The Gender Experiment: (A Thriller) (27 page)

Taylor knelt down next to Marissa’s slumped body, snatched the ID she wore around her neck, and bolted from the room.
Go left!
She’d made a point to remember how she’d come in. She wanted to sprint, but worried she would encounter other soldiers or spies in the hall and look suspicious. She walked rapidly instead, keeping her head up and her face deadpan.
You can do this.
Just act like you belong and keep moving to the front of the complex. She would take a golf cart from the foyer, open the door with her pass, and drive right out.

Unless Marissa regained consciousness and alerted the guards.

Taylor came to an intersection and glanced sideways. Down the hall, she saw a tall man in a blue uniform punch a smaller brown-skinned man in the face. Was that the major? What the hell was going on? Picking up her pace, she entered the long hallway separating the maze of interior rooms from the entrance foyer. They’d driven in on a cart, so it would take longer to get out on foot. How far was it?

Heart pounding with fear and hope, Taylor sprinted up the empty passage toward freedom.

Devin couldn’t believe she was trussed up liked a pig for roasting in the back of her own vehicle. But at least she’d managed to slip the handcuffs down and over, so they weren’t behind her back anymore.

None of this was her fault. The major had given her too many assignments too quickly, not allowing time for careful planning. And all those back-to-back deaths had connected back to the obstetrics clinic. No wonder someone besides the morgue attendant had caught on. Or maybe Lopez had called the FBI before she’d been arrested and abducted. Either way, it was the major’s decision to bring Taylor into the program instead of shutting her down and dumping her body where it might never be found. Devin rubbed the tape between her ankles more vigorously as the stressed thoughts invaded her brain.

When the second phase of the Peace Project had finally come close to fruition, the major had started to make irrational decisions, especially about terminating the wildcard subjects. Devin could see that now. And she would be the one to pay the price. Her father would never give up his own freedom and reputation to save her. Not a chance in hell. She was on her own, and if she ended up in court, she would put all the blame on him. She was just a soldier, taking orders from her commander. A military jury would struggle to convict her. The FBI had no jurisdiction over her at all. The agent was here, but she wouldn’t make it off the base alive.

Devin was determined to get loose. If she did, she might even make a break for it. She’d been working the tape between her ankles since the moment she entered the back seat. Now, at least twenty minutes had passed since the agent called the major and offered the deal. Rubbing the tape against itself was forcing it into a frayed, rolled-up mess in the middle. Time to test it again. Devin yanked her legs outward, trying to bust the tape. She heard a small rip.
Booyah!
She almost had it. She looked up at the agent. Bailey was sitting against the passenger door—where she could see Devin—but currently looking down and texting someone on her phone. The agent hadn’t heard the ripping sound or noticed the activity.

Devin rubbed the ankle tape harder for a moment, then jerked outward again. Another tiny ripping sound.
Yes!
She would break her legs free eventually. If she could run, she could escape.

The agent stepped out of the car and yanked open the back door. “Let’s go.”

“What’s your plan?” Devin hadn’t spoken since Agent Bailey had called her father. She regretted some of what she’d said but didn’t think it would matter. Hearsay wouldn’t sway a military jury.

“I’m going in and you’re my shield.”

Devin shook her head. Bailey was stunningly brave. Or stupid. No, they were both going to die. Unless the duct tape on her ankles gave before they entered the complex.

The agent grabbed her arm and started across the clearing.

Bailey knew her plan was reckless, but she was tired of waiting for backup that might not come. Leaving without Lopez was failure, and letting Blackburn get away was unacceptable. He’d ordered the murders, and Bailey worried there would be more. What if he’d tested new versions of ImmuNatal on other generations at other military hospitals? She was also incredibly curious about the complex and what other kind of research was going on in there.

Keeping Devin in front, she approached the flat-roofed, metal building that looked like a big mechanic shop in the middle of nowhere. But she knew it was just camouflage for the real entrance. Would there be any guards? The only way to reach this location was through a gated military base. Or maybe hunters on horseback might wander through. Bailey spotted the security post and waved Devin’s card in front of the camera. An overhead door opened, and Devin shuffled inside, his feet still bound. Bailey stayed behind him, Glock drawn. She had Devin’s stun gun in her pocket in case she encountered a guard. She didn’t want to shoot a U.S. soldier who was just doing his job.

The mostly empty room smelled like a mechanic’s shop too.

“Stop right there!”

A uniformed guard stepped out from his post at the back of the building.

Oh hell.
Bailey called out, “FBI. Drop your weapon.” She peered around her human shield.

The guard, another young male, blinked in surprise. “What are your orders, Lieutenant Blackburn?”

“Stand down. She’s armed.”

Devin’s cooperation surprised her. Then she noticed his handcuffs were now in front.
Oh hell!
There was nothing she could do about it at the moment. The guard lowered his gun but didn’t drop it. Bailey pushed Devin, and he moved toward the shiny panel next to the soldier’s post.

Suddenly the door opened, and Taylor Lopez ran through.

Holy crap! Blackburn had decided to trade.

At the sight of them, the girl stopped, her expression crushed.

The guard started to lift his rifle. Bailey pulled the stun gun and let the double prongs fly. They landed in the guard’s chest and thigh. He dropped to his knees, then sprawled out flat, moaning. His weapon clanged against the cement floor. “Stay down!” She turned to Lopez. “Special Agent Bailey, FBI. Come with me.” Now that she had the kidnapped woman, Bailey would retreat.

She spun Devin around. “We’re going out,” and she shoved her captive toward the exit.

“You said you would release me if the major let Lopez go.”

Bailey laughed. “I’m not always a woman of my word.” She pushed him again, and he shuffled forward, cursing. Bailey glanced back at the guard. He was still down.

Lopez rushed ahead and activated the overhead door, then stood under it to hold it open for the two of them. When they’d cleared the building and the door slammed shut behind her, Bailey breathed a sigh of relief. Now she just had to get them all safely off the base.

Halfway across the clearing, she heard the distinct sound of chopper blades. Bailey turned back. From behind the building, a helicopter rose into the air, and it looked like Blackburn was piloting it.
Shit!
The major was getting away, and probably taking the ImmuNatal with him. For a moment, she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. What if the drug and the mission worked as planned? Wouldn’t that be a good thing?

Devin suddenly spun around and head-butted her in the nose. Pain overwhelmed her and she made an involuntary grunting sound. With stars flickering around her watery eyes, Bailey brought up her Glock. Devin body-slammed her, and she went down.

The roar of the helicopter thundered as it came closer, low to the ground. Bailey clambered to her feet.

Devin sprinted for the center of the clearing, duct tape flapping around his ankles. The chopper hovered above, a rescue line dangling. The soldier leapt and caught the line with cuffed hands, and the craft started to lift again.

Hell!
The major and his son were both getting away. Bailey gripped her weapon with both hands and aimed at Devin, clinging to the rescue line. Could she justify shooting him? The young lieutenant was probably a killer, but she had no proof.

Gunfire ripped through the air. The major was shooting at her.

Bailey raised her Glock to aim at the helicopter and pulled the trigger three times. The chopper started to spin out of control. As it dropped from the sky, the swinging rescue line slammed into a massive boulder and Devin Blackburn fell to the ground.

Moments later, the helicopter crashed and burst into flames. Major Blackburn would likely not have survived, and neither would the ImmuNatal. Next to her, Taylor Lopez gasped and burst into silent tears.

Behind them, engines raced, and tires crunched on the gravel road. They both turned to see a fleet of dark sedans rushing toward them.

Monday, Oct. 17, 8:45 a.m., Denver

Bailey set her laptop on the tiny desk at the motel and opened Skype. She had a conference call scheduled with her boss and the new deputy director. Because of her swollen nose, she would have preferred a phone conversation, but they wanted an update on yesterday’s events at Fort Carson, among other things. She wasn’t looking forward to it. She’d already been debriefed by the head of the Denver bureau and two separate military investigators. The second session, which had taken place in a windowless room in a numbered building on the Fort Carson base, had lasted until midnight. At that point, tired of Colorado Springs, she’d driven to Denver to find a nicer motel and be near the airport.

Bailey poured another cup of crappy motel coffee, sick of it too. But her body was bone-tired and she had a red-eye to catch at the end of the day. And yet she hummed with a slow-brewing anger. Her investigation had been blocked. In response to her call for backup, the deputy director had arranged for a military investigator to accompany the Denver team into the base, which she was thankful for. But they’d been given limited access and told their only focus was to locate the missing woman—which she’d already done. Not one agent had set foot inside the hidden complex. Whatever the researchers were doing in there would remain a secret. The military investigator had confiscated all her files too, including Dr. Metzler’s journal. Bailey still had the thumb drive with patient records from 1995 and ’96 but no authority to continue the case.

Her computer vibrated with the Skype ringing sound, so she stepped over and sat down. She knew she looked tired—and beat up—but at the moment she didn’t care. She would do her best to be pleasant and courteous. Bailey tried to smile. “Good morning.”

Alan Rogers, the new DD, spoke first. “Excellent work, Special Agent Bailey. Locating the kidnapped woman the way you did demonstrates superior investigative skill.”

“Thank you.” Lopez had practically rescued herself, but there was no reason for Bailey to downplay her own role. Rogers was the one person who could promote her to the job she wanted. “Finding the doctor’s journal was particularly helpful.”

The DD nodded. “I understand that the military is spinning certain events to protect their research, and I appreciate your cooperation in letting them do that.”

As if she had a choice.
“I would like to know if Captain Rashaud will be prosecuted for his part in giving unapproved drugs to pregnant women.” She wanted someone to be held accountable for what they did, detail by detail, in front of a jury. Lopez and the others deserved that.

Agent Lennard cut in. “Ahmed Rashaud was gone from the complex, and the military investigators found no trace of any drug called ImmuNatal.”

No surprise. Rashaud was probably on his way to the Middle East to carry out their mission with a second batch of the drug. In another twenty years—if she lived that long—she would know if he’d been successful. She had no proof of their intention to contaminate water or food supplies in the Middle East with this gender/passivity drug, and she wasn’t foolish enough to share that theory. Not without someone to corroborate it. “Is anyone pursuing the captain?”

“That’s up to military investigators, and they’re not communicating with us anymore.”

“What about the damaged clinic computers? Have our tech guys had any luck recovering data?”

Lennard’s brow creased. “The military confiscated those. This case is closed for us.”

Bailey had expected it, but the cover-up still infuriated her.
Let it go.
She’d found and apprehended the murderer and rescued the abducted woman. This investigation was another success for her. There was nothing to gain by pissing off military commanders. “I’ll file a full report when I get back.”

“Take a few days,” Lennard said. “Do some skiing for me while you’re there.”

Not a chance.
“I’ll be back Thursday.” Bailey shut down the connection.

Skiing was dead last on her list of ways to spend free time. Walking into a jail voluntarily was right there at the bottom too. But she might do it anyway. She called the Denver facility and learned that her father’s visiting hours were Mondays and Wednesdays from 3:15 to 3:45 p.m. That would work out with her flight. She would stop on the way to the airport and spend thirty minutes with her dad. Considering how reckless she’d been—and might be in the future—she might need the old man to do the same for her someday.

Tuesday, Oct. 18, 2:05 p.m., Colorado Springs

Taylor walked into the hospital cafeteria and looked around for the man she was meeting. Despite everything she’d been through, this conversation made her nervous, like only it could. Was that him near the back wall? He was the right age and the right complexion. She started toward the man in the crisp blue shirt. He saw her and stood. “Taylor?”

“Yes.”

Her father was handsome in a rugged sort of way, and she recognized herself in his high cheekbones and narrow chin. But fortunately, she had her mother’s small nose.

“Thank you for coming. I know this is awkward.” He reached out his hand.

Taylor shook it, grateful he hadn’t tried to hug her.

“Please sit down. Can I get you anything?”

He was nervous too. She could tell by how fast he spoke. “No thanks. Let’s just get this over with.”