still couldn’t see a way to help.
“Katie thinks the kidnappers are middlemen,” Allison continued, “and that they very likely don’t know the real value of the girls or who is really behind the kidnapping.”
“Ah!”
“Yes. That’s why I’ve called you.”
“You want me to scour my European underground contacts and see what’s up?”
“They are going to London. That suggests that a British, or possibly other European party, is behind the whole thing. See what you can find out. Particularly anything with a whiff of genetics involved. I’ve set up a site here at the NSA that holds everything we have about Lab 33. I’ll be updating it regularly about the kidnapping, as well. I’ll have some photos of and files on the few individuals we know who worked with Peters and escaped the lab bust. We’ve also been able to decipher scraps of information on the genetic manipulation process. We know what was done, but not how. If you have any questions, call me. Katie and I watched from a satellite when the private jet carrying Teal took off from Bogotá. As I said already, we know the flight plan they filed said London’s Heathrow as the final destination. Do you want to watch the arrival when the SAS guys pick her up in London? The plane is due to land around six this evening London time, seven your time.”
“Absolutely.”
Allison provided a Web address and two passwords that would give Lindsey access to the data on Lab 33, the kidnapping and the feeds from the NSA satellite. Lindsey checked the clock on her computer screen. The plane would reach its destination in about twenty minutes.
“By the way,” Allison added, “Lena said the kidnappers videotaped her and Teal using their abilities during staged escape attempts. This makes me think they wanted proof of what the girls could do.”
Lindsey shook off another chill on her neck. “I understand.”
They exchanged farewells and Allison hung up. Lindsey stood and stretched. She felt exhausted. The adrenaline rush from the skydiving, and from all that lovely physical contact with Marko, must have expended itself. She needed a caffeine hit before she spent time with the Lab 33 file.
As she made her way to the kitchen, a sad weight pressed on her heart for Teal, who would probably never know who her real father was. And who, if she was ever told the manner of her conception, would surely have some psychological hurdles to conquer.
Alternately sipping the strong cappuccino and scrolling through the kidnapping file, Lindsey learned a bit more. Most interesting, the psychic who’d worked with Katie Rush, Stefan Blackman, was pretty certain Teal could only make that kind of strong contact with someone like him, or like Teal herself.
She opened the file on Lab 33 and started to read about Aldrich Peters and his egg babies. At ten to seven, she put the NSA satellite feed onto one of her side screens and monitored the London airport as she continued to skim the egg baby file. The plane was late, but finally it landed and the SAS, fully armed, swarmed inside.
Ten minutes crawled by. After fifteen minutes of total inactivity, a handful of SAS men left the plane with three men, doubtless the cockpit crew, given their uniforms. Lindsey sat up and leaned toward the screen. This didn’t at all fit with what she’d anticipated. Where was the girl? The SAS men walked out with the crew, went to the cars, got in, and drove off.
Something was wrong.
Chapter 6
Lindsey continued to stare at the scene on her computer monitor. Clearly, Teal was not on the plane the SAS had just searched. Could Allison have gotten her information wrong?
Lindsey’s secure cell phone rang. “Did you just see that?” Allison asked without preamble.
“Teal is not on the plane, right?”
“I know absolutely that she boarded their private jet in Bogotá and the flight plan called for the trip to be nonstop. When I learn more, I’ll contact you.”
“I’ll be here. I’ll be checking my contacts who may have information about this kidnapping or about genetic engineering.”
“This changes everything. We thought we had her safe.” Allison’s voice held an edge of urgency.
Allison, who Lindsey had never known to be anything but amiable and polite, hung up without formalities, clearly, terribly worried. Lindsey didn’t just need information about who was involved and why, she now needed to find where Teal might be. Assuming Teal was still alive.
Well, put that thought right out of your mind, Lindsey Novak! You will operate on the assumption that Teal is alive.
She kept two separate files for her information contacts: legit and shady. She opened up the legit file on her hard drive and scanned names: media contacts, private investigators and professionals in a wide range of disciplines that mostly related to art, archeology or anthropology. But there was one contact in genetics. Beatrix Riegler in Geneva of World Care Watchdogs International. WCWI exposed illegal traffickers in medical or scientific areas the way Amnesty International exposed tyrants who imprisoned people unjustly.
Lindsey combed through the file. Beatrix had sources for information about the sale of expired drugs sold on the black market. She monitored sales of untested drugs—like antiaging and cancer treatments. She dogged global traffickers of body organs for transplants and blocked sales to corporations or insurance companies of the medical files of private citizens. The latest scam Lindsey had discussed with Beatrix was the black market in stem cell lines stolen from legitimate laboratories. Unsuspecting buyers had no real way to know if the lines were contaminated.
The phrase human genomes grabbed Lindsey’s attention. WCWI monitored the ongoing DNA project in Maldovia, a massive database of human genomes second only to the original one set up in Iceland. Every citizen gave a sample of their DNA and answered an extensive questionnaire about their medical and psychological history. This information was matched to the surprisingly complete birth and death records kept in the country for nearly two hundred years. WCWI made sure that the data collected on the population wasn’t sold to anyone except licensed users/researchers—medical, genetic, or historical—and under strict conditions. If someone were seeking illegal information on genetics, WCWI might hear of it.
Lindsey checked the clock—it was not too late to call. No one beyond her contacts must know what she was searching for, and even then, this kind of information wasn’t something to be discussed via easily compromised phones or e-mails. For this she’d have to make contact in person.
Using her landline, she dialed the number. Beatrix had a sweet voice, and she answered at once with a cheery, “Beatrix hier.” The strains of Brahms played in the background mixed with sounds of laughter.
Lindsey’s German was much worse than Beatrix’s English. In English Lindsey explained that she needed to meet with Beatrix tomorrow.
“This is rather sudden, Lindsey.”
“It’s urgent.”
Lindsey heard a long sigh. Beatrix owed Lindsey, but knew she was going to be asked for information. After a moment’s silent pause, Beatrix said, “I’m swamped at work. What have you in mind?”
“I can take an early flight and meet you in the WCWI lobby at twelve-thirty.”
