The RX Factor Page 7

  "Oh shit," Ryan muttered under his breath. Noting two dark-skinned male passengers in the sedan, he felt a jolt of adrenaline shoot through his body. Hey, Pritchard, I think I found your Haitians.

  Jordan noticed Ryan's attention to the rear-view mirror. She turned around to look at the trailing sedan, then back at Ryan. "What the hell's going on?"

  Ryan had no time to respond. The sedan's engine growled louder, and even as Ryan sped up, they were still gaining ground. A sharp turn was coming up and Ryan downshifted, causing the jeep to buck, pressing them tautly against their lap-only seat belts. They managed to hold the road as they swung around the curve, but the sedan was undeterred and caught back up to them within a few seconds.

  "Oh, god!" she exclaimed. "What are they doing? Get us out of here!"

  Ryan did not react to Jordan's hysterics. His focus was on the rearview mirror and the road ahead. He was able to gain separation from the sedan around the curves, only to have the sedan catch right back up on each straightaway. A half-mile of straight road lay before them, and Ryan knew he couldn't outrun the other car.

  Suddenly they felt the sedan crash into their bumper. The jeep lurched forward and Jordan screamed. Ryan wiped the perspiration out of his eyes and floored the accelerator as they raced down the narrow road surrounded by palm trees on one side and cliffs to the ocean floor below on the other. His hands tightened on the wheel as they barreled toward the next curve a few hundred yards ahead.

  But the powerful sedan was too fast and slammed into them again, harder this time. The jeep bounced forward and to the side. Ryan managed to coax the vehicle back into a straight line without oversteering but their pursuers smashed into them again with a sickening thud. Jordan careened forward, throwing her hands up against the dash just in time to avoid bashing her head.

  "Sonovabitch," Ryan snarled. The road ahead left no margin for error. There was no room to the left unless he wanted to drive his jeep up a never-ending row of palm trees; to the right was certain death, a sharp curve with a steep drop off the cliff to the ocean below, protected only by an old rusted-out guardrail that had no chance of keeping a speeding vehicle from taking the plunge.

  He knew it was only a matter of time before the sedan would be in position to run them off the road. He swerved around a hairpin turn, the wheels of the jeep fighting to hold the road, spraying pebbles at the flimsy guardrail only inches away.

  The blue sedan cranked it up soon after they emerged from the turn and hit them a fourth time, nearly spinning them out. The road was now climbing higher over the shoreline below. Through his peripheral vision, Ryan saw Jordan clutching the dashboard with her left hand and her seat belt with the right. She kept her focus straight ahead as if a glance at their pursuers would draw them in closer.

  Suddenly a star appeared in the windshield, followed by another. As she bent forward to examine the markings, Jordan screamed, "Christ, they're shooting at us!"

  His brows furrowed, Ryan hunched over and fought the wheel. He knew two sharp turns lay directly ahead. I wonder if these guys know about these turns. Pritchard said they had only been on the island for a few weeks. Ryan was afraid it would be his last chance.

  "Hold on tight," he shouted, ramming the gas pedal to the floor.

  After rounding the next curve at breakneck speed, Ryan yanked the emergency brake and spun the jeep into a perfect 180, a bold and delicate maneuver given the 200-foot drop lurking just off the shoulder-less road. He punched the gas and raced headlong toward their pursuers. The sedan driver's eyes bulged as he desperately swerved to avoid the madman in the jeep charging right at him.

  At the last second, Ryan sideswiped the sedan, sending it through the guardrail and careening over the cliff. With the wheels still spinning and the engine racing, the sedan plummeted down to the jagged rocks below. A thunderous explosion sent a sickly plume of black smoke up into the placid tropical sky.

  Jordan was breathless as they screeched to a halt. After she had managed to steady herself enough to speak, she sputtered, "Oh my god. Where did you learn to drive like that?"

  His eyes cold and steely, a new Ryan Matthews seemed to emerge from his old skin like a molting snake. "FBI," he said. "Best damn training in the world."

  Chapter 10

  Ryan and Jordan peered down at the burning wreck. Oily black smoke billowed into the air as ravenous flames engulfed the twisted mass of metal. They stared, mesmerized by the spectacle, and knew beyond a doubt that no one could have survived such a holocaust. Ryan felt some of his anxiety begin to dissipate as they stood in silence.

  Soon, Franklin and his rescue crew arrived, followed closely by Pritchard and Bradshaw. Gazing over the cliff, Pritchard said, "Looks like somebody came to a bad end." He paused. "Are you up to filling in the specifics for me? Of course, we can wait a while if you prefer." They both shook their heads and Ryan gave him the details of their harrowing adventure.

  "Mon," Franklin said, as Ryan finished his story, "dat must have been some fancy driving. By da looks of the skid marks, your jeep did a U-turn and accelerated back toward da other vehicle at high speed, all within fifty yards."

  Pritchard squinted at Ryan. "The Bureau?"

  "I guess so. I thought I'd forgotten about that part of my life. But I can't explain it. Something just kicked in. It was like I was driving on autopilot."

  The blackened mass of the sedan was still smoking as the tow truck dragged it back up the cliff face. Ryan and Jordan followed Pritchard and Bradshaw over to the area where rescue workers had covered two bodies with a tarp. Pritchard pulled back the cover.

  "The bodies are burned beyond recognition, but based on their jewelry we have every reason to believe that these are the Haitian suspects."

  Only now was Ryan struck full force by the impact of the chase, the deaths, and the implications involved. Shaken and weary, he asked, "Is it okay if we go, Everett? I could use a drink."

  "Go ahead. I will be in touch with you folks later this afternoon."

  Ryan and Jordan drove slowly back to his place. "Funny," Ryan said, shaking his head.

  "What?"

  "After something like that, all you want to do is ratchet your life down to a slower speed." His thoughts turned to Cindy, Jake, and Karly and he fought back tears as he relived his nightmare on the long drive home.

  After a long pause, Jordan said, "I think when you face your own mortality, you realize the value of the simple things."

  Ryan was still deep in thought and did not respond. They drove the rest of the way in silence.

  ***

  At the house, Ryan didn't ask Jordan if she wanted a drink, he just went ahead and fixed them both a stiff Scotch. Jordan's with soda and his straight up. They retired to the living room sofa and sat quietly for a while. It was Jordan who spoke first.

  "So you learned all that fancy driving in the FBI, huh?"

  "You don't believe me?"

  She grinned. "Lots of guys try hard to impress a lady. I didn't realize you were the genuine article."

  He returned her grin. "I won't take that as an insult."

  "Please don't." She took a hit on her drink. "So how did they recruit you?"

  "Oh, the usual way, I suppose. They were there waiting when I graduated from Wake Forest."

  "And you went right into the James Bond stuff?"

  He had to smile at that. "No. I started out in the bioterror division. I guess it isn't often they have a chance at an athletic valedictorian with a bio and chemistry degree."

  "How long did you last?"

  "About two years. It got real boring."

  "Bioterrorism? Boring?" she exclaimed in disbelief. "The two words don't seem to go together."

  "It's boring when nothing ever happens. Most of my time was spent in training and running what-if scenarios. And that was the exciting part. In two years, I was only in the field twice and both of those turned out to be false alarms."

  "So you embarked on another course."

  "I figured
if my goal was to save lives, I could do more good trying to save Americans who were dying every year from disease."

  Jordan gazed at him as if trying to peer into his soul.

  He glanced at her, understanding her intent. "You won't find it on my face. It's deep inside. I was passionate. I wanted to do it all. I—"

  "I can see that," she interrupted.

  "But it all came to an end when the plane carrying my family to Exuma crashed into the sea." Ryan paused and envisioned himself sitting with Cindy, Jake, and Karly around the dinner table back at their home in North Carolina. In his vision, they were all laughing about something, but he snapped back to reality before he could recall what it was. "Since that time my life has been devoid of passion and purpose."

  She took his hand and waited, perhaps sensing his need for silence. After some time had passed, she said, "You haven't lost your purpose, Ryan. It's only hidden behind your pain."

  He cast her a haunted look, wanting desperately to believe her.

  "Don't you see, Ryan?" she implored. "It's only your fear of the pain that keeps you from finding your passion again." She squeezed his hand gently. "You were a brilliant researcher once. You still are. You owe it to yourself to get back in the game."

  ***

  They were napping on separate couches when the doorbell rang. Rubbing his eyes, Ryan went to the door just as Jordan was waking up.

  Pritchard was pacing on the front porch when Ryan opened the door.

  "Everett, what's the latest?"

  "Nothing new. All the suspects are deceased and we have no viable motive." Pritchard rubbed his chin and shook his head. "Furthermore, we are not even sure if the assassins' main target was Henry Carver, Jordan Carver, or the entire Carver family."

  Ryan joined Pritchard out front and closed the door behind him. "If the target was not Jordan, then why did they come after us today?"

  "I'm not sure. Could be they were just trying to tie up loose ends or throw us off the track."

  "If that was their strategy, then it seems to have worked. Is there anything you do know?"

  Pritchard squinted his eyes and frowned. "About the only thing we know for certain is that these men were professionals."

  "And how do you know that?"

  "The report from Interpol came in about an hour ago. They each had impressive wrap sheets. Duval was a key suspect in several bombings in Port-au-Prince a few years back, but the authorities did not have enough to hold him. Edmond and Sanon have been off the radar for the past four years, but Interpol lists their probable occupation as mercenaries."

  "Mercenaries? Is that the politically correct way to say assassins these days?"

  Before Pritchard could respond, the front door opened and Jordan walked out. "Did I hear someone mention assassins?"

  Pritchard straightened up and responded in a serious official tone. "Yes, Dr. Carver. Ryan and I were discussing the background of the men who blew up your aunt and uncle's yacht and who attempted to deliver a similar fate to you and Ryan earlier today. As I've just informed Ryan, at this point all the suspects are dead and yet we have come up with no motive as to why professional hit men would travel to Exuma and come after you and your family. We are not even sure if these men were after your uncle, you, or both. Any ideas?"

  "No idea. I have been in shock since the death of my aunt and uncle. We already discussed my uncle's background and the pension scandal that led to his retirement. While I suppose such an incident can lead to many adversaries, I am unaware of anyone who was so devastated and outraged that they would, or even could, plan an assassination three years after the fact on a small Bahamian island. Unless there is something my uncle was hiding from me, I cannot think of anyone who would go to such extremes to bring him harm."

  "I followed up on your uncle's background and the pension scandal. I cannot disagree with what you say. So if your aunt and uncle had no known enemies, or at least no enemies willing or capable of such an elaborate undertaking, then the only possible conclusion is that your uncle developed a powerful enemy who you are not aware of."

  Before Pritchard could continue, Jordan responded. "I guess anything is possible. But he has been retired for three years and sailing around the globe. Hard to imagine that someone would wait this long and then strike at him, and me, on Exuma."

  "Then, as I was about to add, the enemy must be yours and your aunt and uncle were unfortunately sacrificed in their attempt to eliminate you. Are you aware of anyone who would want to do you harm?"

  Jordan turned to Ryan before facing Pritchard again. "No. I have been racking my brains over this and cannot think of anyone who would have a motive to do me harm."

  Pritchard relaxed and reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a passport, and handed it to Jordan. "Okay then. Here is your passport back. You are free to leave the island but we will need an official statement on the events of today before you leave."

  "We will be in first thing tomorrow, Everett."

  "Thanks, Ryan. I will see you tomorrow then. By the way, Dr. Carver, if you can think of anything that could assist in our investigation, please contact me at any time."

  "Of course."

  Pritchard shook hands with Jordan, then Ryan, offered his condolences to Jordan again and thanked them both for their cooperation. "I do not mean to alarm you any more than you already are, Dr. Carver, but these men were most likely hired assassins, which means the person who hired them is still out there. If that person's target was not your aunt or uncle, then you are still in danger and I caution you to proceed with great care."

  As Pritchard pulled out of the driveway, Ryan asked, "Why didn't you mention this Victor Loukas character to Pritchard?"

  "I thought about it for a second and then decided why bother. I can't imagine there is anything he could do from Exuma and I have no proof that he was involved."

  "That's probably true, but it couldn't hurt to get it on the record in case Pritchard discovers a connection with one of these men and Loukas. Who knows what they might turn up as the investigation continues. Give it some thought and we can always notify Pritchard tomorrow morning."

  "You make a good point. I just didn't want to cause that man any more pain if he was not involved. Let me think about it."

  ***

  After dinner, Ryan and Jordan decided to enjoy what remained of their bottle of Silver Oak on the back deck. The beach and crashing surf were illuminated by a full moon and billions of stars shining in the pure night sky.

  "I can see why you never came back to the states, Ryan. It is so beautiful here."

  Ryan smiled. "That it is, but I have been thinking that I'm about due for a trip back."

  "Well, you are certainly welcome to stay with me back in Chicago, but I am only going to be there for a few more weeks once I leave Exuma."

  "Have you given that any thought yet?"

  "I planned on being here for two weeks, so my flight back is still ten days away. But given the circumstances, I will probably head back early."

  Ryan's smile disappeared. "Then what?"

  "Then I pack up and relocate to my own version of paradise in Sayulita. And you're welcome to visit me there as well." Jordan hesitated, then smiled. "And we are still looking to fill positions on our maintenance staff, so if you still want that job, I may be able to make an exception despite your cleaning skills, being that you saved my life today."

  Ryan raised his glass and smiled back at Jordan. "Be careful of what you offer, I may take you up on all of them." Ryan took the final swallow of wine from his glass, then grabbed the bottle and topped off Jordan's glass and poured the remainder into his. He took another sip. "I hate to bring up the subject, but have you given any thought to what you're going to do with your aunt and uncle's remains?"

  "They loved life on the ocean. I thought I'd have them cremated and scatter their ashes out at sea."

  He thought a moment and said, "I bet that's the way they would have wanted it."

  "Oh I am sure i
t will piss off the vultures back in Manhattan. I've already picked up several messages from some of my uncle's old friends. They want to have an extravagant memorial service stateside. I am going to call them back tomorrow and tell them to do what they want—but not to wait for me. I have no interest in listening to a bunch of old millionaires eulogize my uncle."

  "I'm sure we can make the arrangements needed in the morning. What about dealing with estate issues?"

  "That was going to be my first call tomorrow. Their attorney is an old family friend and one of the vultures I just mentioned."

  "Sounds like you've got it all worked out." Ryan took another taste of his wine and lit up a Marlboro. "Have you given any more thought of notifying Pritchard about Loukas?"

  "I've been thinking about it. As you said, I guess it can't hurt. I'll tell Pritchard the whole story when we give our statements in the morning."

  Ryan took another drag of his cigarette and dropped his shoulders. "I'm glad you came to that decision, Jordan. I know it's a long shot, but absent any other theories, it's about all we have to go on. And the possible link between Loukas and the Haitian assassins needs to be investigated."

  Jordan shifted in her chair and took a drink of wine. "There's one other possibility. I've been reluctant to bring it up because you'll think I'm nuts. But the more I think about it, the more I feel it is a viable theory. Well, at least as viable as the Loukas theory."

  "Okay, I'm curious. Let's hear it."

  "The primary goal of my clinic is to cure people from their disease and, as a result, curb their dependency on the daily medications they need to stay alive. And this will take a lot of money out of the pockets of the big pharmaceutical companies."

  Ryan chewed on that for a moment. "Jordan, I know you believe that your clinic is going to save a lot of lives—and I sure hope you're right—but the mega-billion-dollar pharma companies are not going to have you murdered just because you're selling experimental treatments. At this stage of your clinic, it doesn't make any sense to do so."