Shadowlight (21 page)

Only Dr. Kirchner dared to meet his gaze. “The technician who allowed Lawson access to the storage area is dead. Once Lawson had injected himself with the transerum, there was no stopping him.”

“Ted Evans tried, the poor bastard,” Delaporte said. He touched the wireless receiver clipped to his right ear and stood. “Excuse me, sir.” He left the room.

“We can deal with the eyewitnesses,” Genaro’s attorney said. “The FBI will be more difficult, but we have some influence there as well. Under no circumstance should we turn over Lawson to the police.”

“You’re assuming we can capture and contain him.” Genaro tossed the file of hastily prepared reports onto the table. “So where is he and who is he killing now?”

“He’s evidently targeted Jessa Bellamy,” Kirchner said. “After he attacked her neighbors, he ransacked her apartment. But he’s not completely mindless; he retrieved her computer equipment and took it with him.”

Genaro looked at Riordan. “I assume you obtained access to her personal computer files.”

“We hacked in and copied the contents of the hard drive yesterday, sir,” his senior tech said. “We didn’t recover anything useful on the first pass, but I’ll have my people take it apart and search for encrypted data. However, under the current circumstances I doubt Lawson will find anything to help him locate Bellamy.”

“Lawson had complete access to all the information we have on Bellamy,” Genaro said. “He knows who she was, and what she can do. He’ll use it to track her.”

“He has more than data,” Kirchner put in. “We know that the Kyndred are sensitive to one another, and have the ability to both broadcast their locations and track one another. The transerum Lawson injected was earmarked for our latest acquisition, and was designed to boost the latter effect.” He saw Genaro’s face and quickly added, “It will still take him some time to pick up her trail.”

“Riordan, access Bellamy’s credit accounts for traveling expenses. I want to see complete reports on where she does business outside Atlanta, where she takes her vacations, and any other movements she’s made in the last ten years. Create a list of family, friends, and associates and any properties or time-shares they own.” Genaro looked over at Delaporte as he reentered the room. “What now?”

“There’s a homicide detective involved in the Farley case who is asking to speak to you, sir,” his security chief said. “She’s extraditing Farley’s partner to Florida on murder charges. Evidently she knows about Lawson and Bellamy, and made the connection between Bellamy and Farley.”

“Where is she?”

“We’re holding her at the front gate, sir.”

A cop from Florida wouldn’t be able to get a warrant to search GenHance—not in Atlanta. “Give her the usual speech. We’re at a loss as to why this terrible tragedy happened, we’re making arrangements for the families of the victims, and then get her the hell out of here.” He turned to address the rest of his staff. “I want Lawson found. Have him followed closely, but do not interfere with his activities.”

Kirchner cleared his throat. “Under the circumstances, sir, permitting Lawson to roam freely would prove extremely hazardous to the general population.”

“The public is not our concern, Doctor,” he told him. “At this moment Lawson represents the best opportunity we have to locate and retrieve Bellamy. He won’t stop tracking her until he finds her. He’ll also save us the trouble of terminating her.”

Genaro left the conference room and went to the security center, where he reviewed the archived surveillance videos of Lawson entering and leaving the building. The two men his director had murdered were of little consequence; what he was most interested in was the change the transerum had made to Lawson’s physical condition. The man had arrived in a wheelchair, his face damp and pale, his voice tight with pain. The fresh bloodstains on his patient’s gown and wrist bandage bore mute testimony to the condition of his wounds. Forty minutes later he had emerged from the lab in the dead technician’s clothing, his movements easy and his pace brisk.

More remarkable to see were the alterations to Lawson’s musculature. Genaro knew the man had been a dedicated bodybuilder, but even the steroids he had abused couldn’t give him the power or the bulk that the transerum had. He appeared to have gained forty or fifty pounds of unilateral muscle mass, causing his enhanced physique to strain the seams of his clothing. Kirchner had projected a slight increase in body size and condition, but this went far beyond Genaro’s expectations.

His only regret was that Lawson had availed himself of the transerum without being implanted first; the behavioral inhibitor Kirchner had designed to manage their test subjects would have given Genaro more options on how best to use and control him.

On the way to his office Genaro stopped by Kirchner’s lab to have a word with the geneticist.

“I’m pleased with the progress you’ve made preparing the new acquisition,” he told him, “but I want you to delay injecting it with the transerum until we bring in Lawson and perform a thorough screening.”

“That would be prudent.” Kirchner closed the door between his office and the lab before he added, “I’d also recommend we recover Lawson alive if possible.”

Genaro’s brows rose. “Given his current mental condition, that’s unlikely.”

“The transerum is designed to augment and enhance physical and mental abilities,” the doctor said. “We’ve recommended that the buyers use it only on brain-dead specimens. As a result, we’ve never really considered what effect it might have on an active mind—or an unstable one.”

“It will reverse any brain damage Lawson has,” Genaro pointed out.

“It will repair the cellular damage,” Kirchner agreed. “It’s the psychotropic effects that concern me. Lawson was borderline psychotic to begin with; the transerum may enhance his delusions or even push him into a full and permanent break with reality.”

“Is this sympathy for Lawson?” Genaro had never known his chief geneticist to be overly concerned with the welfare of their test subjects. This and the comment he had made during the meeting indicated otherwise. “Or are you experiencing some sort of crisis of conscience, Doctor?”

“I was thinking more of the market impact, sir,” Kirchner said. “The buyers are expecting very specific results. I’ve worked with a number of these governments and coalitions in the past; if the transerum has an inherent flaw, they will not be understanding or politely ask for a refund.”

A technician interrupted them to hand Kirchner a list.

“We’ve inventoried the storage unit.” The doctor peered at the paper in his hand. “Lawson stole more than the transerum. The original sample is missing.”

“He wouldn’t have injected it,” Genaro said.

“If he had, he never would have gotten out of the building.” Kirchner crumpled the list in his hand. “We can’t synthesize more transerum without the progenote, so if it’s destroyed, the program is finished.” He gave Genaro a guarded look. “Unless you can obtain another sample.”

“The source no longer exists.” It wasn’t the truth, but he had no intention of allowing the doctor or anyone on his staff to know from where he had obtained the sample. “Don’t worry about it. Lawson isn’t a complete idiot; he knows how valuable it is. He’ll either try to sell it or use it as a bargaining chip. Put the acquisition in stasis for now, and we’ll do what we can to keep Lawson alive.” He glanced out at the technicians working at various stations. “I’ll send the engineers up to modify the testing chamber. One more thing—has anyone not assigned to the lab been coming here or talking to you about the acquisition lately?”

Kirchner’s expression became shuttered. “As I told Chief Delaporte, unauthorized personnel are not permitted entry to the lab. As for me, I don’t discuss the work with my staff; I wouldn’t answer questions from an outsider.” His cold eyes shifted. “If internal security has been compromised, it didn’t originate here.”

Genaro nodded. “Thank you, Doctor.”

Genaro spent the next hour in his office studying Lawson’s medical tests and the projection reports on the transerum.

Delaporte knocked once and ducked his head inside. “I’m sorry to interrupt you, sir, but I need to speak with you.”

Genaro gestured for him to come in and set aside the chart. “Is it the detective?”

“No, sir, I handled that and went about my business. We have another situation.” His security chief took out a handkerchief, unwrapped it, and placed it on Genaro’s desk. In the center of the linen was a high-capacity USB memory stick. “Housekeeping found this in one of the men’s rooms. It was taped to the back of a commode. I copied the contents onto a duplicate stick and swapped them out.”

Genaro didn’t touch it. “What’s on it?”

“Internal memos, acquisition reports, accounting information, and transportation schedules, all dated within the last five weeks,” Delaporte told him. “There’s also a copy of every document we have on Bellamy. That may explain how she anticipated our retrieval. Someone working on the inside here could have warned her.”

“Perhaps.” Genaro regarded the memory stick. “Did you find any prints or DNA on it or the toilet?”

Delaporte shook his head. “No one has tried to retrieve the duplicate yet, but we’ll continue to monitor the traffic in and out. The public has access to this restroom; it could be a handoff from the thief to an outside courier.”

Genaro grew thoughtful. “This thief doesn’t bother to encrypt the files he’s stealing, but he takes great care not to leave any trace evidence. What does that tell you?”

“He knows we keep prints on file for everyone who works here,” Delaporte said.

“If he has an ounce of intelligence, he’s already switched out the prints in his personnel files.” Genaro used the handkerchief to pick up the memory stick and sniffed it. “No, this man was concerned with only one thing: not leaving behind a single trace of his DNA. Can you guess why, Del?”

His security chief frowned. “He knows we can use it to figure out who he is.”

“I would say our thief can’t afford for us to obtain a sample of his DNA,” Genaro said as he gently wrapped up the stick. “And there is only one reason for that.”

He lifted one of his feet. “I walk as I always do.”

“I’m being sarcastic again,” she told him. “What I mean is, you’re rushing into this too fast.”

“Jessa is one of us.” He turned to look for Brother Ennis’s journal. “She should know all of it.”

“I guess that means you’re going to tell her about you and your adventures. Too bad we don’t have a lab like GenHance’s.” She glanced up at the glass-encased sword over the fireplace. “A microscopic examination of the blade would definitely sweeten things up between you two. Unless she decides it’s all too much and flips out, like I almost did.”

She never needled him unless she had a purpose. “Is there something you want, Rowan?”

“Besides her out of here?” She spread her hands. “Not a damn thing, boss.” She removed a folded paper from her back pocket and showed the front page to him. “Genaro has upped the stakes again.”

He took the paper and read the front page quickly. “He must have killed him to arrange this.” He noted her mulish expression. “You know that she cannot leave us now. Or is it that you want her dead?”

Outraged, she jumped to her feet and tore the paper from his hands. “You have the fucking nerve to say that to me? After everything I did for you?”

He knew she used her surliness and anger as a form of self-defense, but he imagined guilt was fueling her fury at present. “Was it so terrible, what you did? What you do now?”

The rigidness left her shoulders. “No. I bought into all this. I’m a good little soldier for the cause.” She sounded as if she hated herself. “I did a lot worse before I met you and Andrew.” She regarded the paper. “You want me to put this in her room?”

“Yes. You could also talk to Jessa and tell her the truth,” he suggested. “There is no need to conceal it from her now, and it would ease your conscience. It might help sway her opinion of us as well.”

“I’d rather be the nasty housekeeper, thanks.” She folded and stuffed the paper back into her pocket before she abruptly changed the subject. “By the way, Drew didn’t check in when he was supposed to this morning. He’s three hours overdue.”

He shrugged. “The demands on him will be many now. He will contact us when he is able.”

“What if he doesn’t?” she demanded. “What if he’s been caught or compromised? He’s all by himself down there.”

“Drew knows the dangers. He has planned for them.” Matthias found the last of the books and took it down, turning pages until he found the passage he wanted. “If he has been found out, he will take measures to protect himself.”

“From Genaro and his happy little army of Mengeles.”

She kicked the chair she had been sitting in. “We can’t lose him, Matt. I should go down there and make sure.”

Matthias looked up, surprised by the suggestion. “I need you here.”

“Really. Why?” A faint sneer distorted her mouth. “You and Queenie seem to be bumping along fine. I’m just getting in the way now.”

He put down the book. “I do not understand you. Say what you mean to me.”

“You want her,” she said flatly, “and if she gave you the green light, you’d be all over her. Shit, you had the perfect opportunity the other night when she sneaked in to search your room. Why didn’t you jump her then?”

He thought of the brief dream he’d had before he’d woken and felt almost amused. “How do you know I didn’t?”

“She came out of there too fast.” She realized what she had said and quickly stared at the toes of her boots. “Which I shouldn’t have been timing and I know it. Look, I know when I’m not necessary. Let me go down and see what’s happening in Atlanta.”

“No. For now, you will stay.” He went to her and took her cold hand in his. “Much of what you have said is true, Rowan, but whatever I want from Jessa, keeping her here and keeping her alive are the two most important tasks I have. We need her ability to continue the search. I cannot do this without you.”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll stick around for the duration.” She drew her hand from his and looked up at him with hurt in her eyes. “Just don’t expect me to kiss her ass, all right?”

“You do not have to kiss any of her parts,” he promised.

Rowan left, and by the time Jessa joined Matthias in the library he had finished arranging the books in the proper order. She had bathed and changed, and had woven her damp hair into a long braid; she smelled of Rowan’s shampoo and his own soap.

“Sit.” He gestured to a chair by the fire. “Was there enough hot water?”

“Yes, thank you.” She looked around as if deliberately trying to avoid his gaze. “You have a nice library. How long did it take for you to collect so many books?”

“Ten years.” He picked up a split length of oak from the wood basket and placed it on the fire. “Rowan found many of them for me from booksellers who use the Internet for their shops. They send books in packages now.” He still found that rather disconcerting.

“People don’t always have time to shop in the brick-and-mortar stores.” Her gaze darted from the books to his face to the floor. “You know, I would never have guessed you to be the bookish type.”

“I had no time for reading when I was a boy. There was always something more interesting to do outside.” And how much trouble he would have saved himself and perhaps the world if he had become a scholar, as his father had wanted. “Do you read any books about history?”

“I did when I was in school. I rarely have time, but when I do read I like fiction.” She seemed to forget her discomfort as her brows drew together. “Is this what you wanted to discuss? What books I read?”

“It would make things easier if I show you.” He had to go carefully now. “I have been collecting these since I came to know there were more in the world like me. When I came to America ten years ago, I brought them.” He carried the oldest manuscripts over to the table and set them in front of her. “I knew I would have to show the others proof of what we are.”

She shifted a fraction to avoid touching him. “Others like you and Rowan.”

He had expected she would continue to deny what she was, and still he felt impatient. “Yes.”

“How do some old books prove what you are?”

“They do not,” he said. “They prove what we were.” He rested his hand on the topmost book. “No matter when they have lived, people have always kept accounts of what they know. They may lie to everyone around them, but most feel a need to tell the truth with their words. Sometimes in journals, like this one.” He picked up the first book. “This belonged to an English priest named Ennis of Aubury. He questioned nonbelievers, and wrote down what they confessed to him under torture.”

She drew back a little. “Why would you want to read something so awful as that?”

“For his truth.” He opened it to the page he had marked with a piece of cord. “Read.”

Jessa glanced at the page. “I’m sorry, I can’t. It’s not written in English.”

As natural as reading Latin was to him, he often forgot that most Americans could not read the root of their own language. “I will translate for you. Ennis writes: ‘Another peasant was found murdered in the fields. As the others before him, his throat was torn out but there was no blood in the wound. I questioned the outlaw heretic and he told me of the renegade and his companion, the ones who could not be killed. It is clear to me that the dark Kyn have infested the county.’ ”

She leaned over to examine the slanted, dense handwriting. “The ‘dark Kyn’?”

“That is what they were called in this time.” He turned to another page farther along in the book. “Here he writes: ‘This morning I will go into the forest. The smith’s wife swears she saw her dead son walking along the stream. I believe these creatures can take on the appearance of their victims so that they might lure more to their death. May the Heavenly Father help me bring this evil being into the light.’ ”

Jessa didn’t say anything, but she pressed her lips together, and her fingernails dug into the armrests beneath her hands.

“I think Ennis did find him.” He flipped through the rest of the pages to show her that they had been left blank before he closed the cover. “This is the oldest story I have found about them thus far.”

She stared at the page. “Them?”

“Those the monk called ‘the dark Kyn,’ ” he said carefully. “Creatures like us, who may have created us.”

Her expression immediately changed, became guarded. “You believe that we were created by evil beings?”

“This one Ennis speaks of could change his shape,” Matthias said. “So can some of our kind. There are more stories about them, how they came to be and why they were hunted.” He gestured toward the stack of books. “The dark Kyn were human once, and then they were killed or died of sickness. They came out of their graves changed, very strong and very fast. They hunted at night, and lived on human blood. They had great power—abilities—like us.”

She shook her head. “What you’re describing sounds like the myths about vampires.”

“They are never called that in these books,” he pointed out. “Sometimes the writers call them
‘maledicti’
or ‘the cursed ones.’ Rowan thinks the vampire stories began from tales of what they did during their wars.”

Her wide-eyed gaze shifted to his face. “There were vampire
wars?”

“At least three, and one in which they fought one another.” He took out another book. “In this one a traveling French merchant returning from the East reported seeing terrible battles at night, in the countryside. He swore he saw men being slain and then rising up to fight again.” He could feel her disbelief now, as if it were filling up the space between them with bricks and mortar. “I do not lie to you, Jessa. The words are here. Written by the hand of those who lived in these times. The old ones like us have been living in hiding for centuries.”

“Of course they have. Vampires are supposed to be immortal.” She folded her hands under her chin and rested her elbows on her knees, staring at the books. “When I was a girl, I used to love to read stories about the Loch Ness monster, and UFOs, and Bigfoot. I think when we’re young we need that hope to hold on to. To think that there are still mysteries and wonders out there waiting for us to discover.”

She tried to be kind even when she was shutting him out. “You do not believe me.”

“I don’t believe in vampires, Matthias. I can’t.” She dropped her hands. “If they were real, and you and Rowan were like them, or were created by them, then why don’t you drink blood?”

“We are not the same. We are still mostly human.” Frustration rose inside him. “You do not see.”

“I would have to meet one of these dark Kyn before I could put any faith in these accounts of them.” She sighed. “If they are still living among us, then they’re very good at hiding. Rather like the Loch Ness monster.”

She would never believe him now if he told her he had tracked some of them. “How do you explain what you can do with your touch?”

“I can’t do anything.” She exhaled slowly. “Do you think we’re going to turn into vampires? Is that why you and Rowan live underground? Why you brought me here? Are you afraid of the sunlight?”

“When you took my hand in the car, you saw me in the snow and the mountains. You saw the worst of me.” He offered her his hand. “Look again. I am not afraid of you seeing what is inside me.”

She didn’t move. “I think we should talk about how long you plan to keep me down here.” Before he could reply, she held up her hand. “Please don’t tell me that it’s for my safety. I can’t stay here forever, Matthias. I have to do something about GenHance. I have to go back—and take back my life.”

“What life do you have up there?” he demanded. “You live alone. You have no lover or friends. The only time you willingly touch someone is to look into the darkness in their soul. If it were not for me and my bringing you here, you would be dead now. Butchered by GenHance for the ability you keep saying you do not have.”

“You’ve tried very hard to convince me that you’re my friend, and that I’m safe here.” Jessa gestured toward the books. “This, and what you’re saying, they don’t make me feel safe, Matthias. They make me think you and Rowan are in trouble. That you need the kind of help that I can’t give you.”

He drew back. “You insult me now?”

“I didn’t intend to,” she said. “There’s really only one way to prove you’re right and I’m wrong. Show me everything you have. Tell me who the Kyndred are, where they’re living, and what you’ve been doing to protect them. Let me talk to some of them.”

For an instant he was tempted to seize her and shake some sense into her stubborn head. But perhaps he expected too much from her. “Rowan left the morning newspaper in your room,” he told her. “Read it.” He strode toward the door.

“What’s in the paper?”

He glanced back at her. “You are, Jessa. You are wanted by the authorities for killing Lawson.”