Chapter 8 - The Message Behind the Blue Stone
I did not forgive Prescott.
Forgiveness belonged to a later world.
A world where Jonah and Blythe were alive long enough for me to decide what betrayal meant.
In the world we occupied that night, I needed information.
“Where is GV-17?”
Prescott sat across from me.
“I don’t know.”
“Wrong answer.”
“I knew Novagen stored restricted compounds in multiple facilities. I never knew specific inventory.”
“You worked for Vane.”
“Briefly.”
“How briefly?”
“Eighteen months.”
“Doing what?”
“Risk management.”
“Meaning?”
“I identified threats to sensitive research projects.”
“Researchers?”
“Sometimes.”
“Families?”
He looked at me.
“Yes.”
Elena turned away in disgust.
I stared at him.
“Did you track Genevieve?”
“Not while she was your wife.”
“That is not what I asked.”
“Years before, one of her inquiries at St. Anne’s generated an internal flag.”
“You knew her before I did?”
“I knew her name.”
The betrayal kept expanding.
“Why did you come work for me?”
“At first?”
“Yes.”
“To monitor Conrad Mercer’s remaining interests.”
I stood.
Elena looked at me.
Prescott did not.
He probably expected me to hit him.
Instead, I asked, “And later?”
He finally looked up.
“Later I stayed because you were nothing like what Vane believed.”
“What did he believe?”
“That Conrad had raised you to continue the research.”
I laughed bitterly.
“My father barely explained his legitimate investments.”
“I learned that.”
“When?”
“Over time.”
“So you became loyal.”
“Yes.”
“Very touching.”
“I know it means nothing tonight.”
“Correct.”
My phone buzzed.
Franklin.
“Blythe’s condition is deteriorating.”
Every other emotion disappeared.
“What do you need?”
“GV-17.”
“I know.”
“I’ve analyzed the protocol. It’s not a miracle drug. It’s a precursor used to prepare marrow cells for a targeted immune therapy.”
“Can you reproduce it?”
“Not quickly.”
“How quickly?”
“Weeks.”
“We don’t have weeks.”
“No.”
“How long do we have?”
“Lawson…”
“Say it.”
“Maybe forty-eight hours for Blythe. Jonah slightly longer.”
Forty-eight hours.
I looked at the necklace.
GV-17.
Genevieve had encoded the answer.
Why?
If she knew the compound existed, she might have hidden more information.
“Blue opens what numbers can’t,” Elena said quietly.
“What?”
“That’s what Genevieve told me.”
I took the sapphire pendant again.
We had already removed the memory card.
But beneath it was another layer.
A paper-thin strip of material.
Microfilm.
Prescott held it toward the interior light.
Tiny writing.
Coordinates.
And a phrase.
NORTH STAR.
Prescott recognized it.
“What?”
“Novagen used astronomy names for secure storage facilities.”
“North Star location?”
“I only heard of it once.”
“Where?”
“Wisconsin.”
“How far?”
“Three hours.”
“We leave now.”
Elena said, “The twins?”
“I stay in constant contact.”
Prescott shook his head.
“You should stay with them.”
“You’re going?”
“Yes.”
“And you expect me to trust you?”
“No. I expect you to keep a second vehicle behind me with people you do trust.”
At least he understood.
We departed Chicago before dawn.
For three hours, my phone remained open to the medical room.
I listened to Blythe breathe.
Jonah asked Franklin when I was coming back.
Franklin told him soon.
My son said, “Dad always comes back.”
That sentence became a promise.
North Star was not a laboratory.
It looked like an abandoned agricultural cold-storage complex.
The coordinates led to a locked underground unit.
Genevieve’s necklace opened the outer scanner.
Inside, shelves stretched into darkness.
Preserved compounds.
Trial materials.
Research samples.
Hundreds of millions of dollars of medicine hidden where no regulator or patient would find it.
Prescott found the GV section.
Empty.
I stared at the vacant shelf.
“No.”
Elena checked labels.
“Maybe moved.”
“Find inventory logs.”
A terminal sat at the end of the aisle.
We accessed it using Genevieve’s card.
GV-17.
TRANSFERRED.
Destination:
CHICAGO CENTRAL.
“When?”
Elena’s face changed.
“Yesterday.”
Someone had moved it after she appeared at my gate.
They knew exactly what we were looking for.
“Where is Chicago Central?”
Prescott hesitated.
“Novagen headquarters.”
In downtown Chicago.
A building I had entered dozens of times.
Attended charity dinners inside.
Shaken Elias Vane’s hand inside.
Somewhere in that tower was the compound that might save my children.
And Vane knew we needed it.
My phone rang.
Not Franklin.
Elias Vane.
I answered.
“Lawson.”
His voice was warm.
Almost fatherly.
“I hear your children are very ill.”
I stared at Prescott.
He could hear.
“You moved GV-17.”
A pause.
Then Vane laughed softly.
“So Genevieve did leave you breadcrumbs.”
“I want the compound.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“What do you want?”
“There is the businessman I know.”
“What?”
“The Aurora drive.”
I looked at Elena.
“Exchange?”
“The drive for enough GV-17 to treat both children.”
“You expect me to trust you?”
“No.”
“Then why would I agree?”
“Because Blythe has less than two days.”
My entire body froze.
“How do you know that?”
“You still don’t understand the scale of what you’re dealing with.”
“Elias.”
“Yes?”
“If either child dies because you delay this—”
“Threats are inefficient, Lawson.”
My father’s rule.
Same words.
Almost.
I remembered Conrad saying it to me when I was seventeen.
Never threaten when silence is more effective.
“How well did you know my father?”
Vane paused.
“Very well.”
“Did he know about Lark?”
“He created the foundation of it.”
“Did he approve what you did?”
“No.”
The immediate answer surprised me.
“At least you admit it.”
“Conrad was sentimental where family was concerned.”
“He called that humanity.”
“He called many weaknesses virtues.”
“What do you want besides the drive?”
“You.”
“Why?”
“I want to explain something your wife never understood.”
“What?”
“Project Lark was not built to hurt your children.”
“You knew they might get sick.”
“Yes.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“And you let it happen.”
“Because the research produced treatments capable of saving millions.”
“Not good enough.”
“It might be once your own children are saved by one.”
He hung up.
A message arrived seconds later.
NOVAGEN TOWER. 11:00 P.M.
COME WITH THE DRIVE.
ALONE.
Elena looked at me.
“You can’t.”
“I’m going.”
Prescott shook his head.
“He will kill you.”
“Maybe.”
“And the drive?”
“He’s not getting the original.”
Prescott almost smiled.
For the first time all night.
“That sounds more like you.”
I looked at him.
“Don’t confuse necessity with trust.”
His smile disappeared.
On the drive back to Chicago, Franklin called.
“Lawson.”
His voice was different.
“What happened?”
“It’s Blythe.”
My chest stopped.
“What?”
“She’s awake.”
I released a breath.
Then Franklin continued.
“She said something you need to hear.”
“What?”
“She remembers Genevieve speaking to a man shortly before the crash.”
“She was four.”
“I know.”
“What man?”
Franklin looked off screen.
“Blythe says Mommy called him Uncle Pres.”
May you like
I slowly turned toward Prescott.
And for the first time since the nightmare began, fear appeared on his face.
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