“On animals,” Lopez noted. “He was denied the opportunity to perform the procedures on humans.”
“He actually tried to practice this on people legally?”
“Applied to the Medical Ethics Board of Maryland upon returning to America, for hospital patients suffering from terminal illnesses to undergo the procedure as part of a proposed medical trial. His application was unanimously denied.”
“No shit,” Tyrell murmured. “When was this?”
“Three years ago,” Lopez said. “After that he was employed by a company called Munitions for Advanced Combat Environments, MACE, out of Maryland, doing research into battlefield trauma surgery techniques. He recently resigned his post and took to performing charitable work, splitting his time between Israel and America.”
Tyrell nodded, pulling out his badge and flashing it at the attendant guarding the parking lot. He drove through as the barrier was raised and quickly found an empty space.
“What about those hymns that Claretta Neville mentioned, or whatever they were?”
“The men of renown?” Lopez asked, and read from her notebook. “‘When men began to multiply on the face of the ground, and daughters were born to them, the sons of God saw that the daughters of men were fair; and they took to wife such of them as they chose … The Nephilim were on the Earth in those days, and also afterward, when the sons of God came in to the daughters of men, and they bore children to them.’”
“The Bible,” Tyrell said, recalling his Sunday school. “The Nephilim were the product of human women and angels and were referred to as giants both physically and intellectually, just the kind of thing Kelvin Patterson might be interested in pursuing. This guy’s got to be the one,” he said as he turned off the engine. “Maybe he’s doing some kind of Frankenstein experiment or something. It all ties in.”
“Correlation does not always mean causation,” Lopez pointed out. “You taught me that.”
Tyrell grinned as he opened his door.
“True, but that doesn’t mean you can’t follow up on a lead, especially when there are three dead people to think of.”
“Okay, you got me,” Lopez conceded. “Pastor Kelvin Patterson currently owns the controlling share of MACE, and we have this surgeon on the record as having performed charitable work for the Evangelical Alliance. It’s how he and Kelvin Patterson must have met.”
Tyrell climbed out of the car. Almost immediately, the world went dark as flashing points of light dazzled him. He staggered backward against the rear door, toppling over as vertigo sent his world reeling. His left knee cracked painfully against the unyielding tarmac as he went down.
“Lucas?”
He heard rather than saw Lopez rush around to his side of the car. Slowly, the sparkling lights obscuring his vision faded as a clammy wash of nausea flushed through him.
“I’m okay,” he mumbled, righting himself against the car and smiling feebly.
“Like hell you are—you’ve lost your color.”
Tyrell dredged up a chuckle. “What, you mean I’m white now?”
“I’m bein’ serious, Tyrell, you look like shit.”
“That ain’t changed for a decade or two, honey.”
Lopez’s dark eyes narrowed. “You gotta get this checked out, Christ’s sake.”
Tyrell sighed, regaining his vision fully and feeling the nausea slide away.
“In the morning,” he said finally. “I’ll do it first thing.”
Lopez jabbed a finger at his chest.
“Just make sure you damn well do. I don’t wanna see yo’ fat ass sprawled on a mortuary slab, okay?”
Tyrell managed to smile, and with Lopez walked slowly through the lot and into the main building itself. They had barely gotten inside when a young lieutenant by the name of Reuben crossed their paths. Fresh out of college, Reuben delighted in his own sense of humor.
“You’ve been summoned by the High and Mighty,” he said with a cheerfully mocking smile. “God knows whose chain you’ve pulled, but half the First District Department’s waiting for you in the briefing room.”
Tyrell noticed Lopez glance with concern down the corridor to their left. “What’s the score?”
“Got me beat,” Reuben admitted. “Bureau’s involved though, so your chances are about as good as the Redskins at the bottom of the ninth ’gainst the Chargers.”
Tyrell sighed. “Cain.”
He led Lopez to the main briefing room, knocking and entering. A large table dominated the room, more than half of the two dozen available spaces filled. A disconcertingly large number of the officers present bore chunky epaulettes, and an equal number of faces were pinched with disdain as he and Lopez entered the room and closed the door. Special Agent in Charge of Investigations Axel Cain and another FBI