Read Online The Protector (2003) by David Morrell - Free Book Online
Authors: David Morrell
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this has nothing to do with drugs. I don't protect drug dealers!"
"I told you I wasn't a drug dealer. That's the truth. But I didn't say this has nothing to do with drugs."
"You're not making sense."
"Have you ever heard of D.P. Bio Lab?"
"No." His tires sprayed a haze of water from the pavement, as Cavanaugh sped past another transport truck.
"The D.P. stands for Daniel Prescott. It's mine--a sophisticated biotech research facility." The pupils of Prescott's eyes grew larger with fear as he stared back through the rain toward the two pursuing cars. "If you had heard of D.P. Bio Lab, I'd have been concerned. Most of my work is for the government."
Cavanaugh suddenly had an uneasy feeling about what he was going to hear.
"As part of the latest antidrug campaign, I was hired to do research on the parts of the brain involved with addiction." Emotion made Prescott speak quickly. "Addiction's immensely complicated. It isn't clear whether some people become addicted for psychological or physical reasons." Prescott spoke faster. "Different personalities become addicted to different effects. Passives go for depressants. Active types crave stimulants. Sometimes it's the reverse."
The pursuit cars were now a hundred yards behind the rusted sedan.
"The idea was," Prescott said, "if I could find a common denominator, a physical trigger common to all of them, in the cerebral cortex, for example, or the hypothalamus, there might be a way to stop that trigger from functioning. The addiction wouldn't happen."
The pursuit cars were now close enough that in the rearview mirror Cavanaugh could see there were four men in each. One driver had a mustache. Another had shaved his head. Their eyes had the determination of manhunters.
"And did you find it--the addiction trigger?"
"No."
Cavanaugh tried to anticipate how the gunmen would handle this. They want Prescott alive, he thought. They won't shoot at me. Not driving this fast. They don't want to cause an accident that'll kill Prescott. Their only choice is to force me off the road. "I didn't find a trigger that could be disabled to prevent addiction," Prescott said. "What I found instead, God help me, is an easy-to-manufacture chemical that can instantly cause an addiction. To itself. It's cheap to produce. It doesn't require elaborate equipment. And the manufacturing process doesn't have toxic side effects or cause explosions and fires the way some illegal drugs can."
Cavanaugh stared again toward the rearview mirror. Speeding through the rain, the pursuit cars were now only twenty yards behind the sedan.
"As soon as I reported my findings," Prescott said, "the agency I worked for became so alarmed, they terminated the research program."
One of the cars positioned itself behind the sedan while the other came up on Cavanaugh's left. They're going to try to box us in and push us off the road, Cavanaugh thought.
"Suddenly, the DEA showed up and confiscated my research," Prescott said. "They swore my lab assistants and me to secrecy. Not that my lab assistants are a security risk. I'm the only one who knows the formula."
Cavanaugh studied traffic ahead and made a quick decision. Prescott's voice shook. His words gushed out. "But Escobar must have an informant in the DEA. My research is so well guarded there that even Escobar's people can't breach it. That leaves me. They want to capture me and force me to tell them the formula."
"For God's sake, why didn't the DEA try to protect you?" "They did. But Escobar's people attempted to capture me anyhow. I think somebody at the DEA works for him and told him where I was. The team guarding me was attacked. I barely escaped a kidnapping attempt. That's when I took advantage of the confusion and slipped away, managing to reach the warehouse."
"Which you'd set up earlier. In case," Cavanaugh said.
"But I couldn't stay there forever. I'd have run out of food. I wanted people to talk to. I'm tired of being afraid."
"I'll do my best to fix
"I told you I wasn't a drug dealer. That's the truth. But I didn't say this has nothing to do with drugs."
"You're not making sense."
"Have you ever heard of D.P. Bio Lab?"
"No." His tires sprayed a haze of water from the pavement, as Cavanaugh sped past another transport truck.
"The D.P. stands for Daniel Prescott. It's mine--a sophisticated biotech research facility." The pupils of Prescott's eyes grew larger with fear as he stared back through the rain toward the two pursuing cars. "If you had heard of D.P. Bio Lab, I'd have been concerned. Most of my work is for the government."
Cavanaugh suddenly had an uneasy feeling about what he was going to hear.
"As part of the latest antidrug campaign, I was hired to do research on the parts of the brain involved with addiction." Emotion made Prescott speak quickly. "Addiction's immensely complicated. It isn't clear whether some people become addicted for psychological or physical reasons." Prescott spoke faster. "Different personalities become addicted to different effects. Passives go for depressants. Active types crave stimulants. Sometimes it's the reverse."
The pursuit cars were now a hundred yards behind the rusted sedan.
"The idea was," Prescott said, "if I could find a common denominator, a physical trigger common to all of them, in the cerebral cortex, for example, or the hypothalamus, there might be a way to stop that trigger from functioning. The addiction wouldn't happen."
The pursuit cars were now close enough that in the rearview mirror Cavanaugh could see there were four men in each. One driver had a mustache. Another had shaved his head. Their eyes had the determination of manhunters.
"And did you find it--the addiction trigger?"
"No."
Cavanaugh tried to anticipate how the gunmen would handle this. They want Prescott alive, he thought. They won't shoot at me. Not driving this fast. They don't want to cause an accident that'll kill Prescott. Their only choice is to force me off the road. "I didn't find a trigger that could be disabled to prevent addiction," Prescott said. "What I found instead, God help me, is an easy-to-manufacture chemical that can instantly cause an addiction. To itself. It's cheap to produce. It doesn't require elaborate equipment. And the manufacturing process doesn't have toxic side effects or cause explosions and fires the way some illegal drugs can."
Cavanaugh stared again toward the rearview mirror. Speeding through the rain, the pursuit cars were now only twenty yards behind the sedan.
"As soon as I reported my findings," Prescott said, "the agency I worked for became so alarmed, they terminated the research program."
One of the cars positioned itself behind the sedan while the other came up on Cavanaugh's left. They're going to try to box us in and push us off the road, Cavanaugh thought.
"Suddenly, the DEA showed up and confiscated my research," Prescott said. "They swore my lab assistants and me to secrecy. Not that my lab assistants are a security risk. I'm the only one who knows the formula."
Cavanaugh studied traffic ahead and made a quick decision. Prescott's voice shook. His words gushed out. "But Escobar must have an informant in the DEA. My research is so well guarded there that even Escobar's people can't breach it. That leaves me. They want to capture me and force me to tell them the formula."
"For God's sake, why didn't the DEA try to protect you?" "They did. But Escobar's people attempted to capture me anyhow. I think somebody at the DEA works for him and told him where I was. The team guarding me was attacked. I barely escaped a kidnapping attempt. That's when I took advantage of the confusion and slipped away, managing to reach the warehouse."
"Which you'd set up earlier. In case," Cavanaugh said.
"But I couldn't stay there forever. I'd have run out of food. I wanted people to talk to. I'm tired of being afraid."
"I'll do my best to fix
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