Shrieking in pain, Sebastian began picking at the pieces of searingly hot gold microshot. The pellets, used for inserting the DNA plasmid into the kernels, were cooking him alive. Blood continued spurting from his neck while his gold-pockmarked face smoked from the embedded metal.
He writhed on the floor, screaming and pleading for help, gurgling on blood that had seeped inside his mouth and down his throat.
The handsome German, an obsessive weight lifter, was already a corpse whose head and neck were virtually the same golden color as the corn surrounding him.
Edwin snapped off the video playback. Sebastian’s gruesome remains, for a moment frozen on the screen, faded into black.
He had seen enough of the scientist’s bizarre death-especially now that he had the first inklings of an explanation for the man’s behavior-an explanation provided unknowingly by Dr. Lou Welcome.
CHAPTER 36
Lou and the others spent an endless day searching for Notso in the cornfields. The dogs Stone had brought in barked excitedly a couple of times, but then quickly fell silent.
“Rabbits,” their handler said.
After three hours, George’s spirit was broken. His plea for a chopper was brushed off as being fruitless with the corn being as dense as it was. He continued going through the motions of a search, scuffing through the tall stalks and grumbling about Frankencorn. But it was clear he was spent, and in great despair about having to report his cousin’s probable death to his aunt.
Not unexpectedly, Cap was a giant, forging ahead tirelessly over ground they knew they had covered before. Lou found himself wondering how different the man’s life would have been had he simply been allowed to live it. Still, over the years, the two of them had been to countless AA and NA meetings together, and not once had he heard Cap complain about his lot. A power of example he was called by most of those who knew him.
“We’re not done looking,” Stone said to the trio when they got back to the dirt road where their vehicles were parked. “But the dogs are beat. We’ll call in the staties and resume searching in the morning.”
“What the fuck for?” George muttered. “Notso’s dead, and you know it.”
“We’re still viewing this as a search-and-rescue mission, son,” Stone said in his soothing drawl. “If your friend is wounded and somewhere out in this cornfield, we’ll find him. I promise you, we’ll find him.”
Cap could no longer hold back his irritation. “And what about the guys who tried to kill us?” he snapped. “You still viewing this as a crime scene for that as well?”
Stone showed no outward signs of losing his cool. “This whole investigation is going to take some time,” he said. “You’ve got to give us a chance to do our jobs.”
None of the three from D.C. bothered to respond. Instead, they climbed into the Prizm and headed east, back to the District.
Cap dropped Lou off at home only after getting assurances that he would call at the first hint of a return engagement from the muscle who had started it all.
Lou trudged up the staircase to his apartment, then fumbled to unlock his door. Between extended shifts on his feet in the ER, and sessions at the gym, he was in better than decent shape. This fatigue, he knew, was something else-a combination of frustration, bewilderment, and anger, mixed with a good-sized dose of fear-fear not so much for himself as for Emily, Renee, and Steve, as well as his father and Graham.
It was hard to believe the thugs who had followed him home and later ambushed the four of them were through with him. It was also hard to believe they would stop at anything to achieve whatever it was they were being paid to do.
One of the most interesting things to come of all that had happened were Lou’s thoughts of his brother. For reasons that were never completely clear, probably Graham’s shame over Lou’s addiction and months in rehab, the two of them had drifted apart over the years since Graham entered college, and Lou’s life began its gradual deterioration. What Graham would never know, Lou hoped, was that the two occurrences were connected.
Soon before Graham was to enter Georgetown, their father buried himself beneath yet another financial avalanche-this one an absolute crusher that left the man virtually penniless and without hope of recovery. Unwilling to deprive his second son of a college education, Dennis had turned to Lou, who was already generating a salary as a resident. Dennis assumed, without blinking, that Lou could and would help him out. After all, he contended, he had been there as much as he could when it was Lou’s college and med school tuition at stake. Surely Graham, the stronger student of the two, deserved nothing less.
In the beginning, Lou managed, and Graham excelled. Then marriage and Emily forced Lou to add more moonlighting shifts until sleep became a major problem. Enter the friendly, neighborhood amphetamine dealer, and still more hours of work. It was something like the so-called death spiral that figure skating pairs performed-the woman stretched out almost completely supine, being spun faster and faster by her partner, and closer and closer to the unyielding surface of the ice.
By the time the world and the DEA came crashing in around Lou, Graham had his MBA and was excelling as a businessman, and the distance between the two brothers could be measured in light-years.
The first thing Lou did after a walk-through of his apartment, and a glance into his closets, was to check his email, thinking that he might have received something from Filstrup at the PWO. Nothing. Lou leaned back and stared at the ceiling, consumed by a heavy melancholy. He was disconnected from the thing in life outside of his family that meant the most to him-being able to help sick docs who, more often than not, had very few people, if anyone, on their side. Now, for the second time in his life, he was one of them.
Working through the stack of spam and email from clients who had chosen to ignore his status at the PWO further darkened Lou’s mood. In fact, the only thought that appealed in the least was flopping facedown on his pillow and lying there until sleep brought him some relief. It was then he realized that there was another unread email lost in the remaining spam-this one marked URGENT. The subject line read:
Lou’s mouth went dry.
Dr. Lou Welcome:
For reasons that cannot be revealed, I have become aware of your investigation into the peculiar behaviors exhibited by some residents of Kings Ridge, Virginia. Like yourself, I believe these odd incidents may be connected. Your help is required to prevent what may be a looming disaster.
At precisely ten o’clock on the date of this message, your apartment door buzzer will ring. When it does, you are to go downstairs, where you will find a waiting car and driver. You must then do as he asks. Guaranteed, you will not be harmed. But if you want answers to your questions, then you will comply with this request.
Do not try to determine the source of this message. I have taken the necessary precautions to safeguard my anonymity.
If you are willing to do as I request, please respond to this email with the word WILCO in the message body.
Please, you must help.
The message was unsigned. Lou knew that
Lou felt more curious than apprehensive. A trap of some sort seemed possible, but if so, it was a clumsy one.
At least whoever had written him admitted knowing that there had been trouble.
The people who had followed him before the nightmare in Kings Ridge knew his name and where he lived. They were resourceful and violent. If they were set on harming him, warning him to the contrary made little
