Dead Shot (A Cal Murphy Thriller Book 1)

Chapter 51

Chapter 51
Like the wheels on the Vmax, Cal's mind couldn't stop spinning. He was creating scenarios in his head of what was really happening at Cloverdale Industries-some good, some bad. But he couldn't logically believe he saw something he shouldn't have. People were dead. Drugs were visible. His life was in danger. What other physical evidence could trump the empirical evidence he already had? What Cal had might not stand up in a court of law, but it already won a gavel-banging judgment in the court of his own opinion. The one thing that ate at him was Walker's connection to the situation. What was he doing there? And why did he tie them up?
Cal allowed Kelly's embrace from the rear seat on the motorcycle to interrupt his furious theory building. In the midst of running for their lives, Cal's fondness for Kelly was pushed to the edge of his consciousness. This wasn't some action movie. The two stars of this adventure didn't have time to share a passionate kiss before he ran at the bad guys with guns blazing while she admired her man's bravery. No, this wasn't Hollywood. There was no dramatic music, no feeling that everything would eventually be fine. But, oh how Cal wished it was. Having Kelly nestled up to him was heaven enough considering the circumstances.
Buzzzzzz. Buzzzzz.
Cal's phone jolted him back to reality. He slowed down the bike and pulled over. There were only two people he was interested in talking to: Guy and somebody from the FBI field office in Salt Lake City. The "restricted" name listed on his iPhone's caller ID let him know it was the latter.
Cal walked away from the bike with Kelly. They took a few steps toward an open range with scattered cattle roaming about for an evening snack. He answered the phone.
"Hello?"
"Cal?"
"Yes."
"This is Eric from the FBI's Salt Lake City field office."
"Hi, Eric. Did you find out anything?"
"Well, this isn't normal protocol, but this isn't a normal situation. You need to do everything in your power to keep this substance from getting into the public's hands."
Cal said nothing.
"It appears that the chemical agent being manufactured is CPZ-and in high doses."
"How dangerous is CPZ? What does it do?"
"In small quantities, not much. It's used to treat psychosis patients. But in large quantities, it can do a lot of things."
"Like what?"
"Like shut your liver down for one thing-and shut it down in a hurry, especially when it's combined with other accelerants."
"What accelerants?"
"Methamphetamine would cause it to start working quickly."
Cal's heart was pounding. All those questions that nagged him since he started investigating were now beginning to have plausible answers.
"And what kind of symptoms would manifest as a result of the liver shutting down?"
"There are plenty of things that happen. For one, the person would look jaundiced. But the most painful that would present, physically, is all the bile seeping into the blood stream."
"What would that do?"
"It would create an intense itching sensation all throughout a person's body, much like suffering from the autoimmune disease, Primary Sclerosing Cholangitis. Due to liver malfunction, PSC causes itching beneath the surface of the skin and renders scratching that area useless. You can scratch all you want, but the itching sensation never goes away. That bile is still there, underneath the skin, irritating you."
"So, if you put this high dosage of CPZ with an accelerant, how would it impact someone?"
"Well, it's not deadly in and of itself, but the itching would be intense."
"Intense enough that you could scratch yourself to death?"
"I suppose that's possible, but I've never heard of such a thing. I don't know how any lab would sign off on the testing of this chemical on animals for the express purpose of shutting down the liver-so I doubt that's a question we could ever answer."
Cal had sufficient information at this point to draw some obvious conclusions, but he never ceased to marvel at how last-second questions seemed to produce the juiciest pieces of information.
"Any other information I should be aware of?"
"Well, in doing some cursory research, I found that the FBI once had a team of people working on a way to use CPZ as markers in drugs, much like what you mentioned with methamphetamines. They wanted to figure out a way to mark drug users and substantial dealers' distribution networks. The strange nature of the cases would send out an alert to the CDC from which the FBI could obtain basic information on the spread of a dealer's network."
"So what happened to the program?"
"In 2008, they tried it in field tests by undercover operatives in three cities-Seattle, L.A., and Phoenix-by tainting an individual dosage-and each time the drug user died, though the report I read didn't say from what. So, they disbanded the program. That's not the kind of publicity the FBI wants, even if it helps accomplish its end game."
"End game of what? Eliminating drug pushers?"
Eric answered with nervous laughter then continued.
"Well, interestingly enough, both Walker and Mercer were part of those teams that did the testing."
Cal knew he wasn't getting another answer out of him.
"Thanks for your help, Eric."
"No problem, Cal. I'll let my superiors know and hopefully we'll have someone in Statenville tomorrow to investigate what's going on. I'm sure we'll find you."
Cal hung up the phone. The last thing he wanted was anybody finding him, especially the FBI. His list of theories was growing-and Kelly looked anxious to hear what he had learned.
Five minutes into rehashing his phone conversation and introducing a new theory, Cal's iPhone buzzed again-this time, it was Guy.
"Where are you guys, Cal?"
"We're about 30 minutes outside of Statenville. Why?"
"Don't come back. Head back to Salt Lake or somewhere nearby. Things are getting ugly here, and I know you're next. If they find out I helped you, they'll kill me."
"Whoa. Slow down, Guy."
"No, I'm serious-especially if they see you on my bike. That's bad news for both of us. There'll be no doubt then who helped you."
"So, what am I supposed to do? Stay in Salt Lake City? And for how long? I'm almost broke. I work at The Register, remember?"
"OK, call the paper and ask for Dave Youngman. Tell him that you're a friend of mine and that I asked him to take you in as a favor."
"Then what?"
"Then, you write your story. Does Kelly have her camera?"
"Yep, she's got it."
"OK, put together her best photos with your story and send it to The Tribune in Salt Lake and The Times in Seattle. I'll let those editors know your story is coming."
"And they'll print it, Guy?"
"If I tell them you're trustworthy, they will. They'll know what to do with it."
"OK. Thanks, Guy. Take care."
"You, too."
It had always been Cal's dream to write for The Times. He never believed he would be writing about a mind-bending conspiracy with the hard evidence in hand to prove its truth. Nor did he think he would get a 1A byline story before his friend, Josh.
But then, neither did he ever imagine anyone would hunt him down with the express purpose of killing him.