A rap on the door made her jump. Whatever they had in mind was starting. Taylor rushed to the reading chair and sat down. Her only chance of getting out, or at least not getting hurt, was to pretend to go along. She would project as much calm and confidence as possible. She needed them to trust her, so they would drop their guard around her.
Ha! Like she could ever pull that off. Her hands were shaking already.
A young woman stepped into the room and smiled. “Hi Taylor. I’m Marissa.” She had flawless, creamy skin over high cheekbones, a small heart-shaped mouth, and wavy strawberry-blond hair.
Taylor stared. Marissa was beautiful and around her age. Was she one of them too? Taylor finally found her voice. “Hello. You’re not who I expected.”
“I never am. That’s why I’m so good at what I do.” A sly, seductive smile.
“What do you do?”
“Whatever my country needs.” Marissa sat on the bed across from her chair. “You should consider it an honor to be here. The major obviously thinks you have potential.”
“For what?” Taylor’s pulse began to race. She didn’t want to serve her country. Not if it meant spying or seducing strangers for information, or whatever the hell this pretty girl did. Testing drugs would be easier.
“To gather information. Particularly from terrorist young men.”
Dear god. It was even worse than she’d imagined. Taylor’s throat closed up and she couldn’t respond.
Marissa leaned forward and patted her arm. “Don’t be scared. They won’t send you out until you’re ready. By then, you’ll be eager.” A delicate laugh. Marissa gestured at the solid walls. “And not because of this place. Once you fully understand the threat we face, you’ll want to take action.”
“You’re a spy?”
“That’s an old-school term. And limiting. I’m an operative.”
“Where? Here in America?”
“Mostly. But I went to Bahrain once, a very specialized mission.”
“I didn’t know the military had spies.”
The young woman laughed. “You’re not supposed to. That’s kind of the point.” Marissa leaned forward. “Let’s get to know each other a bit. Tell me what you do.”
Like on a date? Taylor went along. “Uh, I’m a college student and a death investigative intern.”
Marissa’s mouth opened in mock surprise. “You work in a morgue?”
They obviously hadn’t prepped the operative about her. Did that mean the girl didn’t know about the experiment? She needed to hear it. “I’m the one who discovered the shared intersex features of the men who’d been murdered. Did you know about the assassinations?”
“I can’t talk about our projects yet.” Marissa brushed off the subject with a wave of her delicate white hand. “Tell me about you. What do you like to do for fun?”
This was so weird! “Uh, I’m pretty busy with my internship and classes, but I shoot pool at the student center on campus sometimes, and I like quirky comedies,.” Where was she going with this?
“We have a theater here, but we’ll mostly be watching training films.” Marissa’s eyes sparked. “I think we should watch one now.”
Training films didn’t sound bad compared with the other things she’d worried about.
Marissa grabbed her hand. “Come with me.” She led Taylor into the hall. The girl stopped and turned to her with a bright smile. “Don’t try to run, please. I’m fast. And deadly.”
Taylor believed her.
After a few turns in a maze of corridors, they entered a small theater with a couple dozen seats. Marissa told her to get comfortable, then set up a movie from the computer station at the back.
At first the images were peaceful. Families in a Middle Eastern country going about their lives. Shopping, laughing, hugging. Suddenly, a bomb exploded, and their bodies were torn to shreds. Taylor recoiled in horror. Why were they making her watch this?
“Keep your eyes open!” Marissa’s tone was sharp for the first time. “Pretending this isn’t happening doesn’t make it stop.”
Taylor did as she was told, afraid the girl would tape them open if she didn’t. The video showed two more scenes and explosions like the first one. The next image was a group of Americans—or Europeans, she couldn’t tell—sitting in a restaurant. A bomb blast killed them as well. Dear god. How often did this happen around the world? But the film got worse. Men in black hoods torturing people. Beheadings and stonings. How could anyone do this? Taylor kept closing her eyes, and Marissa kept shouting at her to watch. But the violence was too horrifying. Taylor broke down into sobs. The terrorists had to be stopped.
Chapter 33
Saturday, 4:25 p.m.
His desk phone rang, and Blackburn snatched it up. After the shitstorm yesterday with Seth Wozac’s stunt, he needed some good news. “Major Blackburn speaking.”
“Bruce Montoya.” The deputy director of the CIA. Montoya had been deputy director ten years ago when he had assisted the Peace Project with placing and monitoring personnel in the Middle East.
“What’s the update?” Blackburn knew it wouldn’t be good.
“One of our Saudi Arabia operatives has been arrested.”
“Oh fuck. Who and why?”
“Fatima Syed. I don’t yet know the circumstances.”
The name was like a punch in the gut. “She’s the one who called in yesterday to report her readiness, isn’t she?” The last operative to do so—giving them the green light to launch Phase 2.
“Yes. So it’s likely someone heard or detected the call.”
No! “They’ll torture her, won’t they?”
“Of course, and all of our operatives could be detained within days.”
Fuck! This couldn’t be happening. Blackburn realized they had an even bigger problem. “The security around the region’s water systems will tighten immediately.”
“So we act now,” the director said. “Is the drug ready?”
“It should be. The lab started scaling up batches weeks ago.”
“Better get it shipped out to our people before the door slams shut.”
He realized that. “Update me if you hear anything further.” Blackburn ended the call. For a moment, a cacophony of emotions overwhelmed him. Twenty fucking years he’d been working on this project, nurturing it along step-by-baby-step. Now the whole thing was about to implode. Their best opportunity to end terrorism was on the edge of disaster because one woman got careless.
Fuck! He grabbed a stapler and threw it against the wall. It wasn’t enough. He lifted his in-basket and threw it too. The metal container hit the wall, and papers scattered everywhere. The side door opened slightly, and his assistant peeked through. “Everything all right, sir?”
Blackburn got control of himself. “Yes. Close the door.”
The officer obeyed, and Blackburn snatched up his work cell phone, grateful he’d broken himself of the habit of throwing it. He scanned through his contact list for the manager of the lab. He could walk or take a cart down to the facility, but he didn’t want to spend the time.
A pleasant voice answered. “Bill Blessert speaking.”
“It’s Major Blackburn. We need to transport ImmuNatal ASAP. So get it ready to ship.
“But sir, nothing has changed since you called yesterday. We’re still working on the moisture issue with the packaging—we need more time.”
“We don’t have it, and I don’t give a shit about moisture. Our window of opportunity is closing fast.”
“But if the drug degrades en route, it might not be fully effective.”
“Find a workaround and get it done!” Blackburn slammed the phone down before he started swearing.
After decades of watching the offspring to ensure they would be passive adults, plus years of patiently waiting for the operatives to work themselves into positions of accessibility, it was time to carry out the goddamn mission. The production facility should have been ready with the drug a year ago, but he and Rashaud
had delayed the scale-up of ImmuNatal to develop another pharmaceutical aimed at suppressing the fear receptors in the brain. The decision had seemed sound at the time because several Peace operatives had seemed a few years from being ready. He couldn’t have predicted they would be in this time crunch now. If the mission failed, he could only blame himself.
Blackburn pulled a bottle of vodka from the small refrigerator in the office corner and downed a few swallows. He needed to stay calm until the ImmuNatal had been delivered to the operatives and the Peace drug slipped into water supplies around the Middle East. Even beyond that, it would be years until they knew whether they’d been successful in creating a generation of nonviolent children who wouldn’t join ISIS. The beauty of ImmuNatal was that it would stay intact and potent for years, and through irrigation channels would also end up in the food supply. Their research had shown it to bind with hormones and stay in people’s bodies for half a decade. The birth of passive babies would continue for at least five years beyond the original insertion in the water supply, possibly more. A decade beyond that, the jihadists would suffer a recruitment problem that would last five to ten years. During that window of opportunity, they could be defeated.
Blackburn finally sat back down, guilt eating at him.
A loud rap on the door. “It’s Rashaud.”
“Come in.” His co-researcher had a right to be informed.
Rashaud had a new worry line on his forehead as he took a seat. “Bill Blessert just called. He needs more time. Why the rush?”
The weasel! Blackburn suppressed his anger at the lab manager and spoke calmly. “An operative in Saudi Arabia has been arrested. She was the final one to signal her readiness yesterday. We have to assume her communication was discovered and that’s why she’s been detained.”
Rashaud slammed a fist into his other palm. “Goddammit! This could jeopardize the whole project.”
“That’s why we’re going forward immediately.”
Rashaud’s eyes narrowed. “We are going to warn the other operatives, correct?”
“No. Fatima Syed doesn’t know any names.”
“But she knows the others are out there, and she knows the plan. They’ll torture her until she tells them everything.”
Blackburn refused to focus on the individuals. “The Saudis will assume it’s region-wide and inform other governments. We have to move past this.”
“They’ll also use her phone to find her handler, and he knows names. The operatives will be discovered! Rashaud’s distress was palpable.
“It’ll take time.” Blackburn knew their people would likely be captured and killed after they carried out their missions. He’d been through the possibilities in his head and made peace with the outcome. “Once the ImmuNatal is in place everywhere, we’ll warn everyone.”
Rashaud shook his head. “It’ll be too late. They’ll never get out.”
“They can go underground. We all knew the risks when we placed them.” Blackburn was trying to placate himself too. They’d sent some of the first operatives to the Middle East when they were teenagers, so they could assimilate. The CIA had trained and sent others. The Peace Project was the most important mission the U.S. had ever undertaken. “We’re not going to compromise the mission. The lab will ship out the drug today. This will go as planned, and we’ll have peace in our lifetime.”
His co-researcher stood. “It sure as hell better. I hear Fatima’s screams in my head already.”
“Hundreds of thousands of lives will be saved. Most of them Shia Muslim. We’re doing this for your people even more than mine.”
Rashaud nodded and strode out.
Chapter 34
Saturday, 4:45 p.m., Colorado Springs
Bailey drove away from the doctor’s house, wondering if he had a wife who would come home and find the body before the Denver agent showed up to process the scene. Not her problem. Her priority was to locate an underground complex that the military didn’t want anyone to find. If she found it, then what? Even with a dozen agents, breeching the structure could prove impossible. The perps could also kill the girl and dispose of her before the FBI team made it in. Unfortunately, Taylor Lopez was probably a lost cause. Bailey’s best hope was to track down the names of the researchers and have the bureau director use his clout to obtain arrest and search warrants.
Her only lead was a dead man named Ahmed Rashaud. But he had lived and worked at Fort Carson, so she would start there. Maybe the captain had left notes in his personal papers or confided in someone. It was even possible Metzler had lied about his commander being deceased. The doctor had paused between giving the man’s name and saying he was dead. Perhaps Metzler had regretted exposing his superior, maybe even enough to take it a step further by killing himself and avoiding a court martial.
The trip to Fort Carson took only twenty minutes, but by the time she pulled up to the checkpoint station, snow was blanketing the ground. She rolled down her window and smiled at the pimply-faced kid in a crisp blue uniform. “Special Agent Andra Bailey, FBI.” She pulled out her badge and federal ID.
“We don’t allow visitors without clearance. Do you have a pass from the information office?”
“No, I’m a federal agent. I shouldn’t need one.”
“Sorry, ma’am, but everyone does.” He pointed at a building on the right. “Just go into the visitor’s center and show your ID. They’ll run a background check and issue a visitor’s pass.”
Seriously? The impulse to ram her car through the bar-gate overwhelmed her. Bailey fought for control, visualizing herself being fired. She had nothing to gain by the action, and everything to lose. “I’ll be back.” She retreated, parked in the visitors’ lot, and hurried inside.
Empty folding chairs filled the small room, all facing a long counter. Four monitors, plus the thirty-something chairs, indicated that the visitors’ center was often a busy place. But not at the moment. Another uniformed young man with a shaved head sat alone at the counter, yawning. When he heard her come in, he snapped his mouth closed and pulled his shoulders back . “How can I help you ma’am?”
“I need to talk to Captain Ahmed Rashaud.” If the man were really dead, she would know in a moment. She handed the clerk her federal ID. “Agent Andra Bailey.”
He didn’t react to Rashaud’s name or her credentials. “I need your registration and car insurance too.”
Bailey bit her tongue. “I’m in a rental, and I’ll see what I have. Get this going. I’ll be right back.” On the way out, she noticed the sign listing the required documents. Car insurance? What the hell was that about? Did visitors routinely crash into military vehicles?
As she retrieved the paperwork, the snow started really coming down, and her smoldering rage picked up heat. Snow was one of the reasons she’d listed three other places besides Colorado as her choice for bureau assignments. Her success on the job had landed her in the D.C. headquarters in a few short years.
Back inside, Bailey took slow measured breaths and kept her face impassive as she handed over the documents.
“This will take a few minutes while I run a criminal check.”
Bailey sat stiffly in the chair. No one had run a background on her since she’d applied to the bureau. She checked her cell for the time. She wanted to see exactly how long the damn process took.
Four minutes later, the young clerk made a call from a desk phone, asking for Captain Rashaud.
So the doctor had lied. His commander wasn’t dead.
After a short moment of listening, the clerk hung up and said, “I’m sorry, but you’ve been denied clearance.”
Stunned, Bailey resisted the impulse to slap him, then searched her brain for the correct social response. “It must be a mistake. I’m a federal agent with the FBI. I can get the director on the phone if I need to.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m just doing my job, and I can’t issue you a visitor’s pass.”
The guilty asshole Rashaud was shutting her out. Now
what? She had to get out before she lost her cool. Bailey strode across the parking lot, climbed into her car, and called her boss. Lennard finally picked up. “Bailey, it’s about time. What the hell is going on?”
“I was just denied entry to Fort Carson. The man suspected of running the illegal drug test, Captain Ahmed Rashaud, is on the base, and I need to talk to him. Or get a warrant for his arrest.”
“Oh fuck me. This will get complicated.”
“People are being killed to silence them about this experiment.”
“How do you know it’s Rashaud. Anything solid?”
“The doctor giving the pregnancy drug named him.”
“Then killed himself,” Lennard reminded her. “So our witness can’t corroborate your claim.”
“I recorded his confession on my phone.”
“Can you send me the file?”
“Of course.”
“Good. I need something solid to even get you into the military base. A captain has a lot of clout, and the military prefers to investigate their own.”
“We still have a missing woman. I think she might be inside Fort Carson at a secret underground facility.” That kind of urgency could get a judge to sign a warrant.
“Send me the confession recording, and I’ll take it to the director.”
“Any update on the doctor’s suicide scene?”
“It’s handled. The Denver bureau sent an agent, and she’s coordinating with the local police. They’ll keep the news suppressed until we give them the green light.”
The Gender Experiment: (A Thriller) Page 17