Ron Franks smiled as Raylan Givens blew away yet another inbred, hillbilly drug dealer. Damn, I wish we could do that, he thought as Marshal Givens swiveled and blasted scumbag number 2. At the crack of the pistol Franks’ wife snuggled a little closer against him. Then his cell phone rang. Without being asked she disengaged herself and hit “pause” on the remote.
“It’s work,” Franks said.
“I recognize the ring. I’m going to go pee.”
“What’s up?”
“We’ve got activity at the house. Calls between a burner phone and an unregistered cell in Alexandria.”
“Do we have an address?”
“The caller hacked the GPS chip. All we’ve got is the cell tower location. The content is interesting though. It looks like the guy in Alexandria has got somebody under forceful interrogation. He’s apparently using a stun gun. They’re trying to find out if Farber is in custody. Whoever they’re working on told them ‘no’ but they don’t necessarily believe him. The subject also said something about sterilizing bugs. That seemed to upset the guy in the house.”
“That’s what his company does,” Franks said, his brain racing. “It makes some kind of chemical that sterilizes bugs.”
“Well, it got our guy’s attention. He’s going to the Alexandria location to question the prisoner himself.”
“Follow him and don’t lose him,” Franks ordered.
“It’s a long way from here to Alexandria. I wish we’d put a tracker on his car.”
“If we had put a tracker on his car he probably would have found it and then he wouldn’t be going anywhere. Call the team set up on his office and have them meet you on the I-95.”
Franks hung up and called Kane’s cell. It rang four times and went to voice mail.
“Shit!”
“What’s wrong?” his wife called from the kitchen.
Franks pulled out his notepad and dialed the number Kane had given him for Danny Rosewood.
“Hello?”
“Agent Rosewood? This is FBI Special Agent Ron Franks. When’s the last time you talked to your partner?”
“Agent Kane? Uhhh, sometime after lunch today. He said he had to meet someone. Why?”
“I just called him on his cell and it went to voice mail. Do you have another number for him?”
“No. That’s the only one he has as far as I know. Is there something wrong?”
Kane said he could trust Rosewood but as far as Franks was concerned Kane’s partner was only a voice on the phone. He wasn’t even FBI. But somebody was being tortured for information about Farber and Kane wasn’t answering his phone. Two plus two still made four.
“Can you run a GPS trace on Agent Kane’s phone, find out where it is?”
“I can do that from my office. Why? Is he in trouble?”
“He could be,” Franks said after a slight hesitation.
“What kind of trouble?” Rosewood asked, the concern clear in his voice.
“Bad trouble. How fast can you run the trace?”
“Give me fifteen minutes.”
“Call me back as soon as you’ve got an address and I’ll send agents to his location.”
Danny hung up without saying goodbye and ran over to the bookcase where he had left his wallet, keys and gun.
“What’s going on?” Diane asked, half a turkey sandwich in one hand and a Snapple in the other.
“Gotta go,” Danny called out, pulling on his coat. “Agent Kane’s in trouble.”
Diane was wearing her pink slippers and pink flannel pajamas with the ducks on them and Danny thought she was the cutest thing he’d ever seen. Halfway across the room he stopped, ran over, kissed her, and then raced for the door.
“Be careful!” Diane shouted after him.
* * *
The trace on Kane’s cell came back to his apartment. Danny figured that if he drove full out that he could get there faster than any agents Franks might send. When he arrived he buzzed the building’s manager.
“Open it,” Danny ordered after his pounding on Kane’s door drew no response.
“Do you have a warrant?”
“There’s no time for a warrant. Open it.”
“The master key’s in my apartment. Maybe I should call a lawyer–”
Danny turned and kicked the door as hard as he could, just like they did in the movies. It exploded inward but he hadn’t expected it to hurt so much and when he went inside he limped. It took only a few seconds to confirm that the place was empty. He found Kane’s cell phone, wallet and gun on the floor of the closet next to the bathroom. He debated for a moment then stuck the gun in his belt figuring it couldn’t hurt to have a second weapon. Danny pulled up Franks’ number from his call list.
“Where’s Kane’s phone?” Franks asked him.
“I’m at his apartment. His phone, wallet and gun are here but he isn’t.”
“Does he know anyone in Alexandria?”
“I don’t know. Why?”
“We got a lead to a cell tower there. I think it may have something to do with your partner. Does that ring any bells at all?”
“No,” Danny said after a moment’s thought. He quickly scanned the address list in Kane’s phone but nothing matched. “What’s happened?”
Franks hesitated. At that moment he was a few minutes away from linking up with his men. Rosewood was closer to Alexandria than he was.
“All right, get out your pen. I’ll give you our best guess about where Kane might be.”
“What’s happened to him?” Danny demanded.
“Here’s what we know,” Franks said and began to explain.
* * *
Franks’ men used a rolling tail to stay on Bellingham all the way onto U.S. 1 then followed him west toward the Alexandria National Cemetery where they had to fall back or risk being spotted. Somewhere between Highway 1 and the cemetery Bellingham got far enough ahead of the lead car to duck out of sight and then switch off his lights. By the time they turned the corner the street ahead was empty. Two of the trailing cars went north on parallel streets while Franks headed south in case Bellingham had doubled back.
The professor didn’t think he was being followed but by this time security had become second nature to him. Driving with his lights off and taking refuge several times in shadowed driveways he was able to work his way into the blocks of apartments behind the cemetery west of Four Mile Run. He pulled into the guest parking lot of a twelve story apartment house and waited until the road was clear. Finally he headed out, again without lights, moving north for half a mile then parked briefly before turning his headlights back on. Ironically, it was Bellingham’s attempt to avoid surveillance that revealed his location.
Danny had been cruising the western edge of the cell tower zone and noticed a pair of headlights blink off. Nothing about that was unusual but it was something and so far all Danny had was a lot of nothing. He made a left and headed toward where the lights had disappeared. He had almost reached the southern end of the search zone when he noticed a pair of taillights suddenly appear in his mirror. He made a quick U-turn but they too soon vanished. Danny slowed at the next intersection but the cross street was empty. Certain now that he would never find Kane Danny continued straight on then stopped for a red light. As he was sitting there a black Audi A6 crossed in front of him on the green. He only caught the last three numbers on the plate but they matched Bellingham’s car. Danny flicked off his lights and turned left, driving with one hand and dialing with the other.
“I’ve got him,” Danny said when Franks answered.
“Has he spotted you?”
“I don’t think so. I’m not using my lights.” Danny gave Franks his location.
Shit! Franks thought. I hope he doesn’t kill someone. “Keep feeding me your position. We’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”
The Audi made another turn then pulled into the driveway of a public storage facility. It paused briefly then the gate opened and it drove through. Danny parked on the street and ran up to the entrance. The gate was steel, eight feet high with a keypad mounted inside a steel casing ten feet back toward the curb. On the other side of the fence the Audi turned right at the end of the main aisle and disappeared.
“He’s driven into a storage yard,” Danny told Franks and gave him the address. “You need a key code to get in.”
“Don’t move. We’ll track down the owner. I’ll be there in about three minutes.”
Three minutes? Danny looked at the deserted rows of lockers. Screw that, he thought and parked his Mazda as close to the fence as he could. It wasn’t easy with his sore foot but he managed to climb onto the hood and then to the roof. From there the top of the fence was about chest high. Thank God they don’t have barbed wire, he thought and tried to swing himself over. Most of him made it but on the way down his coat caught on the steel and he tumbled the eight feet to the ground landing on his ass. When he looked up half his coat was flapping in the breeze like a flag.
Danny struggled to his feet. His hands were scraped and his butt hurt but nothing seemed broken. Where was his phone? Danny stared at the remains of his coat. Crap! It hurt like hell but on the third try he managed to jump high enough to grab the dangling sleeve. The coat tore free and fluttered to the ground but his cell was no longer in the pocket. He spent half a minute wandering around in the dark looking for it then gave up.
Danny glanced back through the fence at the deserted street then turned and scanned the rows of silent buildings. Stay or go? Agent Kane was in trouble. Screw it. He still had both guns. He wasn’t waiting for anybody.
* * *
Bellingham parked one row short of the target and walked the rest of the way. Munroe was waiting for him outside the closed door.
“He’s awake. I left him alone like you asked.” Munroe rolled up the panel and led the professor inside.
“Is your device all charged up?”
Munroe pointed to the stun gun on the table. “All set.”
“Wait outside and shut the door.” Munroe frowned but complied.
“Hi, Professor,” Kane croaked when Bellingham approached the chair.
“I need some answers, Agent Kane.”
“You need a hell of a lot more than that. I can’t even begin to count how many years you’re going to spend in a federal prison.”
Bellingham held up the stun gun. “How did you know it was me?”
“I read your bio.”
“Explain,” the professor ordered.
He’s basically a teacher, Kane thought. He likes to talk and I need to stall for time.
“The first time we met you told me that you hated addicts. Fine, nothing unusual about that, but then you called Danny and told him again how much you hated addicts. Not drugs, addicts. You weren’t upset about drug dealers or the availability of drugs. You hated the people who took the drugs. That got me thinking. After that it was obvious.”
“You’re stalling.”
“You wanted answers. I’ll shut up if you like.”
“What was so revealing about my CV?” Bellingham snapped.
“Well, not just your CV. Those articles you wrote were what really told the story. It wasn’t hard to connect the dots.” Bellingham frowned and sparks arced across the stun gun’s contacts. “Don’t get your panties in a twist,” Kane said with a warped smile. “I’m getting to it. OK, one you hate drug addicts. Two, you wrote that drug addicts should either be allowed to die or be sterilized. Three, your initial research was into finding a way to make insects sterile. Four, you elected to extend your research beyond insects, to mice, mammals. You wouldn’t have done that if all you were after was a better way to kill bugs. You had your eye on sterilizing people all along. My guess is that when the university realized that you were developing chemicals that might be used to make humans sterile you were asked to retire but by then it was too late. You’d already figured out how to do it.”
“That’s all supposition,” Bellingham said.
“Supposition? Really? Look around. You’re in bed with a wanted killer. You’ve kidnapped a Homeland Security agent. That seems like pretty solid evidence to me.”
“Not if you aren’t around to testify.” Bellingham turned away.
“Wait. Isn’t this the place where the mad scientist explains his great plan and attempts to convince everybody that they’re all wrong about him?”
“Since you’re going to be dead in a little while there’s no point in trying to convince you of anything.”
“Doesn’t a condemned man get a last request? At least satisfy my curiosity. I’m right about you, aren’t I?”
Bellingham paused, then turned back to Kane.
“No, you’re not, at least not entirely.”
I knew it, Kane thought. Your ego is too big for you to just walk away. You can’t resist the chance to tell me how brilliant you are, how right you are.
“OK, smart guy, where did I go wrong?”
“The delivery mechanism is more complicated than you think. More elegant.”
“It’s a drug that gets people high. What’s elegant about that?”
“It gets them high but it is not physically addicting. That’s key. There are no withdrawal symptoms, no tremors, no shakes, no hallucinations. People will be free to stop taking it anytime they want.”
“So what?” Kane demanded.
“That’s an absolutely vital element. The compound will only affect true emotional addicts. The occasional user, the teenage experimenter, the temporarily depressed individual will suffer no physical withdrawal which means that they can easily quit if they want to. That was a moral imperative. I’m not out to kill stupid children who swallow a pill that somebody gave them at a party. I’m not a monster.”
“Kill? This stuff is going to kill people?”
“Only if they take it hundreds of times. And technically it doesn’t kill them. It just shortens their life expectancy. A hard-core addict who took a hundred doses over six months would likely die within another two years. A hundred doses over a year would extend that to death in four or five years. Two hundred doses within one year and, statistically, they’d be dead within nine months. It’s not a straight line calculation.”
“You’re planning on killing thousands of people?” Kane asked.
“I’m not killing anyone. I’m allowing defective people to reduce their life expectancy by choosing to take illegal drugs. At most, I’m giving them the opportunity to choose to shorten their lives in exchange for sensory pleasure. It’s not really very different from selling sugar, bacon, alcohol and cigarettes to an obese diabetic. I’m just affording them an opportunity to exchange a long boring life for a short, happy one. Are people criminals who sell overpowered motorcycles to teenaged boys?”
“Are you going to put a warning label on this stuff? Will there be a little skull and crossbones on each pill?”
To Kane’s amazement, Bellingham smiled.
“You know, that’s not a bad idea. For some people it would probably make the product more attractive. And it’s not thousands, or hundreds of thousands of people. There are millions of addicts in the United States. Within five years after I begin distribution I expect that that number will be reduced by at least fifty percent. Within ten years I hope to have it down to under ten percent of current levels.”
“You’re hoping to kill millions of people over the next ten years and you think you’re not a monster?”
“Most of them are not going to die. The majority of the decline in the addict population will be from the elimination of addictive genes from the reproductive pool.”
Kane thought about that for a second. “The same way that you were going to get rid of the bugs,” he said, almost talking to himself.
“The product has a duel, cumulative purpose. Only fifteen or twenty doses will be sufficient to sterilize the majority of the users, given a standard normal curve. If they don’t exceed that dosage then the only effect, other than their inability to have or father children, will be a slight reduction in life expectancy, two or three years at most. It’s only the heavy and continuous addicts who will significantly reduce their life span, and their lives are such a hellish nightmare already that that would probably be a blessing.” Bellingham babbled on, oblivious to Kane’s disgust. “If we sterilize the addictive personalities who take repeated doses eventually their genes will disappear from the population leading to a natural and material reduction in the number of addicts in the gene pool as a whole.”
“You’re insane.”
“I’m the most sane person in this room. Have you seen the statistics on the number of crimes committed by drug addicts? I’m going to save our country from millions of burglaries, hundreds of thousands of auto accidents, thousands of murders, and thousands of criminal drug gangs. The list of crime and pain and financial loss directly arising from drug addicts is almost beyond measure. I’m going to end that and most of that result will not be from people dying. No, it will be from people not being born with defective genes in the first place. You’re a policeman. If you had an ounce of sense, if you cared about the victims of crime instead of a bunch of loser drug addicts you would be helping me.”
“You killed Albert Brownstein. You’re a murderer.”
“One man died so that thousands can live. How many people died building the Hoover Dam or the Golden Gate Bridge? In any great enterprise there is always, inevitably, collateral damage.”
Bellingham stared at Kane as if looking for some sign of agreement.
“Is that how you’ll justify murdering me?” Kane asked, thinking of Ronnie Dubois dismissing his killing Lyla Masterson as “collateral damage.”
“Dying is your choice, Agent Kane. If you would only recognize the value, no the necessity, of what I’m doing your death would no longer be required.”
“My choice, hmmmmm,” Kane said. “Well, hell, if I’ve got a choice, sure. Where do I sign?”
“Somehow I don’t think you’re being sincere. For what it’s worth, I regret that it’s going to be necessary for Mr. Munroe to kill you.”
“Well, if you’re sorry about it, that makes all the difference, asshole!” Kane shouted.
Bellingham frowned then turned as the door clattered up to the ceiling.