Wired - Douglas E. Richards [86]
He raised his eyebrows and smiled. “Son of a bitch?” he repeated, amused. “I would normally take offense, but you are technically correct. Mom was a bitch. How did you know?” he added wryly.
“I will kill you,” she growled. “If it’s the last thing I ever do.”
Sam was unimpressed. “You’re hardly in a position to be making threats, my dear.” He shook his head in mock regret. “But I see now that killing your brother probably ruined any chance for us to have a romantic relationship.”
Desh could tell that Kira was seething inside, but was fighting to stay calm so she wouldn’t give this Sam the added satisfaction of getting a rise out of her. The man was purposely pushing her buttons to cloud her thinking, and Desh knew he had to do something to intervene. “So you’re the one who broke into her condo,” he said, risking the point of Sam’s shoe to deflect the conversation from its current course. “And stole her treatment.”
Desh braced himself for an attack, but none came. “That’s right.”
“But you aren’t enhanced now,” noted Kira, having already regained her equilibrium. “Why not?”
“You of all people know that running your brain at warp speed takes a lot out of it. Can’t do it every day.” He paused. “But if your real question is, did I run out of pills? the answer is no. I didn’t. What’s more, I have a molecular biologist working for me who’s almost managed to duplicate your work. Another month and I’ll have a lifetime supply.”
“And will he be signing his own death warrant when he succeeds?” said Kira.
“Why ask questions to which you already know the answer?” Sam shrugged. “Everybody dies sometime.” He tilted his head and grinned. “Except for maybe me and you, my dear.”
“So who is the molecular biologist working with you?” she asked.
“Oh, I doubt you know him. He was in the bio-defense division at USAMRIID. I discovered he was conspiring with terrorists for money.” He rolled his eyes. “He also had a taste for young boys that was quite troubling. So I, ah … pressed him into service.”
“You mean you blackmailed him,” said Kira.
Sam ignored her. “I do have to hand it to you,” he continued, shaking his head in admiration. “Even with your lab notebook, even with the instruction manual right in front of him, it’s taken him years to duplicate your work.”
“Why not just enhance his intelligence?” asked Kira.
“I have. Several times. If not for this, he’d still be trying to figure out how to replicate what you did. But I didn’t want to give him too many pills. First, I don’t have that many left. Second, that kind of intelligence makes someone extremely difficult to control. You and I both know that. You can’t imagine the precautions I had to take each time I souped him up.”
Desh searched his own mind for any signs of a change but detected none. Part of him still didn’t believe her therapy would really work, but if it did, he had no idea what to expect when it began to kick in.
“How many people other than Desh know about the longevity therapy?” asked Kira.
“Good question,” said Sam, smiling. “The wheels are always turning with you, aren’t they. Always gathering intel. The answer is, only me. I clean up after myself very carefully. True, the entire US military has been after you, but I’m the only one who really knows what’s going on.”
“Other than me, of course,” corrected Smith.
With a burst of motion, Sam pulled a silenced pistol from a holster and put a bullet into Smith’s head at point blank range. The impact threw Smith off his feet and he landed roughly on his back, dead before he hit the ground.
Blood mixed with tiny bits of brain matter leaked from Smith’s head and began to puddle on the concrete floor next to him.
33
Kira Miller shrank back in horror as blood continued to pour from Smith’s head.
Sam returned his gun to its holster. “Now where was I,” he said casually, as if nothing had happened
Desh didn’t need to consult a textbook to know that this man was a true psychopath.
“Oh, I remember,” continued Sam. “I was telling