Disturb (17 page)

Halloran shuffled off.

Rothchilde swiveled around in his chair and eyeballed his Miró.

After this was over, there would be an unavoidable delay in the schedule. He needed scientists, discreet scientists, to take over the N-Som research. The FDA was going to be a washout, so the smart thing to do was take production to another country. Mexico, probably. Not nearly the same regulations there, especially if you had money.

It wouldn’t be the same as selling the drug legitimately in America, but he’d still make a fortune through internet sales. It would take years before the US could ban it from importation, and by then he’d have enough money to buy the Presidency. Plus there was Europe, Asia, the world market to exploit. And of course, good old Uncle Sam.

The Army wanted twenty-four-hour soldiers. It wanted them badly, and was willing to pay for it. Rothchilde would be able to use much of the altered N-Som paperwork to close the sale, confidant that the military wouldn’t care in the least about the FDA setbacks.

The only possible hurdle was the dreams—some of those N-Som dreams were pretty disturbing, and Rothchilde didn’t want to think about some three star General trying out the drug and reliving someone else’s violent death.

But Rothchilde had already planned for that. While it had proven impossible so far to synthesize N-Som, the source could be changed. Rather than harvest the neurotransmitters from the brains of dead people, Rothchilde planned to use aborted fetuses.

A second trimester fetus had the same brain chemicals that were needed to make N-Som, but it didn’t have any memories. Dr. Nikos had given Rothchilde a sample to try, and the results were enthralling. Not only did the drug keep you awake and aware, but the N-Som dream was the most beautiful, most content, most relaxing thing Rothchilde had ever experienced. He had actually gone back to the womb. The feeling was so good, he could easily triple the price of the pill and people would still demand it.

Rothchilde stood up and pulled back the Miró. It swung away on hinges, revealing his wall safe. He dialed the combination and tugged the door open.

The current situation was a setback, but only a small one. Once the rest of the team was dead, he could rebuild.

Rothchilde took out five stacks of hundred dollar bills and set them on his desk. Then he picked up his phone.

“Yeah.”

“Theena and Bill are at DruTech. So is another doctor, a chemist named Julia Myrnowski. I want her taken care of as well. The guard at the desk has a security card. You’ll need it to get to the basement level. There’s a slot in the elevator.”

“Will the guard give it to us?”

“No. You’ll have to kill him, too.”

He heard Carlos sigh. “Why don’t we just set the whole building on fire?”

“Don’t fuck this up, Carlos. No more mistakes.”

“You’re asking us to walk into a public place and start wasting people.”

“You won’t have any trouble with the police. I’ve already taken care of that.”

“I still don’t like it.”

Rothchilde frowned. He’d have to talk to Gino about this guy’s attitude.

“Be ready to go in ninety minutes. You get this done, there will be a bonus.”

“How much?”

“Triple.”

Rothchilde could picture Carlos, adding up all that cash in his greedy little mind.

“We’ll take care of it.”

“I know you will.”

He hung up. Rothchilde looked across the office to a framed photo on the wall, of his father, Albert Rothchilde Sr. He’d been a pitiless, terrible parent, but his business skills were brilliant in their ruthlessness. In one of his rare kinder moments, he’d talked to young Albert about wealth.

“The key to getting it is taking risks. The key to keeping it is avoiding risks.”

Diversification. Never put all your eggs in one basket. Which was true, and which also led to his untimely death. As the elder Rothchilde watched his son grow, he saw in him the same lust for power that he had. He’d groomed his son to be his successor, teaching him the ins and outs of corporate domination. He taught him too well, in fact.

On Rothchilde’s twenty-first birthday, he got in touch with some of Chicago’s disreputable element, and for a small cut they permanently ended the career of Albert Rothchilde Sr. and his wife, leaving young Albert a fortune.

Rothchilde smiled at his father’s picture. “Should have diversified.”

Then he picked up the phone and dialed Gerry Smith. If Carlos and his dumb partner failed, he would make sure the FBI seals the deal.

“D
r. May, let me introduce my daughter, Dr. Theena Boone.”

Dr. Nikos winked at Theena, a signal for her to turn on the charm. It was one of the few things she was good at.

“A pleasure, Dr. May.”

Bill shook Theena’s hand, returning the greeting.

“Please sit, Dr. May.” He pulled out a chair for Bill. “I have to be social for a little bit.”

Bill was in good hands, Nikos knew. She was a much better whore than her mother was.

The speech had gone as expected, the audience eating it up. He looked around for Manny, and found him shaking hands with one of the Governor’s aides.

“Can I speak to you a moment?”

Manny nodded. “Sure, Dr. Nikos. If you’ll excuse me.”

They walked through the banquet hall, smiling and waving at people. So many wanted their ear, it became obvious that privacy was impossible. Luckily, the washroom was empty.

“Did I do okay?” Manny was nervous, agitated.

Nikos looked at himself in the mirror and fingered his beard, smoothing it out.

“You did fine. But I need you to do something else.”

Manny tugged at his collar.

“I just want to get out of here. I don’t know how much of this I can take. I feel the walls closing in.”

“Take it easy. It will be over soon.”

“I need something, Dr. Nikos.” As if cued, sweat broke out on his forehead. “I’m about ready to tear my face off.”

“All I have on me is Compazine. You take one of those, you’ll act like a drooling idiot. I need you sharp. Did you see the back table? With all the military men?”

Manny nodded. Nikos had to admit, the guy looked close to cracking.

“I need you to go impress them. They’re the ones offering the defense contract.”

“I don’t know. I… I can try.”

Manny went into a toilet stall and closed the door behind him. Nikos frowned. Their prize pony wasn’t doing so hot. Trotting him out for the buyers might not be the smartest move.

Unfortunately, Rothchilde had insisted. Everything hinged on the military money. With unlimited funds, Nikos was sure he’d be able to develop a synthetic version of N-Som. He was morally compelled to. The experiments with fetuses were promising, but Rothchilde was already making deals with several South American countries…

The president of American Products wanted to finance baby factories; paying scores of impoverished women to get pregnant and abort. The whole thing left a bad taste in Nikos’s mouth.

A moan, from Manny’s stall.

“Manny? Are you okay?”

Nikos knocked on the stall. There was another moan, louder.

“Manny?” The door was locked. “Let me in.”

A scream, so shrill it pierced Nikos like glass. He took a step back and kicked the door in.

Manny sat on the toilet. His tuxedo was in shreds, and there was so much blood he looked like an autopsy in progress.

In his left hand was a scalpel.

“Manny!”

Manny fixed his eyes on Dr. Nikos. His gaze was malevolent.

“No. Not Manny. I’m his brother, David.”

Nikos took a step back. Manny’s voice, his posture, his demeanor—all had become threatening. He wasn’t acting like Manny at all. Nikos recalled the monkey experiments, and what long term N-Som use had done to their brains. He’d been deceiving himself about the drug’s safety, turning a blind eye to the truth, and now the awful realization of what he’d done was staring at him like a hungry animal.

“Manny, get a hold of yourself. You aren’t David. David died when you were kids.”

Manny stood up. His lips peeled back, revealing bloody teeth.

“I didn’t die.” He tapped his temple with the scalpel handle. “I’ve been up here all the time.”

“We need to get you to a doctor, Manny. I had no idea you were this bad.”

Manny took a step forward. “The name is David.”

Nikos felt fear. He was a big man, robust, but he’d seen what Manny was capable of. Manny could bench press three hundred and fifty pounds. Manny could punch through safety glass with his bare hands. And now, some internal switch had been flipped, and this unstoppable machine had become a full blown psychotic.

Nikos raised his hands in supplication.

“David is dead, Emmanuel. He committed suicide in juvenile hall. Don’t you remember? You told me yourself. Please, Manny…”

“Stop calling me Manny!”

The move was so quick, Nikos couldn’t even lift an arm to defend himself. All he saw was a blur, and then there was a waterfall of blood cascading down his chest.

Nikos clutched his neck, felt his fingers sink in to the trachea. He fell over.

“You killed him! You killed him!”

Nikos watched as Manny screamed at himself, turning the scalpel inwards and jabbing it over and over into his own chest. Eventually he collapsed as well.

“Dr. Nikos… I’m sorry. I couldn’t stop him.”

Nikos barely heard. He stared at the bathroom ceiling, knowing it was the last thing he’d ever see.

Theena’s mother was right. She’d always told him that all of his hard work would kill him.

He almost laughed at the irony.

I never should have left her, he thought. One of many mistakes he’d never have a chance to fix.

And then he died.

D
avid exited Route 53 at the Schaumburg off ramp. He’d always wanted a pickup truck. When he and Manny were kids, they shared a small die-cast toy. It was the only thing that stayed with them, from foster home to foster home. Their one constant. He even remembered how they lost it.

It was nearly twenty years ago. They were walking home after school, taking a short cut through a field. Manny began throwing stones at a bird’s nest, trying to hit the bleating chicks inside. David told him to stop. When Manny refused, David tossed their truck into the woods, never to be seen again.

Or was it the opposite? Had he been the one who was trying to hit the bird’s nest?

He shrugged it off. He had a real truck now. Full size, with four doors, all wheel drive, and a bumping stereo system.

The only drawback was the smell. David lowered the window another three inches. The truck’s former owner had voided his bowels when David stuck the scalpel in his neck, and he hadn’t found a suitable place to dump him so the body was still in the back seat.

The clock read just after five, and most of the DruTech employees would be going home for the day. David knew that the N-Som team always worked late. There was a good chance Theena and Dr. Myrnowski were still there, along with the FDA guy. Once those three were taken care of, David would finally be free.

He fought the departing traffic, inching his way through the parking lot until he found a space near the front entrance. When he turned off the ignition he noticed the bandage on his hand.

David was missing a finger.

When had that happened? He knew that he’d cut off Manny’s finger, to teach the coward a lesson. But had Manny somehow done the same thing to him?

The memory was hazy. He could picture himself, hacking at the joint, wiggling the scalpel to get through the knuckle. He could also remember a moment of white hot pain, but was that his pain or Manny’s?

He entered the DruTech Building, unable to figure it out. The answer was so close, tantalizing him, something he was almost on the verge of remembering.

The security guard, an overweight ex-cop named Barry, offered a curt nod.

“Good evening, Manny. Glad to see you’re out of the hospital.”

“I’m not Manny. I’m David.”

Barry raised an eyebrow.

“You feeling okay?”

Actually, he wasn’t feeling okay. The missing finger nagged at him. It meant something important.

“Who else is here?”