lowered to her hand on Thibaut’s shoulder, gently caressing.
Thibaut covered it, patting, then turned her hand to kiss the center. His gaze never left Barasa’s.
It was a telling moment in the relationship between the twisted pair; devout to the point of madness.
He looked away, ashamed to be part of this. He’d no delusions about himself. He was a criminal, with many graves beneath his feet, as Rahjan would say. For the risks he took, he was rich, and the men who joined his organization well paid. Some forced, certainly, but he’d given the families the money. That whisper on the streets offered up men when he needed them. Yet he followed a personal set of rules that included avoiding any involvement with the underaged. Countries hunted child killers harder than political assassins. His gaze slid past Thibaut to the children playing happily about a hundred yards away. Barasa never experienced that kind of freedom and safety. He envied it. A child of the streets himself once, he’d foraged for food and a place to feel safe for the night. He would have given his life for a little affection, for someone to show they cared if he’d existed. Instead, he’d been bought and sold till he was skilled enough to fight back. He could have been one of these children.
He lowered his gaze and suddenly understood the mechanism Thibaut had used. Love was a weapon in this man’s hands, and the degree he’d taken it became clear when the burned child returned and Cale saw her sweet cherub face. More importantly, her eyes. The irises were a bright, icy blue, but her pupils were elongated—feline.
Jason stepped back slowly, careful not to disturb the fronds disguising his position. The group clustered on the lawn near the end of the large porch sat under the shade of a massive round tent, the afternoon sun haloing the children dressed in blistering white clothes. Realization struck like a fist to his stomach, pushing the air from his lungs. He moved back, feeling his way before he turned and hurried toward the lab. He worked his way beyond the sunlight, the jungle dense enough to conceal his shadow.
He tried to block the last few moments, but his mind refused. Like a video stream it repeated the look on the child’s face as Thibaut burned her. Obedient, almost lovingly suffering for him. He’d heard enough, the long porch echoing their voices.
He didn’t have a problem with Thibaut exacting revenge on those who’d marked his work as Frankenstein. They just couldn’t wrap their brains around the fact that no matter what he did or had done, it advanced science and discovery. Jason understood. He’d wanted to be a leader in his industry too. Thibaut was the forerunner in DNA sequence interlacing, and while hundreds of universities and institutions were using the methods scholars once deemed unethical, not one voice had credited Thibaut for its roots. That kind of insult was tough to swallow. It festered in the patient planning of his revenge.
Jason understood that too. His device was the result of five years of designing in his head because anything he wrote in prison was immediately confiscated. Odette had contacted him only a few days after the trial with the proposition. He’d had five years to design, but it took him less than a day to turn it into schematics. Thibaut paid to have the first few devices, but after that, it was his to sell for every dollar he could get. He’d no intention of being penniless ever again.
He slowed near the dorms, skirting the playground, pool and yard. His lab was about fifty yards beyond, slightly isolated, yet as he hurried, he noticed the same child in the same swing he’d seen before. He stopped, studying the child, trying to pinpoint what bugged him about it. Well, more than the robotic kids. It occurred to him that the lights were still on from last night. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen the dorm lights go off after he’d delivered the device. He realized they never went off. No one on this island slept. And not one child was over the age of twelve, thirteen max. Odette said the rest were in boarding schools but Jason wasn’t convinced.
His gaze shifted to the jungle beyond his lab. The buildings a hundred yards behind it were off limits. Thibaut’s own labs were there, and while Jason was curious and tempted, he didn’t want to get that close to Thibaut’s work. Just sell him his. He was almost finished and reconsidered remaining with Thibaut when he understood that Thibaut had taken his greatest accomplishment and planned to use it for revenge. The children would deliver the bombs—and the puzzle of his targets suddenly fell into place.
Changi Airport
Singapore
Max had to give Colonel Jansen credit. The man knew people, he thought as he walked away from the Lear jet used for diplomats. A cush ride at supersonic speeds was the only way to go, he decided, turning his phone back on.
A second later, it rang in his hand. He glanced at the number before answering it. “Jasmine? What’s up, honey?” Viva should be with her because Killian had to fly back for Alexa.
“It’s mean, Maxwell. Someone’s bein’ just mean.”
“Take a breath and tell me who it is so I can kick his ass.”
She laughed over her tears. “If my big brother is dead, then why am I getting text messages from his phone?”
“Excuse me? Say again.”
He hadn’t heard wrong. “Send it to me as an email. Can you do that?” He’d personally kill the person doing this to her.
“I’m southern, not stupid, Maxwell. But tell me true,” she sniffled “Is there hope?”
Her voice sounded so broken and empty. “There’s always hope, honey. Sit tight. I’m on it.” He ended the call and at the edge of the flight line, a sedan pulled to a stop. The driver got out and addressed him, but Max put up a finger, pacing as he waited for the text message to arrive from the other side of the world.
When the chime sounded, he opened it.
A-L-I-V
Max blinked. Ohgod. He immediately called Ellie. “Base, track the GPS in this number.” He rattled it off.
“That’s your friend’s phone. It’s not on, Max. We tried this before.”
His grip tightened. “But not on text messages sent after the explosion.”
Over forty-eight hours after, he thought.
“I’m on it, listing as search and rescue assistance.”
The proper paperwork, he thought and knew she didn’t like breaking the rules, yet while she kept a steady flow of information, it was at Safia’s request, not the CIA’s. She’d probably lose her job for this, or possibly, her clearance. “Thank you Ellie. At least we can say we tried everything.”
Max looked at the message again, then sent it to the rest of the team and slid into the staff car. Max rubbed his palms on his jeans, looked out the window at nothing, trying to keep a handle on his imagination and mentally listing what they’d need to help find Sebastian. Spotlights first, he thought, glancing at the predawn sky.
Ellie called again. “I have an address and you’re right, it came from his phone.”
A little burst of hope spurred through him and Max rubbed his mouth. “Give me the location and tell the rest of the team to meet me there.”
Sonsoral Islands
The Traveler rendezvoused with the Palau police craft on the Philippine Seas, and Bridget stepped onto the police boat, greeted the officers, then walked to the bow. The vessel was underway in moments, and she waved to Travis on the deck of her ship. She didn’t have her radio. It would interfere with the police bands they’d said, but she’d tucked her cell phone in her bra, yet left it off. She’d done it for Travis. He was against notifying the police because there wasn’t anything they could do about the finds, but she felt too strongly about this. She had the clinical proof. They’d completed several tests three times to confirm their findings. She dipped her hand in her pocket
and rolled the tooth in her palm. Removing the tooth from the jawbone had been difficult, and it was the first sign the bones were newer than she first thought. She studied the tooth, but knew the curves of the enamel by memory now. Narrow and pointed, it showed no signs of filing. She’d been wrong. It was human. The jawbone of a child with feline DNA.
The boat neared the island, two men lowering a rubber craft over the side. Bridget went to the rail and flipped the rope ladder down. An officer offered help, but she stayed him with a wave and went over the side. Two officers joined her, and since she’d been here twice already, she started the engine and steered them in. The tide was perfect to get them over the reef. The two men watched the land approach, and though they hadn’t said a word, the larger of the two jumped out and helped beach the craft.
She was here to show them were they’d found the bones and mark it for further investigation. The island belonged to Palau, but so did the entire chain that stretched for a few hundred miles. The Palau government didn’t have the money or the interest to dig. But Bridget wasn’t letting it go just yet. Maternal instinct reared when she thought of the bones, the child gnawed by cats. She couldn’t ignore it. Though most of the bones were old, she dated several as recent as five years. There was no way to match DNA without something to compare it to, and searching missing persons records was a task for the police.
Bridget slung her wet sack on her shoulder, then led the two men into the jungle. She held her light down, searching for prints as she meandered toward the boulder. She wanted the chance to look at the case again, but it proved impossible. The vines were too heavy and her earlier cuts had made little difference. She glanced at the officers. One was photographing it. She showed them the dugout in the rock, and the remains.
“Animal,” one man said.
“I thought so too, but no.” She drew specimen bags and gloves, pulling on the latter, then knelt to take more samples while the other man snapped photos.
She ducked in, holding her breath against the stench, then swept up the remains. Too new to smell this bad, she thought again, then backed out and stood. She dusted off her knees and saw the sole of a boot. Frowning, she took a step. The younger officer was flat on his back, his throat cut. She immediately took off in a run, heading back toward the shore and The Traveler. The other man thrashed behind her in the woods, warning he’d shoot her if she didn’t stop. She managed a couple more yards before his body impacted with her back. She fell hard, her chin scraping the sand. She barely caught her breath before he yanked her off the ground, then pushed a pistol barrel into her throat.
“I have no problem killing you,” he said. With the other hand, he pulled the camera strap from around his neck and tossed it down.
“Why?”
He shrugged. “Not my job to know.”
She felt numb, her heart beating hard in her chest when she realized he didn’t need her alive. He’d already killed a man to get her. He searched her, and she slapped at his hand when he cupped her crotch and slid his hand between. He felt her breasts, and she fought, but he did it anyway, pushing his pistol into her side when she elbowed him. He pocketed her cell phone, then took her knife always strapped to her calf.
“Walk.” He gestured with the pistol. “That way.”
She obeyed, her sense of direction twisted, but he used a compass on his watch and Bridget recognized the clues she’d missed; the bulges in his short vest, the scars on his face and throat that looked like knife slashes. But it was the lack of emotion in his eyes that terrified her. He pushed her none-to-gently ahead, directing her and the jungle thinned, the trade wind breeze pushing the trees. Several more yards and she stopped.
“Maary mother,” she said under her breath. They were on the other side of the island—and there were more of them. Fear pulled at her skin when she saw the four men with rifles on the beach. “You bloody bastards.”
“Aren’t we all,” he muttered and nudged her ahead. She walked, escape further out of her reach, and she thought of Travis and her sons. They’ll go mad. Several yards in the water, a speedboat rocked on the waves. Long with a small cabin and some extremely large engines, it was a racing boat and not built to take them into open seas. So what were their plans for her? Transport her again? Hostage for ransom? Who did they think would pay besides her husband on a professor’s salary?
Then one man left the group and came to her, taking her firmly by the arm, then walked her into the water to the speedboat. The rest didn’t follow and walked back up the shore and into the woods. “Where are they going!?”
But she knew. To leave no witnesses. Oh Travis. For a breath, she considered going over the side of the boat and if she had to, die with her husband. But the leader pushed her down to the floor, then secured her feet to her hands with plastic slip ties. She looked up at him as he tossed a white tarp over her. A moment later, she felt the jolt as the craft moved, the engine vibrating beneath her. The betrayal and murder thumped at her temper. Bridget didn’t know anyone this powerful, this clever, but she knew—her brother did.
Eighteen
Odette wrapped her jacket tighter, then leaned to turn up the heat inside the luxury car. The day was warm for the region, but she preferred her home in the tropics. She wouldn’t be here for long regardless.
Against her judgment, she glanced at the child seated on the opposite end of the leather bench seat. The girl lightly gripped a small school bag that matched her clothing, a blue blazer, and plaid skirt copied from a nearby girl’s school. The child didn’t speak and stared ahead, humming to herself. Occasionally something bright caught her attention and she watched the scenery pass.
Odette had chosen the fairest, the least suspicious. She ran her hand lightly down the waterfall of gold hair, then drew back and turned away.
She thought of Haeger, all he’d done for her, given her, and she did not want to fail him. She had taken great pains to enter the country unnoticed, the papers to deliver the child to her new parents passing through scrutiny when they learned of Thibaut’s beneficiary. His name still carried a golden touch she was happy to use. The driver continued for another four miles before she ordered him to pull out of traffic. She left the car and walked around the rear, then opened the door. The child stepped out and continued walking without a backward glance. Odette smiled proudly and watched her cross the street, beyond the security that wasn’t completely in place yet. A chubby girl in the same uniform waved, then frowned when her girl ignored it and kept moving between the crowds outside the building. The white stone double colonnade front was barricaded from street traffic and when her girl walked between the barriers, a young guard stopped her. She behaved exactly as planned. The man smiled and let her pass.
Odette slipped back into the car and ordered the driver to leave. She placed a call. “Number two is in place. Enjoy your glory.”
She closed the phone and relaxed as the car headed for the airport and her jet, already cleared for takeoff.
Singapore
Max called Sebastian’s number and kept calling so Base could get a triangulation on the signal. Ellie had to jump a satellite to stay in range as Dragon One converged on the collapsed buildings. The signal came from the edge of the blast zone. While Riley wondered how he got out of the CIA station before the explosion, he was grateful.
Riley glanced at his friends. “Max, see if David can help narrow the signal.” He looked at Safia. She had her phone to her ear and she tipped it away to say, “I’ve got emergency services coming. But they’re busy nearer the blast sight. I’m trying to round up some help.”
Max already had a million candle watt power shining down around the rubble. Riley walked onto the rubble, Max beside him, his expression grim.
“The battery’s signal is dying. It’s not on anymore.” Max checked for it on his spiffy new flip phone, and Riley glanced at the yellow dot tracer. “He’s been under there for nearly three days.”
“He didn’t survive this to end it n
ow, buddy. We work faster,” Riley said, giving Max’s shoulder a squeeze before he turned away.
In the blast, the roof and upper floor slid off like books off a stack and crushed half the lower level. Riley realized the signal came from between two buildings, an alleyway, and he prayed there were air pockets in there somewhere. The pile was damn high.
He grabbed a cinder block and tossed it, his teammates moving mountains of wood, furniture, and concrete like a well-oiled machine, yet it was a slow process. They had to shore up the weight of the upper floor as they went along. Beyond the destruction, people loitered to watch.
The team worked without talking, sweating in the heat to clear a path, and Riley glanced over his shoulder, frowning when he heard the roar of a diesel engine.
“That’s a humvee,” Max said without doubt. They hurried to the street as the green humvee rode over the rough terrain and stopped, half tilted. The doors opened and five men in camouflage uniforms left the truck, walking briskly to the center.
“Agent Troy?” The Marine sergeant looked at Riley. Riley shook his head, stepping aside.
Safia advanced. “I’m Troy. Thank you for helping.” She shook hands. “A fellow Marine is under there somewhere. Alive. We need to dig him out.” The men went immediately to assess the damage and she looked at Riley, smiled, shrugged. “U.S. Embassy detachment.”
Max led the men to the spot, but paused to kiss her cheek. “Thanks Safia.”
She blushed. The squad spread out, and in a fireman’s line started the long process of removing rubble. Max and Riley were in the front, working stone by stone. They were forced to stop to check the stability of the structure and brace it before continuing. Safia was between them, stripped down to shorts and a tank top, and moving as fast as the Marines. Riley suspected she had a little guilt going and looked back at the crumbled building. Nothing compared to his own. He should have let someone else go after Vaghn. It was a favor he could have done without.
Fight Fire With Fire. Page 29