Jeff Abbott - Adrenaline

The burglar headed straight for the bathroom. A comb, a brush, and a toothbrush lay on the shelf under the mirror. The burglar held up the hairbrush and examined it. Sam Capra had a full head of brownish-blond hair. Several strands lay entwined in the stiff bristles of the brush.

The burglar hoped some held surviving follicles. The brush went into a plastic bag, to be joined by the comb and the toothbrush. A slide of the gloved fingers along the bag and the job was done.

Then out the door, down the stairs, back into the moonlight-dappled night. The burglar slid up the dark heavy balaclava that hid his face and walked off into the black. The key to dealing properly with Sam Capra lay rustling like a whisper in the plastic bag.

I called Howell back three hours later.

“What did you find?”

His voice sounded grim. “The photos match a set of prototypical weapons being developed by the Company.”

By the Company? Oh, my God. “Being developed for you by Bahjat Zaid.”

God or nature or biological accident gives us these awesome brains and this is what we do with them. We think of better ways to kill. Ways that make murder as easy as taking a breath.

These guns could change history. Kill a CEO, kill a president, kill a pope, kill a good guy, kill a bad guy, with total confidence that the bullet will find its mark.

Howell said, “Sam, do you know what the goal is? Of this man having these guns? Why’s he doing this?”

“Profit, I’m sure-he must be selling the guns to someone who has an agenda. He has the DNA of fifty people. One of my contacts, Piet, said there were fifty packages Edward was smuggling. Fifty. Fifty means something, but the fifty people aren’t famous.”

“Would you recognize them if you saw them again?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” My head pounded.

The guns were a ticket back to having my life back. If the Company forgave me my sins, then I had a chance of getting back and keeping my son without looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life.

“New York,” I said. “He’s shipping the guns to New York.” Piet had told me that.

“Why? To who?”

“I don’t know.”

Silence. Then: “You listen to me. If you’re setting me up for another fall, then you will seriously regret it.”

“I have bigger problems than you, Howell. I know you’re just doing a thankless job. I’m sorry I’m your headache. I really am.”

“Sam-”

“When I find out more I’ll call you.”

“You are still a Company officer.”

“I am not.”

“You are-and I am ordering you to come in.”

I hung up. I went downstairs and found Kenneth, the manager of Adrenaline. He came back up to the office with me. He sucked in his breath when he saw Yasmin’s body.

“I didn’t kill her,” I said.

“All right,” Kenneth said.

I explained what had happened, without telling him about the specific nature of the weapons. Best to keep that to myself. When I told him Mila had been captured, he said, “How can I help?”

“Kenneth, who runs this? Who do you work for?”

“I work for Mila.”

“Who does Mila work for? This technology, this level of resources-you folks have serious clout.”

Kenneth said, “Mila should have told you.”

“Mila may be dead.”

He sat. “She works for the Round Table.”

“Round Table? Like King Arthur’s Round Table?”

“Mila likes to pretend they date back to a distant time, but it’s simply a name. They’re a group of powerful and wealthy people who have joined forces over many years, and I don’t know more than that. I do know I can make phone calls and certain resources are arranged for Mila, or for whoever is working for her.”

“Okay, I am working for King Arthur.” I nearly laughed. With all the insanity of the day, I felt on edge.

“No, sir.” Kenneth seemed alarmed that I believed this.

“And the Round Table owns the bars? Adrenaline, De Rode Prins in Amsterdam?”

He nodded. “Under a front company.”

“Why do you work for them? What’s your background?”

He studied me for a moment. Then he said, very formally, “Ten years ago I was accused of murdering a former girlfriend. I was innocent, but I was convicted and I went to prison. Mila’s employers helped me prove my innocence and they found the real killer. I owe them. And I have an interest in justice now I did not have before.”

“Is that Mila’s background, too? Falsely accused and saved by the Round Table?” Just like me.

“I cannot say because I do not know. Does it matter, right now? We must help Mila.”

“All right. I need transport to the United States. For me and for a prisoner inside that room. I can’t cart her through first class in chains. Can you arrange that?”

“Yes. I can put you on a private plane.” Kenneth went to a phone and picked it up to make a call. He hesitated. “Do you think Mila’s dead?”

“I hope not. I hope I’m going to get her. Because I think whoever has her wants to know about this Round Table.”

“They won’t break her.” He said this with certainty.

Mila was Edward’s bonus. He knew that he and his employers were facing a formidable enemy in whoever Mila and I worked for. It was the only reason she’d been kept alive. Edward was, if anything, a constant opportunist.

I stared down at Lucy. “We’re going to go get on a plane shortly. If you try and break away from me, or create a scene, I’ll shoot you. Do you understand me, sweetheart?”

“Yes, monkey.” Lucy held up her wrists. “I understand you.”

The cabin was bare but functional. Me, Lucy and the pilot and copilot. They did not ask questions about our guest in chains.

“They’ve been told that she’s a prisoner of the CIA,” Kenneth said. “I thought you would appreciate the irony.”

“Thank you.”

Lucy ate the sandwich that I gave her and drank from a bottle of water.

The plane left England behind, soaring out over the dark heavy steel of the Atlantic.

“I have a question for you. How exactly does the chip get the DNA?”

“I could bore you with the detailed science, but you put a hair or a blood sample on the chip and it encodes the bullets with the target’s DNA. Then the bullet’s like a guided missile.”

“But he shot at you and missed.”

“He didn’t have my DNA on the chip. It acts as a normal gun without the DNA enhancement.”

“Does he have a chip with your DNA?”

She started to answer and then fell silent.

“He could and you don’t know.”

“If he’s smart he does. Edward won’t let anyone betray him.”

“I’ve been thinking hard about why you turned traitor, trying to see how someone like Edward, a psychopath, could lure you away from your life with me.”

“Well, when you were investigating these criminal networks, I used to see the numbers you crunched. You look at these crime rings, you see how much money they make. Billions and billions. Twenty percent of the world’s economy comes from illicit goods now. It’s easy money. You just need the right mix of skills. Smugglers, hit men, hackers. The right network. And then…” She looked at me coolly. “I’m a businessperson. They offered me some money. I knew I could clean it through Company accounts and make it vanish. At least, I thought I could. It wasn’t going to hurt anyone, giving them the files.”

“Tell me about Novem Soles.”

“I have a contact. He got me my money, but I’ve never met him.” She finished her sandwich. “I don’t even know how they got their name. But I found an old legend about nine suns on the Internet. Chinese. It says that there were once ten suns, but they wouldn’t come out just one at a time during the day. All ten would come and their heat and power would incinerate the world.” Her voice had grown very soft. “The emperor asked the father of the ten suns, Di Jun, to ask the suns to appear just one at a time, so the earth would not be remade in heat and flame. But the suns refused. So Di Jun sent an archer named Yi, with a magical bow and arrow, to frighten the suns, to make them obey. Instead Yi shot nine of them, so only one sun would remain.” She risked a smile. “Because the nine suns, returning, would destroy the world, annihilate whoever tried to tame them. I don’t even know if that story has anything to do with the Nine Suns, or why they use a Latin name if it’s based on a Chinese legend.” She smiled but there was no joy in it. “Nine people who could remake the world, that’s how they think of themselves.”