Body Thief (17 page)
Authors: C.J. Barry
Lyle’s place was hopping at eleven P.M. Canned Irish music ebbed and flowed between the booths and tables. Griffin sipped his second scotch and listened patiently to Ernest try to explain how he got the information he was eventually going to share with them. Cam sat next to him, paying far better attention than he was. Of course, it didn’t help that he could feel the heat of her thigh beside his. He was going to work out tomorrow, or he’d never sleep again.
“So,” Ernest said for the fifth time. “
That’s
when I found them.”
That’s
when I found them.”
“What?” Cam asked.
Ernest leaned forward in the booth. “More attacks. In this vicinity, same MOs, same types of hits. Except none of these are on our list.”
That got Griffin’s attention. He was supposed to have everything on this case. And he did, as far as he knew.
“Why wouldn’t they be on our list?” Cam asked.
Ernest nodded over his Diet Coke. “Exactly. I was told that our list was complete. It’s not.”
Griffin asked, “How many more are there?”
“Got eight so far,” Ernest said. “But the program is still running. Could be a lot more.”
Harding was holding out on him; that was the only explanation. Griffin knew Harding didn’t trust him, but why would he have left those locations off their list? What possible reason would he have?
“Give us whatever you have so far,” Griffin said. “Did you find any connections between the attacks?”
Ernest shook his head. “Not yet, but that’s only because I haven’t been able to get everything into my computer. They keep checking on me. Harding sicced Roberts on me, and he’s in my office all the time. Asking me questions, watching my monitors. It’s a royal pain.”
Cam asked, “Do you think they suspect something or are they just paranoid about this case?”
Ernest shrugged. “I don’t know, but my ass is under a microscope, and I don’t like it.”
Griffin studied the amber liquor in his glass. They did suspect, which meant they had something to hide. He had a bad feeling that he was being played. There were holes the size of Buicks in this case. Missing information, XCEL agents where they didn’t belong, and Harding blocking him every time he asked too many questions.
“Anything on the contents of the trailer?” Cam asked.
“Haven’t started that yet,” Ernest conceded. He put his hands up to defend himself. “I’m doing the best I can. We aren’t supposed to be poking around. We aren’t supposed to be asking questions. That’s not our job.”
Griffin said, “You don’t have to do this. If you feel threatened—”
Ernest huffed. “Are you kidding? They’re morons. I can dance circles around them.”
Cam glanced at Griffin, concern in her eyes. “What about the other suspects they want us to check out?”
“Yeah, I got four more for you,” Ernest said. He pulled a sheet out of his jacket. “Some of these even have home addresses.”
Cam took the list and scanned it. “Thanks. We’ll do these tomorrow night.”
“Wow, all of them?” Ernest asked.
She gave him a pointed look. “We have to. If Harding gets anything out of the Shifter that was captured, the deal is off for both of us.”
“Seriously? Did he say that?” Ernest said in disbelief.
“Succinctly,” she replied.
CHAPTER TEN
H
arding sat in the comfort of his home office with a clear view of the medical laboratory arena displayed on his smartphone. In the background, he could hear his partner, Nick Braxton, giving the orders to begin the small-scale experiment.
arding sat in the comfort of his home office with a clear view of the medical laboratory arena displayed on his smartphone. In the background, he could hear his partner, Nick Braxton, giving the orders to begin the small-scale experiment.
Check that. A small-scale experiment would be performed on rats. These were much bigger subjects—a human and a Shifter. Harding didn’t have time to waste on rats.
The Shifter that XCEL had captured at the transportation center lay strapped to a gurney in a room flooded with UVC rays to prevent him from shifting. He alternately yelled and swore at his captors as he fought the restraints.
The human prisoner was a Shifter sympathizer they’d “borrowed” from one of their detention centers, who lay on a gurney right next to him. Either way, no great loss, but he was unconscious so he wouldn’t suffer. He was, after all, still a human.
Long leads were attached to monitoring equipment on both subjects. Computers would capture every vital sign and every change at each stage of the experiment. Results would be analyzed by his head scientist. This was the fourth test of the formula that Harding’s researchers had been developing, and, he hoped, the last.
Braxton dismissed the highly trained guards that provided protection to Braxton and the chemical facility, leaving only himself and the head scientist to operate the controls in the viewing room.
Harding trusted few with his plan. Even fewer were allowed to witness the experiments. The many scientists who helped to develop the formula weren’t present. Although they had contributed knowledge and time to the final product, only the head scientist knew exactly what they’d created.
The gas worked on Shifters; they already knew that from the previous experiments. Shifters were only required as control subjects. Today, though, they’d find out what it did to humans.
Braxton turned to camera and said, “We’re ready.”
Harding nodded. “Begin.”
The head scientist worked the panel, opening valves that flooded the sealed room below them. Hissing sounds came through the speakers, and for a few moments, the captive Shifter was quiet. Green, heavy mist poured from the vents, cascading down the walls and pooling on the floor.
Harding waited, knowing what the next few minutes held. He’d seen it before, and it always gave him great pleasure knowing that he was ridding this world,
his
world, of one more alien being.
his
world, of one more alien being.
The captive’s eyes widened as the toxin began attacking his lungs and cells. A look of terror spread across his features, and he tried to compensate for the poison by shifting his form. It wouldn’t work, of course. It never did.
And then the screaming started. Shrieking, actually, as his body began to disintegrate. DNA twisted and snapped. Molecules shuddered and split. The formula continued to work its magic on the Shifter, but Harding concentrated on the human prisoner.
The man remained unconscious, but his vital signs began to drop. His heart rate turned erratic, and his pulse raced out of control. Moments later, his chest started to convulse. Blood spurted from his mouth, spraying over his face and chest. Within two minutes, he flatlined completely.
Harding pursed his lips. Failure was simply not an option this late in the game.
The Shifter bucked a few times, and the screaming ended. His body swelled and bloated. His skin thinned and stretched. The straps that held him down created indents in his chest and legs. Foam poured out of his mouth, eyes, and ears. The test was complete.
Braxton stepped in front of the camera, frowning. “The human subject didn’t make it.”
“Obviously. Find out why and fix it,” he told Braxton. “You have one week.”
Braxton put his hands on his hips. “You know damn well that a week is impossible. We’ve already spent a year to get this far.”
“Then you have a week and a half,” Harding said.
“Don’t treat me like one of your dogs,” Braxton replied. “We’re partners, remember? We got into this together.”
Yes, they had at that. Both had been part of the first committee that ran XCEL into the ground. Both had seen what a mess a group of lazy, politically correct, yellow-bellied bureaucrats could make of a perfectly good military force like XCEL. As a result, they’d almost lost New York City to the Shifters in an underground coup last year.
Harding wasn’t going to let that happen again. Not to his city, not to his country. That’s why he’d worked his way to director. And Braxton was the man who would make the operations work. There was no one else Harding could use. No one else who understood.
“My apologies,” Harding said. “You still have a week and a half.”
Cam and Mercer stood in the middle of a burnt office building on the edge of the Hudson in Yonkers. A building that wasn’t on their list but that followed the identical MO. There wasn’t much left after the blast and ensuing fire aside from steel girders and doorways. Every surface was charred and black.
Cam surveyed the interior, stepping through the utter devastation, each step triggering a small poof of ash. Through the structural remains of the building, the Hudson shore gleamed with lights. The city churned with cars, horns, and sirens.
This had been one hot fire, burning everything in its path. Blackened metal desks now held melted computers and phones. Chairs were stripped of their fabric. The moon peeked through empty roof sections. She walked through the first floor, checking each office one by one.
A single office had survived the firestorm better than the others, and she stepped inside. File cabinets lined the walls. Their drawers had been pulled out before the blaze, and their contents were now incinerated. She stopped in front of a floor safe, four feet high and two feet wide. The door was wide open, and the interior scorched clean.
“There’s nothing left,” she told Mercer.
He bent down to check the contents of the safe in the beam of his flashlight. After he poked around a bit, he said, “I’m wondering why they opened all the cabinets, the drawers, and the safe before the fire.”
“Crossed my mind as well,” she said. They both stood up, and Griffin turned off his flashlight. In the darkness, he probably didn’t realize how well she could see him as he focused on her. In the absence of harsh daylight, his features were strong but less menacing. The intensity he wore like a glove lost its firm grip. The real man emerged, which was good, because he wasn’t going to like what she found here.
“So was it our Shifters?” he asked.
“No,” she replied.
He cocked his head slightly. “Different Shifters?”
She shook her head and took a breath. “No Shifters have ever walked this building. Only humans.”
“Sonofabitch,” he said, and the intensity returned.
In one way, it was good, because her Shifters had already been blamed for enough damage. However, it also left a big problem. Because if the Shifters didn’t do this, then who did?
She added, “But someone sure tried to make it look like it was Shifters. Why?”
Mercer pursed his lips. “So it would look like they hit it. Everything resembles the other strikes, aside from opening the file cabinets and safe. They really wanted to put these people out of business permanently.”
She couldn’t wrap her head around anything that made sense. “But why attack this place at all? What is the significance of this office versus the office next door?”
Mercer stood in the darkness. “I don’t know.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Say it.”
“Say what?”
“Say, ‘Cam, you were right.’ ”
He grinned, albeit grudgingly. “You’re going to be a pain in the ass about this, aren’t you?”
The man was impossible. “Does anyone ever win an argument with you?”
“All the time,” he said. “Look at Harding.”
Ah. That was true. And it must kill Mercer to bow to that asshole. But he was so determined to fix the past, he’d give his soul to do it. Which in turn pissed him off more. It must be hell living like that.
Was it worth it?
she wondered.
Was it worth it?
she wondered.
“We have time to check one more site on Ernest’s list before sunrise,” he said and led her out. “I want to be sure.”
“Before what?” she finished, almost holding her breath. Because they wouldn’t get any answers unless Mercer believed her.
“Before everything goes right to hell.”
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