The Gender Experiment: (A Thriller) (22 page)

Blackburn pulled a bottle of vodka from the small refrigerator in the office corner and downed a few swallows. He needed to stay calm until the ImmuNatal had been delivered to the operatives and the Peace drug slipped into water supplies around the Middle East. Even beyond that, it would be years until they knew whether they’d been successful in creating a generation of nonviolent children who wouldn’t join ISIS. The beauty of ImmuNatal was that it would stay intact and potent for years, and through irrigation channels would also end up in the food supply. Their research had shown it to bind with hormones and stay in people’s bodies for half a decade. The birth of passive babies would continue for at least five years beyond the original insertion in the water supply, possibly more. A decade beyond that, the jihadists would suffer a recruitment problem that would last five to ten years. During that window of opportunity, they could be defeated.

Blackburn finally sat back down, guilt eating at him.

A loud rap on the door. “It’s Rashaud.”

“Come in.” His co-researcher had a right to be informed.

Rashaud had a new worry line on his forehead as he took a seat. “Bill Blessert just called. He needs more time. Why the rush?”

The weasel!
Blackburn suppressed his anger at the lab manager and spoke calmly. “An operative in Saudi Arabia has been arrested. She was the final one to signal her readiness yesterday. We have to assume her communication was discovered and that’s why she’s been detained.”

Rashaud slammed a fist into his other palm. “Goddammit! This could jeopardize the whole project.”

“That’s why we’re going forward immediately.”

Rashaud’s eyes narrowed. “We are going to warn the other operatives, correct?”

“No. Fatima Syed doesn’t know any names.”

“But she knows the others are out there, and she knows the plan. They’ll torture her until she tells them everything.”

Blackburn refused to focus on the individuals. “The Saudis will assume it’s region-wide and inform other governments. We have to move past this.”

“They’ll also use her phone to find her handler, and he knows names. The operatives will be discovered! Rashaud’s distress was palpable.

“It’ll take time.” Blackburn knew their people would likely be captured and killed after they carried out their missions. He’d been through the possibilities in his head and made peace with the outcome. “Once the ImmuNatal is in place everywhere, we’ll warn everyone.”

Rashaud shook his head. “It’ll be too late. They’ll never get out.”

“They can go underground. We all knew the risks when we placed them.” Blackburn was trying to placate himself too. They’d sent some of the first operatives to the Middle East when they were teenagers, so they could assimilate. The CIA had trained and sent others. The Peace Project was the most important mission the U.S. had ever undertaken. “We’re not going to compromise the mission. The lab will ship out the drug today. This will go as planned, and we’ll have peace in our lifetime.”

His co-researcher stood. “It sure as hell better. I hear Fatima’s screams in my head already.”

“Hundreds of thousands of lives will be saved. Most of them Shia Muslim. We’re doing this for
your
people even more than mine.”

Rashaud nodded and strode out.

Saturday, 4:45 p.m., Colorado Springs

Bailey drove away from the doctor’s house, wondering if he had a wife who would come home and find the body before the Denver agent showed up to process the scene. Not her problem. Her priority was to locate an underground complex that the military didn’t want anyone to find.
If
she found it, then what? Even with a dozen agents, breeching the structure could prove impossible. The perps could also kill the girl and dispose of her before the FBI team made it in. Unfortunately, Taylor Lopez was probably a lost cause. Bailey’s best hope was to track down the names of the researchers and have the bureau director use his clout to obtain arrest and search warrants.

Her only lead was a dead man named Ahmed Rashaud. But he had lived and worked at Fort Carson, so she would start there. Maybe the captain had left notes in his personal papers or confided in someone. It was even possible Metzler had lied about his commander being deceased. The doctor had paused between giving the man’s name and saying he was dead. Perhaps Metzler had regretted exposing his superior, maybe even enough to take it a step further by killing himself and avoiding a court martial.

The trip to Fort Carson took only twenty minutes, but by the time she pulled up to the checkpoint station, snow was blanketing the ground. She rolled down her window and smiled at the pimply-faced kid in a crisp blue uniform. “Special Agent Andra Bailey, FBI.” She pulled out her badge and federal ID.

“We don’t allow visitors without clearance. Do you have a pass from the information office?”

“No, I’m a federal agent. I shouldn’t need one.”

“Sorry, ma’am, but everyone does.” He pointed at a building on the right. “Just go into the visitor’s center and show your ID. They’ll run a background check and issue a visitor’s pass.”

Seriously?
The impulse to ram her car through the bar-gate overwhelmed her. Bailey fought for control, visualizing herself being fired. She had nothing to gain by the action, and everything to lose. “I’ll be back.” She retreated, parked in the visitors’ lot, and hurried inside.

Empty folding chairs filled the small room, all facing a long counter. Four monitors, plus the thirty-something chairs, indicated that the visitors’ center was often a busy place. But not at the moment. Another uniformed young man with a shaved head sat alone at the counter, yawning. When he heard her come in, he snapped his mouth closed and pulled his shoulders back . “How can I help you ma’am?”

“I need to talk to Captain Ahmed Rashaud.” If the man were really dead, she would know in a moment. She handed the clerk her federal ID. “Agent Andra Bailey.”

He didn’t react to Rashaud’s name or her credentials. “I need your registration and car insurance too.”

Bailey bit her tongue. “I’m in a rental, and I’ll see what I have. Get this going. I’ll be right back.” On the way out, she noticed the sign listing the required documents. Car insurance? What the hell was that about? Did visitors routinely crash into military vehicles?

As she retrieved the paperwork, the snow started really coming down, and her smoldering rage picked up heat. Snow was one of the reasons she’d listed three other places besides Colorado as her choice for bureau assignments. Her success on the job had landed her in the D.C. headquarters in a few short years.

Back inside, Bailey took slow measured breaths and kept her face impassive as she handed over the documents.

“This will take a few minutes while I run a criminal check.”

Bailey sat stiffly in the chair. No one had run a background on her since she’d applied to the bureau. She checked her cell for the time. She wanted to see exactly how long the damn process took.

Four minutes later, the young clerk made a call from a desk phone, asking for Captain Rashaud.

So the doctor had lied. His commander wasn’t dead
.

After a short moment of listening, the clerk hung up and said, “I’m sorry, but you’ve been denied clearance.”

Stunned, Bailey resisted the impulse to slap him, then searched her brain for the correct social response. “It must be a mistake. I’m a federal agent with the FBI. I can get the director on the phone if I need to.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m just doing my job, and I can’t issue you a visitor’s pass.”

The guilty asshole Rashaud was shutting her out. Now what? She had to get out before she lost her cool. Bailey strode across the parking lot, climbed into her car, and called her boss. Lennard finally picked up. “Bailey, it’s about time. What the hell is going on?”

“I was just denied entry to Fort Carson. The man suspected of running the illegal drug test, Captain Ahmed Rashaud, is on the base, and I need to talk to him. Or get a warrant for his arrest.”

“Oh fuck me. This will get complicated.”

“People are being killed to silence them about this experiment.”

“How do you know it’s Rashaud. Anything solid?”

“The doctor giving the pregnancy drug named him.”

“Then killed himself,” Lennard reminded her. “So our witness can’t corroborate your claim.”

“I recorded his confession on my phone.”

“Can you send me the file?”

“Of course.”

“Good. I need something solid to even get you into the military base. A captain has a lot of clout, and the military prefers to investigate their own.”

“We still have a missing woman. I think she might be inside Fort Carson at a secret underground facility.” That kind of urgency could get a judge to sign a warrant.

“Send me the confession recording, and I’ll take it to the director.”

“Any update on the doctor’s suicide scene?”

“It’s handled. The Denver bureau sent an agent, and she’s coordinating with the local police. They’ll keep the news suppressed until we give them the green light.”

“Good.” That reminded Bailey that she needed to check in with the Denver agent investigating the deaths of the intersex people. Maybe there was a witness who could identify the killer. But the fact that Agent Zane hadn’t contacted her probably meant he hadn’t found anything significant. “I’ve got to get going.”

“Good luck and keep me posted.” Her boss ended the call.

Bailey noticed a new text on her phone, opened it, and read:
What’s up? Any news on Taylor?
It had to be from the reporter. She hadn’t bothered creating a contact entry for Wilson, but texted back:
No news. Following a lead.
She hoped it would keep him at bay.

Before leaving the visitors’ lot, Bailey scanned the area, scoping out the perimeter. The base wasn’t fenced. A person could walk in, if they dared. She just couldn’t drive in without a clearance pass. Good to know. She cranked up the heat in the car and headed back into town.

Bailey bought a sandwich at a fast food place near the motel and took it back to her room. After wolfing it down, she realized it wasn’t enough food. She hadn’t eaten since the airport early that morning and didn’t know when she would have the opportunity again. A little sleep would be nice too. Could she take a break and nap for a few hours? Not yet. The doctor’s laptop might contain useful intel. She grabbed the computer, sat down at the small desk, and turned it on. No passcode required.
Nice.

She checked email first and found that the messages were all personal, family and friends offering their condolences after ‘his loss.’ Apparently Metzler’s wife had died recently, which might help explain his decision to commit suicide rather than face consequences. None of the current messages were helpful, so she searched the archives for the oldest email he had on file and found one from ten years earlier, a thank-you note from a patient.

Bailey switched to searching folders on his hard drive. Bank statements, tax PDFs, and personal correspondence. Except for pay stubs, nothing seemed connected to the military. She was about to move on, when she spotted a folder inside a folder labeled Will and Testament. His family would need this document, but she intended to peruse it first. The only point of interest was a reference to a wall safe behind a painting in the dining room, including the code. She’d missed the safe when she searched his house, because she hadn’t been looking for valuables, only information. Now she had to go back and open it. Who knew what could be in there?

She stopped at St. Vincent’s thrift shop on the way and bought a long overcoat, a wool cap, and gloves—items she would recycle before flying home. It had been seventy degrees in D.C. when she left, and she hadn’t expected the snow or to spend much time outside. But if she had to access Fort Carson on foot, the extra layers would be welcome. Cold, heat, and pain didn’t bother her as much as they did empaths—because she could focus her mind on other things—but she still liked to be comfortable.

A sedan in front of Metzler’s house indicated an agent was still there. Good. She wouldn’t have to break in. As Bailey walked up the driveway, a woman came out the door carrying a stack of paperwork. Of course they’d sent a woman. Handling an agent-witnessed suicide was a no-brainer. Sexism at the bureau was deep-rooted and often subtle.

Bailey introduced herself and added, “I was here when Metzler killed himself.”

“Clare Renfro.” The agent shook her hand. “The medical examiner picked up the doctor’s body about twenty minutes ago.”

“What are those?” Bailey nodded at the papers Renfro held.

“Documents from a file cabinet. I was told this was part of an active investigation and that I should gather anything that might be useful.” Renfro shrugged. “But I couldn’t find a computer.”

“I have it.” Bailey gestured at the front door. “Let’s go inside.”

Once they’d stepped in, Renfro asked, “What’s this case about?”

“An illegal medical experiment from two decades ago and the current murders of people who knew about it.”

Renfro’s eyes widened. “Do you need help? I was headed back to Denver soon, but I could stay.” She set the papers on a foyer table.

Bailey hesitated, then handed the agent her phone. “Enter your number in case I need backup.”

Renfro keyed it in, then pressed the call button. “I’ll stay here at the doctor’s house tonight and wait to hear from you.”

“Then you might as well search those documents. I’m looking for anything that mentions a drug called ImmuNatal or someone named Ahmed Rashaud.”

Renfro pulled out a notepad and jotted the names down. “Anything else?”

“Not yet. But let’s see what I find in the safe.” Bailey walked into the dining area, her legs suddenly heavy with fatigue. She would rest for a while back at the motel.

The painting, a hideous abstract, was heavier than she’d expected and she set it down with a thud. At the sound, Renfro hurried over. Bailey ignored her and opened the safe with the code she’d found in the doctor’s will.

Inside, sat a stack of cash, an expensive watch, some bonds, and a plain leather-bound book. Bailey picked up the book and flipped it open. A journal with handwritten notes.
Please let it go back twenty years.
She tucked the journal into her shoulder bag, resisted the urge to touch the money, and closed the safe. If the other agent hadn’t been standing behind her, the cash would have been tempting. It was unlikely anyone knew it was there or would miss its absence.