Replaceable: An Alan Lamb Thriller (11 page)

Alan rolled the window down, his other hand sliding down and finding the butt of his Glock.

The man leaned in through the open window and said, “Agent Lamb?”

“Yeah?”

“Guy Bernard sent me.”

Alan swallowed hard, reasonably certain his heart was firmly lodged in his throat. He nodded and the man opened the door and sat down in the passenger seat.

“I’m Frank Knowles,” the man said, extending his hand. “Guy’s had me on surveillance here for the last day or two. Sorry if I startled you. Can’t be too careful.”

“You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“I didn’t want to blow your cover.”

“I didn’t see you pull in.”

“I’m around the corner. I hoofed it in on foot. Spotted the rental plates on your car, figured it must be you.”

“I asked Guy to pull you off,” Alan said.

“He did, but I guess he had a change of heart. Called me an hour ago and said he had a bad feeling about you doing this on your own. So he asked me to come back and keep an eye on things.”

“He thought I needed a babysitter.”

Alan frowned, but secretly he was grateful for the company.

“I’m sort’ve breaking protocol talking to you like this. Guy didn’t want me to make contact, but given the circumstances, I made an executive decision.”

“Circumstances?”

“We’ve got company. Suburban parked around the corner with blacked out windows. Been there for half an hour, and the engine’s idling. Doubt it’s a coincidence. If it is, I won’t bill Guy for my time.”

“I was so busy watching the house, I didn’t notice.”

“You wouldn’t have. They didn’t come up the street. I got lucky and saw it when I pulled in. I doubled back a little bit ago and it was still there. I put ten years in with the SF PD before I started doing freelance P.I. work. I’m familiar with coincidences, but I’ve also learned to trust my gut.”

They chatted for several more minutes before falling into silence. There wasn’t a lot for two strangers in a tense situation to talk about. They waited. If McKay followed a regular schedule, he was breaking it tonight. It was already quarter to ten, and Alan was having his doubts as to whether the man would show.

“How long you willing to wait?” Knowles asked.

“As long as it takes I guess.”

Knowles checked his watch, briefly illuminating the inside of the car with blue light. “Almost ten. Our man is running late to –”

A car came slowly around the curve. Both Alan and Knowles sank lower in their seats as the car passed by them. Alan hadn’t taken his gaze from the side mirror. He watched the brakelights flash as the car turned into McKay’s driveway.

“That’s our guy,” Knowles said.

Alan grabbed the door handle as he got ready to exit the rental car, but Knowles stopped him. “Give it a minute.”

Headlights appeared, aimed in their direction. A black suburban cut through the darkness at a crawl, passing them and then coming to a stop as it reached McKay’s driveway.

“You packing?” Knowles asked.

“Yeah. You?”

Knowles fished a hand into his jacket and brought out a nickel-plated revolver. “Pays to be safe.”

“Maybe you should wait in the car.”

“I’m not wet behind the ears, Agent.”

Alan didn’t argue. He was thankful for the backup. He quietly opened the car door and stepped out onto the street. Knowles followed suit. They left both the driver’s and passenger’s side doors open a crack so as not to make any noise.

Alan came up the cul-de-sack toward McKay’s house at a crouch, gun drawn. Knowles cut across the street, staying low as he tried to use a row of bushes for cover.

As Alan reached the house, he ducked down behind a car parked on the opposite side of the street and watched as two men exited the black Suburban.

McKay was still in his car. He had no doubt seen the Suburban pull up behind him, blocking the driveway.

A motion-activated light blinked on, flooding McKay’s driveway in orange light. The man that had gotten out on the Suburban’s driver’s side was carrying a silenced pistol. He approached McKay’s car. The other man had disappeared around the front of the Suburban.

Suddenly, the brakelights of McKay’s vehicle flashed once and then the car started moving in reverse.

Bastard’s panicking,
Alan thought.

McKay’s car rammed the side of the Suburban, but wasn’t able to move it. The man with the silenced pistol fired twice at the car. Alan heard a rapid
pfft pfft
sound and then the rear windshield of McKay’s car was vaporized in an explosion of glass.

Alan didn’t think. He ran across the street, aiming his Glock, shouting, “Drop it!”

The man holding the silenced pistol froze, but only for a moment. He bent at the knees, lowering his profile, and swiveled, the gun coming around toward Alan.

Without hesitating, Alan fired twice. His first round caught the man in the upper chest, knocking him back. The second round disintegrated the man’s chin. The silenced pistol clattered to the ground. Alan came up fast, back up against the Suburban now, Glock still aimed at the downed man.

Alan caught movement out of his peripheral vision. The other man who had exited the Surburan appeared, gun raised. Alan raised his Glock and then the sound of gunfire sent his ears ringing. The man crumpled, rebounded off the rear of McKay’s car, and sank to the ground.

Knowles was there in a flash, his revolver pointed at the man he had just shot. He bent down, checked for a pulse, and when he didn’t find one he went over to Alan. “You okay?”

Alan nodded. “Just barely.”

Knowles helped him up and then glanced at the man he had shot. “A decade on the force,” he said, “and I never shot a man once. At least I won’t be the one writing a report.”

They approached McKay’s car. The engine was still idling. Knowles covered the passenger side and Alan came up on the driver’s side.

McKay was still buckled into the driver’s seat. He was still, eyes open, staring straight ahead. For a moment, Alan was certain the man was dead. But then his head swiveled in Alan’s direction as the car window came down, and McKay said, “Please don’t kill me.”

“Are you hit?” Alan asked.

“I don’t think so. I’d really like to leave if you don’t mind.”

“Cut the engine. Then I want you to unbuckle your belt and step out of the car.
Slowly.
”

McKay complied.

Alan had expected a taller man, but the man who stepped out of the car was shorter than he was, maybe 5’7” with his black Oxfords on. He was pale as a ghost as he placed his hands on top of his head and slowly stepped forward in Alan’s direction. When he reached the rear of his car, his eyes caught sight of the two dead men whose bodies now littered his otherwise immaculate driveway. “If you promise not to kill me,” he said, “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

Chapter 13

It was almost
midnight as Alan sat on the plush sofa in Graham McKay’s living room. McKay was seated on the other end of the couch, his handcuffed hands folded in his lap. At this hour, an average person who conducted their daily operations during normal business would have appeared tired, perhaps even exhausted, but McKay looked as though he had drunk a six-pack of energy drinks, one right after the other. His eyes were wide, darting all over the place without settling anywhere. The adrenaline was still surging through him. Even Alan had trouble focusing. He felt jittery and the fact that he had shot a man only an hour or so before hadn’t fully registered. He tried to keep his mind from recalling the fact that he might have gotten shot himself if it hadn’t been for Frank Knowles’s quick reaction time. Alan made a mental note to thank Guy Bernard the next time he saw him. If it hadn’t been for Guy’s premonition, things might have gone differently.

Red and blue light danced across the living room windows. Several black and white squad cars were parked haphazardly on the street outside. Alan had already spoken to the officers, as well as two detectives from the San Francisco PD. The forensic team had mostly finished up, and the two bodies had been carted away by ambulance. Both of the men that had arrived in the black Suburban had been pronounced dead at the scene.

Alan tried to keep his nerves in check as he stood up from the sofa and began pacing the living room. His legs were restless, as though they were gearing up to run a marathon. His eyes flitted over the expensive furniture, the art that hung on the walls, and the giant fireplace that was almost large enough for a man to crawl into.

“You have a son,” Alan said, looking at McKay. “Is he home right now?”

“What?” McKay asked dazedly.

“Your son. Your seven-year-old. Is he home?”

“Oh. No, he’s at his mother’s. He stays with her during the week. I have him on the weekends.”

Alan followed this up with a series of innocuous questions. McKay wasn’t in any shape to talk, but Alan needed him to. He wanted to put the man at ease (or at least something close to it) before he started asking the tough questions.

“Your wife lives here in Walnut Creek?” Alan asked.

“Sausalito. I think I’d like a drink of water.”

“That’s doable,” Alan said.

He glanced at Knowles, who was leaning up against the wall between the living room and the kitchen. Knowles nodded and disappeared into the kitchen. Alan could hear the man rummaging through the cupboards, followed by the sound of running water. He returned a minute later with a glass and handed it to McKay.

“Mind if I get a glass?” Knowles asked.

“Help yourself,” McKay said.

Knowles glanced at Alan. “Want some?”

Alan shook his head.

Knowles disappeared back into the kitchen. Alan had told him he was free to leave, but Knowles had insisted on staying. He was as curious as Alan was, and as much as it was against procedure to have Knowles present during the interrogation, Alan was indebted to the man. He figured Knowles had earned the right.

Alan watched as McKay sipped at the water. He sat down in the chair that faced the couch at an angle. “Mr. McKay, who is it that you’re working for.”

“I’m not sure I should talk about that,” McKay said.

“I’m not in the mood to play games,” Alan said. “Not a bit. It’s late. I flew halfway across the country to find you. You told me you’d tell me whatever I wanted to know. So I’ll ask you again, who is it that you’re working for?”

McKay took another drink of his water before answering. “They call themselves Odin,” he said. “I don’t really know that much about them.”

“Prior to working for Odin, you worked for a company called Sagent BioGen. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“And you were terminated for corporate espionage. You were providing confidential information to a third party. I assume this third party was Odin LLC?”

McKay nodded.

“And who do you report to at Odin?”

“No one. I don’t work for them anymore. I quit earlier today.”

“Do you know the two men that tried to kill you tonight?”

“No. Well, I don’t know them specifically, but I know that they were sent here by Odin.”

“What makes you think they would send someone to kill you?”

“Because I quit,” McKay said. He held his glass of water in both hands. Alan noticed they were shaking. “They aren’t exactly on the up and up, if you know what I mean.”

“By that, you mean they were engaged in illegal activities?”

“Yes and no. The research wasn’t illegal. Unethical perhaps, but not illegal. At least not in the States. But what they were using it for…that was most definitely illegal. When I discovered what they were doing, I resigned. I even offered to give all their money back.”

“And the work they were doing? Cloning humans?”

McKay looked up in surprise. “You know about that?”

“Yeah, we know they’re cloning people and using them to commit crimes.”

“Can you believe it? They’re doing things that are light years beyond what the rest of the scientific community is capable of, and then they use it for
that
. It’s…unbelievable.”

“What kind of work did you do for Odin?”

“I oversaw the cloning process. You have to believe me when I say I didn’t sign up for anything illegal. But when I was approached by them, they made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

“Money?”

“A lot of it, but that wasn’t what intrigued me. They said my talents were wasted at Sagent. That with my help they could do things that no one else had done.”

“Let’s go back to my original question. Who was your point of contact at Odin?”

“A man called Morrie Arti. But I never actually met him. All of our correspondence was conducted via email and over the phone. I would report to work with the others and there was little intervention.”

“Others?”

“Other employees. Scientists and engineers mostly. I worked with at least a dozen other people. None of them had met our benefactor face to face either.”

“You weren’t curious? Didn’t think it was strange that you hadn’t met your employer directly?”

“Of course, but I was more focused on the work we were doing. We had created a viable way to clone a person. And it wasn’t a fluke. The process was sound. It worked, with a very minimal failure rate. That was a critical breakthrough in and of itself, but it didn’t stop there. They provided us with technology we didn’t know existed.”

“What kind of technology?”

“Instead of using a live surrogate, we used specialized immersion chambers. We were provided with solutions that sparked accelerated growth. Instead of taking years to grow a test subject to adulthood, we could do it in a matter of days. A perfect copy of another human being, with normal motor skills and cognitive abilities.”

“I’m curious,” Alan said. “You could grow these clones into adults within a few days. But what about their intelligence? How did they learn? Just because you could grow them into adults doesn’t mean they would have the knowledge of a normal individual.”

“I don’t know much about that. That was an entirely different department. I know there was programming involved because while they were incubated they were fitted with internal sensors that could communicate information even when the subject was dormant. The programming was very specific. Cognitively, they weren’t like you or I. It’s as if they were trained to do a limited set of specific tasks. But that’s all I know about it. There were engineers that handled those things, and they kept us in the dark.”

“After you had grown these clones, then what would they do with them?”

“I don’t know. Once they reached maturity, they were taken someplace else. I never saw what happened to them. But it doesn’t matter anyway.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because none of them lived for more than a week two. Ever since we cloned the first animal, there have been certain pathologies present in the cloned animal. Almost as though it was a part of their programming. I’m not a religious man by nature, but after a while you start to believe that maybe God really is at work behind the scenes. And the things we were doing…well, he must not have liked it.”

“A glitch in the programming?”

McKay finished his glass of water. He held it up and said, “Could I have some more please?”

Knowles, who stood listening in the entryway, stepped forward, grabbed McKay’s glass, and went into the kitchen to refill it.

“In this case, it wasn’t a glitch. It was intentional. It’s very much as though the company wanted all of the subjects to have a predetermined expiration date.”

“You could do that?”

“Me? No. I wasn’t privy to their process for doing that, but I was aware that all of the clones we made had a built-in off switch of sorts. It wasn’t as simple as I’m making it sound, but there was an estimated window of how long the clones could survive after they were removed from incubation.”

“Which was how long?”

“Several days. A week at most.”

“Why would they do that? Why create an adult human clone just to destroy it?”

“Isn’t the answer obvious?”

“Humor me.”

“You have to understand that had I known what was really going on, I never would have gotten involved, no matter how enticing the opportunity was.”

“I believe you.”

“Don’t you see, it’s the perfect crime?” McKay said. “Not only could you clone a person so that when the crime was committed the prime suspect would be the actual person rather than the clone. And no matter how vehemently the person might claim otherwise, no one would believe them.”

“Because the clone would be long gone,” Alan said.

“Not just long gone. But expired. Dead.”

“There are less elaborate ways to commit a crime.”

“If I believed that it was only about that, I would tend to agree with you.”

“You don’t think the crimes are part of this man, Morrie Arti’s, end game?”

McKay shook his head. “Not at all.”

“Then what is the end game?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have any idea.”

“And you didn’t know what the clones were being used for?”

“Not at first. Not until several of the robberies had been committed and I watched the aftermath on the news. I recognized the suspects in each of them. We had created clones of all of them.”

“And that’s when you quit?”

McKay hesitated, glanced around at Knowles, who was holding the fresh glass of water. Knowles handed it to him. McKay took a drink. He seemed to be on the verge of deciding something. Alan had seen the same look countless times before. The look said that McKay was trying to decide whether to tell the truth or not.

“It might not seem like it,” Alan said, “but I want to assure you that the truth is always the best way to go.”

“Am I going to jail?”

“That isn’t up to me. The federal prosecutor will look at the case and make a determination. What I can tell you is that your best bet right now is to cooperate with us. I don’t make the decisions, but the prosecutor will listen to what I have to say, and depending on what that is, it could sway him in one direction or the other.”

McKay took a long time making his decision. “I suppose you’re right. At this point, lying wouldn’t accomplish anything. It’s just that…I’m a little ashamed.”

“So you did know that the work you were doing was being used for illegal purposes?”

“I was telling the truth when I said I didn’t know at first. Not until I recognized the suspects in some of the cases. I should have gotten out then. I almost did. But the work we were doing…it was so advanced, so far ahead of its time, it was hard to just walk away. I wasn’t happy about it, but I tried to rationalize it by telling myself that they were only robberies. No one was actually getting hurt. It wasn’t until the car bombing, when they showed the picture of that woman who was killed that I couldn’t justify staying any longer.”

“Were you the only one?

“There were two others. One quit a day before me, and another at the same time I did.”

“Do you know their names?”

“Yes.”

“Addresses?”

“No. There wasn’t a lot of social interaction.”

Alan looked at Knowles and made a gesture with his hand as though he were writing something on the air. Knowles disappeared for a moment and returned with a pen and a small notepad and handed them to Alan. Alan, in turn, handed them to McKay and asked him to write the names of the two men down on the pad. When McKay was finished, Alan tore the top sheet from the pad, gave it to Knowles, and whispered something to him. Knowles said, “I’m on it,” and exited through the front door.

“What did your employer say when you put in your resignation?”

“As I told you before, I’ve never made face to face contact with the man. I sent him an email. Impersonal, I know, but I’m thankful for that. He called me on my cell phone several minutes later and asked if there was anything he could do to convince me to stay. I said that there wasn’t. He wished me all the best and told me a final payment would be wired into my account.”

“Nothing else?”

“Nothing else.”

“And then you just went home?”

“I stopped off for drinks in the city first.”

“With the other man that quit at the same time you did?”

“Yes.”

“And after you had drinks?”

“We parted ways and I drove home, which is when those two men pulled in behind me and…they really were going to kill me weren’t they?”

“Do you believe in luck, Mr. McKay?”

“Not especially.”

“Well, I’d say that luck must believe in you then, because you were extremely lucky tonight.”