Derek Falconi walked into his office and slammed the door shut, causing the picture of a cheetah chasing a gazelle to go crooked on the linen-colored wall. Then, striding across the floor, he yanked the brown leather high-backed chair out from under his executive desk and sat down. Leaning almost as far back as the chair went, Falconi plopped his feet on the desk.
“What do you mean they got away?” he yelled into his cell phone.
“I’m sorry, sir, but we missed the opportunity to bring them in.”
His chair snapped back upright with a loud thud reverberating off the walls like a gunshot. “How many chances are you going to give one dead man to get away? Did you sweep the house? Please tell me you at least got that right.”
“Yes, sir. We left no traces behind.”
“Any casualties?”
“Our men were wounded, but no fatalities.”
“Then McKendrick was generous,” he concluded. “I want a full report on my desk first thing in the morning. And let me be clear—I don’t want anything leading back to us, do you understand? As far as anyone knows, McKendrick has lots of enemies that want to see him dead.”
“Understood, Mr. Falconi.”
Derek ended the call and tossed the phone onto the desk. Leaving Coulter alive didn’t fit into his plan. He wanted a clear shot at taking over at Ghost Town, and overhearing Cole Everett tell Brinkley that he was leaving his company and its assets to his grandson was a wake-up call. Drastic measures were needed to secure his position, and now was the time to strike. Thanks to Cole’s vast government and private-sector contracting connections, Ghost Town was a multimillion-dollar company. Its outlook was golden, but Cole was getting old. He’d probably be retiring soon, and any thoughts of him handing the reigns over to Brinkley just went up in smoke. Coulter stood to inherit everything, which meant Falconi and Brinkley would be out on their ears—and maybe even in prison, if Coulter had his way.
Falconi knew they were scraping the tip of the iceberg on their side business deals. And now, with Silent Night in play, there was no limit to their earning potential.
Not if you play your cards right.
“Sorry, Mr. Everett, but you just became expendable.” Getting up, he snatched his briefcase and cell phone before dousing the lights on his way out. During the elevator ride to the parking garage, Derek thought about Brinkley. His mentor was ambitious, but he was getting old, not to mention cocky and making too many mistakes.
His arrogance was becoming a liability, but that’s what made Brinkley the perfect fall guy. The thought made Derek smirk.
The elevator lurched violently. Thrown against the back wall, Derek rushed to the control panel and hit a few additional floors. They lit, but there was still no movement. He picked up the emergency telephone and tried dialing the fire department.
“Great, the line is dead,” he muttered.
The elevator shook again, but this time dropped at a high rate of speed.
Derek was pushed against the wall. He banged his hand against the stop button several times, but the speed only increased.
“Hey,” he yelled before slamming his eyes shut. This can’t be happening.
The elevator stopped suddenly. The force threw him to the floor. Spread-eagle on the carpet, he was still trying to get his bearings when the door chimed and slowly opened.
Glancing up, he saw two men in suits watching him.
“Mr. Falconi?”
“Yes,” he panted, wiping the sweat beading on his forehead with the back of his hand. “You don’t know how glad I am to see you. I thought I was a goner.”
“Come with us,” one of them said.
Pulling himself off the floor, Derek swatted at the dust on his pants.
“I’m doing no such thing. I could’ve died just now. So, unless you work with the elevator company and you’re here to apologize for this near-fatal mishap, we got nothing to say.”
One man retrieved a gun and pointed it at Derek. The red laser dot hovering on his chest was a sharp contrast to his navy blue shirt.
“That’s not exactly true,” his counterpart replied. He grabbed Derek by the arm, and none too gently forced him out of the elevator and down to the parking garage.
“I don’t know what this is about, but whatever it is, I’m not about to go along with it.”
The men remained silent as they walked toward a black limousine. Then, opening the door, one man stepped aside while the other shoved Derek inside.
“I’m getting tired of being pushed around,” he snapped as the man shut the door. He was alone except for a laptop. The screen showed live video feed of an empty chair. After a few moments, a man he recognized sat down in it.
“Hello, Mr. Falconi.”
Javier was staring at him from the screen.
“Mr. Palacios? What’s going on?” he demanded.
“How did you enjoy the elevator ride? Thrilling, wasn’t it?”
“It certainly wasn’t. What is the meaning of all this?”
“I’d have thought it was apparent by now. Wherever I choose, I can get to whomever I want—wouldn’t you say, Mr. Falconi?”
Derek’s face turned a mottled red, but he merely said, “Yes, I’d say so.”
“Good. Because I want Silent Night, and you’re going to get it for me—unless you need additional demonstrations of my resolve to get what I want?”
“That’s not necessary, Mr. Palacios,” Derek said calmly. “You’ll find that my loyalties are completely transferrable.”
“I look like I have a cat sitting on top of my head.”
She let the cold water run for a few seconds before pooling the chilled liquid into her cupped hands. After splashing her face, Marena stared at her reflection in the square-shaped mirror. Her hair was flying, bags were under her eyes, and the ugly purple bruise Coulter mentioned was still a prominent feature on her face.
“Glamorous,” she chuckled before going to check on Coulter. When she peeked in and found him asleep, she tiptoed over and placed her hand on his forehead. Happy to find his skin cool to the touch, Marena retraced her steps and returned across the hall to her bedroom.
There were books and papers scattered across the thin blanket. Marena had been studying for hours, and the lack of sleep was starting to take its toll. She picked up the mug of cold tea and took a few sips, hoping the caffeine would wake her up. It didn’t. After the third time of waking up with one letter typed across the screen in several neat rows, Marena acknowledged she should quit and rest awhile, but having made no progress, she forged ahead.
If they couldn’t find Dr. Cutty, she would need a backup plan. There had to be a way to enhance the properties of A.S.P.R. to counter the effects of Silent Night. It had to work. A few frustrating minutes later, Marena set her laptop aside.
“This is getting me nowhere fast.” Annoyed, she went to get the new cell phone from her purse.
If she called Frank and he didn’t recognize the number, he wouldn’t answer. Still, Coulter’s words of caution that time was running out replayed in her head. Decision made, Marena called. When the number was not in service, she dialed an alternate. It rang several times before the line connected.
“Hello?” a man said in a wary tone.
“Dr. Cutty?”
“Who is this?”
“Frank, it’s me. Marena.”
There was a pause. “Marena? My gosh, how are you? It’s been years since we’ve spoken. How have you been? Honestly, I’m surprised to hear from you.”
“I know. I’m sorry to call you at this hour, but it’s a matter of urgency, Frank. Someone’s life depends on it, and if you don’t help me—he’ll die.”
After Marena had brought him up to speed on their predicament, Dr. Cutty said, “Marena, what you’re asking for is difficult.”
“You helped create Silent Night, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then I’m not asking the impossible, Frank. Difficult just isn’t acceptable.”
“Who’s sick? Is it your father?”
“No.”
“Your brother?”
“No, it’s not Lucas, either—it’s Coulter.”
“Seriously?”
Marena’s voice shook when she answered. “Yes. He was injected, and we don’t know why. He doesn’t have much time, Frank.”
“I’m sorry to hear about Coulter, but—”
“I can’t let him die—do you hear me? I won’t.”
“I know what Coulter means to you, Marena, but I can’t help you with this. I began work on an antidote, but—”
“What do you mean but?”
“I never finished it, and I’m not at liberty to work at my lab anymore.” He lowered his voice. “I’m being watched very closely right now, Marena.”
“By whom? Frank, what’s going on?”
“Let’s say that making an antidote to the biochemical weapon you created that was recently stolen and sold to the highest bidder isn’t exactly something Beecham wants getting out,” he explained in a rush. “Can you imagine the blowback if it’s known that they designed this thing in the first place? This would break so many international laws.”
“Then why do it?”
“Because regardless of whether it should’ve been created, there’s a market for it. So now there’s an extremely lethal bioweapon on the loose with no known counteragent. Doesn’t this read like something out of a movie to you? And not one where everyone lives to the end.”
“You had a hand in creating this thing, Frank. I don’t care a fig about the politics involved. This is a life we’re talking about.”
“Yes, but it could be my life, too,” he countered.
Marena struggled to keep calm. She refused to take no for an answer. “I understand the stakes for you, but I can’t do this without you.”
“I know,” he said after a few moments of silence. “Heaven help me, but I’ll do what I can to assist you, Marena.”
She closed her eyes in relief. “Thank you.”
“The antidote you need to create is DNA specific. You’ll need the infected patient’s blood—in this instance, Coulter’s.”
“Okay. What can you tell me about Silent Night itself?”
“It’s one of a kind,” Frank said, almost proudly. “It reacts based on the person’s biology, so it affects everyone differently. Some symptoms will cause violent reactions in the host. Other times not so much. What is Coulter experiencing?”
“Fever, nausea, vomiting, flu-like symptoms, and pain. His energy level has been compromised, too.”
“How many days does he have left?”
“Three.”
“Marena—”
“I get it. We don’t have much time.”
“You’ll need a biocontainment lab.”
“Okay.”
“With a minimum of biosafety level three,” he warned, “just in case.”
“Gotcha. I just have to locate one we can use.”
“Let me see what I can find.”
“I’ll make some calls, too.”
“There’s one thing you’ll need that you can’t get—emylanoroc.”
“What?” Marena placed her head in her hands. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Frank, that chemical’s unstable.”
“I know, but not when it’s paired with monosodium hexahydrate. It acts as a stabilizing agent.”
“But I thought that—”
“You have to trust me, Marena. It’ll work. We’ve tested it. We just haven’t used it on anyone in the field yet. But, as I said, all of the scenarios involving the use of Silent Night were meant to be—permanent.”
“Frank, can you get it?”
“Yes, I should be able to, but I have to go through back channels. Do you still have access to the cloud storage we used?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll download the formula there with the list of what you’ll need. If I can get emylanoroc, I’ll need at least twenty-four hours.”
“Twenty-four hours? Frank—”
“It’s the best I can do, Marena. They don’t just have the stuff lying around, you know. As you say, if Colt has days left, we can’t afford to wait. But, Marena, you’re not leaving any margin of error.”
“I can’t understand how you could help create this thing.”
“I know,” he said. His voice was heavy with regret. “You may not believe me, but I realized that we shouldn’t have tampered with nature, but it was too late by then. I wanted to make my mark in our field, you know? The lure of notoriety was intoxicating, Marena, but I realized too late that Silent Night was a horrible way to be remembered.”
“Because of that, I started working on the antidote, but the suits found out, and I was kicked off the project and reassigned. My biggest regret in life is my part in developing this killing machine.” His voice shook.
“Frank—”
“Check there in an hour,” he said, effectively cutting her off. “You’ll have everything you need.”
Tears came to Marena’s eyes. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“Save his life. That’ll be enough.”