The Miracle Strain by Michael Cordy Read Free Book Online

horizontally in specially designed cradles, were a precision longrange sniper rifle and a pump-action shotgun. Among all these articles were neatly labeled drawers and shelves laden with accessories and ammunition.
    Maria ran her hands sensuously over her charges, rubbing away a smear on the barrel of the oily Heckler Koch, and straightening a magazine clip beneath the SIG.
    When she was satisfied everything was in order she padded across the wooden floor back to the bathroom. In here she turned on the shower and stood under the warm, steady flow. She took a bar of coal tar soap from the dish and scrubbed her skin till it felt raw. She used the same bar to lather her shaved head, blinking away the stinging suds. And as her muscles relaxed she surrendered to her feelings of anger and shame. And again considered the scientist who had been preying on her mind since Stockholm.
    It was ironic that she had made her first ever mistake with the target she regarded as the most dangerous. All the others were clear-cut demons: the gun dealers, the blaspheming movie producers, the crooked TV evangelists, the bent mob lawyers and drug barons. With them the face of the devil was clear to see and easy to eradicate. But ever since the Father had given her the manila folder containing the details on Dr. Tom Carter, she had known he was different. His evil was far more powerful and insidious than any of the others she had dispatched. Society actually regarded his blaspheming genetics as good. It even saw fit to honor him as a savior. And Maria knew that there could be no worse evil than that which effortlessly masqueraded in the trappings of righteousness.
    Maria felt the rage build inside her. She was Nemesis. She did not make mistakes. She had intended the kill to be public on the night of Dr. Carter's greatest triumph, to show the world the hollowness of his achievements. It was supposed to be a surgical strike; she should have been gone long before the atheist's body even hit the ground. Instead his colleague had pushed the target aside, and the wife had taken the bullets.
    She rubbed the soap harder into her skin. She should have neutralized his colleague, Jack Nichols. The man had been a hero when he'd been in the FBI. It was Special Agent Jack Nichols who had stopped Happy Sam, the serial killer who cut the mouths out of his "smiling" victims in order to "capture their happiness." She knew all this. She could see that crescent-shaped scar on his face clearly--the same scar that Jack Nichols had received from the killer just before breaking his neck. No, she should definitely have factored in the possibility of the ex-agent helping his friend. That was amateurish. Unforgivable.
    Maria turned off the shower, picked a coarse towel from the rail, and roughly dried herself. When she had finished she walked naked to the desk and picked up the manila folder. She opened it and glanced at the photograph of the next Righteous Kill.
    She reached for the stack of similar files on the floor, all but one with their corners clipped, all but one successfully terminated. She picked up the one intact folder from the top. Opening it, she stared at the face of Tom Carter, her only failure. The piercing blue eyes seemed to stare back at her from under his thick thatch of unruly black hair. The strong jaw gave his long face a stubborn cast that made her even more determined to stop him. She desperately wanted to finish what she'd started, but knew it hadn't been sanctioned. Still, she could at least visit Dr. Carter and make him realize his punishment had only been postponed--not canceled. She checked the time on the watch by the phone. She'd have to hurry if she was to catch the Concorde flight.
    Reluctantly she put Dr. Carter's folder back on the stack. Opening it stirred up all the old anxieties and her fingers began to pick at the fresh, livid scars on her thigh. Her picking became more agitated as she recalled the humiliation when Brother Bernard and the