The Kill Switch

Tucker took that same message to heart and extended a similar generosity to the Nkomo brothers, who, like Tucker with Fedoseev, had helped keep him alive. From talking to Christopher during the long stretches of the journey to the Groot Karas Mountains, he knew of the brothers’ desire to purchase the mansion and the tract of land, to turn it into their own home and business.

But they were short on funds—so he corrected that problem.

“We will pay you back when we can,” Christopher promised. Tucker knew it was an oath the young man would never break. “But we must talk interest perhaps.”

“You are right. We should negotiate. I say zero percent.”

Christopher sighed, recognizing the futility of all this. “Then we will always leave the presidential suite open for you and Kane.”

Tucker craned his neck up toward the cracked joists, the apple-peel curls of old paint, the broken dormer windows. He cast Christopher a jaundiced eye.

The young man smiled in the face of his doubt. “A man must hope, must he not? One day, yes?”

“When the presidential suite is ready, you call me.”

“I will certainly do that. But, my friend, when will you be leaving us? We will miss you.”

“Considering the state of the Rover, you may not be missing me anytime soon. Otherwise, I don’t know.”

And he liked it that way.

He stared again at this old beauty rising out of the neglect. It gave him hope. He also liked the idea of having a place to lay his head among friends when needed. If not a home, then at least a way station.

Kane finished drinking, water rolling from his jowls. His gaze turned, looking toward the horizon, a wistful look in his dark eyes.

You and me both, buddy.

That was their true home.

Together.

Tucker’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and answered, guessing who was calling. “Harper, I hope this is a social call.”

“You left in a hurry. Just wanted to check on you and Kane.”

“We’re doing fine.”

“Glad to hear it. That means you might be up for some company.”

Before Tucker could respond, a black Lincoln town car pulled into the dirt driveway, coasted forward, and came to a stop in front of the house. The engine shut off.

“I assume it’s too late to object,” Tucker said.

As answer, the driver’s door popped open, and a woman in a dark blue skirt and white blouse exited. She was tall, with long legs, made longer as she stretched a bit on her toes, revealing the firm curve of her calves. She pushed a fall of blond hair from her eyes, sweeping it back to reveal a ta

Though he had never met the woman face-to-face, he knew her.

Ruth Harper.

He stood straighter, trying to balance the figure before him with the image formed in his mind from their many phone conversations.

This certainly was no librarian.

The only feature he got right was the pair of thick-rimmed rectangular eyeglasses perched on her nose. They gave her a studious, even sexier look.

Definitely no librarian he had ever met.

Tucker called down to her from the porch. “In some lines of work, Harper, this would be considered an ambush.”

She shrugged, looking not the least bit chagrined as she climbed the steps, carrying a small box in her palms. “I called first. In the South, a lady does not show up on a gentleman’s doorstep una

“Why are you here?” he asked—though he could guess why, sensing the manipulation of her boss, Painter Crowe.

“First,” she said, “to tell you that Bukolov sends his regards—along with his thanks.”

“He said the last part? Doctor Bukolov?”

She laughed, a rare sound from her. “He’s a new man now that he has his own lab at Fort Detrick. I even saw him smile the other day.”

“A minor miracle. How’s he getting along?”

“His studies are still in the rudimentary stages right now. Like with human stem cell research, it might take years if not decades to learn how to properly manipulate that unique genetic code to the benefit of mankind.”

“What about to the damage to mankind? What’s the word out of Russia?”

“Through back cha

“How about Kharzin? Is he cooperating?”

She turned and balanced the small box she had been carrying onto the porch rail. “I don’t know if you heard before you left, but he lost one of his feet. He must have rolled after you shot him, contaminated the wound with some of the spilled LUCA organism. By the time anyone realized it, the only option was amputation.”

“Sorry to hear that,” he lied.

“As to cooperation, he knows the fate that would befall him if he ever did return to Russia, so he’s grudgingly begi

Good riddance.

“And it seems Kharzin’s paranoia has finally proven of benefit. Prior to leaving for the States, he set up a fail-safe at his lab outside of Kazan. Without an abort code from him personally every twenty-four hours, his lab’s remaining samples of LUCA would be automatically incinerated. He didn’t want anyone else gaining access to them.”

“So they’re all gone then?”

“That’s the consensus. His lab did indeed burn down. And if we’re wrong, we’re still the only ones who have the kill switch.”

“So it’s over.”

“Until next time,” she warned, arching an eyebrow. “And speaking of next time—”

“No.”

“But you don’t know—”

“No,” he said more firmly, as if scolding a dog.

She sighed. “It’s true, then. You and the Nkomo brothers are going into some investment together? Luxury safari adventures?”

“As always, Harper, you’re disturbingly well informed.”

“Then I guess the only other reason I made this long trip was to deliver this.” She pointed to the box on the porch rail. “A small token of my appreciation.”

Curiosity drew him forward. He fingered the top open, reached inside, and pulled out a coffee mug. He frowned at the strange gift—until he turned the cup and spotted the gnarled face of a bulldog on the front. The dog was wearing a red-and-white-striped cap with a prominent G on it.

He gri

“Never would’ve taken you for a fan of the Georgia Bulldogs,” he said.

She reached down and scratched Kane behind an ear. “I’ve always had a special place in my heart for dogs.”

From the arch of her eyebrow, he suspected she wasn’t only referring to the four-legged kind.

“As to the other matter,” she pressed, straightening up, “you’re sure?”

“Very sure.”

“As in forever?”

Tucker considered this.

Kane picked up his rubber Kong ball and dropped it at Tucker’s feet. The shepherd lowered his front end, hindquarters high, and glanced with great urgency toward the endless stretch of cool grass.

Tucker smiled, picked up the ball, and answered Harper’s question.

“For now, I have better things to do.”

AUTHOR’S NOTE TO READERS:

TRUTH OR FICTION

As with my Sigma books, I thought I’d attempt here at the end of this story to draw that fine line between fact and fiction. I like to do this, if for no other reason than to offer a few bread crumbs to those who might be interested in learning more about the science, history, or various locations tread by Tucker and Kane.