Dr. Do-Or-Die. Lara Lacombe
me more.”
He shoved his free hand in his pocket and swayed back and forth on his feet. He’d learned that if he kept moving, the infamous Antarctic cold couldn’t settle in his bones. Even though he spent most of his time inside, it was so damn cold in this godforsaken place he thought he’d never get warm again. “I isolated it from a core sample. So far, the results are promising.” He tried to keep the excitement out of his voice, so as not to raise their expectations. They’d all known from the beginning that he was basically conducting a fishing expedition. Results were desirable, but not guaranteed.
Now that he had a potential lead, he didn’t want to misrepresent his preliminary findings—if they thought he had found a suitable candidate and it turned out to be a failure, things would not go well for him. And even though this was his first time working for the group, he’d learned enough about their operations to know that overpromising and underdelivering was not a sound strategy.
Especially if he wanted to live.
“What results?” The man’s voice was flat, with no hint of interest. They might as well be discussing the weather. But something told Paul that he had his contact’s full attention.
He took a deep breath. “As I said, I isolated the agent from an ice sample. It thawed beautifully, and I’ve been testing it in cells.” And now for the good news. “It’s killed everything I put it in.”
More silence, but he could practically feel the man’s focus sharpening. “How long does it take to kill?”
“Forty-eight hours.”
The man made a noncommittal noise, and a creeping sense of unease made the hairs on the back of Paul’s neck stand on end. He stopped swaying, his feet rooted to the floor as if glued there. His contact didn’t sound too happy with those results. What more could the man want?
“We had hoped for a slower process. To make it more difficult to assign blame.”
“Ah.” He let out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and started moving again. “Well, keep in mind these are just cells in a dish. Once you start human trials, I think you’ll find it will take longer, since the systems are larger and more complex.”
Another silence, this time tinged with...amusement? What the—
“I think you mean when you start the human trials.”
“What?” Paul couldn’t keep the shock out of his voice, and he glanced around reflexively to make sure no one had overheard. The room was empty, but the interior walls were thin, something he’d do well to remember.
“That was not part of the deal,” he hissed, careful to lower his voice. “I was just supposed to find potential agents and pass them along after doing the preliminary testing. No one said anything about human experimentation.” His gut cramped even as he said the words, not because of any moral objections, but because of the increased risk of doing such experiments. He was already sticking his neck out pretty far, risk-wise. If they wanted him to start infecting people, he was almost guaranteed to get caught.
“The terms have changed.”
“No,” he snapped. “You can’t.”
As soon as the words were out, he realized his mistake. The man on the other end of the line laughed softly, and the menacing sound wrapped cold fingers around his heart.
“You are not in a position to bargain,” his contact said, his voice lethally quiet. “You will conduct human trials, or we will sever our agreement.” The tone of his voice made it clear that other things would be severed as well if there were any problems.
“What about the risk of exposure?” It was a long shot, but the only one Paul had left. Perhaps he could make them understand that having him conduct the experiments simply wasn’t worth the risk involved. “If I’m discovered, the project is a failure.”
“Then I suggest you work carefully.” The words were final, and he realized any further objections would only anger the man. It wasn’t a chance worth taking.
Resigned to his fate, he sighed quietly. “How many?”
“Pardon me?”
“How many test subjects do you need?” Best to clarify things now, so he could take care of everything at once. There would be no second chances. If this agent acted like he expected it to, the effects were going to be dramatic. People were going to panic, and it was quite possible the base would be quarantined, making it even more difficult to collect the data the group wanted. Attention would definitely be paid to this research outpost, which meant he had to work very, very carefully. It had to look like a natural event. If there was even a hint of deliberation about it, the spotlight would shine so hot and bright on the base personnel that there’d be no way for him to escape.
But maybe that was what they wanted... The thought made his blood run cold, and he almost missed hearing the man’s reply.
“As many as possible.”
Of course, he thought. They want me to assume all the risk and get caught for my troubles. The dawning realization lit a spark of anger, warming him from the inside out. He was the perfect scapegoat for them—once he’d been caught, people would stop looking for someone to blame, which meant the Organization would be free to continue operating as before.
Why didn’t I realize it before?
The answer was instantaneous: money. He’d been blinded by dollar signs, and had jumped into bed with these guys for the sake of his family. Now it seemed they were going to be his downfall.
“Very well,” he said, needing to get off the phone before his epiphany made him say something rash. Better for them to think nothing had changed. He didn’t need their suspicion right now—things were going to be hard enough without worrying about the group coming after him.
“Call when you have additional results.” His contact disconnected without another word, and Paul put the phone in his pocket with a sigh.
“Now what?” he muttered.
Two options loomed before him, neither one particularly appealing. He could lie and say he’d tried to infect people but the agent hadn’t worked. It was a possibility. And it would keep people from finding out he worked for the group, which in turn would spare him some rather uncomfortable questions and time in prison.
Lying wasn’t without risks, though. If the Organization found out what he’d done, they wouldn’t hesitate to take their displeasure out on his children. Just the thought of his kids in the hands of those men... He shuddered and placed a hand on his roiling stomach to quell the incipient revolt. No, he couldn’t take that chance.
Which meant he’d have to set up the human trials.
He thrust a hand through his hair and began to pace, his mind whirring with possible options. He’d have to try out different routes of exposure, different doses of the agent. And then somehow keep track of how people felt and when and if they developed symptoms.
No, not people, he thought. Test subjects. Best to start depersonalizing them now, since they were nothing more than a data point from here on out.
And he’d do well to remember it.
“Got a minute?”
Dr. Avery Thatcher glanced away from her computer monitor to find her boss, Dr. Harold Jenkins, standing in the doorway to her office. She waved him in with her free hand and swallowed her bite of yogurt before placing the spoon back in the container and pushing it to the side of her desk. Harold was a writer by nature, and every time she met with him he wound up jotting stuff down on a small notepad that she suspected was permanently attached to his palm. She’d learned early on in their working relationship to clear a space for him to use, and after five years the