Робин Кук - Mortal Fear

Jason could barely control his disgust and fury at what he’d seen. He drove directly to Boston police headquarters and brazenly left his car in a no-parking zone in front of the building.

“I want to see Detective Curran,” Jason told the officer at the desk, then identified himself.

The policeman calmly checked his watch, then called up to Homicide. He spoke for a minute, then covered the receiver with his hand. “Would anyone else do?”

“No. I want Curran. And now, please.”

The policeman spoke into the phone a few minutes more, then hung up. “Detective Curran isn’t available, sir.”

“I think he’ll talk with me. Even if he’s off duty.”

“That’s not the problem,” the policeman said. “Detective Curran is on a double homicide in Revere. He should be calling in within an hour or so. If you want, you can wait or leave your number. It’s up to you, sir.”

Jason thought for a moment. He’d been up most of the night, his nerves were shot, and the idea of a shower, a change of clothes, and food had a lot of appeal. Besides, once he got together with Curran, he would be busy for some time. He left his, home number, asking that Curran call as soon as possible.

The United flight from Seattle had been delayed considerably, and by the time it landed at Logan, Juan Díaz was in a sour mood. He’d not screwed up an assignment so badly since he hit the wrong man in New York. That fiasco was excusable, but his current one was not. He’d been within a few seconds of popping both the doctor and the nightclub puta when Jason, an amateur, had outsmarted him. Juan had no excuse and had told the contact as much. He knew he had to redeem himself or else, and he looked forward to it eagerly. As soon as he got off the plane, he went to the phone. It was answered on the second ring.

Jason drove the short distance from the police station to Louisburg Square, trying to erase the horrible image of the prematurely aged children at the school. He didn’t even want to think about Hayes and his discovery until he was safely in Curran’s presence.

When he got to his building, he drove around the block a couple of times to make sure no one was watching it. Finally, convincing himself that the guard at the school had not looked at his ID, and hence had no idea who he was, Jason parked his car, carried his luggage up to his apartment, and turned on the lights. To his relief, the place was exactly as he’d left it. When he glanced out at the square, it seemed as peaceful as ever.

Jason was about to get into the shower when he remembered the one other person he should speak to besides the detective. He dialed Shirley. She finally answered on the eighth ring. Jason could hear animated voices in the background.

“Jason!” she exclaimed. “When did you get back from vacation?”

“I got in tonight.”

“What’s the matter?” she asked, picking up on the exhaustion and worry in his voice.

“Big trouble. I think I’ve figured out not only Hayes’s discovery, but how it was being misused. It involves the GHP in a far worse way than you could ever imagine.”

“Tell me.”

“Not over the phone.”

“Then come right over. I have guests here, but I’ll get rid of them.”

“I’m waiting to speak to Curran in Homicide.” “I see... you’ve already contacted him?”

“He’s out on a case, but he should be calling shortly.”

“Then why don’t I come to your apartment? You’ve got me really terrified now.”

“Welcome to the club,” Jason said with a short, bitter laugh. “You might as well come over. You probably should be present when I talk to Curran.”

“I’m on my way.”

“Oh, one other thing. Do you remember who’s currently medical director at the Hartford School?”

“Dr. Peterson, I believe,” Shirley said. “I can find out for certain tomorrow.”

“Wasn’t Peterson closely involved in Hayes’s clinical studies?” Jason asked, suddenly remembering that Peterson was the. doctor who had done the physical on Hayes.

“I think so. Is it important?”

“I’m not sure,” Jason said. “But if you’re coming, hurry. Curran should be calling any minute.”

Jason hung up and was again about to take his shower when he realized Carol too might be in danger. Picking up the phone again, he dialed her number.

“I want you to be sure to stay at home,” he said the moment she answered. “I’m not fooling. Don’t answer your door — don’t go out.”

“Now what is it?”

“The Hayes conspiracy is worse than anything I could imagine.”

“You sound anxious, Jason.”

In spite of himself, Jason smiled. Sometimes Carol could sound like a psychiatrist.

“I’m not anxious, I’m scared to death. But I’ll be talking with the police shortly.”

“Will you let me know what’s going on?” Carol demanded.

“I promise.” Jason hung up and finally went into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

The buzzer sounded and Jason ran downstairs to see Shirley smiling at him through the glass side panel of his front door. He stepped back to let her in, admiring her usual impeccable dress. Tonight she was wearing a black leather miniskirt and a long, red suede jacket.

“Has Curran called?” she asked as they walked upstairs.

“Not yet,” Jason said, carefully double-locking his apartment door.

“Now fill me in,” Shirley said, slipping out of her jacket. Underneath she was wearing a soft cashmere sweater. She sat on the edge of Jason’s sofa, her hands clasped in her lap, and waited.

“You’re not going to like this,” Jason said, sitting next to her.

“I’ve tried to prepare myself. Shoot.”

“First let me give you a little background. If you don’t understand the current research on aging, what I’m about to say may not make much sense.

“In the last few years, scientists like Hayes have spent a lot of time trying to slow the aging process. Most of their work has focused on cells in cell cultures, although some work has been done with rats and mice. Most of the researchers have concluded that aging is a natural process with a genetic basis regulated by neuroendocrine, immune, and humoral factors.”

“You’ve lost me already,” Shirley admitted, lifting her hands in mock surrender.

“How about a drink, then?” Jason suggested, getting to his feet.

“What are you having?”

“A beer. But I have wine, hard stuff, you name it.”

“A beer might be nice.”

Jason went to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and took out two cold Coors.

“You doctors are all the same,” Shirley complained, taking a sip. “You make everything sound complicated.”

“It is complicated,” Jason said, sitting back down. “Molecular genetics concerns the fundamental basis of life. Research in this area is scary, not just because scientists might accidentally create a new and deadly bacterium or virus. It is just as scary if it goes right, because we are playing with life itself. Hayes’s tragedy was not that he failed; the problem was that he succeeded.”

“What did he discover?”

“In a moment,” Jason said, taking a long drink of beer and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Let me put the story another way. We all reach puberty at about the same time, and if disease or accident doesn’t intervene, we all age and die in about the same life-span.”

Shirley nodded.

“Okay,” Jason said, leaning toward her. “This happens because our bodies are genetically programmed to follow an internal timetable. As we develop, different genes are turned on while others are turned off. This is what fascinated Hayes. He had been studying the ways humoral signals from the brain control growth and sexual maturation. By isolating one after another of these humoral proteins, he discovered what they did to peripheral tissues. He was hoping to find out what caused cells to either start dividing or stop dividing.”