The Delta Chain (41 page)

In fact there was only
one, and it wasn
’
t medical.

Joe Casey, young, brash,
wild-eyed and wild haired, had been recruited by Donnelly to run
the sub-level. In a previous existence he
’
d been arrested several times for petty crimes, and for
cruelty to animals. He
’
d run with a rough
crowd in a tough section of Manhattan. But Casey
wasn
’
t a street kid or a junkie. He was a
uni student, majoring in computer science. A whizz. He was exactly
the kind of contradictory personality type that Donnelly sought for
the sub-level.

Casey derived a quiet, sadistic
satisfaction from conducting and recording the experiments.

An observer.

The progress had exceeded all
expectations, with only the computer virus causing delays in recent
months.

Ultimately, the secretive result
created for Nexus would filter through to the broader military and
commercial worlds, the approval processes fabricated, the history
of the project manipulated.

While Westmeyer and Hunter would
eventually achieve fame in scientific circles for their
breakthrough, Donnelly wanted recognition for his brilliant
military style tactics, used not for armies but for scientists,
used not for warfare but for scientific advancement.

For in the labs and
chambers on this hidden level, the most successful results from
Hunter
’
s
‘
live
’
experiments with mice were
being repeated
–
only not with
mice.

With humans.

Kate entered
Hunter
’
s lab. She wanted to ask him what
he
’
d heard about the deaths the previous
night. And she
’
d decided it was time to
confront him about his relationship with Rhonda Lagan. Two of his
assistants were glued to computer screens at the far end of the
spacious area. Stephen himself wasn
’
t in
the lab or the adjoining office.

Kate looked at the glass
cages containing the mice. They darted about their prisons, up and
down straw covered scaffolding, some of them furiously running
around tiny treadmills. She considered for a moment the fact these
tiny, unaware creatures were just the latest in…many hundreds of
millions, probably, that had helped the advancement of medicine
through the centuries. She knew that Stephen
’
s work involved the genetic engineering of “super” blood
cells with disease fighting capabilities. Or at least,
that
’
s what she
’
d been led to believe.

Further along in the lab
were canisters and tubes housing litres of blood and beyond those,
containers of water. Although she
’
d been
in here before, she
’
d never looked in any
detail at the equipment. The water intrigued her. She moved
forward. On a metal slab beside the miniature water tank were the
bodies of several mice. They were soaked. It looked to Kate as
though they
’
d drowned.

Drowned?

She felt a shift inside her,
like a gear clicking into place.

She called to the
assistants.
‘
Where
’
s Stephen?
’

They both looked up. One
of them replied:
‘
Went up to see Dr.
Westmeyer.
’

‘Thanks.
’
She loitered for a few moments more. So many
questions…she reminded herself not to let anger or anxiety expose
her real feelings. Her position as a consultant here gave her the
advantage of being able to move around freely.

Don
’
t look
like you
’
re snooping,
don
’
t arouse
suspicion
.

She would look in on
Hunter again later. Her next stop was James
Reardon
’
s office. Although she knew Adam
and Brian Markham had left James
’
office
only minutes before, James wasn
’
t in
there now.

Kate
’
s earlier question to Betty had been about A.B.C.S.
’
history with the Westmeyer Institute.
She
’
d learned that Reardon first
consulted to the Institute five years earlier, long before Kate
joined the company, and during Westmeyer
’
s Florida days. That was when Reardon began to develop
DataStorming. Perhaps it was this connection with an Australian
company that gave Westmeyer the idea of moving his operation
downunder.

Kate now knew that the croc
hunters had previously been in Florida.

She decided it was a curious
twist of irony that James had organised the Landscan III for her,
ultimately leading police back to the Institute for which he
consulted.

To the same place beset by the
computer “bug” and where Rhonda Lagan had uncovered the discrepancy
with the building plans

How much was chance and how much
was something else?

How much did Stephen know?

Kate sat down at the terminal
James had been using.

Stephen had been having an
affair with Melanie Cail. She was hungry for sensational news to
showcase her skills to the city editors. How did any of that fit?
Kate seated herself at the computer and called up the data from
James
’
investigations into tracing the
virus. Her fingers flew over the keyboard, retracing the same
steps. Was she just filling in time or was she subconsciously
searching for something?

Moments later the numbers
appeared on the screen and a suspicion that had been building in
her mind was fully realised…and answered.

The van carrying Erickson and
Tannen turned onto the narrow, stony road that led to the rear of
the Institute. In the back lay Daniel, still unconscious. Neither
of the men had taken any notice of the taxi that had joined the
coastal road several blocks back, and which had since diverted onto
the front entry road to the Institute. Sitting in the back seat of
that taxi, Jean Farrow leaned forward for a better view.

When her cab had first
picked her up, the driver had been apologetic about his need to
make a stop on the way. He
’
d explained
that his wife was chronically ill and had asked him to pick up a
refill of her medication and drop it off at home for her.
He
’
d already had the prescription filled,
he said to Jean, and would she mind if he just popped in briefly to
make sure everything was all right?

Jean had replied that of
course she didn
’
t mind at all. Waiting in
the taxi in the suburban street, she
’
d
idly noticed a boy being placed into the back of a van, and thought
he seemed a little…odd.

Now she observed with greater
interest this same van, as it turned further along on the highway,
on to the track that led to the rear of the Institute.

As Tannen opened the fence that
shielded the rear dock, Erickson scanned the area. Once they were
certain there was no one in the vicinity, Erickson punched digits
on his cell phone, calling the men stationed on the inside. A
minute later the doors to the dock slid open.

Tannen drove the van down the
sloping entry road into the hangar like sub-level below.

The girl should have
fought them, struggled with them, sunk her teeth into their
arms
–
but what was the point?
She
’
d done all that many times before to
no avail. They simply held her harder, bruised her, struck her. She
was no match for the men
’
s
strength.

Today she went with them meekly.
They pushed her forward through the narrow, winding corridor.

They wanted her to
struggle once
‘
it
’
began. She understood that now. They wanted to see how long
she could survive and the longer, apparently, the better. This
excited them for some reason. But she wasn
’
t going to give them what they wanted this time. She
wasn
’
t going to hold out for as long as
possible, fighting to live.

She
’
d lost the will. She was simply going to allow herself to
be taken out of this world as soon as possible.

Hank Mendelsohn had a good
relationship with the editor who succeeded him on the Chicago
Tribune. It was at least six months, however, since
he
’
d spoken to Mark Dole.

‘Mark, Hank Mendelsohn.
I
’
m calling from a big coastal town
called Northern Rocks, near the city of Brisbane in Queensland,
Australia.
’

‘How about that? Good
place for a vacation?
’

‘Actually,
I
’
m following a story.
’

Dole laughed.
‘
Hank, you
’
ve been
retired for…what? Two years or more?
’

‘Tell me about it. Listen,
Mark, you know I
’
ve done the occasional
freelance article…
’

‘Yeah.
’

‘Apart from that, you
haven
’
t heard from me.
’

‘What are you getting at,
Hank?
’

‘You know I
wouldn
’
t waste your time unless it was
something serious.
’

‘Go on…
’

‘There
’
s a major international news story about to break here.
Several drowning victims, all unidentifiable. A croc hunting gang,
operating in the Outback now, but they were in Florida a couple of
years back. The whole thing
’
s tied in
with a pre-eminent American research scientist, William
Westmeyer-
’

‘You
’
ve got my attention. You want to cover this with our
backing?
’

‘Yes. I
’
ll need a back-up reporter and a couple of news
photographers, sourced locally, no time to fly anyone over.
I
’
ve already got the co-operation of a
local paper. They
’
ll supply a desk, phone
and computer. And you should contact the subsidiaries
–
those TV bozos will want in on this as
well.
’

‘Did I remind you
you
’
re retired,
’
Dole said with another laugh.

‘Funny. Actually, I
didn
’
t go looking for this. It kind
of…fell into my lap. Frankly, I could do with a lot less
excitement.
’

‘You know what I think,
Hank?
’

‘What?
’

‘I think
you
’
re absolutely loving it. Consider the
back-up organised.
’

Adam knew that sometimes,
during traumatic moments, people were surprised by extra strength
and courage, found within. Then, in the midst of it all, fear could
strike, peeling away the layer of strength as though it had never
been there, making you wonder what in God
’
s name you thought you were doing.

That was the feeling that
struck him as the elevator door slid away at the sub-level. His
heart palpitating, his breath suddenly shorter, Adam marvelled at
the inner reserves he
’
d mustered over the
past few days, and the sense of purpose with which
he
’
d entered the elevator just two floors
above.

Now he felt naked, exposed, in
real danger.

He steeled himself, knowing it
was too late to turn back. He had to see this through.
Instinctively, needing reassurance, he felt for the smooth steel of
the holstered gun beneath his jacket. Standard issue but in fact,
rarely ever used.

He stepped into the corridor
outside the lift. Here, he looked on walls of roughly hewn stone, a
floor of sturdy tiles. To the left there was an opening into a
wider area. To the right the corridor followed a narrow bend. There
were doorways further along.

Adam went to the left.
He
’
d noticed a narrow recess, almost an
alcove, where the corridor broadened into a larger chamber. He
pushed himself as far as possible into the alcove, and peered out
from there into the area beyond.

Benches against walls, cluttered
with hardware, gave the appearance of a lab that had been
transported to a medieval cavern. Overhead lights flooded the room,
strangely at odds with the subterranean rock of the walls and
ceiling.

A long bench in the middle of
the chamber was also stacked with terminals.

Past this, another work
area, this time with smaller benches and scattered chairs. Desktop
printers spewed forth reams of figures. There was a sound Adam
couldn
’
t identify, a low hum but with a
rough edge to it, like the rattle of pipes. Adam
didn
’
t know what to make of any of it. In
its own way it reminded him of certain country police outposts
he
’
d seen a few years ago, older style
buildings, only partly renovated, with areas of sophisticated new
equipment gradually spreading out, invading all the
spaces.

There was a man seated at
the console, his back to Adam. Seeing just part of the
man
’
s head, Adam recognised him as a
technician he
’
d seen around the
Institute. He didn
’
t know who he was and
he hadn
’
t known what section
he
’
d worked in. Now he knew, just as he
knew that the PC
’
s brought to Rhonda and
Kate for various repairs, had been from down here.