Jeff Abbott - Fear

A shrine in Chimayo, north of Santa Fe, claimed that the dirt from its foundations could work miracles: smother the fire of AIDS in the blood, corral cancer cells, drive death into retreat. Groote drove past the cars lining the road that led to the old church, steering slowly past the camera-necklaced tourists, past an old woman in a wheelchair, past a kid about Nathan Ruiz’s age with a fresh burr, crutches, and an empty camouflaged-pant leg, huffing himself toward the church as though he were competing in a race.

Groote parked and watched the kid and wondered if a dash of that Jesus dust would help Amanda. After all, salvation might be close at hand. Frost – in a form to fix his girl – still seemed miles beyond his reach.

All that, he decided, was about to change.

He got out of the car and walked along the outside of the church, toward the building’s back.

Quantrill was waiting for him.

‘My God, you’re a horror,’ Quantrill said, inspecting Groote’s nose brace, the battered jaw.

‘Thanks. How was your flight?’

Quantrill lit a cigarette. ‘The peanuts were stale.’ Ice in his voice. ‘I’m not happy with the services you’ve provided so far.’

‘I’m not happy with being lied to.’

‘How have I lied to you, Dennis?’

‘Tell me the truth about what Sorenson said – is there a second auction of Frost being set up?’

Quantrill blew out a frustrated sigh. ‘Yes. I’ve heard about it from two of my contacts. Very unfortunate.’

‘You could have told me.’

‘I didn’t want you distracted. Two of my contacts said they’ve been contacted by a guy willing to sell them the research – at half my asking price.’

He didn’t give a rat’s ass about Quantrill’s money. ‘I don’t think Sorenson is behind the auction. I think it’s Miles Kendrick.’

‘Who?’

Groote explained what he’d learned about Miles’s background. He left out that he’d let Miles and company escape; he wasn’t about to admit his own underestimation of Miles Kendrick.

Quantrill considered. ‘Then it’s just a sick coincidence. The mobsters want him dead, they kill Allison, it has nothing to do with Frost.’

‘That’s what the feds are supposed to believe. But not us. Miles Kendrick had to know that when his shrink died in a bomb blast, his past might come to light and he’d be blamed for her murder. It covers up that he stole Frost, because he must have known we wouldn’t run to the cops. I almost admire the guy; he built a brilliant plan.’

Quantrill nodded. ‘You have to stop this second auction…’

‘Do I? I want my kid to have the medicine. A drug company buys the research cheap, they produce it faster. You’re screwed, true, but I’m not.’

Quantrill didn’t blink. ‘But what if it’s not Miles Kendrick running the second auction? What if it’s Sorenson?’

Groote said, ‘I don’t get it.’

‘And you say you admire clear thinking.’ Quantrill tossed his cigarette an inch from Groote’s toe. ‘I think you actually hate Miles Kendrick, for a reason you’re not telling me.’

‘He’s a goddamned mobster. I used to put people like him in prison.’

‘And now you put them in graves.’

‘A few might be in urns.’

Quantrill shook his head. ‘Revenge won’t make Amanda healthy. But Frost will, Dennis. Think, with a clear head, what we’re facing. His threat is not that he’ll sell Frost to someone. Consider what he’s done and what that fed told you – Kendrick wants to bring whoever killed her to justice. He’s killed Hurley, he’s broken into the hospital. But the end result, each time, is to rescue a patient who was being tested with Frost. He doesn’t want to sell it. He wants to expose it. What do you think will happen if Kendrick and his psycho buddies go public about Frost? Illegal testing of a drug on the traumatized, including veterans? No pharmaceutical will ever come near us, no matter the drug’s efficacy. Even a worthy drug might be buried for years until the pharmas don’t have to worry about lawsuits or bad publicity.’ Quantrill lit a cigarette. ‘I can derail the auction – doesn’t matter if it’s Kendrick or Sorenson. There are very few willing buyers to touch hot research. A few well-placed phone calls, a suggestion that the stolen research isn’t complete, or if the second auction takes place I threaten to cut a plea bargain and name names for the FDA. It would be enough to stop the auction in its tracks. But if Miles Kendrick is intent on exposing us because he wants to avenge his doctor, then we’re dead in the water.’

‘He hasn’t exposed us yet.’

‘You have to stop him before he does.’

‘All right.’

Quantrill jerked his head at the crowds heading toward the church. ‘You see these people? Flocking toward dirt that, if you buy the freaking hype, cures every ill. Faith and hope are just commodities, and everyone buys them. And they’ll buy Frost if you and I can silence Kendrick and his friends. We’ll have a world where trauma never leaves its footprints.’

‘You’re wrong about faith,’ Groote said.

‘I’m not.’

‘Everyone needs faith. In people if not God.’

‘Profound talk from a killer.’ Quantrill couldn’t hide his smirk.

‘You’re not better than me, Oliver. I do what you’re not willing to, what you’re afraid to do. So don’t talk down to me.’

‘I won’t.’ The smirk tried to evolve into a steel-eyed stare, but Quantrill couldn’t make it work.

‘Here’s what you need to do,’ Groote said. ‘Change medical records to show that Nathan Ruiz was released from the hospital by Doctor Hurley the day before Allison died. Then go back to California and put the brakes on the new auction.’

‘All right,’ Quantrill said. ‘I’ll have to report Hurley missing when he doesn’t show for work on Monday. Hopefully drag it out until Tuesday. Plant an idea with the cops that Hurley was distraught over Allison’s death – he fits the part of the heartbroken loner – and left town. You’re sure they’ll never find his body?’

‘They won’t.’

Quantrill crossed his arms. ‘Good. So now for our other problem. Kendrick’s got two loony tunes under his wing. He probably can’t get far. He may even still be in town. Draw him out. Use Ruiz’s family. They might be the first people Ruiz contacts.’

‘When this is all said and done,’ Groote said, ‘my daughter gets Frost. First.’

‘Of course, Dennis,’ Quantrill said, ‘but I can’t do that, can I, if Kendrick stays a problem.’

‘He won’t. We done?’

Quantrill nodded.

Groote walked back to his car. He drove toward Santa Fe, starved for sleep – which he didn’t see in his immediate future – for food, for a clear head. He had reserved a hotel room near the Plaza.

His cell phone rang. It was the computer technician at the hospital, who was examining Celeste’s computer. ‘I found evidence that files large enough to be the Frost research files were uploaded to a remote server via Celeste Brent’s computer.’

‘Where’s the server?’

‘I traced it to a location in Fish Camp, California, a server belonging to a man named Edward Wallace.’

The name meant nothing.

‘Compare the files with Hurley’s files. See if they’re the same name, the same size.’

‘I did already. She uploaded one extra file Hurley didn’t have in his Frost database.’

‘What’s the other one?’

‘It’s a simple text file… it’s called BuyList.’

BuyList. Buyers’ list? Allison had gotten a list of the people lining up to buy from Quantrill, the under-the-table consultants who could filter Frost into a research department.

But why would that be in the research files? The buyers were Quantrill’s business – not Hurley’s.