Blind Run

by Patricia Lewin

  To distract herself from her fears, she studied the surrounding structures and activity. What she could see of the facility consisted of a U-shaped building caging three sides of a grassy courtyard, with the open end facing the water and landing dock. For the first couple of days, the movement in the yard below didn’t vary much. The staff went about their business, bustling from one place to the next on the sidewalks crisscrossing the green.

  Sydney tried to guess each’s occupation. The lab coats meant a doctor, or if her theory was correct, a scientist or research assistant. The younger men and women with the children were teachers or coaches. A middle-aged woman in a suit was an office worker or administrator. The small groups in white uniforms, always moving together, were kitchen or housecleaning staff. It all seemed so ordinary that if she didn’t know better, she’d think this was a high-end boarding school.

  Then, yesterday, the activity had changed drastically, reminding her that this place was far from normal. Over the course of the day, the staff had begun leaving the island, and by midafternoon the facility appeared deserted, but with an eerie air of expectation. Then several boatloads of men arrived, and she understood.

  Avery Cox had replaced the staff with soldiers. If Ethan’s chances of mounting a successful rescue had been difficult yesterday, today they’d become impossible.

  Below her window, the children finally appeared in the courtyard. She hadn’t been sure they would today, with the entire complex feeling different than it had twenty-four hours ago. But they assembled in three loose rows, and a young man she hadn’t seen before positioned himself in front of them. The day seemed to hold its breath as they stretched.

  Sydney looked for Callie—as she’d done every morning. Scanning the other windows, she hoped to catch sight of a small face pressed against the glass. She knew Callie would be watching the other children if possible, if she’d recovered and felt well enough, and if her Keepers allowed it.

  A word from their instructor, and the small bodies flowed into the first tai chi position, drawing Sydney’s attention back to the courtyard. The children moved with surprising grace. They certainly didn’t look abused or mistreated in any way. Instead, they looked . . .

  The door opened behind her, but she paid no attention. She’d given up asking questions or making demands of the man who brought her meals.

  “They’re lovely, aren’t they?”

  Surprised, she turned. A middle-aged man stood in the doorway.

  “I’m Dr. Paul Turner.” He stepped forward, hand extended. “Head of this facility.” When she didn’t accept his offered greeting, he moved aside to let the guard push a breakfast cart into the room. It had been set for two. “I thought you might enjoy some company for a change.”

  So this was the head Keeper, as Danny called him. She would have liked telling him off, but thought better of it. This might be her only chance to get information about Callie.

  “Leave the tray,” Turner said to the guard. “I’ll let you know when we’re finished.”

  The man hesitated.

  “It’s okay,” Turner said without looking at him. “You can wait right outside.” Pouring a cup of coffee, he offered it to Sydney. “I’m too old to jump out the window with her.”

  The guard snorted his reply and left, the lock falling into place with a loud click.

  Sydney accepted the cup. “Where’s Callie?”

  “You’ll be happy to hear she’s feeling much better.” He positioned the cart near the corner of the bed, then pulled the desk chair to the other side. “We moved her back to her own room last night, and I expect she’s having breakfast even as we speak.”

  “I want to see her.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible.” He settled into the chair. “At least not right away.”

  Which meant, not ever. She looked down at the courtyard. “Why isn’t she with the other children?”

  “She’s not quite up to exercise yet. Besides, she’s not the best influence on the others right now.” He lifted the stainless covers from the plates and grinned. “Belgian waffles. My favorite. I tell you, we have the best breakfast chef on—”

  “Because she and Danny ran away?”

  He shrugged, then motioned to the bed across from him. “I’m sorry we don’t have another chair, but why not have a seat? Enjoy your breakfast. The waffles really are delicious.”

  The last thing Sydney wanted was food, but she forced herself to remain civil. She needed information, and if she had to play nice to get it, so be it.

  She moved to the bed, sat, and picked up her fork. “What about before she ran away? Callie said she had very little contact with the others.”

  “Children do say the strangest things.” He took a large bite, closed his eyes, and sighed. “I do like a good meal.”

  She watched him, trying to figure him out. He was a tall, thin man—almost emaciated, hardly the type to be preoccupied, or even interested in food. It was all for show, a cover for his real purpose. He wanted something from her.

  “Did you discover what was wrong with Callie?” She took a stab at eating, cutting the waffle into pieces and pushing them around her plate. “We left the hospital before the test results came back.”

  “Oh, it wasn’t anything, just a touch of the flu.”

  “Don’t insult me.” She smiled to ease the sting of her words. “Her fever peaked at one-oh-five. A touch of the flu doesn’t cause that kind of temperature spike unless there’s a secondary infection.”

  “Well, she did develop a mild case of pneumonia, but we dealt with it. The medical doctors here are top-notch.”

  “Is that so?”

  “One of the boys caught the same bug, and for a while we weren’t sure he was going to make it, but Callie’s fine. She’s very resilient, you know.”

  “Really? Callie told me she gets sick quite often. Something about a weak immune system.”

  “Did she? How curious. As I said—”

  “Children say the strangest things. Yes, I remember.” Sydney took a bite, forcing herself to chew and then swallow. She sensed he wanted to talk even while evading her questions. So what was he doing here? Maybe she just hadn’t hit the right topic or pushed the right buttons. So she’d try a more direct tack. “Was Timothy Mulligan the children’s father?”

  Turner coughed, thumped his chest, then grinned. “Do you really expect me to answer that?”

  She suspected he wanted nothing more. “Why not?” She refilled her cup, then his. Two could play this game. If he wanted to make believe they were old friends having breakfast together, she could pretend with the best of them. “As you said, we’re not going through the window, and Cox isn’t going to let me off this island alive. So what’s the harm?”

  He frowned but didn’t deny it.

  “I’m right, aren’t I? Mulligan was their biological father.” She sipped at her coffee, keeping her eyes on him. “A sperm donor?”

  “I’m impressed.” It was as good as an admission. “Neither of the children look anything like him.”

  “It’s the only thing that makes sense. Mulligan had no children, but his name is in Danny’s file.” She paused a minute to gauge his reaction. “You did know Danny found Mulligan’s name, didn’t you?”

  He nodded, wariness creeping into his eyes. “Yes, I knew.”

  Something else struck her, something she hadn’t considered before. “You sent Cox to Mulligan.”

  “I didn’t expect them to kill him.” Guilt tightened his features. “I just wanted the children back.”

  For a brief moment, she pitied him. He was pathetic, really. Then she buried her sympathy. She wouldn’t allow herself to be sidetracked by Turner’s convenient streak of conscience. Because of him, a man had died, and she, Ethan, or both could be next.

  “So, what is this place?” Sydney leaned forward. “Are all these children products of in vitro fertilization, or just Danny and Callie?”

  “In vitro is rather old news, don’t
you think?” Turner had regained his composure. “These children are so much more.”

  She had no doubt about that. Whatever was going on here, Avery Cox was willing to kill to keep it secret. “Clones?”

  Turner laughed, a little too heartily. “Of course not.” He wiped at his eyes. “What good are clones, when you can create perfect originals?”

  She put down her cup and sat back. “You’ve lost me.”

  He paused, for effect no doubt. “Genetic engineering, Dr. Decker.” He scooted forward in his chair, breakfast forgotten. “Just think of the possibilities. What if we possessed the technology to not only select healthy genes in human embryos, but to alter defective ones?” His eyes lit with excitement. “I tell you, it would change life as we know it. We could redesign the human race to be anything we wanted. Smarter. Stronger. Healthier.”

  She shook her head slowly. “Maybe, but we’re years away from perfecting those techniques, decades. And the potential for disaster is . . .”

  “You are years away at Braydon Labs.”

  “How do you—”

  He cut her off with a wave of his hand. “I researched your background as soon as you arrived, and found out all about your work for Charles Braydon.” He spoke like he and Charles were old friends.

  “You know Charles?”

  “Not personally, though I met him once, briefly, at a conference in Houston. A most interesting man, with a great deal of interest in genetic engineering.”

  “You know that from meeting him once?”

  Turner laughed shortly. “Of course not. I keep up with current research, and Braydon’s name surfaces quite frequently.” He sat back in his chair, carefully folding his napkin. “Braydon Labs is only one of the research projects he sponsors or finances. There are others, without his name attached.”

  She knew Charles had various business interests but had assumed Braydon Labs was his only research facility. Not that it mattered. Neither she nor Paul Turner was here to talk about Charles or Braydon Labs. “What does any of this have to do with these children?”

  “Everything.” He smiled. “And nothing. The work at Braydon Labs is admirable, but it’s child’s play compared to what I’ve accomplished.” He pushed away from the table and crossed to the window. “Just look at the results.”

  A chill slipped down her spine. She finally knew what he wanted from her—admiration and approval from someone who grasped what he’d achieved. Only now she was afraid to know. “What have you done?”

  Obviously, it was the question he’d been waiting for. He returned to the chair across from her and leaned forward. “I’ve developed a means to successfully deliver gene packs to human embryos.” He paused, his expression fervent and expectant. “Think of it. Hundreds, thousands of designer genes built into the genetic makeup of a one-cell embryo, resulting in a genetically enhanced child.”

  At first she didn’t believe him, for no other reason than the implications stunned her. Her denial lasted only a few seconds, though, just long enough to register the near madness in his eyes. He wasn’t talking about possibilities, he was boasting about successes.

  Suddenly, Sydney couldn’t breathe.

  If Turner was telling the truth, it explained the Agency’s involvement and willingness to kill in order to keep the children’s existence a secret. She also understood why they couldn’t allow her or Ethan to live, or Danny and Callie their freedom.

  Those offenses, however, paled in comparison to what she suspected Turner had done in his laboratory to produce living, breathing children. “You took shortcuts, didn’t you?” Even with a major breakthrough, it was the only explanation for the speed of his success. “You tested and experimented on human embryos from the start.”

  His expression turned smug. “Nothing great was ever accomplished without risk.”

  “Or without mistakes.” The thought sickened her.

  “We’ve had a few mishaps,” Turner said, irritated, dismissing her objections. “Especially in the beginning. But without mistakes, you don’t make progress.”

  Her anger boiled over. “Yours cost lives.”

  “And created them.” He was on his feet again, moving to the window and gesturing toward the children below. “Look at those children, Dr. Decker, look at what I’ve created.”

  She knew the pitfalls of cutting corners when working with human DNA. The slightest error, miscalculation, or misinterpretation of data could result in the unthinkable. A stillbirth would be a merciful end versus the alternative, a child born chronically ill or deformed in any one of a thousand ways. “The end justifies the means, is that it?”

  “In this case, yes.”

  “What kind of monster are you?”

  He recoiled. “Monster?”

  “You’ve disregarded every scientific and ethical code of decency, and those children are still paying for your arrogance.” Remembering Danny’s friend, who’d disappeared in the middle of the night, she added, “Like Sean paid.”

  “Sean?” Turner frowned, perplexed, then brightened. “Oh, yes, well, I’m afraid he didn’t make it. All great advances require sacrifice.”

  “How noble of you, since Sean made the sacrifice, not you.” She didn’t even try to keep the fury from her voice. Otherwise, she might start screaming. She had to focus on the victims she knew about and the children still living under this man’s thumb. Because if she thought about those who hadn’t survived, who’d died before taking a breath, or been destroyed at Turner’s command, she’d go mad. “What about George Taleb? Was he a mishap, too?”

  “George?” Turner laughed abruptly. “Very good, Dr. Decker. How did you find out about George?” When she didn’t answer, he waved the question aside. “Never mind, George was my assistant, and he did a very stupid thing. He stole one of our children with the intention of exposing my work to the media.”

  “So you had him killed?”

  “Me? Oh, no.” He shook his head. “That was Cox’s doing. A rather brutal man, really. But none of that matters.” Suddenly, he was at her side, dragging her to the window. “Have you ever seen a more beautiful set of children? You, of all people, should appreciate the work I’ve done here. These children have every advantage.”

  “Every advantage?” She pulled away from him and backed up. They were beautiful, but also lacking in fundamental ways. She thought of her son, and the life he’d had before he died. He’d been a happy child, filled with light and love. “You’ve denied these children their most basic rights. What about family? Freedom? They know nothing of either.”

  “Don’t be absurd, they have a good home here. They’re well cared for, educated, healthy.”

  “All except Callie with her weak immune system. Is she one of your mishaps?”

  A slow smile crept across his face. “Callie’s very special.”

  “So special that you’ve kept her and all these children locked up like rats in a cage?”

  “Certainly what we’ve given them makes up for that?”

  She leaned forward, pinning him with her gaze. “What could you possibly have given them that’s more important than the opportunity to lead a normal life?”

  “Health, Dr. Decker. I’ve given them perfect health.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  ETHAN LEFT DANNY in a hotel room.

  He knew the kid hated staying behind, but he had things to do and couldn’t take the boy with him. Danny was already in too deep, and Ethan wouldn’t risk exposing him to further danger by dragging him around the seedier side of Seattle.

  As they’d driven across the country, Ethan had listened to Danny’s stories about the island and put together the kernel of a plan. It was high risk, but that wasn’t surprising. Especially with Cox on the other side of the fence.

  First Ethan needed a boat and had decided to get it in Seattle, where he was less likely to arouse suspicion. In a town the size of Anacortes, it would prove more difficult. One misstep and he’d have the local authorities breathing down his
neck. Besides, he knew people in Seattle, men who owed him or who were simply afraid to deny him.

  His best shot was Tony Rio, a small-time smuggler who also owned and operated a legitimate charter service.

  Ethan found Rio Charter without any trouble. It was one of the few charter companies with an office at the marina on Lake Union. He strolled past the single-story wooden structure to a refreshment stand near the docks and bought a cold drink. Then he sat at one of the picnic tables where he could see the front of Rio’s building.

  He’d first met Tony Rio six years ago.

  A group of terrorists had illegally entered the country. The FBI had apprehended and detained all but their leader, Aswad Ben Zafir. When a ten-day, nationwide search had failed to secure him, Cox dispatched Ethan and his team. It would have been a routine mission, except for one thing: Cox had sent Marco Ramirez with them.

  They spent a week hunting down Zafir, finally cornering him in Seattle, where he’d arranged transportation out of the country. Rio, who ran guns north to the Canadian border and brought back drugs, was the conveyor. Although all he knew about Zafir was that he had a small cargo and lots of cash.

  As Ethan’s team closed in, Zafir took Rio hostage. It was a fatal mistake. Ethan would have taken the terrorist in alive if given a chance, but while Ethan tried talking him down, Ramirez put a single bullet between Zafir’s eyes.

  Simple. Clean. Finished.

  And a direct violation of Ethan’s orders. He’d been furious, even while realizing Ramirez had just accomplished their mission. He’d used Ethan’s team to locate Zafir, then done the Agency’s dirty work. That was the first and last time Ethan had worked with the assassin, and fortunately Cox had never pushed it again.

  As for Rio, Ethan should have called the locals to confiscate his boat and charge him. Instead, he let Rio go. He’d become a known commodity Ethan could control and use. Over the years, the decision had proved a good one. Tony Rio had built up the legitimate side of his business, while expanding his contacts in the underworld. Twice he’d warned Ethan of large amounts of explosives coming into the States. Both tips had led to arrests and convictions, and possibly prevented deaths.