Chameleon Assassin (Chameleon Assassin Series Book 1) Page 10

  “So now what?” I asked.

  “We put a couple of men on him and hope he leads us to something. You’re right; this isn’t what we hired you for.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief as he drove me home.

  Chapter 10

  Ron and I had made plans for his Tuesday-Wednesday weekend. I rode my motorcycle over to his place early on Tuesday morning, and he joined me on his motorcycle. It had been a while since I had taken a road trip, and heading out on the highway felt great. Except for business, I hadn’t been out of Toronto in more than two years.

  He made reservations at an inn in Lion’s Head, a resort town on the Bruce Peninsula that formed Georgian Bay by jutting out into Lake Huron.

  The Niagara Escarpment ran through the middle of the Great Lakes region, outlining the farthest southern reach of the glaciers from the last ice age. Its most famous point was Niagara Falls, where Lake Erie dumped into Lake Ontario. But the escarpment ran from the southern rim of Lake Ontario, then north through the peninsula, and west in an arc along the western edge of Lake Michigan.

  And why was that important? Because the glaciers had left hundreds of miles of cliffs and some of the best rock climbing in North America.

  We rode out of town past miles of greenhouses and factories that produced and processed most of the food for the city. The upper classes ate real food trucked or flown in from farming regions around the world, but the middle and lower classes couldn’t afford that. I knew people who had never tasted meat.

  The three-hour ride was too short. I’d forgotten what blue skies looked like. One of the first things we noticed was that people in Lion’s Head didn’t wear filter masks. The air was actually that good. We checked in and grabbed some lunch, then took off for the cliffs.

  The view of the lake, its crystal-clear waters, and the forested shores beyond were breathtaking. An unusual thing about climbing on the peninsula was that we started on the top. First, we had to rappel down, then we would climb back up. We secured our ropes and equipment, and made ready for the descent. Ron told me he was an experienced climber, and even though I had no reason not to believe him, I was still a little concerned. Men sometimes bragged when it wasn’t appropriate.

  We launched off and down the cliff in parallel. It wasn’t a race, and I really wasn’t in a hurry to get down. I spent a lot of time just admiring the scenery. Ron was waiting for me at the bottom.

  “Have you climbed this route before?” he asked.

  “Yeah, but it’s been a few years.”

  “I’ll go first, then.”

  Ron started up the route we’d chosen. It was tough, but not one of the hardest ones. I watched him until he was about forty or fifty feet up and started my own climb about ten feet to the right. I trusted him, but if he fell, I wanted to be out of the way.

  Three hours later, I clawed my way over the edge and stood up, as tired as I’d been in a long time. It felt good. I looked around for Ron.

  That’s when I discovered I beat him to the top. I took a drink from my canteen and ate an apple. When he pulled himself over the edge, I laughed at him.

  “I can’t believe you let a girl beat you.”

  I was totally unprepared for his lunge. He tackled me, took me to the ground, and pinned me. I was laughing my ass off. The next thing I knew, he was stripping off my shorts. I only made a half-hearted attempt to stop him. We made love there, overlooking Lake Huron and all the lands beyond, lying in the soft green grass on the top of the Niagara Escarpment. I had never done it outside before.

  When he finished, I lay staring up at the blue sky, listening to him panting as his weight pressed down upon me. My dignity lay in tatters beside my pants and I couldn’t stop smiling.

  We had dinner at the inn and took a walk afterward watching the aurora borealis, the northern lights. As he tumbled me into our bed that night, I decided it was one of the best days of my life.

  I wasn’t sure what else Blaine wanted me to do, but he was still paying me. I checked on Professor Sheridan’s address and found that he lived alone in the northern part of the city. His official biography said he was widowed with two grown daughters.

  Without knowing his schedule, I decided the best way to get to him was to stake out his home. I rode my motorcycle out there in mid-afternoon and discovered a small park kitty-cornered across the street from his house. I could see both the front door and his garage. I sat back against the trunk of a tree, blended into the background, called up a novel on my tablet, and settled in to wait.

  Sheridan showed up about six-thirty and stored his car in the garage. I waited ten minutes, then walked up to the door and rang the bell. To my surprise, a short, older woman answered the door.

  “Is Albert Sheridan available?” I asked.

  “No, he is not,” she said, pointing to a sign by the bell that said ‘No Solicitors’.

  “Oh, I’m not selling anything. I was a student of his at the university.”

  “Then see him there.” She closed the door in my face.

  I walked around the corner, blurred my form, and went back, clinging to the shadows. Peeking in the windows, I found Sheridan in the dining room having dinner. His hair was thinner than in his official picture, his beard was longer, and both had more gray. He’d also put on a few pounds.

  The woman didn’t eat with him. She cleaned up afterward and retreated to one of the bedrooms. I waited a couple of hours while he read, then he turned out the lights and went to bed in a room at the opposite end of the house from her.

  I went home to bed, then got up and came back at four in the morning. His garage door opened at seven, he backed his car out, and drove off. I followed him. He parked behind his lab at seven fifty-five.

  After killing time all day, I was waiting near Sheridan’s car at four forty-five.

  “Doctor Sheridan?”

  He turned. “Yes?”

  “I was hoping I could ask you about some of your research. Specifically about a compound…” I showed him the chemical structure of luvdaze drawn out on a piece of paper.

  He seemed to study it for a moment. “Who are you?”

  “This drug is killing kids who are buying it in the underground market,” I said. “Another analog of it is also being used as a date rape drug. I’ve read your papers on experiments with female libido, and the compounds you mention are similar to this. I’m hoping…”

  His eyes grew round with panic, and he pulled away from me, practically trotting to his car. He jumped inside but didn’t get the door shut because of my leg.

  “I’m not accusing you of anything, Professor. I’m only trying to find out if this drug was part of your research, and who else might have access to your tests.”

  “All of my research is bounded by strict confidentiality agreements,” he said, trying to pull the car door closed and push my leg out of the way simultaneously.

  I didn’t budge. “Professor, I’m working for the Chamber of Commerce. We are very interested in how this drug got out on the street. Are you telling me that CanPharm is selling this through unauthorized channels?”

  Although the old governmental agencies and laws to control drugs were no longer in place, the pharmaceutical manufacturers had their own council with standards and procedures. The last thing any of the drug or chemical companies wanted was an infonet hysteria. Multi-billion credit lawsuits were very effective in controlling corporate behavior.

  The poor man’s face turned red as though he was about to have a seizure, so I relented and stepped back. “The Chamber will be taking this matter up with both CanPharm and the university.”

  He drove off, almost hitting another car on his way out of the parking lot.

  I called Wil. “Hey, what are you doing this evening?”

  “I’m at your beck and call. You know that.” If he’d put the slightest bit of purr in his voice, I would have melted, but he said it in such a dry, business-like way that it was deflating.

  “Meet me at The Pinnacle at sev
en and I’ll buy you a drink.”

  “I’ll see you then,” he said and hung up.

  Nellie and I were having a drink while we shared a plate of poutine when Wil showed up at the club. His shadow fell across the table, and Nellie glanced up.

  “Oh, my,” she said. “We done died and gone to heaven. There’s an angel in here.”

  I turned to see what she was talking about. Wil’s face was so red I thought he might combust.

  “Nellie, this is my friend Wilbur.”

  She turned back to me. “You been holdin out on me.”

  “Nellie, he’s a sweet young thing. I’ve just been protecting him.”

  His face turned even redder.

  “Wil, sit down.” I indicated the chair next to me, putting him across the table from Nellie.

  “You’re Nellie Barton,” Wilbur said. “I have all of your recordings.”

  She smiled and preened. “I’d be glad to give you a private concert sometime.”

  “Down, girl,” I growled.

  They both gave me startled looks. I must have put in a bit more feeling than I intended. My face felt a bit warm.

  “She’s doing a charity performance in three weeks,” I said. “Why don’t you come with me?”

  Nellie shot daggers from her eyes. Wil gave me a sideward look and rubbed his chin.

  He looked over at Nellie and said, “I would enjoy any chance to hear one of your performances.”

  She smiled. It took me a moment to realize he’d said yes to both of us. He was slick and I decided to cut my losses.

  Wil ordered a beer while Nellie and I finished our dinner. She gave him one of her thousand-watt smiles and wandered off. He watched her butt as she walked away.

  “How long have you been friends?” Wil asked.

  “A long time. Since we were little girls. Her mother used to work for my mother.”

  He raised an eyebrow, which told me that he knew about my mother’s business. I waited, but he didn’t say anything. Smart man.

  “Remember when you asked me if I’d ever worked for someone who didn’t want me to succeed?” I asked. His head snapped around. “Wil, I’m asking this as one professional to another. Do you have any orders specifically concerning me?”

  “Only to protect you.”

  I searched his face, his eyes. Either he was a better liar than anyone else I’d ever met, or he was telling the truth. I decided to trust him.

  “Well, let me tell you about some research I’ve done.” I didn’t mention Vincent, but I told Wil about the drug research Sheridan did for CanPharm. Then I told him about my conversation with Sheridan that afternoon.

  When I finished, he shook his head. “I find it difficult to believe CanPharm sanctioned selling a recreational drug this dangerous.”

  “Officially sanctioned, I agree. Unofficially?”

  “You’re thinking the board of directors has gone rogue, or just an individual?”

  “Or a small group of individuals. I don’t think Sheridan is in on it. I’ve examined his financials, and I don’t see it. But someone above him? I think someone has set up a small factory.”

  “It would cost millions.”

  “I don’t think so. I checked and an industrial clamshell system to do what we saw is about the size of this table and less than ten grand. Setting up a lab is fairly cheap. The chemicals and vessels to manufacture in quantity, buy jet injector dispensers in quantity, and then the packaging are the major costs. But those could easily be hidden in a research budget and then diverted.”

  “So you’re thinking more like a hundred thousand, maybe two hundred thousand?” he asked.

  “More than a meth lab, yeah. But look at the distribution profits. Wil, they’re getting about twenty thousand doses per liter. On the wholesale market, I’ll bet the manufacturer is getting twenty creds per dose. That’s four hundred thousand a liter. No one has started cutting it yet, at least not in Toronto, but you could.”

  Wil sat back and blinked at me. “You’re talking millions a week.”

  “Yeah.”

  “How easy is this stuff to make?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. It’s a pretty complex compound, but I don’t know the process. CanPharm would consider that a trade secret, so Sheridan wouldn’t publish that in any of his papers.”

  Wil abruptly stood. “Let’s go visit Sheridan.”

  “All right.” I stood up. “He wouldn’t talk to me. I couldn’t even get past his bulldog of a housekeeper when I went out to his house.”

  His grin was rather frightening. “I think I can be a little more persuasive than you can.”

  We hopped in his car and headed out to North York.

  When we got there, all the lights were on. Wil parked across the street, and we went up to the front door. He leaned on the doorbell for about five minutes, but no one came to answer it.

  “Let me go look around,” I said, stepping off the porch and heading around the corner. As soon as I was out of Wil’s sight, I blurred my image into the shadows.

  The first window I peered in told me something was wrong. The room was a mess, with the furniture overturned and stuff scattered about. The next room was the same. Sheridan was in his study, sitting in a chair with his back to me. The room had been torn apart, with papers scattered everywhere. I ran back to Wil.

  “It looks like someone tossed the place.” I passed my hand over the alarm keypad, determined it wasn’t set, pulled out my lock picks, and bent down in front of the door.”

  “What about the alarm?” Wil asked.

  “I don’t think it’s set.”

  He reached over my shoulder and turned the doorknob, then pushed the door open.

  “It’s not locked.”

  I put my lock picks away and drew my pistol. He raised an eyebrow, then pulled a hand cannon from under his jacket.

  “A forty-four mag?” I asked. “You go elephant hunting in Toronto much?”

  “I like the stopping power,” he said and stepped into the house. Yeah, that thing would stop a medium-sized truck.

  The housekeeper was in the kitchen, a neat round hole in her forehead. The back of her head decorated the stove and counter. A cold shiver passed through me. Whoever came in here played for keeps.

  I found Wil in the study. Sheridan had taken one in the chest and he was already turning cold. I checked my chrono and it was about three hours since I approached him at the university.

  “He made a call, either on his way home or as soon as he got here,” I said. “He knew who was selling the stuff, even if he wasn’t in on it.”

  Wil nodded. “They cleaned up this loose end fast. I’m a bit surprised that they killed the goose who laid the golden egg.”

  “It’s not like the fashion industry,” I said. “They don’t need a new product every year. The drug will continue to make money forever. Besides, depending on who is behind this, they may not be in it for the long run. A one-time smash hit and then retire.”

  He thought about that. “It looks like a mob hit.”

  “Yeah, and if Donofrio is behind the drugs, then he might want to keep Sheridan alive. Relocate him, maybe. But if it’s a rogue inside CanPharm, a couple of hundred mil might be enough.”

  A thought hit me. “Crap! Wil, we need to get to Sheridan’s lab.”

  We rushed out of the house and jumped into Wil’s car. As he gunned it down the street, I asked, “How are we going to get in there? There are guards and a security system, and the campus police. Do we need to call Blaine?”

  “No, I can get in on my own authority.”

  “Well, that must be nice. I didn’t know Chamber security agents were so special.”

  He glanced at me, then back at the road as he took a corner in a power slide, dodged between a car and a truck, and then gunned it onto the southbound freeway.

  “I’m Deputy Director of Chamber Security for North America,” he said. “I don’t work for Blaine. He’s local.”

  Oh, Lord.
I had him pegged as a corporate wannabe hoping to climb the ranks to a comfortable level. Instead, he’d already hit a level where his mansion had rooms he hadn’t visited in months. I studied his profile. I estimated he was around thirty-five, awfully young for such a high position. A repeat evaluation left me with the same impression. No way he was close to forty. Obviously, he was impressive in more than the looks department.

  When we reached Sheridan’s lab on the university campus, the place was lit up like a football stadium. We couldn’t get near the lot where Sheridan usually parked his car. The press was there, shining flood lights on the area, and the lab was surrounded by yellow crime-scene tape.

  Wil grabbed my arm and pulled me with him as he shouldered his way through the crowd. He showed his ID to a campus cop, and we ducked under the yellow tape.

  “Be careful,” the cop said as we passed. “Don’t mess up the forensics boys.”

  Two bodies lay near the lab entrance—the security guards. The door to the lab stood wide open.

  Another campus cop and a guy who identified himself as CanPharm security approached us.

  “Wilbur Wilberforce, Chamber security,” Wil said, holding up his ID. “This is my assistant, Elizabeth Nelson.”

  “We had a break-in,” the CanPharm agent said. “We’ve got it under control.”

  “We’ve just come from Dr. Sheridan’s home. He and his housekeeper are dead,” Wil responded. “The Chamber is interested in what kind of research Dr. Sheridan was conducting.” He gestured toward the bodies on the ground. “I’m assuming he wasn’t working on improved talcum powder.”

  “Dr. Sheridan is working—was working—on proprietary products,” the agent said, still blocking our way.

  “Do I need to call Mateo Hudiburg and get him out of bed?” Wil asked, pulling out his phone. “The agreements are clear. The Chamber can investigate anything it wants to. You can guarantee I’ll document any obstruction.”

  “Oh, no. Of course.” The man backtracked so fast he almost stumbled getting out of our way. “This way.” He approached one of the forensics team who handed him something. Coming back to us, he handed each of us a pair of soft paper booties. We slipped them on over our shoes.