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nt you and Burley to drive to the Annex right away. Take a Gen-Core delivery van, it won’t be missed. Remove all the servers, the pheresis units, everything medical that can’t be explained. Put all the finished drugs and the frozen plasma stores into the portable freezers and pack them all into my powered storage unit. Then I want you to burn down the Annex. And, Quince, use that magnificent brain my father assured me you have, make it look like an accident, a faulty gas main, whatever. Call me when it’s done.”
Lister watched Quince walk from the living room. He waited until he reached the door and called out, “Quince, there will be no more failures, do you understand?”
Quince nodded. Lister listened to his footsteps across the large entrance hall, heard him close the front door behind him.
Lister slid his worry beads in his pocket. It was time to check on Ella Peters and Alex Moody, Enigma Three. He trusted Ella implicitly, as his father had, but he hadn’t expected he’d have to call on her services quite so soon. They’d planned to leave the baby with his mother so long as Enigma Two remained a useful subject, but his escape had upended that careful plan. Now Ella was dealing with a newborn, by herself. A pity he wouldn’t have the mother to use as his next research subject. She would have been Enigma Three, not her baby, until the child grew large enough to join her as a research subject. He’d wanted to wait until both mother and baby were home, on their own, before acting. Enigma Two’s escape had changed everything. Lister knew the FBI was deeply involved. They didn’t have his brilliance, but he wasn’t a blind fool, he knew they were good at what they did. He didn’t see how they would find him, though, unless Enigma Two came out of his coma and told them, which meant he had to get ready.
Lister sighed, turned at the top of the wide staircase and walked down the long hallway toward the south wing. Another long hallway led him past guest rooms, a music room, a movie room, until he reached the old nursery, and he prayed, his whispered words echoing in the empty hallway, Let Enigma Two never wake up. Make this incredible child my crowning achievement.
Lister knocked on the nursery door. He heard Ella’s soft-soled shoes after a moment coming quietly to the door. She eased it open, saw him, smiled, and quickly put her fingers to her lips. “Alex is sleeping. Come look at him, Lister, he’s beautiful, a perfect child.”
“Don’t be sentimental, Ella. He will be our perfect subject, combining the genetic strengths of Enigma One and Enigma Two. He is my father’s best hope, the best hope for all of us.”
She walked to the crib, looked down at the sleeping baby, lightly touched a fingertip to his thick black hair. Lister frowned at the besotted look on her homely face. What Ella saw was a baby she thought beautiful. What Lister saw was a triumph, the culmination of all his research, all his efforts, all his experiments. Alex Moody would show him how to save his father and then how to save himself.
He said more to himself than to Ella, “I wish we could have waited until he was older, taken both him and his mother. Now we must care for him ourselves until he is old enough to begin running our tests.”
She turned toward him, her back pressed against the crib, as if protecting the baby. Her voice was sharp. “Lister, Alex is far too young for you to be considering any tests, anything that would hurt him.”
He put out his hands. “Yes, Ella, of course he is. I assure you I do not wish to torture him. I want to protect him and nurture him as much as you do, perhaps more so. I’ve spent a great deal of time and money finding his mother, assuring her pregnancy, and I found her only because she’s a cousin of our first subject, Enigma One.” He shook his head. “You remember how surprised and pleased I was when I found they shared the same structural variant, the same DNA inversion I found in his genome near the HLA gene complex on chromosome six.”
Ella usually didn’t understand his talk about genomes, most of it was gobbledygook to her, but she knew enough to be impressed. She said, “Well, it was a shame that Enigma One died. You told me what an excellent subject he was.”
“Yes, he was drug-resistant and a strong responder, almost as strong as Enigma Two. And now, Ella, this baby is my finest creation. He combines both of their genetic gifts. His value to me will be incalculable, worth far more than Gen-Core itself.” He added, his voice low, heartfelt, “Don’t ever forget, Ella, this is the child who will save my father.”
Ella looked at the sleeping baby. “But you don’t know yet, Lister, how he’ll do, whether he really will tolerate your drug.”
“He will, I know he will.”
Ella listened to the baby sucking on his tiny fingers. Enigma Three. No, she couldn’t, wouldn’t, call him that ridiculous name. His name was Alex Moody, and he was a helpless baby, not a test subject, not yet. It wasn’t fair to expect him to carry the weight of all that hope on his shoulders. He shouldn’t have to carry anything. Then she thought of B.B. and sighed.
52
CAU
THE HOOVER BUILDING
WASHINGTON, D.C.
WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON
The conference room sounded with the clatter of computer keys, the occasional comment and halfhearted curse. Water bottles, coffee cups, and a plate with half a Danish hanging off the edge sat in the middle of the long table surrounded by CAU agents. Ruth and Ollie were working through passports of Russian citizens who’d entered the United States and also made frequent trips to England. Ollie was going through photos of Russians with British and international driver’s licenses. Jack was looking at surveillance videos of the entrances to the chancery of the Russian Embassy on Wisconsin NW, and Cam, to the Russian Consulate on Tunlaw Road NW. Savich was on MAX, scouring old English private school records for Russian students from twenty and thirty years ago, cross-matching the names with recent American visa applications. They were looking for a Russian in his forties with a pale complexion, who may have been in the Washington area six weeks ago. It was tedious work that took intense focus.
An occasional chair scraped back to allow a stretch or a bathroom break. Savich called a ten-minute time-out when pizza arrived.
They’d been at it for three hours, found several Russian middle-aged men who could fit Saxon Hainny’s description of him, but there was always something not quite right—the height, the weight, the widow’s peak not dramatic enough, the background, the record of recent travel.
It was seven o’clock in the evening and everyone was tired, their nerves jangled from too much coffee. They were taking their first bites of pizza when Ollie shouted, “Look at this! Everything fits, finally. Come look!”
Chairs scraped back in unison and everyone crowded in behind Ollie to look at the passport photo on his computer screen. “Look at him, he fits Saxon Hainny’s description. Look at that widow’s peak.”
Energy flashed in the room, everyone on alert as Savich read out, “Sergei Petrov, age forty-six, five foot eleven, one hundred seventy pounds, resides in Moscow, but a frequent visitor to the U.S., mainly Washington and New York. He last entered the United States eight weeks ago. Listed as a businessman, the purpose of his visit listed as pleasure and business. Does he have a local address, Ollie?”
Ollie typed madly, pulled up a Google map, and raised his head. “He’s listed at 1701 Arcturus Road, Alexandria, but it’s really south of the city, in a rich private area, right on the Potomac.”
Savich said, “All we need is verification by our eye witness, Saxon Hainny”—Savich rubbed his hands together, gave them all a blazing smile—“and we can go get him. Ollie, print out Petrov’s photo. Everyone, get started on a dossier of Mr. Widow’s Peak. I’m calling Saxon in.”
Computer keys were clacking again when Savich punched off his cell. He looked around the table. “Saxon will be here in a few minutes. Ollie, you said when you answered the burner cell, you spoke to a man with a thick Russian accent?”
