Savich ran out the door and toward billowing flames a hundred yards away. Sirens sounded in the distance. People were standing in small groups outside their buildings, staring. Savich saw a man and a woman in a white van driving slowly away, looking back at the fire. Savich stared at the driver, saw the face he’d seen on the hospital video, the face of Alex Moody’s kidnapper. The man looked back, met Savich’s eyes, and gunned the van. Savich drew his Glock and raced after it.
Savich aimed at the back tires and fired six rounds. The driver’s-side back tire exploded. The van swerved and hit a wire fence, tore through, and shot into a shallow water-filled ditch outside the compound. The van teetered, then landed back on its four tires. The rear doors flew open and Savich saw what looked like a freezer and medical equipment fall out the back. The man and woman burst out of the van, both of them carrying guns, and fired at him. It was the woman from the hospital video. Savich dove behind a can labeled REFUSE, flattened himself and fired back. He heard them yelling to each other, saw them running away from him, and from the van. He could have chased them but he had more important things to do. He called the Baltimore Field Office, spoke to SAC Jake Murphy. The local agents would find them. He dusted himself off, pulled out his cell, and called Sherlock.
56
THE WILLOWS
WEDNESDAY LATE AFTERNOON
Sherlock and Connie were standing by Sherlock’s Volvo when her cell rang. Sherlock held up a finger and listened to Dillon. When she punched off, she pumped her fist. “That’s it! We’ve got him!” She told Connie everything Dillon had found out from Dr. Zyon, and about Alex Moody’s kidnappers burning the Annex and the van they abandoned.
“Dillon believes Maddox held John Doe against his will in the Annex, used him as a test subject, and today he ordered the two kidnappers to burn the Annex and destroy what evidence he could. Luckily, all the research equipment and drugs they removed were in the van when they ran from Dillon. He’s on his way here now.”
The two agents stared at each other. Sherlock said, “We could wait, Connie, as Dillon suggested, but Alex Moody could be in that house. If Maddox finds out what’s happened, who knows what he’d do? Alex could be in imminent danger.”
Connie nodded, pulled her Glock, racked the slide. They raced back to the house.
Sherlock pounded on the door. “FBI! Open up. Now!”
They heard the security guard, Cargill, call out, “No, Dr. Maddox instructed me not to admit you. Call the Gen-Core Technologies lawyers, get an appointment!”
Sherlock was nearly ready to put her fist through the door.
“Things have changed, Cargill. We have a legal right to enter. An FBI backup team is on its way. We don’t want to enter forcibly, but we will, if we have to. Open the door!”
Sherlock heard Lister Maddox’s voice, and then the door opened. Cargill stood there, tense, white-faced, his hand near the gun on his belt.
Connie got in his face, “Stand down, Cargill, take out your weapon and put it on the floor, then step back.”
Cargill looked back at Dr. Lister Maddox, standing on the bottom stair of the lavish staircase, one hand clutching the railing, the other his worry beads. He shouted, “Why did you come back? This is an outrage! There’s nothing for you here!”
Sherlock aimed her Glock at Maddox. “We’ll discuss that in a moment, Dr. Maddox, but first tell Cargill to take out his weapon and put it on the floor.”
“Very well, there’s no need for you to have your gun aimed at me or him. We’re not criminals. Cargill, do as she said.”
Cargill pulled a Beretta off his belt clip, leaned down, and placed it carefully on the entrance hall tile.
Connie picked up the Beretta, put it in her jacket pocket.
Sherlock said, “Dr. Maddox, you need to tell us now—is there anyone else in the house?”
“Well, of course. My father and his nurse, Hannah Fox, are upstairs in his bedroom. There may be a housekeeper or two. I’m not sure if they’ve left for the day.”
Sherlock said, “You said earlier that Hannah Fox and Sylvie Vaughn were out on your boat.”
Lister shrugged. “I didn’t want you bothering them.”
Connie said, “Cargill, are there any other security guards in the house or on the grounds?”
“No, ma’am, Agent.”
Sherlock slipped her Glock back into its belt clip. She walked to where Dr. Maddox stood unmoving, except for his worry beads. “We have news, Dr. Maddox. The man and woman you hired to kidnap Alex Moody from the hospital were stopped in a white van, fleeing a building called the Annex after they set fire to it.” He didn’t need to know they weren’t in custody yet, they would be soon enough. “The FBI found some interesting medical equipment and a freezer that fell out of the back of the van. I’m sure you know exactly what was in that van, Dr. Maddox, given what an agent who interviewed Dr. Zyon at Badecker-Ziotec was told about the research you ordered them to do three years ago on compounds that affect aging. Dr. Maddox, we’re expecting a warrant any minute. We believe there are more people in the house, in particular, that missing baby, Alex Moody.”
“That is ridiculous.”
Sherlock continued, “Dr. Maddox, you can either speak to us here, or you can contact your lawyer to meet you at the Hoover Building in Washington.”
Lister froze. Then he shook his head, “I can’t imagine why you think I would burn down my own building, and a useful one at that. If the Annex is burning, I should see to it, but of course you won’t let me do that, will you? As for Zyon, he doesn’t know much, hardly anything about my research or my results, and that means you don’t, either.”
Sherlock plowed on, ignoring him. “You’d be surprised, Doctor. We know the man who drew Kara Moody’s blood more than nine months ago looks amazingly like the same man who kidnapped Alex Moody on Monday, though he looks fifteen years younger. Would you like to see a sketch Kara Moody made of the man who drew her blood and compare it to the photo of the man at the hospital? Can you tell me I’m wrong?”
Lister stared at the young woman with glorious red hair and eyes as blue as the summer sky, eyes that were boring into him, condemning him. Kara Moody had remembered Quince well enough from nearly a year ago to draw him? He’d never considered anyone would make that connection. He looked straight at Sherlock and smiled, and for once, his worry beads stilled. “Agent, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I resent your barging in here once again and throwing around your absurd accusations. I want you to leave.”
Sherlock said over him, “I told you we’re not going anywhere, Dr. Maddox. As I said, Alex Moody’s kidnapper looks at least fifteen years younger than the man from about ten months ago. Does that mean you succeeded in your research? Managed to turn back the clock for him by fifteen years? That would be quite an accomplishment.” She paused a moment, then said, “Dr. Zyon must be a genius.”
Lister leaped to the bait. “Zyon, a genius? That’s a joke, that posing bore gave up, said we shouldn’t go on, that it was impossible, the compounds were too toxic, the cost too high. I had to continue the experiments on my own. I was the one who made the discoveries, not he!” He was panting hard. It took him a moment to realize what he’d admitted. He straightened, pulled his shoulders back, and thrust his chin up, now the man in charge, the leader. “There is nothing wrong with my doing research, Agents. I have worked for a laudable goal. You are police officers, you reduce everything to prosaic black-and-white. You are being shortsighted, ignoring what you have seen with your own eyes. Open your minds, consider possibilities you never dreamed of, consider the amazing results standing before your very eyes.”
Sherlock said, “Dr. Maddox, I do appreciate what you’ve accomplished, it seems remarkable. Perhaps you’ll tell us who else you’ve experimented on?” Sherlock waited a beat, then turned to Cargill. “How old are you?”
Cargill looked at Lister. “Sir?”
Lister waved his hand. “Tell her, she can find out your age easily enough.”
“I’m fifty-seven.”
She wouldn’t have believed him, but Sherlock had seen Kara’s drawing and she’d seen the kidnapper. “You look about thirty-five.”