The Killing Chase (Beach & Riley Book 2) (14 page)

Chapter 17

“Sergeant Chow has lost control of the mission,” Watson told his commander. “We have to send the new test subjects.”

“You told me they wouldn’t be ready for another three months.”

“I know what I told you, sir, but what choice do we have? Adler’s physical enhancements have far exceeded our expectations. He took out six of our best men like it was child’s play.”

“I’m not willing to risk the new subjects. They’re too important to the project.”

“I’m fully aware of their importance. Due respect, but I’m the one who’s been locked away in this damned bunker twenty-four-seven for the past ten months.”

“And I appreciate your sacrifice, colonel. What’s the current status of the subjects?”

“They’re about thirty percent through the program.”

“That’s not good enough. The risk is too high.”

“I hear you, but these guys were already in peak physical condition before they entered the program. Their elite military training and discipline should put them close to par with Adler. I believe the potential reward is worth the risk.”

“The first two men you lost were also in peak physical condition. Look what happened to them.”

“They were not supposed to move in on their own, sir. After we received Adler’s first locator ping, their orders were to track and follow the subject until reinforcements arrived. Something made them break protocol, but I can’t say what. The upshot is, so far we’ve lost a total of at least six members of our recovery team.”

“That brings us to the elephant in the room. What went wrong with your security protocols? How could Adler have escaped from the most secure facility we’ve got?”

“There’s nothing wrong with our protocols. Adler was an unknown quantity and a serious handful – even before the physical enhancement procedures began. You’ve seen our security measures. They were designed to contain the most dangerous of prisoners, but your timetable pushed things too close to the edge.”

“I’d better not be hearing insubordination, Watson.”

“Due respect, sir, but it was an unfortunate combination of factors that facilitated his escape. The rushed timetable meant we had to conduct the Hallucineers testing in tandem with the physical enhancement regimen. Combine those two factors with Adler’s acute intelligence, devious nature, and extreme tolerance for pain, and he was able to find a hole in the system. No facility is one hundred percent escape-proof.”

“Adler was safely held at Sherbourne Institute for years before we got hold of him.”

“That’s hardly a fair comparison.”

“Maybe not, but you still haven’t told me exactly how he managed it.”

“It’s complicated.”

“I have time.”

“Have it your way, sir. We were working on the advanced interactive hallucinations. The scenarios are highly complex in nature, involving reflex responses combined with the programmed scenes. Adler had been through the process so many times, he’d managed to figure out vaguely what was happening to him. He didn’t know details, because the memories aren’t retained, but he did know that every time we injected the implant, he would wake up in his cell with signs of extreme physical effort – abrasions and contusions that weren’t there before.”

“So you think he knew he was being trained and tested?”

“Professor Gelling assures me it’s not possible for him to recall actual events, but the subjects may experience some disjointed flashbacks. But Adler did know the implants made him lose consciousness, and the physical evidence told him he was doing something physical and involuntary.”

“So how did he overcome the effects of the implant?”

“He didn’t – the last implant didn’t succeed. The devious little bastard sharpened the blade of a plastic spoon and used it to cut into the flesh above his injection site. The incision was hidden by his hairline, and he used salt mixed with vinegar as an astringent to reduce the swelling and bleeding. He actually inserted part of the spoon’s bowl under his flesh, and pushed it down to shield himself at the implant site.”

“We spent a hundred million dollars to build that facility, and you’re telling me it was defeated by a psycho with a plastic spoon?”

“It’s not that simple, sir. Test subjects are shackled in a reclining position when the implant is administered, so the technician didn’t have a clear view of Adler’s neck. Logic would dictate that the man shouldn’t have a spoon shoved in his neck, so the procedure went ahead as it had dozens of times before. Everything seemed normal.” 

“Normal? Adler stabbed the test course supervisor in the throat – you call that normal? And how the hell did he get hold of a weapon, anyway?”

“Like I said – Adler’s a very clever guy. We think he used mashed potato mixed with saliva to harden a tightly twisted napkin from his meal tray. The starchy paste dried overnight to create a hardened papier-mâché dagger.”

“He’s got surveillance cameras on him twenty-four-seven. Why didn’t anyone see this happening?”

“Well, sir, to be honest, nocturnal movements under his bedding were incorrectly interpreted. The surveillance technician reported what seemed to be regular masturbation sessions, and the cleaners reported Adler’s sheets showed signs of discharge. It made sense, because Dr. Veronin’s strength enhancement treatments also increase virility. Turns out it was a ruse to cover the making of his homemade dagger.”

“My God, do you hear how this sounds? A plastic spoon and a potato-glue napkin dagger…” Watson’s DARPA commander sighed heavily. “I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Or maybe we should add a new section to the SERE Training Manual in honor of Mr. Adler’s ingenuity. Why wasn’t he more heavily guarded inside the training center?”

“We’ve been conducting these tests for over nine months now. Once the implant is in place, no further security controls are required. We did maintain guards at each door to the training facilities, but Adler easily overcame them. He got a knife from one of the guards and cut off the man’s hand to get past the elevator biometrics. Adler was out of the facility before anyone knew about it. Now we know how he did it, we can change our procedures and plug the holes. But first we have to get him back. I don’t need to remind you that Adler is supposed to be dead. If law enforcement gets hold of him, how long before you think they’d be knocking at our doors?”

“Of course, that’s our number one priority.”

“So, I have your permission to use the new test subjects?”

“Absolutely not. I told you, they’re too valuable.”

“Sir, we’ve got a rogue senior operative out to terminate Adler. First Sergeant Chow is a Marine sniper, a veteran of three major conflicts, and has conducted countless successful covert operations. If we don’t stop him, there’s a good chance we’ll lose Adler. On top of that, we’re out of recovery specialists. How do you propose we protect Adler from Chow’s sniper rifle – and get him back to the facility?”

“It seems to me, Adler is like a cancer let loose on society. And when you have cancer, you call in a surgeon.”

*****

Beach knelt down next to the paramedic. “Will he make it?”

“Too soon to tell. I gave him a shot of epinephrine, but we won’t know what’s in his system until they run his blood at the hospital.”

“How long will that take?”

“We’re about to transport him now. If the epi can keep him breathing, and his heart doesn’t stop, they’ll run tests as soon as he arrives.” The medic shook his head. “He was hit with two darts of a very powerful paralytic agent. I’m surprised he’s made it this far.”

Beach stood to confer with his partner. “If he doesn’t make it, we’ve hit another dead end.”

“Maybe we should call Dr. Chetland – she should have had time to perform the autopsies on our Poughkeepsie guys by now.”

“Good thinking – you go ahead and do that. I’m going to see if the mother is able to talk.”

Inside the family’s home, the severely beaten father lay on a raised gurney. The obvious violence of his attacker was less impressive than the man’s toughness and strength of will. Despite shattered facial bones, missing teeth, and eyes swollen shut, his only concern was the safety of his wife and child. His pulped jaw dangled limply as he called out to his wife. He was trying to tell her he was okay, that everything would be all right. Instead, his unintelligible speech and grotesque appearance only further exacerbated the woman’s distress. Beach approached the husband first. He gently pushed the man’s head onto the gurney and reached for his hand.

“Mr. Shelton, please try to calm down. My name is Alan Beach – I’m with the FBI. If you lie back and let these men take care of you, I promise I’ll keep your wife and little boy safe.”

The man struggled to form comprehensible words, but his injuries simply wouldn’t allow it.

“I know you’re worried, but please trust me. Your family is safe.” Beach turned to the medic. “Can you tell me his status?”

“The guy’s tough as nails. He’s got multiple skull and facial fractures, but his vital signs are practically normal. He’s got a few months of liquid diet to look forward to, but he’s very lucky, all things considered.”

Beach looked back to the victim. “Did you hear that, Mr. Shelton? I’m going to explain your condition to your wife, so you can relax and let these guys take you to the hospital, okay?”

The man calmed down and nodded his head. Beach squeezed his hand. “Your family is lucky to have such a strong husband and father. Don’t worry, I’ll have them transported to the hospital to join you soon.”

As they wheeled the man out the door, Beach went to explain her husband’s status to Mrs. Shelton. She wrapped her arms around Beach’s neck, and wept for a moment before regaining her composure. “Thank you so much. His face – I thought he was dying.”

“You’ve got one very determined man there,” Beach reassured her. “His only concern is the safety of his family. It’ll be a long road, but the medics are confident he’ll make a full recovery.”

She began to sob again. “He couldn’t defend himself. That animal threatened our little boy then tied us up and made me watch him beat my husband. I thought he was going to kill him.”

“I’m sorry to have to ask this, but can you tell me what happened next?”

“He just stopped. I don’t know why, but he stopped and ran out the back door. I heard strange noises and gunshots. I tried to get to my husband. But I was tied to the chair.” She shut her eyes. “All I could do was watch him bleeding on the floor.”

“It’s not your fault, there’s nothing you could have done. I know it’s hard, but can you tell me anything else? Can you describe the man for me?”

“He was small – much smaller than my husband – but so strong. How can such a small man be so strong?” She pushed back more tears. “And his eyes – there was something strange about his eyes.”

“Something strange?”

“They weren’t quite straight – kind of looked outwards.”

Beach looked away, deep in thought before turning back to her and patting her hand. “Thank you, Mrs. Shelton. I’ll have someone take you and your boy to the hospital shortly.”

Beach went to rejoin Foxx but was stopped by the ringing of his phone. “Beach,” he answered.

“Agent, it’s Dion Hogg at the lab. You asked me to call you as soon as I had the DNA results.”

“You’ve got them already? I thought they took seventy-two hours?”

“They do, normally, but I took some short cuts. I hope you don’t mind – I’ll redo them by the book if you want me to, but I figured since they’re not for a court case, this would be good enough.”

“As long as they’re accurate. Did you find something?”

“I don’t know how else to put this – they’re dead.”

Beach arched his brow. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“No joke – I mean of course they’re dead, but they’ve been dead for two years. According to their military records, they were both Marines killed in action during a classified mission in Africa.”

“You’re sure of that? Your short cut couldn’t have corrupted the results?”

“The results are ninety-nine point seven percent certain. I’m doing my Ph.D. on accelerated DNA matching techniques. These results wouldn’t yet be admissible as evidence, but in a couple of years, this technique will be standard operating procedure.”

“Talbot said you were a smart one. Great work, Dion.”

As Beach hung up his phone, Foxx strode through the front door. Beach greeted him with the news that he was now certain Bryan Adler was back.

Foxx processed his partner’s claim then said, “Dr. Chetland found tracking devices in both our John Does from Poughkeepsie.”

Beach smiled mischievously. “You mean the John Does who’ve been dead for two years?”

Chapter 18

Hidden behind the high school’s football bleachers, Bryan Adler had seen the FBI helicopter lift off for its return to base. Watching Beach and Foxx picked up by a Hartford Police squad car, the serial killer had been overcome by a burning desire for revenge. That smartass cop-turned-FBI agent would not get away with the insults he’d hurled during their conversation at Sherbourne Institute a year earlier. His self-confidence swollen by synthetically enhanced strength and speed, Adler had decided not to obey his instinct to play it safe. He would not allow this opportunity to slip away. Beach must pay for his insolence.

*****

Foxx and Beach leaned against the SUV Talbot had sent to Hartford for their use. The larger man scratched his head in disbelief. “This case gets weirder by the minute.”

“Bizarre is the word that springs to my mind,” Beach said, examining the tracking device removed from one of the dead bodies at the scene. “Anything from Guthrie on these tracking devices? I assume they’re the same as the ones Dr. Chetland found in the bodies from Poughkeepsie?”

“I’d say that’s a safe bet. Guthrie’s never seen them before, so he asked his buddy who helped him repair the tracker. They’re military spec – undetectable by most scanners. They use them for deep-cover missions to monitor their operatives’ locations. Guthrie’s guy says they were developed by some secret technical department in the DoD.”

“And here comes the whole DARPA thing again. Looks like Jake was right on the money with that one. The question is, what the hell has DARPA got to do with a psycho like Bryan Adler?”

“Maybe they’re doing some kind of secret experiments on the guy. I mean, I know he was already extremely dangerous, but come on – these guys were obviously special ops. And look at the weaponry he was up against. How could one guy take on so many serious badasses and come out on top?”

“I guess it’s as good a theory as any. But what possible reason could they have to let such an experiment loose on the general public? Besides, the Hallucineers technology wasn’t capable of inducing superhuman strength. From everything I’ve seen, it was designed purely to manipulate perceptions and actions.”

“Maybe they’ve tweaked it. Who knows what the human brain is capable of? I read about this Russian woman who could make frogs explode using only…” Beach’s withering glare stopped his partner mid-sentence. Foxx bowed his head. “Well, just saying, you never know.”

“If this investigation hadn’t evolved into what seems more like a science fiction novel than a conspiracy, I’d say you’ve been reading too many comic books. But the way things are going, seems like nothing is beyond the realms of possibility.”

“That’s right – and you’ve heard about how some insane people can be crazy strong, right? My Aunt’s first husband was a psych nurse, and I remember him saying the dose of Thorazine some patients were on would knock down a full-grown horse.”

“Actually, that’s true. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. We arrested a woman in Boston years ago – took five uniformed officers to hold her down. They shot her so full of drugs, I was sure they’d killed her. But the medic said it was quite common in some patients.”

“See, that’s what I’m saying.”

“I hear you, but still, this seems way too extreme to me.” Beach looked toward the house. “Dr. Chetland’s examining the bodies. Let’s go pick her brain.”

When they got to the medical examiner, she looked up to greet them. “Good evening, agents. We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

“I couldn’t agree more, doctor,” Beach said. “Sorry to interrupt your work, but we’ve got some theoretical questions for you.”

“I can work and talk at the same time. Fire away.”

“This is going to sound strange, but is it possible to enhance physical strength through mental manipulation?”

“What do you mean by ‘mental manipulation’?”

“Well, say there was a technology that could influence a person’s thoughts and perceptions. Could such a thing influence physical strength?”

“Short term or long term?”

“There’s a difference?”

“Of course. There’s a great deal still unknown about brain chemistry. While there are no documented cases, I suppose it’s theoretically possible for the brain to stimulate abnormal muscle growth by inducing unnaturally high testosterone synthesis. But significant hormonal imbalances cause significant side effects. You remember a professional wrestler called Andre the Giant?”

“Are you kidding?” Foxx blurted out. “He’s a legend!”

Beach shot his partner a look of disdain.

“Indeed,” the ME continued. “The man’s real name was Andre Roussimoff. His was one the most celebrated cases of gigantism and acromegaly – tragic afflictions which cause severe physical overgrowth. Gigantism causes excessive growth in height before the completion of adolescence, while acromegaly occurs after puberty and is visually characterized by a pronounced brow and jaw. Both conditions are normally caused by a tumor on the pituitary gland. Also, both conditions invariably cause excruciating joint pain and other debilitating conditions and usually lead to premature death.”

“Thanks for the science lesson, doc, but that’s not really what we’re asking about.”

“I fully understand the nature of your query, Agent Foxx,” Dr. Chetland said, peering at him over her examination glasses. “But if you’d like to properly understand my response, a basic comprehension of the brain’s influence on such phenomena is required reading, so to speak. Shall I continue, or is there somewhere else you’d prefer to be?”

Beach dug his elbow into his partner’s ribs. Suitably chastised, Foxx excused his impatience. “Please continue, doc.”

Chetland smiled knowingly at Beach. “I bet this one’s a handful.”

“You have no idea.”

“As I was saying, gigantism and acromegaly are extreme examples of brain chemistry gone wrong. There are myriad physical conditions caused by abnormal brain chemistry, but I’ve not heard of one specifically causing overgrowth of muscle tissue. There are, however, many anecdotal cases of short bursts of extreme strength, often called ‘hysterical strength’ or ‘superhuman strength.’ The closest phenomenon recognized by science is quaintly known as ‘excited delirium.’

“One particularly famous case involved a housewife who lifted a full-sized car off her son after it fell off some jacks. She was able to hold the vehicle up long enough for bystanders to replace the jacks and pull her son to safety, but the effort tore muscles and damaged her shoulder joints and spine. That particular case is believed to have been caused by a massive, sustained release of adrenalin.”

“You said her muscles tore. Can you tell us more about that?”

“Muscle tissue is made of tubular cells called myocytes. They’re joined together by cellular bonds in a kind of matrix, and if they’re stressed beyond their limits, the bonds can tear. There’s no escaping that. During myogenesis, the process of building muscle tissue, the cell bonds can be strengthened through resistance training, but only to a certain point. The natural limitations of muscle fiber bonds help prevent tendons and ligaments from snapping, joints from tearing, and bones from breaking.”

“Is there any way to artificially influence the strength of muscle cell bonds?”

“There are a variety of anabolic steroids designed to increase muscle size and strength, but the side effects include weakening of the connective tissues that make up tendons, so it’s somewhat self-defeating. I’ve heard of some experimental drugs in Russia that have had limited success in overcoming the failings, but the science is highly experimental. Then again, I’m only going on information available to the public. There could be new advances I’m not aware of. And the Russians have been at the cutting edge of steroid technology since the nineteen-fifties.”

“Is it physically possible to increase the tensile strength of human muscle tissue without the side effects?”

“I suppose anything’s possible, but at this point, it’s highly improbable. Every drug has its limitations and side effects.”

“I appreciate your insights, doctor. We’ll leave you to work in peace.”

As they headed back to the SUV, Beach turned to his partner. “Let’s say DARPA faked Adler’s death so they could conduct secret experiments on him. They’re using Hallucineers technology to control his mind…”

“And some kind of freaky strength drugs,” Foxx interjected.

“But he escapes, so now they’re trying to get him back.”

“And it’s a lot harder than they expected.”

“Like the doc said, anything’s possible.”

“What I don’t understand is the tracking system. I mean, we’ve only seen one ping since we recovered the tracking equipment, and it only lasted a few minutes.”

“Maybe that’s all they need. Apparently it was long enough for them to locate him.”

“But why not make the signal constant? I mean, why wait until he’s committing a crime to try to grab him? And if he’s such a badass, why haven’t they come up with a better plan to catch him?”

“Good question.”

*****

Tik waited with Mike Lee, for Jake to clear customs at JFK. The Phillips brothers brought up the rear, delayed by a minor irregularity with Dozer’s passport.

“Bloody seppo Immigration blokes,” he said. “Do I look like a bloody terrorist to you?”

“More like Ivan the Terrible,” Priest said. “You could definitely do with a shave.”

“Some brother you are.”

Jake was oblivious to the banter. He’d turned on his phone to find a coded message. He turned away from the group to dial the number as instructed. A familiar voice answered:

“You got my message – good.”

“What do you want?”

“Is that any way to speak to your former commander?”

“’Former’ is the operative word. I repeat, what do you want?”

“You’re going to complete a mission for me.”

“Like hell I am. I don’t work for you anymore.”

“Where’s your respect, Mr. Riley?”

“Reserved for people who deserve it. You’ve got three seconds before I hang up.”

“You never were one for small talk. All right, here it is. Have you ever heard of the serial killer, Bryan Adler?”

*****

Foxx guided the SUV toward the police perimeter. A uniformed officer approached to ask for ID. Foxx stuck his badge out while speaking to his partner. “They could have taken us back by chopper.”

“Can’t leave a resource like that waiting around. We had no idea how long we’d be.”

“You’re clear to go agent,” the officer said.

Foxx smiled, rolling his window up as he drove on. “So, back to headquarters. Then what?”

“I think we could both do with some sleep. We’ve got another big day ahead tomorrow, and there’s nothing else we can do tonight anyway.”

“I could do with a bite to eat first. Want to stop on the way, or wait until we hit the city?”

When Beach didn’t reply, Foxx turned to see his partner’s face, contorted and crimson. A hand extended from the rear seat, gripped tightly around Beach’s throat while the other pointed a handgun at Foxx.

Bryan Adler moved his body forward, exposing a self-satisfied grin. In his clear Southern drawl, he said, “I do believe we need to find a quiet place for some alone time, Mr. FBI.”