Arrival By Wrath Part 12

Even his personal appearance had declined significantly. She was the only one he spoke with on a regular basis, other than Jack. Preston supposed that was a good thing. If the lieutenant took a good enough look at him, he'd probably send him home.

Moreover, the days had grown demanding.

As Preston sat in his office mulling over the week's most significant events, he knew he had quite a while to think in silence. Jack had gone home, primarily of his own volition, to oversee the transition of his family. They were now under the watchful eyes of the police. Begrudgingly, he'd finally agreed to the patrol car outside his home, wanting to be there to ensure his family wasn't spooked like the last time. Now, there would be no more panicked gathering of belongings or rus.h.i.+ng them out the door.

Instead, Preston had only arranged for a single police car out front, twenty-four hours a day. It would be three pairs of Unis working in eight hour s.h.i.+fts. Preston had made sure that Jack was already on a first name basis with each of them.

Hopefully, he thought, even that was overdoing it. Nevertheless, it was the first time Preston didn't envy Jack's family life. Explaining the situation to his wife and children would have been too much to handle.

He took his mind off the tense situation by flipping through the crime photos in front of him. Both newly discovered bodies were barely recognizable. Judging by the condition and location of the corpses, both had most likely been shot on a boat and thrown overboard. Preliminary reports on the scene determined that the victims had been dead for several days before being found.

Additionally, fish and other animals had been eating away at them during that time. Preston looked away for a moment, wondering why the photos were suddenly starting to get the better of him. He took a deep breath and held both photos close enough to his face to see clearly.

They appeared to be rubber dummies that had been painted gray, more of a Hollywood prop than anything else. Their skin was full of open bite marks, offering a pale, bloated display. But, from what was visible of their remaining expressions, they didn't seem to have any sense of shock about them, still frozen in their last moments.

He shook his head and winced again when comparing the crime photos to personnel pictures of them provided by their office. From what the coroner had told him, they probably weren't the most reputable pair, but they also weren't deserving of such an outcome.

Working on patients who were clearly addicted basically made them as bad as the people who peddled Bloodstrife. However, these two hadn't intended to kill anyone and, whether he liked it or not, what they did was borderline legal.

Shortly after Pride's death, the pair hadn't even been at risk of facing charges. Preston was sure that they had been quite confident in their ability to escape any retribution. Of course, killing a member of a cartel, accidentally or not, brought its own share of consequences. The detective had seen it all before.

He put the photos down, rejoining the other pile of photographs already present on the desk. Noticing that The Twist had run out, he flipped it over again, hoping for a fresh perspective.

Word had reached them this morning about Argosi's attacker. Predictably, the man offered no leads. The man had been identified quickly. He was completely unaffiliated with anyone even remotely connected to the case. The addict wasn't a disgruntled employee of Myers-Echowan nor had he ever met the man he tried to kill. If it had been a mere robbery attempt, he could have looted a good portion of the residence and escaped without even running into the owner.

All of this was operating under the pretext that he chose the most heavily guarded house in the city, entering without drawing the attention of any security.

The worst realization to Detective Burroughs, and to the department as a whole, was that the addicts were starting to break the mold. Including his own near-death experience in the alley, there were now two recorded instances of Bloodstrife users becoming violent against others. The department was readying itself. Like c.o.c.kroaches, if they saw two, then there were probably hundreds more lurking about elsewhere.

Riot gear was being prepped, ready to be used at a moment's notice. Vacation time was being cut short for all members of the department in antic.i.p.ation that a fully prepared police unit could be needed at any time. Things were beginning to look slightly militaristic.

Preston folded his hands behind his head, trying to compensate for the additional weight of his daily life. Eyeing the Twist and growing impatient, he intentionally tipped over the trinket on his desk. It landed on its side with a loud thud, but didn't break. He leapt into action as it began to roll off the desk, catching it at the last moment. A few photos and doc.u.ments fell over the side of the desk in a heap.

Placing it off to the side with a mild wave of relief, he began gathering the fallen pages and digging through the files on his desk. Not far from the top was the glaring, disheveled mug shot of Mikhail Phillips. Looking at it carefully, he placed it back down without much notice.

When word first reached them that the surgeon and his nurse, two people so close to the case, had been murdered, Preston had sent a couple Unis over to pick up the elderly street pimp. Partly contributing to the impatience he now felt, Preston was still waiting to hear back from them. It had never been far from his mind.

Despite the fact that a man like him represented one of the worst parts of Chicago, he wasn't guilty of anything specific that Preston could prove, other than outdated charges related to prost.i.tution. So he'd need to be treated as a victim, just like the surgeon and his nurse.

Jack had described a squatter, someone who moved around enough to stay hidden, especially after the Chicago PD came knocking. Despite his age, additional investigation had shown spotty records of his residences in previous decades. He was a man of the street to be sure.

Still, the surgeon's murder hadn't offered any new leads. Although the lab work was still being completed, homicide would take the reins. Since they didn't have any tattoos, Preston doubted they would be sporting any black ooze either.

"Call for you, Detective," his secretary said, still sporting her worried expression as she entered his office.

"Thank you," he replied, choosing yet again not to acknowledge it as she turned and left.

Preston picked up the receiver, hoping this was the call he'd been waiting for.

"Detective Burroughs, this is Henry," the voice on the other line said. It was one of the Unis. "We found Phillips."

"Great," Preston said. "Just bring him in"

"He's dead," the officer said. "He's been shot."

"d.a.m.n," Preston cursed, lowering the receiver slightly. "Where did you find him?"

"His apartment-the same place Detective Paige told us about. We're there right now," Henry said casually. "There are no other detectives on the scene yet, so I thought you'd want to know first."

"Yes," Preston said, getting his things together amid the rustle of papers and photos. "Rope it off. I'll be there soon." Hanging up the phone, Preston began to make his way toward the door, stopping momentarily.

Treat him as a victim? the Detective said, practically in a whisper inside his head. You're better at this job than I am.

Chapter 11.

"Thank you for meeting with me, gentlemen," the young scientist said, shaking the hands of both detectives and offering an uncomfortable, slightly forced smile. "I'm glad you could meet with me on such short notice."

Compared to the sweaty youth they had spoken with briefly in the factory, both detectives noted that Jason McGovern had pulled himself together.

Preston had to s.h.i.+ft his coffee cup to his left hand before McGovern shook his right. It was still wretchedly early in the morning. To top it off, the constant drag of missed sleep refused to let Preston go in recent days. After investigating Mikhail Phillips the day before, he'd gone back to the office, trying to make some use out of the sleepless night. Coping with exhaustion was now a daily factor, especially considering the less than antic.i.p.ated speech by the youth before him.

"No problem," Jack said, playing the role of the cop who gave a d.a.m.n after letting out an obvious yawn. Looking around, he saw an open trash can in Jason's makes.h.i.+ft office and tossed the coffee cup lightly into the bin.

Preston looked around the quaint lab that the kid had set up, probably by himself, in a small room near the forensics lab. Instead of inviting them to the factory or the proper lab that was being used by the forensic unit, he'd decided to bring them to his personal works.p.a.ce, as if that were the less embarra.s.sing choice.

At first glance, there was what appeared to be a mish-mash of older gear from other laboratories comprising the equipment. Everything was dirty and well used. Gla.s.s tubes were black with carbon residue, and the thick smell of stale air brought up memories of the factory. Preston figured McGovern had probably come into possession of most of the equipment when he left college, begging the professor to let him take a few mementos home.

Jason himself looked like he was trying to present a brighter image. He was dressed in a cheap, but well-made sport coat and khaki pants. His s.h.i.+rt was cleanly pressed, and his hair was combed back nicely. He didn't wear a tie, urging Preston to make a silent joke to himself about how his old man probably hadn't shown him how to tie one yet. It reminded Preston of the coroner who had shown them Pride's body, as if he had something to prove to the big strong detectives.

In reality, he looked like he was preparing for a job interview more than anything else. Perhaps he is, the Detective added.

Preston took another sip of coffee, deciding to ration it, unlike his partner. Exhaustion was still clawing at him from behind his eyes, trying to take over at the first moment of weakness.

The previous night had been virtually sleepless. Preston eyed both of the other men in the room, noticing how tired they appeared to be as well. Knowing that he looked just as ragged as they did didn't help to smooth matters much, but it wasn't fatigue that bothered him most.

Just as the uniformed officers had said, Mikael Phillips had been murdered. The killer's choice to leave him in that apartment was a taunt, nothing more. They were confident enough to leave his body at the crime scene, practically signing their name in his blood. They also knew it was the first place where the police would look for him after the surgeon washed ash.o.r.e.

And, like the surgeon and the nurse, the aging pimp had been killed by a single bullet. A man like that was feeble enough not to put up much of a struggle. Still, despite the squalor in his apartment, it didn't look like he tried to fight back, implying he let the a.s.sailant in and probably was acquainted with them.

Preston hated to admit that they were right to be so confident. Forensics was just beginning the investigation, but he already knew they wouldn't find anything. Late last night, he told them to perform the autopsy on all three fresh corpses together, on the off chance that something would turn up.

At the time, in his haze of insomnia, he actually believed it would work.

Fortunately, the coroner who worked on Pride was no longer involved. Preston had taken the opportunity to place him under protective custody as well. It was time to get ahead of the game for once. The other three bodies, while tragically murdered, were three people the city could afford to lose. Allowing the innocent to die was something he couldn't accept.

His mind was muddled, trying to process the tapestry before him. It was filled with so many inexplicable factors and brazen choices by the drug peddlers. Whoever they were dealing with was cold and calculating, and apparently good at what they did.

More important, it meant that the only people related to the case who weren't under protective custody were in the lab right now.

"Well, what have you got?" Jack said to Jason, snapping Preston back as he stood in front of the desk.

Preston practically fell backward, landing uncomfortably next to his partner in one of the two metal folding chairs facing Jason, who sat behind a cheap wooden desk. The workstation PC stood out as the only truly modern thing in the lab. To the right hand side of where they were sitting, a large projector screen hung down, obscuring the view of the rest of the s.p.a.ce.

"You said you'd found the secret ingredient to this whole mess?" Preston said, secretly eager to hear what the kid had to say. Even if it was a total bust, it would at least provide some amus.e.m.e.nt at such an early hour.

"Absolutely," Jason offered quickly, with a smile. "To start off with, I have to say that I hope you don't mind, but after you wouldn't let me look at the case files from the factory, I had a few of my superiors pull some strings and get me access."

"Maybe you shouldn't have told us that part," Preston said, watching the color in the kid's face drain slightly. There was a momentary pause before he responded.

"I thought about that, but as soon as you hear what I have to tell you, your first question would have been-"

"Where did you get the intel?" Jack interjected with a hollow smile. He didn't mean to be cold, but it came out that way.

"Exactly," Jason confirmed, pointing casually at Jack. "Anyway, I also spoke to the coroner and had a look at both the dead dealers you've come across. They were the John and Jane Doe you've been calling Pride and Gluttony because of their tattoos."

"Alright, I'm impressed," Preston offered with amus.e.m.e.nt before taking another sip of coffee, now growing cold. "So what did you find?"

"The answer wasn't the bodies themselves; it was the black ooze that you found in them," he said, using the mouse to bring up something on the computer. With the monitor facing away, they weren't able to see what it was. "It wasn't exactly Bloodstrife, per se. Although, it had virtually the same chemical make-up as the liquid that you found in the large vat in Gluttony's factory."

"We figured as much," Jack said, trying slightly harder to add a little warmth to his words. Preston could see his partner was yearning for more coffee, already regretting gulping it down. "We just didn't have any of the results until now." He readjusted himself in his chair, trying to hold back another small yawn. "We'll be needing copies of those reports as well for verification," Jack concluded.

"Already sent to your office," Jason offered back, peppered with just the right amount of humility. His voice was slightly distant, his eyes still glued to computer screen as he spoke.

"So what is it then?" Preston asked, growing irritable. "Why did you call us here?"

"Here, check this out," Jason said. He picked up a tiny remote control from his desk and pointed it toward the small, gray projector to the right of them. The screen came to life, offering the standard blue background on the matte fabric, but nothing more. "Oh, sorry," Jason said, hitting a few more b.u.t.tons as he figured out what to do. Preston rolled his eyes.

Eventually, the lights dimmed and the screen came to life.

Displayed before the three men was a computer model of what the two detectives presumed to be the chemical makeup of the drug. It had letters representing atomic symbols, N and H among a few others connected by dotted lines and hexagons along with a few scattered numbers.

In their line of work, both detectives had stumbled upon these types of charts before, but they still didn't have a good grasp on how to read them. With each crime scene discovery, they always gave them to the chemists to study. However, finding such a diagram in a druggie's den was always a great way to see what they were lacing their product with. Preston leaned forward in his seat slightly.

"I don't know what this means," Jack said frankly. "Is it made from a plant, like cocaine, or is it cooked in someone's bas.e.m.e.nt like meth?"

"Neither," Jason said with a br.i.m.m.i.n.g smile. "It's not a plant, but it is something which occurs naturally on earth." He pressed another b.u.t.ton, advancing the slide. A bar graph appeared. It was simple enough, more than likely something the kid had whipped up in five minutes on the computer. The graph displayed a steadily increasing level of the substance over time. "You see, it wasn't until they started letting me have access to some of the files and equipment in Gluttony's factory that I was able to fully reverse engineer the chemical."

"So what does that mean?" Preston asked. "You can reproduce it now? You can tell us what it is?"

"No, not exactly," he admitted. McGovern looked back, appearing to study the blank stares on both men's faces. He cleared his throat nervously. "One of the devices they recovered in the factory was a Scanning Electron Microscope." The slide advanced again, showing a small, sleek device. The detectives saw immediately that the photo had been taken on a desk in the bas.e.m.e.nt of the facility. There were a few burger wrappers in the background on the edge of the frame. "Such devices are commonplace in labs all over the world, but none have ever been modified to such an extent before. Usually, these things need to operate in a vacuum; however, this one has been designed to include a vacuum within the device to make it portable." He paused, shaking his head, clearly amazed. "To top it off, I've never seen one programmed to search for something like this before."

"So, this ingredient; it's buried in the ground or something?" Preston asked, still lost. "Was there a mining operation involved here?"

"No, Detectives," Jason said bluntly, "this s.h.i.+t is in the air." He paused, clearly hoping he hadn't been too curt. Jason remained silent for a moment, their eyes still glued to the screen. "It's all over the world. This compound is a part of the earth's atmosphere. Everyone breathes it-we're breathing it right now."

The blank stares of the two men turned to that of shock as they looked at one another.

"Is it toxic? What are the side effects?" Jack asked, finally ripping his eyes away from the graph. Both men were instantly wide awake, ready to fire a barrage of questions.

"That's the beauty part," Jason said, with a fascinated smile and a moderately cool composure. "It's non-toxic, and it's probably been around, well, practically forever as far as I can tell." McGovern's smile grew wider. "No one in all of human history ever found it before because no one knew how to look for it. On its own, the particle is virtually nothing, less than .0001 percent of the earth's atmosphere. It's barely even a trace element." His smile had faded slightly, his face becoming more serious. "For some reason, it essentially fuses with Nitrogen, forming a rare and hard to identify molecular structure." His tone of voice grew more subdued, and Jason began flipping the slides, showing a couple of microscopic photographs of the molecule which didn't offer much help to the detectives. "Since this stuff only bonds with the seventy-eight percent of the atmosphere that is Nitrogen, I've started calling this the N particle or Particle N."

"So someone is taking this out of the air and finding a way to turn it in to liquid form?" Preston asked.

"Yes, and that's not all," McGovern replied, knowing he now had their full attention.

"Of course it isn't," Jack said with a troubled sigh. Again, he repositioned himself in his chair, crossing his legs. Obviously, he was bracing himself for bad news. Preston felt the same way.

"This graph that you see on the screen," Jason said, pus.h.i.+ng a b.u.t.ton to change the slide. It was almost the same bar graph Jason had shown them at the beginning, but new information was listed along the bottom. Now, it listed groups of decades. An ascending period of ten years was placed under each bar.

On the far left where the bar showed the lowest concentration of the particle, the number scale said it was between the year 1940 and 1950. It increased as it moved to the right toward the current decade when it was more than twice as large.

"This stuff has been increasing over time. Because it bonds to Nitrogen, human beings don't notice any problems breathing. We just expel it back out of the body when we exhale. Animals and plants obviously aren't affected either. Like I said before, this has been here the whole time."

"Jesus," Preston said, his eyes still glued to the screen. "Why didn't they tell us about this until now? Where did you get this information?"

"I found this graph in some of the doc.u.ments hidden in an encoded file at the factory. We just cracked the full layout of the encryption a few hours ago. I called you as soon as I found out myself, after I studied it a little of course," Jason said with fervor. "Your drug dealers not only knew how to find this stuff, but also appear to have known about it within their organization for the better part of the last century. Based on the other data I found in the files, the numbers are too precise to be estimated. They've been keeping careful measurements all along, since the 1940s, I mean."

"They've known about this for decades, and they're just beginning to make the drug now?" Jack asked, now facing Jason fully. "Why wait?"

"I would a.s.sume technology," Jason replied with a shrug. "The technology used to identify atoms has been available for decades, but I'm guessing the technology they needed to refine the drug wasn't developed until recently, probably by them. Breakthroughs always take time, especially if you're working alone or in a small group."

"Breakthroughs?" Preston said. "You mean the catalyst?" he asked with growing antic.i.p.ation. "Did you find out what it was?" When Jason shook his head in reply, Preston felt a sickness rising like he had run full speed in to a wall.

"I was only able to determine Particle N as the ingredient. Whatever the catalyst is, it wasn't in that factory. The black liquid in the vat had already been through the process."

"Any ideas on what it could be?" Jack asked, now hooked. "Take a guess if you need to. It'll help." Preston also found himself anxiously squeezing the thin Styrofoam cup in his hand, bringing the remaining coffee inside within dangerous range of spilling over the sides. He released his grip, seeing the liquid fall back to the lower half of the container.

"I checked through a few chemical catalysts in the database to see what I could find, but I'm sad to say I've got nothing for you," Jason said calmly, trying to soften the blow. "It's likely that Particle N is introduced with the catalyst in a lab setting, then altered."

"What about the money?" Preston asked. "Did you find out they're producing it so cheaply?"

"They're not," Jason said flatly, shrugging. "You guys were right in those interviews you gave to the press. Whoever is doing this is losing money, even if the main ingredient is floating around everywhere for free. Based on these order receipts and the production process we know about-that is to say what you found in that factory-it's already too expensive on its own. Whatever that catalyzing process is, it only adds to the bill, probably by a lot." Jason waited patiently for them to absorb the information, knowing that more questions were about to be fired at him.

"And the odd abilities?" Jack said after taking a moment. "What Pride and Gluttony could do, I mean."

"You mean the guy who supposedly grew to three times his size?" Jason said with a thin smile of disbelief. Seeing that his tone hadn't been well received by the detectives, he continued after nervously clearing his throat. "They weren't taking ordinary Bloodstrife, based on the fact they had no enlarged veins or any other symptoms that we can tell. I think," Jason said, pausing as he thought of the best way to phrase it, "I think those two injected the more potent substance we found in the vat directly into themselves. Based on the autopsies, it can work wonders on the body. The one we're calling Pride had increased longevity and life based on the coroner's report. That guy Gluttony," he continued cautiously, making sure to phrase it without an obvious tone of skepticism, "based on your testimony, could increase in size-the perfect body guard in a factory where no one else is needed to run the place."

"So, whoever is doing this is essentially watering down the main drug and adding more addictive properties so they can produce more of it?" Preston asked, trying to work it out.

"Not only that, Preston," Jack added, facing his partner. "If this purer form of the drug is as potent as he says, I suppose they wouldn't want the population getting all these new abilities. It gives them a serious advantage if anyone comes snooping."

"That'd be my guess," Jason said, now totally at ease. "They add a little nicotine to the Bloodstrife to make it more addictive. There are some mild opiates in there for the euphoria as well," he continued, crossing his arms as he leaned back in the chair. "I'd say it probably takes a while to produce a vat like the one we found. You may only have a few more factories in the city that account for everything, a small operation with a large impact."