London

 

2:33 a.m.

 

The phone call came late. Jack struggled out of bed. His head hurting from a party he’d thrown at his bachelor pad, a penthouse in Shoreditch, East London.

“Yeah.”

“Kleve. Jack Kleve?”

“Yes? Who’s this?”

“Jack. Dr. Bertrand. Sorry to bother you but do you have a minute?”

Jack sat up in bed and set his back against the pillows. “Go on.”

“My research on Calla Cress wasn’t conclusive.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was going through her file and medical records and have spent quite a bit of time on it in the last three weeks. It’s nothing like I’ve ever seen.”

“What do you mean?”

“Her pregnancy.”

“What about it? We went over this several times. She miscarried through high impact brought on by a tranquilizer gun that knocked her senseless. The tranquilizer gun extracted a sample from the fetus cells. Then why do they keep dividing?”

“What do mean?”

“I examined her before I let her go off to Hawaii. The cells in her body are still dividing.”