Nate Kenyon - The Reach

“Hush, now,” she said. She forced a smile, reached up to touch his face with gentle fingers. “It’s all right. We’ve done what we could do, and it’s gotten away from us. But I’ll be okay.”

“Oh no,” he moaned. He buried his slick, sweaty face in her neck, and she managed to remain still, putting her hand around the back of his head and holding him to her. His voice was muffled by her blouse. “No, you won’t, not if we can’t get her to cooperate. We were so close to a breakthrough, I, I can’t lose you.”

“Don’t worry.”

“I love you, I’m sorry, but it’s true, I always have. I know you don’t want to hear it.”

“I know you do, Evan,” Shelley said. “I love you too.” And then he was trying to kiss her with his slimy, wormlike lips, wet with the salt of his tears, and it took every ounce of her self-control not to pull away from the horrible smell and taste of him.

Finally she got him to the couch, and poured a shot glass of brandy. His hands were shaking too much to hold it. “Here,” she said, holding it up for him to drink. “That’s better. Now, tell me it again, from the beginning.”

She listened as he described his conversation with Cruz and Berger. Then he told her about Jess Chambers’s visit.

“We should never have let her become involved,” he said. “Now she’s sniffing around and she’s got her wind up. It’s only a matter of time until she puts it all together. She’ll go to the state, the papers, she’ll expose us both.”

“Jess served her purpose,” Shelley said. “Sarah opened up again, didn’t she? Just as we’d hoped.”

“But now Helix is taking over. They’re going to cut me out completely, I can feel it coming. They don’t know what they’re doing with her.” Wasserman shook his head. “I just wanted to save the hospital,” he said. “And I wanted to save your life. I never thought it would go this far.”

“Perhaps they can control it, as they say.”

“There’s no controlling what she has,” Wasserman said. “Now they want to offer the ability to anyone with money enough to buy it. God forbid it gets into the hands of madmen. Dictators? Terrorists? Imagine someone like Hussein with that kind of power!”

Shelley stood up and went to the window, hugging her arms across her chest. Wait just long enough to add the proper tremor. She turned to find him staring at her. “What do you think we should do?”

“We have to stop them, and stop her,” he whispered. “The way we always talked about. Wipe this obscenity off the face of the earth. Destroy every sample, every record. It has to end right here.”

Shelley soothed him, agreed to all he said, let him caress and touch her. Then, after he’d gone, she went back out on the patio.

The air had turned cooler in the late afternoon, and a breeze picked up stray leaves and whirled them across the lawn. She watched the orange and red colors dancing through the deepening shadows, and sensed an air of neglect, as if the grass were just half an inch too long, the shrubs grown out and getting leggy. A dead branch had come down near the edge of the wooded patch on the southeast corner.

The phone was ringing. Shelley stumbled back inside and fumbled for it on the counter, picked up on the fourth chirp.

“Our men lost her,” Berger said. “She pulled a stunt at a light, there were witnesses. We didn’t have any secondary support, it was only tagged as a shadow. If we knew that she was on to us—”

For the first time that day, real fear washed over Jean Shelley. This was not part of the carefully designed plan. Up to this point, everything had gone perfectly with Jess Chambers. Shelley had planted the seeds of doubt, challenged her to let it all go, knowing full well she would not. Jess knew just enough to be suitably angry, but not enough to blow things wide open. Wasserman was the last piece of the puzzle, and his undoing would serve as the perfect final distraction for the firestorm that would come.

This would not do. She clutched the phone in a white-knuckled hand, took a deep breath, and let it out. “She wouldn’t have suspected a tail. She must have seen you following her and put it together.”

“These men are good.”

“Not good enough, damn it!”

Berger sighed. “She can’t have gone far. We have someone watching her place, the school.”

“Then find her. Don’t bring her in, just find her and don’t lose her again.”

“We’re working on it. But Philippa and I agree, we can’t wait any longer or this is all going to come down on our heads. The director is a liability, he’s at the breaking point and I can’t predict what he’ll do. We’ve put too much pressure on him, and he didn’t like bringing Chambers into this in the first place. / didn’t like it either, to be honest.”

“It was necessary for personal reasons. Everything we know confirms our decision. She has the family history with her brother, DNA testing was a match, and the results speak for themselves. They’ve made the connection and it’s strong enough to bear weight.”

“That’s your call. We have what we want.”

“Good. There are other endings available to us, if Jess doesn’t work out. You understand what I mean?”

“They’ll arrive by helicopter shortly.”

“Good. When you go in, you’ve got to be careful. You know what you’re up against. The girl is agitated and we don’t have her completely contained, whatever you and Cruz say about this new drug. When you move, tell Evan he’s done and that we’re pulling his funding.”

“He won’t like that.”

“Of course he won’t like it. That’s the point. If he’s riled up, it will look worse for him. If you can break him, go ahead. He’s got to be the fall guy for this.”

Dr. Jean Shelley looked out her window. The hummingbirds were back, hovering just beyond the glass. The sight soothed her. Then why did she feel unsettled, as if there were something she should understand, something she should remember, but could not?

It was probably the sickness at work in her brain. She could feel it coursing through her veins, carrying the killer cells to the farthest points in her body. Microscopic invaders sent to undo her from within. She did not have long now, and she was burning alive.

Where would Jess Chambers go?

When she really thought about it, the answer seemed so obvious she couldn’t believe it hadn’t occurred to her until now.

“You know what she’ll do,” Shelley said into the phone. The voice on the other end seemed like a million miles away. “She won’t wait. She’ll come back for the girl.”

“Then we’ll spot her.”

This was it; one way or another, this was the end of a very long road.

“That’s what we want. It’s time now. Everyone has to be on alert. Put the wheels in motion.”

And please, don’t let me down.

The Sikorsky S-76 helicopter lifted off from the private airfield at 3:45 p.m. central time. On board were eight men in full attack gear: STRIKE DOAV Vests, black UnderArmour moisture-wicking T-shirts, goggles, radio, combat boots, Hell-storm Python Light Rappel gloves, and M9 pistols. Four carried specially modified M4 assault rifles with dart rounds. One of them held something considerably more dangerous.

The Special Operations team was led by Bertie McDwyer. McDwyer had served ten years with the army, in Europe and then in the Middle East during Desert Storm. He had been assigned to various bases within the United States before joining the army’s school for snipers at Ft. Benning.

After graduating he had carried out several clandestine operations, neutralizing high-level targets on five separate occasions without a single complication. Now he was a killer for hire. He was known for striking fast and hard and without hesitation. He was young, strong, and experienced.