Androcide (Intel 1 Book 5)

  Houston moaned. “Please, no....”

  Lopez stilled his muscles. Sara, careful. She was always playing the gender card with brutes like this.

  Karami’s eyes widened. “Indeed. And aren’t you the athletic one.” He bent down and stroked her cheek. She recoiled. “There is plenty of time to become much better acquainted.” He straightened up. “But not now. My superiors need information. And your cooperation. And they need it now.”

  He whistled sharply. Footsteps sounded outside the door and two men dragged in Zaringhalam. His eyes went wide with terror.

  “We know there are more in Tehran. We cannot afford to be blindsided. You will tell me the nature of this operation, the location and numbers of your other agents before we leave this room.”

  “Or what?” squeaked Houston.

  The Iranian nodded. One of the soldiers removed his sidearm and fired. Zaringhalam screamed, the fabric in his pants ripped, the beige darkening as blood flowed into the fabric and began to run down his leg.

  “Or we keep firing, removing limb by limb, until he is dead.”

  “Oh God...” whispered Houston.

  “Time is of the essence,” said Karami, focusing on Houston. “You’ll tell me now or he dies.” The soldier raised his weapon again.

  “Wait!” cried Houston. “Whatever you want! Just don’t kill him!”

  Lopez played along, forcing a gasp. “Shut your mouth woman, or—”

  The blow whipped his head backward. He tasted blood, felt it flow over his chin. He stared down the barrel of a gun.

  “Shoot him if he speaks again,” said Karami. “Speak, woman!”

  Houston spoke in a high pitch, her voice trembling.

  “There’s a second team. Led by another of our intelligence group.”

  “How many?” he shouted.

  Houston stiffened, her acting so raw Lopez felt a sting of anger.

  “I don’t know! Not larger than ours.”

  “Where!” A nod from the interrogator led to a baton across Zaringhalam’s back. He crumbled to the ground, moaning.

  “They don’t tell us!” she stammered. Lopez heard tears in her voice. “The cells are kept in the dark. Only coded communications.”

  She’s so good.

  Even now, after so many missions, she could impress him. Enough truth for them to swallow it, but enough omitted to protect the mission.

  And she’s dragging this out. Stalling. Move your ass, Angel!

  “Then you can reach them. Provide the key codes. Arrange a meeting.”

  Her body slumped. “Yes. But only above. Everything’s shielded here.”

  Karami smiled and jerked his head to the door. The men dragged the unconscious form of Zaringhalam out the door.

  “What will you do—”

  Karami struck Houston with the back of his hand.

  Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Don’t look concerned. Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Look angry at her. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of death. She is nothing to you. Just another operative. Amen.

  “You were not spoken to. You will learn proper respect, woman. I can assure you, you will learn it before you leave.” His twisted face relaxed. “So will you all. You will all confess your crimes before the world. Once we have the others in hand, your re-education will begin.”

  He shouted in Farsi and guards swarmed into the room.

  “Now, we will go outside.” He looked at Houston. “You will make a call. And we will all take a ride to your new home in Iran.”

  28

  Divine Intervention

  Sunlight blasted inside as the doors opened to Monument Park. They’d cordoned off the area, the usual press of tourists nowhere to be seen. Secret police left positions near the hidden entrance and grouped with those escorting the captives.

  The NOPO resorted to roped pallets to solve the exploded-elevator problem. Lopez didn’t envy the men who’d hauled them up. He envied less the American special forces team, grimacing to see signs of violence on them. Of torture. But even such horror had to be pushed aside. There wasn’t much time left.

  The walkway broadened as they progressed. It ran a thousand feet from the base of Azadi Tower to the tree-lined edge of the park. At the end of it, the path opened to become a wide square.

  Perfect for landing a helicopter.

  The NOPO rushed. They moved their prisoners with an enthusiastic abandon. A great prize was to be delivered to dungeons elsewhere in Tehran, as fast as possible. The helicopter it was going to be.

  “Call!” snapped the head of the Iranian secret police. Karami grabbed Houston by the back of the neck and jammed a mobile phone in her hand.

  “This won’t have proper encryption. Our devices are chipped, it’s—”

  “In extremis. You have codes for it. I know you do. Use them.” He squeezed her neck. Houston cried out.

  “Yes! Okay!” She dialed.

  The conspicuous group marched forward. Regular Iranian police set blockades and redirected traffic away from the park, confusion on their faces. Trees lined sides of the walkway. A tunnel of colored foliage danced in the breeze.

  They neared the square at the end of the path. Houston’s voice rose in pitch.

  “They’re not responding!”

  “You will keep trying. If you fail, you will be very sorry.”

  Houston grimaced, dialing again. As she looked forward, her pace slowed and she gasped.

  “Oh, my God, she’s here.”

  Lopez gazed forward. God be praised.

  A wiry woman in desert fatigues approached from the center of the square. Bare, tattooed limbs swung from her sides, a scandal of skin for the Imams. The morning sun glinted off mirrored aviator glasses, the light competing with the shine from her shaved head. She carried no weapons.

  Angel defenseless? Be afraid, Karami.

  The soldiers rushed forward, leveling weapons at her and moving to intercept.

  Karami removed his sunglasses. “Who is that?”

  Lopez chanted, heedless of their captors.

  “An angel of peace, a faithful guide, a guardian of our souls and bodies. We ask of the Lord.”

  The NOPO ignored him, focused on the figure sauntering toward them.

  “Our lead agent,” whispered Houston. “I don’t understand. She shouldn’t be here!”

  The men approached the singular figure, a cautious shuffling replaced with increasing struts. Their weapons trained on her, the woman slowed to a stop, making no other moves. They padded her down. Satisfied, the NOPO chief confronted her.

  “Who are you?” he shouted, his upper lip covered in sweat. “Why are you here? Where are the rest?”

  The woman smiled and removed her mirrored shades. Her eyebrows glowed orange, the irises below a taunting, emerald green.

  “One answer to all your questions.” The man’s brows furrowed. “Contingency.”

  Sharp spits sliced through the wind, bullets flying from the trees. Heads popped, blood bursting from the skulls of Iranian police as waves of sniper fire leveled the NOPO troops.

  Never knew what hit them. With his bound hands, Lopez made the sign of the cross.

  Karami spun in shock, jolted by the violence, gaping at the fallen men. He reached for his firearm, his motions robotic. The bald woman grasped his wrist from behind, wrenching it. He screamed, shoved sideways and disarmed, staring down the barrel of his own gun.

  American commandos appeared from scattered positions in the trees and sprinted toward the group. They freed the captives, several maintaining an armed watch on their surroundings. The bald woman replaced the shades with her left hand as she aimed with her right.

  “Hi, Sara.” Her mirrored eyes sighted down the barrel.

  “Angel Lightfoote,” said Houston. “About damn time.” Houston reached into her interrogator’s suit and removed his phone. “The police?”

  “Handful on the pe
rimeter,” said a soldier next to Lightfoote. “Neutralized.”

  “This is a NOPO dark op,” Lopez said, rotating his freed wrists. “Law enforcement’s clueless. We just killed a bunch of traffic cops.”

  “That won’t last long,” said Houston. She spoke to the soldier. “Tell your team to stash the bodies in the trees. Put on their uniforms. Nothing fancy. We just have to get the pilot to land.”

  “Pilot?” asked Lightfoote. “Ah.”

  Houston shoved the phone at Karami. “Your turn, asshole. Call in the damn helicopter or she splits your fucking head open.” Karami gaped. Houston turned to the soldiers. “Farsi, anyone?” One called back and she waved him over. “See he does it right.”

  Sweat poured down the spymaster’s face as he took the phone. His hands trembled. He dialed.

  Lightfoote kept the weapon centered on the man’s face. “You’re lucky they rushed this. No re-enforcements, or we’d be screwed.”

  Karami spit words into the phone, eyes darting to the soldier watching him. The American gave a thumbs-up.

  “How long?” she asked.

  Karami’s voice scratched like sandpaper. “Thirty seconds. A minute at most. He was instructed to remain close.”

  Lopez gathered Lightfoote’s men around the former captives, their NOPO uniforms misfitting and blood-stained. On request, one handed him a large knife. The deep beat of blades thumped in his ears.

  “Tag-team, Angel.” He approached their prisoner, flashed a sharp edge, and prodded him in the back. “Walk real slow. This thing cuts deep.”

  Lightfoote lowered her weapon and turned to the square. The helicopter approached and kicked grit in their faces.

  “Knives are always scarier,” he said. He prodded Karami again. “Wave normally.”

  Karami waved to the aircraft.

  29

  Birth Control

  Camera flashes popped like fireworks around him, and Sacker downed two more ibuprofen with his cold coffee. The laboratory lighting summoned a tension headache all by itself. Row after row of ceiling-mounted, 1960s-era fluorescents forced him into a perpetual squint.

  Then there’s the dead body.

  The corpse luxuriated in a decidedly uncomfortable manner against the entrance of Dr. Linda Richards’ lab. The medical photographers buzzed, but Sacker didn’t need to see photos or the body beyond a moment’s glance. He knew the details.

  Horrific bruising. Mutilation. Death.

  The only variable was the new note from the killer. He scanned the empty lab. At least there wasn’t going to be another PR disaster with photos and videos streaming around the net.

  His cell buzzed. Again. He ignored it. Gone could wait. She’d understand why he stood her up this morning. He’d dangle the prospect of seeing this new body before her. He assumed that would dispel any ill will.

  “Hey, Sacker, sir,” came the voice of Snyder. “Dr. Richards is ready to talk to us now.”

  He rose from the body and stepped to a door on the other side of the short hallway. Inside a small office stood three scientists—Richards and two other members of her laboratory. Sacker introduced himself.

  Richards followed suit. “I’m Linda Richards, and this is Thomas Dyer,” she said, indicating a tall, Germanic looking male. “Thomas is my most senior postdoctoral scientist. He runs the lab when I’m traveling, which is often these days. His ideas and work are the cornerstone for much of our progress these last few years.” She motioned to a short Indian woman who contrasted the blond Dyer. “This is Shilpa Reddy, my laboratory manager. Shilpa is the boots-on-the-ground, day-to-day manager of the lab, keeping things running, people in line, and stocks reordered. She has magic hands at the bench.” She moved to the chair behind her desk.

  “How many total in your group?” he asked.

  She sat. “Sixteen.”

  “Where are the rest?”

  Richards waved a hand toward the corpse at the end of the hallway. “They left this morning, soon as they saw that. Some never showed. Warned in advance, I guess. I can’t blame them. A disaster for the lab.”

  “Yes, unpleasant for many.” He glanced at the body.

  “I don’t do guilt, detective. Spare your energy. And it’s not hard to guess the killer, now is it? Which means dead Joe Dickless is likely some serial rapist or child molester. Not much sympathy for him here.”

  “Duly noted. Explain to us then what the note was about. We couldn’t make heads or tails of the technobabble.”

  She sighed. “It was a threat. The killer threatened me, my whole group, anyone working with me including collaborators at other institutions. He demanded we stop all work on our male contraception research. Demanded I publicly disavow continuing work, destroy all research samples. The letter said I have one week to comply or people in my group would start dying.”

  “Our killer is obsessed. What is this research?”

  Richards exhaled, the muscles on her face loosening. Sacker thought she gained a hundred years in an instant.

  “My life’s work. My dream to find a biomedical solution to birth control, one targeting men. One to take some of the pressure off women who subject their bodies to hormonal bombardment over decades. To find a cheap and effective treatment not interfering with the precious male needs in sex,” she said. “It’s a long-term goal of the pharmaceutical industry and we are close. We were close. Now, it’s all shot to hell.”

  “Why?” asked Hill. “Are you going to do what he asks?

  “What choice do I have? Look at the pile of bodies flooding the city. This killer is serious. A complete psychopath. There’s no way I’m going to subject my people to that sort of danger. My work is in the literature. Let someone else, somewhere else, pick it up.”

  “And steal your deserved glory.”

  Richards smirked. “As a woman in a man’s world, dear, you’d better get used to it. I’ve got other options to pursue.”

  Sacker redirected. “Could it be a competitor? Someone who wants to take over the field?”

  “Like this? I can’t imagine even my most unpleasant colleagues undertaking this slaughter for a leg up. Besides, there’s too much symbolism in the killings, don’t you think? There’s more to it than simple industrial sabotage.”

  “It would make a good cover.”

  “No way,” she said, passing her hand over her forehead. “Don’t waste your time on that idea. Anyway, so you can see why we’re a ghost town in here now. It’s either threat of death or the destruction of all their research. I suspect they’re plotting their transfers at this very moment.”

  “Those two stayed.” He indicated Dyer and Reddy.

  “Like I said, they are the heart and soul of my group. They are the ones working until ten at night every day of the week, putting off social lives, families, retirement savings in this pitifully remunerated business. They needed big results. Their careers are as invested in this as mine, more so. I’m tenured. Now, where are they going to go?”

  “We’re collecting security footage from the building,” said Sacker. “We’re going to need statements from all your lab members, custodial staff servicing your floor, anyone who had access to the building last night.”

  “Are you suggesting it was someone here who is the killer?”

  “We are suggesting and assuming nothing, but also leaving nothing unexamined.”

  This killing had narrowed the time of a crime—the body drop-off—more than for any of the other victims. He didn’t want to admit how desperate they were, that they had zero leads, that this was the most promising thing they had come across.

  She saw right through it.

  “God, you’ve got nothing, do you?” She shook her head. “Sure. I’ll get you names, contacts. You’re wasting your time, but it’s your investigation.” She walked to the doorway and stared down the hall at the body and reams of police tape.

  “Meanwhile, how long until NYPD gets this mess out of my hallway?”

  30

  Gone All
In

  Sacker drove through Queens, cell phone in hand, on the way to see Grace Gone. He swerved to miss a delivery bike cutting from the left lane, missing the back tire by inches. I need hands free. He put the phone down and set it to speaker.

  “Kathy, once again please. Nearly wrecking the wreck, here.”

  Hill’s voice crackled through the phone. “It’s bad news on the security footage. Nothing at all. We’ve got all the staff—scientists, maintenance, custodial, administrative—going in and out. Working with their HR, we’ve accounted for all of them. According to the footage, no one who went into the building on Monday stayed in it that night. Everyone was out by 11 pm.”

  “No footage of anyone else entering later?”

  “No, but there’s a hole in the system.”

  “Damn.”

  “Yeah. Back staircase and alleyway door for the trash. The camera’s shot to hell and hasn’t been maintained for some time. Nothing covers that stairwell.”

  “So our killer came in through the back.”

  “Only possibility. We’ve examined everything, but you can imagine, it’s a mess of workers’ prints and lots of garbage.”

  “Ode to Joy. How’s the latest eunuch?”

  “Sutherland has nothing new to add. Same old, same old. Oh, and he didn’t do the pH test. Just ignored me like I never asked.”

  “We might need to take things into our own hands.”

  “What was that, sir?”

  “Nothing. Anything else from the crime scene?”

  “No. Back to square one.”

  Sacker sighed. “Yeah, where square one is serial killings and threats.”

  “We’ve started interviewing the staff. Whoever left the body, presumably the killer, also had a working knowledge of where to break in. Logical it could be a staff member.”