Night Watch

14

Croyden, England

Middlesex Lane

STEVEN KINCAID, THE OFFICER from the Serious Organized Crime Agency, had not arrived when Lynch reached the factory, and he felt both impatience and frustration. Too much time had already passed since Rye’s death, and he didn’t need bureaucratic red tape and heel dragging to add to the problem.

Calm down. Kincaid was only twenty minutes late. If Lynch weren’t so on edge, he wouldn’t be making a major thing of it.

He glanced down at his phone. No text from either Kendra or Jessie this morning. He hadn’t really expected one from Kendra. It was going to take some time to persuade her that he’d only done what he’d felt he had to do. And it was probably good that Jessie hadn’t texted him. She was too professional to leave Kendra without informing him. He could only hope they were working things out.

“There’s nobody here, you know.”

He looked up from his phone to see a seventysomething woman with gray hair and wearing a green plaid jacket coming toward him. He smiled. “No, I didn’t know. I heard that there might be. And you are?”

“Dorothy Jenkins.” She nodded at Dapper Dan’s Pub across the street. “I’m the bartender and manager.” She cocked her head. “You’re American, aren’t you? I can tell. Americans always sound so flat. I thought you might be Scotland Yard or something like that.” She paused as she had another thought. “Maybe FBI?”

“No. But if I were, why do you think I’d be interested in whether there was someone here at the factory?”

“Cagey.” She smiled. “That’s fine. I understand. Mr. Malone was like that.”

He stiffened. “Ryan Malone?”

“You know him? I’ve been waiting for him to come back.” Her expression was eager. “I wanted to tell him about everything that happened right after he came to the pub and started asking his questions. I told him I’d keep an eye on things for him.”

“I’m sure he appreciated it. Would you care to tell me instead?”

She hesitated. “I don’t know if I can trust you. You might be one of them.”

“Them?”

“Drug dealers, spies, whatever.”

“I assure you that I’m not one of ‘them.’” He met her eyes. “And Ryan Malone would want you to tell me anything you knew. Believe me. We worked closely together.”

She studied him. “Yeah, and you weren’t one of those men bustling all around and moving cars and trucks and stuff a couple days ago. And if you were one of the bad guys, what would you be doing standing out here like a hungry orphan, looking through those bars?”

“You’re very descriptive, if not complimentary,” he said wryly. “I never thought of myself in quite that way before. So that’s what happened? A complete cleanup and general abandonment?”

“As far as I could tell.”

He dialed up the photo that Kendra had sent him of Ted Dyle on his phone. “Did you see him?”

“I don’t think so. But most everyone who was here was wearing caps and jackets. Not suits, like this guy.” She shrugged. “And I decided not to walk over here and ask questions while it was going on. If Mr. Malone had given me his phone number, I might have called and told him.” She smiled. “He was a real gent. I could tell that he didn’t think that I could help him, but he was polite to me.”

“You were right not to try to do anything yourself. I’m certain he would have told you that himself.” It was like Rye to have been able to reach out and touch this woman, he thought. Even in the last hours of his life, he had done his job with kindness and dignity. He looked back at the factory. The chances of their finding anything were very slim now, but he had to try. “And he’d thank you if he were here.”

Her eyes widened and her smile faded. “Past tense,” she said jerkily. “You’re talking as if he-” She moistened her lips. “He’s dead?”

Lynch didn’t answer.

She looked back at the factory. “It was like a game to me. Or a puzzle. I never thought- But it’s not a game, is it?”

“No, it’s not a game.”

“I liked him.” She drew her coat closer about her as if warding off the cold. “But he was part of the game, too.” She looked back at Lynch. “Maybe if I’d paid more attention, if I’d been able to tell him more, he wouldn’t have died?”

“You had nothing to do with it. I’m certain that you only helped him.”

“Maybe.” She shook her head. “But it’s a terrible world when a nice man like that can die in the blink of an eye because he was just doing his job.” She turned away from the factory. “I’m going back to the pub. I don’t feel so good.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I.” She glanced over her shoulder, and she looked years older than that first moment when she’d so eagerly approached him. “You take care of yourself. If you need something, just ask. Or just come over and have a pint on the house, and we’ll drink to your friend.”

“I believe he might like that.”

He watched her cross the street and go into the pub. Another life touched by Rye. He’d not even known about Dorothy Jenkins. Rye had only spoken about the “locals.”

“Sorry I’m late.” Stephen Kincaid had pulled up to the curb and jumped out of his car. “Traffic was hideous.” He shook Lynch’s hand. “Glad to see you. Not glad that it’s on this occasion.” He added grimly, “Rye was a good friend. Let’s go see if we can find something to nail those bastards.”

Maybe he wasn’t going to have to worry about bureaucracy in motion, Lynch thought. Kincaid seemed sincere, and the SOCA could be efficient if motivated. “I’m not sure if we’ll find anything. I’ve had a recent report that there was a cleanup about the time of Rye’s death.” He turned to the gate. “And this gate looks different from the photo Rye sent me on that last day. The newer apparatus, like the automatic gates and cameras, have been removed. I imagine that’s a sign of what we’re going to find inside, too.”

“Well, I can take care of getting us in.” Kincaid went back to his car and pulled out a pair of bolt cutters from the trunk. “Always prepared.” He clipped one of the chains and swung the gate open. He turned to throw the cutter back into his trunk. “After you, Lynch.”

From the moment Lynch walked into the factory yard, he was aware of immaculate cleanliness… and emptiness. Only a few spots of motor oil on the concrete that had probably come from the vehicles, but there was no other sign of the cars and trucks Rye had been told about by the locals.

“You’re sure this was the place?” Kincaid asked.

“This is the place.” He was gazing at the photos on his phone and letting them lead them on the same course that Rye had taken.

“What is this place?” Kincaid asked, puzzled, as they reached a bright, pristine-clean area that had transitioned from the older part of the factory. “It looks new…”

But it was as empty as the rest of the factory. Though there were signs that there might have been shelves or other pieces of furniture or equipment in that section. “I don’t know what it is. Rye didn’t send me any photos of this area.”

And he would have sent them, Lynch knew. He’d been documenting the entire factory, as was his custom.

And that meant that something had stopped him before he had been able to transmit them.

Was this the point where Rye was captured or killed?

No blood.

Of course not; it would have been cleaned and sterilized, like the rest of the factory.

“Do we go on?” Kincaid asked quietly.

Lynch nodded. “Sure.” He left the sterling-clean area where he was almost certain his friend had died and went out to a loading dock, then through several other areas. Nothing struck him as powerfully as that one bright place in all the darkness. He made his way back to the clean room, where Kincaid joined him.

“Have you seen enough?” Kincaid asked. “We’ll have a forensic team in to check for blood and fiber throughout the place.”

“They might not find anything. Night Watch has some of the finest doctors and scientists in the world. It’s reasonable to expect they’d be able to cover their tracks if needed.” He stood there gazing at the bright, sterile room. “Scientists. A lab?”

“Reasonable enough.”

“Nothing is reasonable about any of this.” He started back toward the main gate. “What about Rye’s car? Have you located it yet?”

“Not yet.” Kincaid opened the gate. “We’ve checked out his home and the area around the landfill.” He gazed at Lynch. “But you think that was a waste of time, don’t you? You think he was killed here.”

“He should have sent me photos of that last area of the factory, and he didn’t do it.” He looked back at the brick building. “He was… interrupted.”

“And the car?”

“He would have had to drive here. It’s possible that whoever killed him searched for his car, found it, and any other evidence Rye had discovered.” He shrugged. “And the vehicle might be found in the Thames in six months.”

“Possible?”

“You know how sharp and professional Rye always was. He never just left his vehicle on the street when he went on a job like this. He’d park it close, but it would be out of sight and not easy to spot. There’s a chance that it’s still out there somewhere.” He was on the street now. “So let’s go find it.”

Kincaid nodded. “Where do we start?”

He hesitated, then started across the street toward the pub. “We start with a new friend of Rye’s…”

“I NEVER NOTICED HIS CAR at all,” Dorothy Jenkins said as she gazed out the back window of Lynch’s rental car. “I guess I was too excited and interested in what was happening at the factory.” They had driven slowly up and down the four streets of the town directly before the factory, with Kincaid following behind. But they hadn’t seen anything that appeared promising. “What kind of car did you say it was?”

“A gray Aston-Martin,” Lynch said. He pulled over to the curb and got out. “I think I need a closer look.” He started to go house to house, peering into backyards and garages.

“You’ll get knocked on the head if someone sees you doing that.” Dorothy was suddenly beside him. “They’ll think you’re casing the joint. If someone comes out of the house, let me talk. Most of these people know me.”

“I’ll leave it entirely up to you. That’s why I asked you to come along. I’m relying on you to protect me.” But so far, there had been no sign of Rye’s car, and Dorothy was right, he’d be lucky if he didn’t get arrested or assaulted before this was over. As they reached the end of the block, he turned to Dorothy. “Any ideas? It’s your town.”

She blinked. “Yes, it is.” She thought about it and smiled. “Turn the next corner and go down that block. It has a bunch of deserted homes that people just left when they lost their jobs. That might be a good place to look.”

“Right.” He turned at the corner and strode down the street. Nothing in the first three houses. The fourth house was almost falling down. No garage.

The fifth house had heavy shrubbery and a garage.

And a gray Aston-Martin.

“Yes.” He phoned Kincaid. “Get over here. I’ve got it.”

Dorothy had run up beside him, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “We found it? I helped?”

“You were magnificent,” Lynch said. “You did it all, Dorothy.” His hand squeezed her shoulder. “And now you’d better get out of here because I’m going to break into my old friend’s car, and I don’t want you to be an accomplice.”

She looked a bit disappointed. “But it’s not really a crime. You’re one of the good guys?”

“In this case, I’m definitely a good guy. But it gets complicated.”

“Like James Bond.”

He grinned. “Something like Bond.”

She nodded. “Then I’ll go back to the pub.” She started down the street. “You’ll let me know if I can help again?”

“I certainly will. Many thanks, Dorothy.”

“No, thank you. It made me feel good to help.” She called back over her shoulder, “And I promise I won’t tell them you broke into the car…”

When she’d disappeared around the corner, he turned back to the Aston-Martin. It took him three minutes to break into the car, and by that time, Kincaid was beside him.

“You know we should wait for forensics before we search the car,” he said. “We might destroy evidence.”

“No crime was committed in this car. Don’t be a dick.”

“Well, when you put it like that. What are we looking for?”

“Anything that could help.” He was inside the car. “I have no idea. Maybe Rye’s tablet. He had his phone with him when he was killed, and that was never found. But he probably wouldn’t have had his tablet. It’s not portable enough when he had to travel really light.” He opened the glove box. He saw a gleam of gray lying beneath piles of receipts and envelopes. “And here it is,” he said softly as he took the iPad out and opened it. “Come on, baby. Talk to me…”

“Who are you talking to?” Kincaid asked, his gaze on Lynch’s flying fingers on the keyboard.

“The cloud. The magic cloud,” Lynch murmured. “Rye had a private cloud account connected to his devices. I’m hoping that there might be something on it that he didn’t manage to transmit to me.”

“Do you think he could-”

“Yes.” Lynch had managed to bring up those first photos he’d received from Rye. He flipped through them quickly, and then froze. His gaze was on the last photo, one that he had never received on the night Rye had died. “Holy shit.”

Kincaid moved closer, staring at the photo. “It’s that lab at the factory.”

Lynch nodded. There was no doubt that area was a lab now. In this photo, the space was no longer empty but filled with equipment and workstations with over a dozen incubators.

He stiffened, his gaze narrowed on those incubators. He enlarged the picture, zeroing in on close-ups of what those incubators contained. He gave a low whistle. “My God.”

There were human organs in those incubators-hearts, livers, kidneys…

Kincaid swallowed. “What the hell was going on there?” he asked hoarsely. “Were those sons of bitches harvesting organs?”

That had been Lynch’s first thought, too. But it didn’t feel right with what he and Kendra had pieced together about what was going on. So now his eyes were narrowed intently on the photo, and he was studying it more carefully. “I don’t think so,” he said slowly. “I think this is something else entirely…”

Los Angeles

Figuroa Street

Kendra and Jessie arrived at Ted Dyle’s downtown office building after a customarily hellish weekday morning drive up the I-5 freeway. For most of the trip, Jessie used her iPad to read aloud about several news stories and blog posts about Dyle’s history of backing ideas that had made him billions of dollars. None of the stories made any mention of the Night Watch Project, but Dyle apparently functioned as a silent investor on many of his endeavors.

At one point in the journey, Jessie cast a quick glance back.

Kendra tensed. “See something?”

“No black panel van. That doesn’t mean they aren’t switching vehicles.” She paused. “I did see a white utility truck a block from your condo. And I caught sight of one about four miles back on the freeway.”

“Utility trucks are all over the place in Southern California.”

“Which would be an excellent reason to use them. But if you’re still being followed, they’re very, very good.”

Kendra smiled. “You know, there’s a thin line between protectiveness and out-and-out paranoia.”

“Paranoia is good. If I’m wrong, we take a few precautions we don’t really need to. But if I’m right, it can mean the difference between life and death.”

Kendra couldn’t argue with that. Particularly since that life was her own.

Jessie glanced at her and nodded. “I guarantee Lynch would approve.”

“At the moment, I don’t give a damn what Lynch would or would not approve.”

“Oops. You were a little less antagonistic toward me this morning. But I gather Lynch is taking the full brunt?”

“You’re not out of the woods yet,” she said coolly.

Jessie nodded. “Well, you didn’t let me drive. I figured that was a punishment.”

Kendra looked at her in exasperation. “It’s my car, dammit.”

Jessie held up her hand. “It’s okay,” she said soothingly. “We would have just gotten to L.A. a lot sooner if you’d let me behind the wheel.”

“Or ended up in traffic court.” She paused. “Are you trying to distract me? You glanced in that rearview mirror twice.”

She grinned. “I should have known you’d notice. I didn’t think I should worry you. There just appear to be a lot of utility trucks out this morning. But that one got off at the last exit.”

“Jessie, since it involves my life and well-being, I do think I should worry, don’t you?”

“I stand corrected. In your bad books, but not as deep shit as Lynch. That cover it?”

“That covers it.”

“Well, we can get over that.” She looked back down at her iPad. “Still no reference to Night Watch on any of these blogs. We need to ask him questions about why he was that secretive. For some reason, he buried his association with them very deep…”

After parking on a Figuroa lot, Kendra and Jessie strode through the Dyle Pacific Building’s cavernous lobby. It featured three large fountains continuously exchanging short bursts of water that leaped with the intensity of salmon leaping upstream to spawn.

They took the elevator to the nineteenth floor, which was occupied entirely by Dyle’s offices. A young man in an elegant brown suit and horn-rimmed glasses lorded over the reception desk, slightly elevated from the rest of the room.

He smiled. “May I help you?”

“We’re here to see Ted Dyle,” Kendra said.

“Your name?”

“Kendra Michaels.”

He checked the screen. “I don’t see an appointment for you.”

“No appointment. Tell him we have a mutual friend. Dr. Charles Waldridge.”

“Mr. Dyle is an extremely busy man. There’s no way he can possibly see you unless you have a-”

“Kendra Michaels. Dr. Charles Waldridge. Say those two names to him, and I’ll wait right here.”

The receptionist didn’t like it, but he nodded and spoke into his headset. After a minute or so, he looked up at Kendra and Jessie. “Mr. Dyle may be able to fit you in. If you’ll have a seat…”

Kendra and Jessie sat in the minimalist waiting area on padded cubes with no backs.

Fifteen minutes passed. Then thirty. Then an hour. Finally, the receptionist leaned toward them. “I’m very sorry. Mr. Dyle will be unable to see you today.”

Jessie stood. “You’re joking.”

Kendra joined her at the reception desk looking toward the hall of offices. “Where is he? Which direction?”

“It won’t do any good.”

“I’ll find out that for myself.”

The receptionist said quickly, “He’s left the building.”

Jessie looked around. “How? The stairs? That’s nineteen floors. He must really not to have wanted to see us.”

“He has a private elevator. I recommend that you call his assistant next time. I can’t guarantee that he’ll see you, but at least you won’t waste your time.”

Jessie’s gaze narrowed on his face. “You didn’t receive a call telling you that he was unable to see us after an hour’s wait. It just came out of the blue. You were told when you contacted him to keep us here for an hour while he left his offices and made his getaway.”

“Getaway? Ridiculous. Mr. Dyle is an important businessman, not a hoodlum.” But he did not meet her eyes and tapped his headset and turned slightly away. His body language signaled the end of his involvement with them in no uncertain terms.

It was obvious that they weren’t going to get anywhere here. Kendra whirled and headed for the elevator. “Great,” she said. “Total waste of time. The only thing we learned was that he definitely doesn’t want to talk to us about Waldridge. You said you were having trouble finding his home address. It looks like you’re going to have to dig deeper. We can’t let Dyle skip out on us like-”

“Later.” Jessie was looking at her phone as she nudged Kendra onto the elevator and pressed the button. “He may not be first on our agenda right now.”

There was something in Jessie’s tone that caused her gaze to fly to her face. Jessie’s usually impassive expression was still in place, but her eyes were glittering. Excitement? “Later?” Kendra repeated. “You have somewhere else to be?”

“We both do.” She was still looking down at her phone. “We’ll talk outside.” She glanced around as they exited the elevator. “There may be prying eyes and ears here.”

Once outside, they walked toward the parking lot in a direction that took them past Pershing Square, an outdoor park outfitted with brightly colored sculptures.

“So where are we going?”

“Back to the car.”

“I noticed that. Then where?”

Jessie raised her phone and showed Kendra the screen. “Here.”

Kendra looked at her phone. There was a still shot of a man in a half-empty apartment. She looked closer. Could it be…? She stopped, her eyes widening. “Biers?” she said. “This looks like Dr. Hayden Biers.”

“That’s because it is. Keep moving. We have to get there before he flies the coop.”

Kendra hurried after her. “What coop?”

“I planted a couple motion-activated webcams in his apartment in case he showed up. I got a text alert while we were talking to that receptionist upstairs. It looks like he’s gathering some of his stuff. Let’s see if we can catch him.” She held her hands out for the keys. “And I drive.”

“You think I can’t get us there in a hurry?”

“I’m sure you can. But not fast enough. I can do it faster and in a way that won’t get us killed. Trust me.”

Kendra was remembering that ride on Jessie’s motorcycle that had both terrified her and filled her with admiration. She dropped the keys in Jessie’s palm. “A street race may be in order someday.”

“I don’t believe so.” Jessie jumped into the driver’s seat. “You have a thing about humiliation.”

“Okay, now it’s definitely on the books,” she said as she buckled the safety belt on her passenger seat.

“You’re on. But right now, the only place I’m racing is to Redondo Beach. Get ready to hold on.”

True to Jessie’s word, it was a wild and woolly ride to Redondo Beach. Jessie whipped through a rear alley just in time to block a blue pickup truck roaring through. The truck braked to a screeching stop.

Before Kendra even realized what was happening, Jessie had thrown open her door and was in the alley, staring down the driver. “Dr. Biers. I need to talk to you.”

The man behind the wheel glanced to the rear, as if he might try to back out of the alley.

“No, don’t move,” Jessie said. “I’m here to help you. Dr. Waldridge hired me to find you.”

The man froze. “You know Charles Waldridge?”

Jessie nodded. “I told you, he hired me to find you. He was worried about you.”

Biers moistened his lips. “I heard Charles Waldridge is missing.”

“And you heard right. He hired me before he went missing.”

Biers looked at her doubtfully. He then glanced around as if still planning his escape route.

Kendra climbed out of the car. “Dr. Biers… Do you know who I am?”

He studied her, then nodded. “Kendra Michaels?”

She nodded. “Were you on my medical team?”

“No. I joined Night Watch a couple of years later. But of course I studied you and your case. To meet you under these circumstances is…”

She stepped closer to him. “I’m trying to find Charles. I’m terribly worried about him. We could really use your help.”

“It’s all I can do to help myself.” Biers slumped in his seat. He was in his early forties with a full head of red hair and a matching, close-cropped beard. Kendra was surprised that he didn’t speak with a British accent. Canadian, she guessed, probably near Vancouver. “I’m not good at this running. I knew I was taking a chance by coming back here.”

“We can help you,” Jessie said.

“Help me wind up like Shaw? Or maybe Waldridge?”

Kendra felt a bolt of panic that he’d linked the dead man with Waldridge. “Of course not. We just need to talk to you.”

He glanced around again. “Whatever we do, we can’t stay here. If you found me, so can they.”

“Who’s ‘they?’” Kendra asked.

“Not here.”

“How about my office?” Jessie said. “It’s just a few miles down the Pacific Coast Highway in Santa Monica.”

Biers thought about it and shook his head. “No offense to either of you, but I’d prefer to stay in slightly more public locations right now.”

“No offense taken,” Kendra said. “Name a spot where you’d feel comfortable. We’ll talk there.”

“How about… the Redondo Beach Pier. You can’t get much more public than that.”

Jessie nodded. “Fine. You lead the way.”

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON, Dr. Biers?” Jessie asked with her customary bluntness.

Jessie had only waited until she, Kendra, and Biers had staked out a relatively quiet spot toward the end of the pier before she had turned to confront the doctor.

“It’s a long story.”

Jessie shrugged. “It’s why we’re here. Start with where you’ve been.”

“Hiding.”

“That I figured. But where? And why?”

“I’ve been in San Clemente. I was sure I’d been found out here, so I immediately took off. I destroyed the disposable phone I’d been using and left without even going back to my apartment. Then when Waldridge disappeared, and Shaw turned up dead, I knew I’d done the right thing.”

“But you came back anyway,” Kendra said.

“There are some things in my apartment I really wanted to get my hands on. I left with barely the clothes on my back. I broke in through a back window. I thought I could get in and out without anyone’s knowing about it. I really didn’t think anyone would have twenty-four-hour surveillance on that place.”

Jessie smiled. “Two hundred dollars at Best Buy will get you all the surveillance you need. I stashed some motion-activated webcams there. I received a texted photo the second you walked in there.”

Biers looked out at the ocean. “Of course. Technology is making us both safer and less safe at the same time. I’m glad I insisted on getting out of there quickly. Someone else might have done the same thing.”

“Possibly. But it hadn’t been done when I installed my webcams.”

“Please. We need to know what’s going on, Doctor,” Kendra said.

He turned back toward her. “I’m sorry, but it’s hard to know whom to trust. Shaw died trying to protect this project.”

“But you know who I am,” Kendra said. “You can trust me.”

Biers stared at her for a long moment. “Charles Waldridge does think the world of you.”

“I feel the same about him. But I can’t help him unless I get some answers.”

Biers hesitated, then nodded. “How much did Waldridge tell you?”

That Waldridge hadn’t trusted her with information would only make him less likely to do so. “I need to hear it from you.”

“Everything,” Jessie said. “We can’t help you if we’re stumbling around in the dark.”

Biers took a deep breath. “But you’ll find a way to keep me safe?”

“I give you my word,” Jessie said.

He was silent. “Okay. As you know, the Night Watch Project began with Waldridge and his cornea-regeneration treatment. It was wildly successful, obviously, but the team was soon exploring new frontiers, pushing even more exciting boundaries.”

“I don’t know, getting my eyesight was pretty exciting for me,” Kendra said.

“Of course it was. And it’s something that has always been a constant source of inspiration to Waldridge and the team. But just imagine… if we could replace any organ in the body at any time. Not just transplants, but perfect genetic replacements.”

“Spare parts?” Jessie said.

“To put it crudely, yes. When vital organs are lost to disease, infection, cancer… It’s often a death sentence. But every cell in your body contains a genetic blueprint to create exact copies of each of your organs. If your liver is dying, what if we could grow a new one exactly like the original? What if we could do the same with your heart? Your kidneys?”

Kendra shook her head. “Sounds like science fiction.”

“So did your procedure twenty years ago. This is merely an extension of what Night Watch did with you. It’s much more complicated, though, and required more time and resources. Waldridge and Shaw were part of the team from the start, and I joined them later. My specialty was lab-based cellular reproduction.”

Kendra couldn’t believe it. Yet, if Charles Waldridge was involved, how could she not believe it? “Were you successful?”

“Not at first. There were a lot of hurdles to overcome, not just scientific, but social and moral. There was some question if we should be doing this at all. It was something that never really came up when Night Watch regenerated your corneas. Somehow, that was okay, but the higher-ups got squeamish when it came to generating entire organs. Playing God and all that bullshit. We were just using the blueprint already in the body, but there was still too much controversy. The British government withdrew its support, so Waldridge quietly went elsewhere for financing.”

“Ted Dyle,” Kendra said.

Biers looked at her in surprise. “Waldridge told you more than I thought.”

“Please, go on.”

He shifted uneasily. “We weren’t the only group working on this. There were-and are-others all over the world, so secrecy was vitally important. We had a lot of failures in the early years, but we eventually got there. Our success rate skyrocketed to well over 98 percent.”

“Then why haven’t we heard of it?” Jessie asked.

“Well, soon a problem presented itself. The donor recipients were rejecting these organs we felt were an exact match for their originals. Dr. Shaw developed a pair of medications that seemed to solve that problem, but in all likelihood, the patients would have to continue taking those medications for the rest of their lives.”

“Seems like a small price to pay,” Jessie said.

“Depends on how much the medications’ owner decided to charge. Night Watch would own the patent on the medication as well as the original procedure as soon as Waldridge released it to them. Suddenly, the project’s investors realized that the real money to be made could come from selling the patients medication for the rest of their lives. If they don’t take it, they die. It’s the very definition of a captive market.”

“Waldridge would never accept that,” Kendra said positively. “Not in a million years.”

“None of us liked it. We kept working on a way to solve the problem even as it became more and more apparent the project’s backers didn’t want us to succeed. The Night Watch directors, headed by Dyle, were getting more and more paranoid about security, so they let most of the staff go and put Waldridge, Shaw, and me in an old factory about an hour outside of London. They started requesting more and more documentation, and it became apparent that they were going to move forward with their own plans for the project even though we were very close to finding a solution that would totally negate the need for medication.”

“Nice guys,” Jessie said.

“They’re not, trust me. Not with potentially billions of dollars at stake. They were making veiled threats, so that’s when Waldridge, Shaw, and I decided to leave the country on separate planes and hide here in Southern California. The plan was to complete our work here on our own. Waldridge has a fair amount of money from his other patents, so he was going to bankroll us until we licked the problem. Unfortunately, we never got that far.”

Kendra nodded. “We know Shaw is dead.” She had to ask it. “What about Waldridge?”

“I’m fairly certain he’s still alive.”

She let out the breath she had been holding as relief soared through her. “Why?”

“Because he has something they need. They would be reluctant to kill him without having it.”

“What does he have?”

Biers was silent, then he bent closer to them. “He has the biochemical key that made the whole procedure work in the first place.”

Jessie looked at him incredulously. “Nobody else has it?”

“Waldridge developed it. I didn’t have it. Shaw didn’t have it, and the Night Watch directors certainly didn’t have it. They kept demanding we give it to them. Waldridge never trusted them. At first, his fear was corporate espionage, but he later became suspicious of people within our own organization. Good thing, because it may be the only thing keeping him alive right now. If they caught me, I might not last five seconds.”

Kendra was starting to shake as she realized what Biers was saying. “Billions of dollars. And they can’t touch it without Waldridge. They may be keeping him alive, but there’s no doubt they’ll be trying to get that information. They’ll be torturing him, won’t they?”

Biers nodded soberly. “They’re probably using every physical and psychological trick in the book to get what they need out of him.”

“I know him. He’s a strong, principled man. He’ll die first.”

“That’s what worries me,” Biers said quietly.

“Every physical and psychological trick,” Kendra repeated numbly. “Psychological. That’s why they tried to take me. They must be having trouble getting him to talk. The threat of violence might not work on him, but they think it might if it was directed at someone he cares about.”

He nodded. “Possibly. From what I’ve heard, there are few people on Earth he cares for more than you, Kendra. You became the symbol of everything he wanted to accomplish in his career, then you became his friend and ally in the fight.”

Kendra dug her nails into the railing. “This can’t be happening. We have to do something.”

“We’re doing it,” Jessie said. “Everything we can.”

“How can you say that? We don’t even know where Dyle is keeping him. What they’re doing to him right at this minute.”

“We’ll find out,” Jessie said gently. “I can see what this is doing to you. But at least we know what’s happening. We can call Griffin and ask him to go after Dyle.”

“And what if Dyle stalls him? What’s Waldridge going to go through while Dyle tries to get that information from him? He could die.”

Jessie turned back to Biers. “But we do have time, right? This all means that they have to keep Waldridge alive.”

“Not exactly.”

Kendra whirled on him. “What in hell does that mean?”

“There are years of documentation, formulas, and result reports. If they have to reverse-engineer our process, they might be able to do it with enough time and money. They’d probably prefer not to do it, I’m sure. But it could possibly be done. If they decide Waldridge is too much of a liability or just a pain in the ass, they might go that route.”

Kendra stared at him, stunned. “So if torture doesn’t work, they might kill him. This keeps getting better and better.”

“I know,” he said sympathetically. “I wish I could give you better news. But you want the truth.”

“Yes.” But this truth was sending her spiraling into terror.

Detach. Concentrate. She couldn’t let her emotions rule her now. Not when Waldridge might need her most.

“I’ll call Lynch and tell him what’s happening,” Jessie said. “This all started in London, so maybe he can find something or someone there to get a lead to Dyle.”

“No, I’ll call him.” Kendra took out her phone and moved down the pier. She could feel the panic rising through the haze of bewilderment surrounding her after listening to Biers’s incredible words. “Someone’s got to do something. We’ve got to do something. We can’t let him die. I won’t let that happen.”