machinations that had removed it from the production line and sealed it behind a wall of secrecy. The cost of its delay was paid in human lives, as would be the cost of its continued captivity. All because Dolan had acted feebly, even in the face of his own suspicions.
He thought about Tess Jameson, with so much less to her name and more on the line. Up against vastly more powerful corporate muscle, she'd done everything to orchestrate her son's survival. And just when she'd gotten it within reach, her conscience wouldn't let her seize it. She'd fought to bring a cure to others, even knowing that Sam could die as a result. And now here Dolan was, Vector's principal investigator following the case laid out by a mother with limited resources, education, and opportunity.
The monkeys still hadn't calmed in the test suite, jungle cries echoing around the hard lab surfaces. The din ringing in his ears, Dolan clicked the mouse, sending the e-mail.
The icon spun as the data uploaded. Biting his thumbnail and waiting for the chime, he heard instead the sound of glass shattering in one of the accompanying suites.
A jumble of fears coalesced. Likely Dean had installed cameras inside the lab. So either Dolan had been spotted or soon would be. Maybe Chase's guest access card had called up an alert on some remote security computer.
Slowly, he eased away from his bench, passing back through the production room, the heat of the incubator making his neck sweat. He groped around on the wall, finding the light-switch panel and disabling the motion- sensor feature before stepping fully into the test suite. The monkeys hopped around, their cages banging on the lab counters, but there was no sign of any guards. And no shattered beakers to explain the noise he'd heard.
The access card failed to open the exit in the back of the test suite. Numb with disbelief, Dolan tried again. The proximity reader gave him another flashing red light. Security had locked down the building.
The fire-escape door toward the end of the corridor was by law manually operated. Guards might be waiting for him outside, but he'd rather risk a public confrontation than wait in the dark for whoever broke the glass and was likely stalking him. He now had concrete evidence of what he'd sensed all along-his father was capable of anything.
Dean's painted face stared down as Dolan slipped through the sliding glass doors. Before proceeding up the corridor toward the exit, he turned off the motion sensor on the overheads. The window at the end of the corridor, normally lit by passing headlights, was a black square. Plotting each footstep, he crept along the tile. The monkeys had finally silenced, but the quiet was proving equally sinister.
A faint rustling in the vector-storage room stopped him dead. Through the vast internal window, he caught a partial view of the room. A refrigerator door hung open, casting a faint light across the floor. The freeze-dried Xedral vials, normally neatly lined on the shelves, had been pulled down. A few lay shattered on the concrete. A number of Styrofoam shipping containers had been knocked over, dry ice misting up from the floor.
Why would a guard ransack the vector-storage room?
Before he could flatten to the wall, the door kicked open and Walker solidified from the dark, shrouded in wisps of vapor.
The gunmetal, when pressed to Dolan's neck, felt like ice.
Chapter 77
Using his left arm to cradle twenty or so vials of Xedral against his stomach, Walker pressed the Redhawk to Dolan's throat. Calmly, he stuffed the vials and needle kit into his pockets.
Dolan said, 'Listen-'
'Turn around.'
Dolan pivoted haltingly. His spread fingers trembled.
'What did Tess get on you?' Walker said.
'She found out about a second viral vector I designed for AAT. More effective but less profitable, so my father and brother buried it. They lied to me about it, told me it was less viable than Xedral, and covered the trail with false data.'
'Get on your knees.'
'I just figured out-'
From behind, Walker kicked out Dolan's leg, and he hit the floor hard, his kneecaps knocking tile. Walker pressed the gun to the back of his head. He expected Dolan to cry, to plead, but he didn't. He just sat there, sagged over his folded legs, shoulders slumped.
Walker thought about Kaitlin in the apartment, steering his gun to her own belly so he couldn't aim at the deputy pounding on the door. He summoned his anger. 'You were there. When Tess was raped.'
'Yes.' Dolan didn't move. His voice was quiet, resigned, almost peaceful. 'And I did nothing to help her. I'm sorry.'
Walker's finger tightened on the trigger, but then a spotlight struck the window at the corridor's end. Squinting through the glare, he made out a row of incoming flashing blue lights.
He hit the floor.
The Dodge actually caught air flying off the 405 at Wilshire. Tim's Nextel vibrated, and he snapped it off his belt. 'Almost there.'
Miller said, 'Jameson's inside with an unidentified hostage. The perimeter's airtight, and a traffic-control team's locked down the surrounding blocks. We've got men at all the exits and windows and up on the second floor at the stairwells. The command team and negotiating team are en route, but we got the LAPD crisis negotiator in place already. We blocked the phone lines from the building, so if Walker calls out, he's talking to us. The negotiator's on with him now, obtaining proof that the hostage is okay. Guerrera's rounding up Jameson's mother and father and getting no cooperation. His platoon-mate-guy in the VA? — is too sick to be moved.'
As Bear swept around the exit loop, a blanket of parked cop cars drew into view, the strobing reds and blues projecting false movement all around. The desolate run of street beyond the vehicle barricade looked bizarre; Tim had never seen Wilshire devoid of traffic. Freed whistled through his teeth. A spotlight blazed off the closed venetian blinds blotting out a window on the ground floor of the Beacon-Kagan Building.
Tim said, 'Contact Kaitlin Jameson-she's three blocks over at the UCLA Med Center. And find Dolan Kagan.'
Bear slowed at the sawhorses, flashing his badge to the cop. Up the block, in the eye of the spotlight, the venetian blinds flashed open, revealing a silhouette bound to an office chair, an arm reaching into view to press a gun to his temple. The blinds snapped shut again.
Miller said, 'Unfortunately, I think we just did.'
Bear steered slowly, threading through the parked cars.
'Walker said he won't talk to the negotiator anymore,' Miller said. 'Only to you.'
Tim said, 'We're here. Look west. Bear's rig? Have someone meet me with a cordless.'
Bear slant-parked beside a fire engine, and Tim hopped out. A guy in a SWAT windbreaker trotted over and tossed Tim a cordless. Tim headed to the front of the barricade, pressing the phone to his ear. 'Rackley.'
Acrylic packing tape secured Dolan at the forearms, ankles, chest, and thighs, adhering him to the office chair. Gripping the back of his neck, Walker rolled him down the corridor on well-greased casters. He spoke into the cordless phone he'd swiped from one of the lab benches. 'Bring Sam here now, or this fuck dies.'
Through the phone Tim sounded slightly winded; he was jogging. 'We can't move Sam. He's in full liver failure.'
'Full liver failure? Then you'd better get him here quick.'
'We can't do that,' Tim said. 'He's in bad shape.'
'I have the Xedral shot. It'll make him better. Send Sam in to me. I give him the shot, then I let Dolan go free.'
'There's a better vector. That's what Tess found out. That's why they had her killed.'
Walker halted, Dolan grunting as his grip tightened. 'That's what my hostage told me. You think we should believe him?'
'Tess got ahold of evidence. I've seen it.'
