Gardener: The Roots Of Ancient Evil (20 page)

              “Grab whatever you can, coffee machine’s back there, help yourself to whatever you can find, there’s a stack of delivery menus over there,” Jamie said as Prieto entered his office, followed by Tommy and Marco. The three private security guards waited in their vehicles in case they needed to leave in a hurry.

              “What they’re doing,” Jamie explained, motioning to a large monitor which showed several small windows showing other individuals, “is looking at all the flights this plane has taken in the last year, and cross-referencing those with any financial transactions, any Internet postings, and any kind of web traffic with certain keywords,” he explained.

              “How will that help?” Prieto asked.

              “Um,” Jamie said, clearly uncertain, “anybody that uses a private jet to do this has done it a lot, which means they’ve got established patterns, both of, uh, recruiting and payments,” he explained. “There are a lot of ways to track how money flows. You’ve got banks, sending and receiving, many banks are used as simple bouncing points, and there are proxy configurations. Usually people set all this up with the idea that somebody is going to look at the individual and try to find out if they’re hiding money. But we’re kind of going backwards, starting with physical points of presence and web postings. It sounds a little haphazard, but my guys are confident,” Jamie said, motioning to the five anonymous faces on his screen, all intently looking at their own screens and furiously typing on their respective keyboards.

              Viviana shook her head and read the results again. She had to have made a mistake. She mentally went through the steps she did, trying to identify what could have caused such a wide and obvious error in the methylation measurement. It was a recent development in understanding the genome, and Viviana had incorporated it into every measurement, as it was central to her lab’s function. She was slightly embarrassed to have made such a rookie blunder. Maybe it was because she’d skipped lunch. She didn’t feel hungry, but she decided to run to the kitchen and eat a banana or something before repeating the process. It was times like this that she yearned for a competent lab partner with whom she could share such idiotic goofs.

              “We’re getting something,” one of the voices on Jamie’s screen said.

Prieto was beside himself. Felt completely powerless. His mind kept replaying the huge chasm of time between when Molly had sent him the text and when he’d finally called his daughter. What in the world had been more important? Why didn’t he know something was wrong when she said she was going on a private jet?

He was raised religious by his father, who’d believed the Lord blessed those who worked for a living. In a way he’d credited that mindset in how he’d built his fortune. Looking further into the economic data than others. Spending much of his free time trying to understand the unspoken truth between the political lies that polluted the airways. He couldn’t remember the last time he prayed. He feared if he’d prayed now, God would label him as a hypocrite. So he made a vow instead. If only my granddaughter is returned safely, I will do whatever I can to stop it from happening to others. Like Carnegie, he thought. I’ve spent enough time building my fortune, now it is time to give back.

              “What?” Jamie said.

              “This is,” the voice said, pausing, “unexpected.”

              “Explain,” Jamie demanded.

              “You were looking at some other proxy clusters?” he asked.

              “Yeah, and?” Jamie replied, knowing his every word was being listened to by a billionaire whose granddaughter might already be in some sheik’s harem.

              “It’s the same guy,” he said.

              “The fuck do you mean?” Jamie asked, standing. He leaned over, looking directly at the image instead of his PC camera.

              “The proxy cluster, it’s the same as the other two,” he explained. That didn’t make any goddamn sense.

              “You positive?” Jamie asked.

              “Yes, so it will make it easier to pin down the individual, kind of like triangulation,” he said.

              “Hurry the fuck up then,” Jamie said. He seemed spooked and turned to Prieto, his face ashen.             

              “What is it?” Prieto asked.

              “Don’t know why, but it appears that the, uh, guy who killed Laney Berg and funded Preston Sikes is also responsible for this jet,” Jamie explained.

              Viviana went through the procedure a third time. Every single thing she did. She stopped and verified that there were no mistakes. And for the third time, she got the same result. Each one was different by about two percent, but that was expected. That was within the error that other geneticists found. The actual test wasn’t all that exciting, more of a novelty. It couldn’t be used to prove guilt or innocence, only perhaps narrow down the search for an individual.

She spent the next ten minutes researching any potential things she’d missed that would cause such a misreading. She found none. The test was scientifically accurate. The research showed very little reason to suspect it would be misleading. Theoretically, it made perfect sense. She knew because she’d been hired to study this very effect. She knew it inside and out. There was no logical reason to suspect that her test results were invalid. Not any. Yet they made zero sense. For the first time in her adult life, Viviana doubted science itself.

              “OK, we’re getting closer, I’ll send you what we’ve found,” one of the voices said.

Jamie waited and opened his email.

              “Shit,” he said.

              “Please,” Prieto said.

              “Sorry,” Jamie said. “I’m looking at his military record. He’s highly intelligent. Special forces. Worked for a few private military defense contractors, then about ten years ago dropped off the map. We have tertiary links to several offshore accounts, guy’s got a couple million saved up. He’s apparently some kind of intelligent, military-trained assassin, licensed pilot, and I would assume a very dangerous sociopath. This military record is dated, so I doubt he’s using the same name,” Jamie said.

              “What’s the name on the record, we’ll go from there,” Prieto demanded.

              “Maxwell Emerson,” Jamie said.

              “Let me see that,” Tommy said, moving next to Jamie. His eyes widened, his hand flew to his mouth.

              “Max,” he said, looking at Marco. “That’s the fucker who pointed a gun at me earlier today. He works for Shea. Shea is behind all of this,” he said. Then it hit him. “I know where Molly is, follow me,” he said, leaving the building. As Tommy started his car, he wondered how he would tell Viviana. As he was driving, his phone buzzed. He pulled it out. It was her.

              “Hey,” he said. “I’ve got some terrible news, but I can’t really talk now, don’t know when I can,” he said. But then he realized that with where they were going, and what they were going to try to do, he might not ever talk to her again.

              “Vivi, I just, uh—” he started.

              “Tommy, shut up and listen to me,” she said.

              “Vivi, wait, I—”
              “Tommy, something is majorly fucked up,” she said. Her tone caused Tommy to pause. She sounded angry.

              “It’s Shea,” she said. How did she know?

              “Listen, I’m going to tell you something. You won’t believe it. But trust me as a scientist, it has to be true,” she said. What the hell?
              “Go ahead,” he said. Prieto and Marco were also listening intently.

              “I’ve done the DNA test several times. There is no mistake. Shea, or whoever’s DNA was on that gardening tool, is at least five hundred years old.”

              The three of them sat in stunned silence as Tommy made the last turn down the small road behind the back of Shea’s property. Tommy flashed his lights at the car in front, and slowed to stop about a hundred meters from the entrance.             

              “Say that again?” Tommy asked. Prieto was in the back, leaning forward.

              “Look, I don’t know how, I don’t know why, but the DNA is conclusive. Those flowers, you said he has some kind of world-class gardener?”

              “Yeah.”

              “And he’s growing genetically altered plants in some underground facility?”

              “Uh-huh.”

              “That’s got to be it. Almost all medications are concentrated and synthesized chemicals that are originally found in various plants. It kind of makes sense, I mean if I could talk to him, we could—”

Tommy cut her off. “Vivi, listen to me very carefully, OK?”

              “What?”

              “Shea killed Laney. And he’s kidnapped Prieto’s granddaughter for some reason,” Tommy said. She was silent. Tommy felt terrible for instantly destroying what she clearly thought was the scientific discovery of a lifetime.

              “Are you sure?” she asked, her voice soft and fragile.

              “Dr. Berg, please remain in the lab, my men will not let anything happen to you,” Prieto said. Tommy realized that the life of his granddaughter was still at stake.

              “Vivi, we’ll talk later. Shea’s got Prieto’s granddaughter and we’re going to get her, I’ll see you later, OK?”
              “Be careful, Tommy,” she said. Tommy ended the call. He flashed his lights and the car ahead continued forward. He motioned out the window at the gate. One guard jumped out of the car ahead; two guards jumped out behind.

              “My granddaughter is in there. This is private property and I’m asking you to break the law to help me get her. I promise you will be compensated. You’ll never need employment again,” Prieto said, nearly begging them.

              “Roger that,” the lead guard said. He approached the gate and quickly made his way through the lock.

              “Down that ramp is a slide-up door, another kind of remote access lock,” Tommy said.

The three guards carefully made their way down the ramp. Prieto, Tommy, and Marco followed at a close but safe distance. They arrived at the bottom, and the guard knocked loudly on the door.

              “We want Molly Phillips, let her out and we’ll leave. Don’t, and we’ll kill every motherfucker in there!” the lead guard shouted. He turned his head, heard no response. He turned back to his two partners, who both nodded. He stood to the side and put two bullets into the lock, surprised how easily it was destroyed. He looked back again, nodded to his partners, and quickly lifted the gate. The two rushed in, quickly sweeping right and left. Prieto followed in close behind. Tommy and Marco followed. Inside was a small area similar to a private parking garage. There was an elevator straight ahead, and a doorway to a stairwell on the left. One of the guards pushed the elevator button. When the door opened, he looked inside.

              “One up, one down,” he said.

The other guard opened the doorway to the stairwell, listening carefully. Shook his head. He motioned upstairs, and the other two guards nodded. He motioned for Prieto to wait, pointed at his watch, and then held up two fingers. Then motioned with his hand as if he were making a phone call. Prieto took it to mean to call for backup if they hadn’t returned in two minutes, and nodded. A quick minute passed and they came back down.

              “Some kind of waiting room. Couple of sofas and a bar, gotta be downstairs,” he said.

              “I’m going,” Prieto said.

              “Wait for my clear,” the lead guard said. One guard stood at the door while the other two went down the stairs.

              “Fire in the hole,” they heard from downstairs. They all covered their ears, and heard the shot. Then heard the door opening.

              “Sweet fucking Christ,” they heard the guard say in a quiet voice. Prieto paled. They waited five seconds.

              “Clear,” he said. Prieto, Tommy, and Marco followed the guard downstairs. Prieto quickly scanned the room—a large nursery, with bright halogen lamps on a low ceiling that were shining over a ten-by-twenty-yard patch of soil. On the other side, there was a large window into another room. The guard motioned Prieto over to the window. He looked through and nearly fainted. A large operating room with Molly on the table. Her eyes were closed, and her body covered in a blanket up to her neck. In her left arm was an IV line, out of which her blood was being drained into a very large IV bag, about five liters. The bag appeared about half full. Prieto moved to the right, where there was an unlocked door.

              “Wait!” one of the guards said, holding him. “That looks sterile, you don’t know what else is in there,” he said.

Tommy was already on his phone.

              “Vivi, listen and do what I say. Tell the guards outside to bring you here, and quickly, understand? We have a medical emergency, it’s Molly, she’s here, and they’re doing something to her,” he said quickly.

              “What, OK, I’m on my way,” she said.

“Anybody ever a medic?” Tommy asked.

One of the guards nodded.

              “My girlfriend’s coming over, she’s got a PhD in genetic engineering or something, so she knows what goes where, just listen to her and do what she says when she gets here, OK?” Tommy asked.

One guard stood by the doorway; another had gone upstairs to stay watch at the top of the ramp. The remaining guard looked through the window.

              “It looks like they’re just taking her blood,” he said. “She’s probably got three, four liters, based on her size,” he said.

              “How much time to we have?” Prieto asked.

              “Not long,” he replied. He motioned to the guard standing in the doorway. He radioed to their partners back at GenSpan, saying something unintelligible into his body mic.

              “Ten minutes, max,” he said.

It was the longest ten minutes of Prieto’s life. Finally, Viviana came down the stairs, followed by another guard. She looked around quickly and came up to the window.

              “He’s got medic experience, tell him what to do,” Tommy said, motioning to the guard. She looked through the window, scanning the occupants of the room.

              “OK, follow me,” she said, and led the guard into the room. They watched them quickly wash their hands with alcohol, and then reconfigure the bag so that it was hanging slightly above her. Once that was done, she carefully felt for Molly’s pulse, and her breath, then looked at Prieto and smiled. She and the guard exchanged a few words, Viviana indicating what needed to be done, and he nodded. She came back outside.

              “I think we got her in time, but we won’t know until we get her to a hospital. It will take twenty, thirty minutes to safely get that much volume inside her,” she said.

              “Will there be any lasting damage? I mean…” Prieto started.

Viviana approached him; put her hand on his upper arm.

              “I don’t think so. They’ve only managed to remove half of her blood, so there’s still enough circulating inside her to prevent any brain damage. Once the body starts to lose a lot of blood, it automatically goes into self-preservation mode. You’d be surprised how resilient we are,” she said, reassuring him. She then lightly tapped on the glass and motioned to the guard to call her if anything unexpected happened.

              “You two follow me,” she told Tommy and Marco.

              “What are we doing?” Tommy asked as they followed her to the patch of underground soil.

              “Find out what this evil fucker is up to down here,” she said, inspecting the soil and the small sprouts that were just starting to stick out.