Free THE 4400® WELCOME TO PROMISE CITY by Greg Cox Page A

stairs. “What’s the story, Mr. Grayson? You branching out into germ warfare or something?”

    The shackled mortician glared at the two agents. “I’m not saying anything. This is private property.”

    “Maybe,” Tom said, “but this looks like more than a hobby to me.” He surveyed the hidden laboratory. Was that a CAT scanner there in the corner? He wasn’t a scientist like Diana, but even he could tell that all this high-tech medical gear had nothing to do with preparing bodiesfor burial. “We need to take pictures of this entire setup, maybe even get Marco down to scope this out.”

    Marco Pacella was NTAC’s resident boy genius, and head of the Northwest Division’s brainstorming “Theory Room.” If he couldn’t figure out what Grayson was up to with all this equipment, no one could.

    “Or, if we trust him, Kevin Burkhoff,” Diana suggested. A biohazard label was affixed to a metal cabinet. Peeking inside the container, she found enough promicin to carry an automatic life sentence anywhere except Seattle. The greenish glow of the illegal neurotransmitter spilled out into the lab. “Okay, that’s definitely not embalming fluid.” She shook her head in bewilderment. “But what does this have to do with your nephew?”

    “That’s what I want to find out,” Tom said grimly. Stepping into the freezer room, his gaze fell on the refrigerated cabinets holding the mortuary’s nonbreathing clientele. Handwritten labels, affixed to the ends of the vaults, identified most of the occupants by name. One stack of drawers, however, were labeled only by number. On impulse, Tom grabbed on to the handle of the middle cabinet and yanked open the door. A gust of refrigerated air briefly fogged the air-conditioned atmosphere. A pair of bare feet protruded from the sheeted figure lying within the open cavity. A toe tag bore only a code number:
#11.

    “Wait!” Grayson blurted. “Leave that alone.”

    You wish,
Tom thought. Ignoring the undertaker’s protests, he pulled out the slab holding the figure. A thin green sheet concealed the corpse’s identity, but the sizeand build of the body gave him a bad feeling. Bracing himself for a shock, he peeled back the sheet.

    Danny’s face was pale and lifeless.

    “You body-snatching bastard!” Wheeling around, Tom grabbed Grayson by his lapels and threw him against the wall. “What do you want with my nephew?”

    Grayson smirked at the angry agent. His eyes gleamed with fervor. “The Great Leap Forward is not complete. Danny Farrell still has a part to play in the grand design, despite his unfortunate demise.”

    “What the hell does that mean?” Tom tried to shake an answer out of his prisoner. “Talk, you goddamn ghoul!”

    “Easy, Tom!” Diana counseled him from behind. “I know you’re upset, but don’t do something you’ll regret.”

    Talk to Bernard here,
he thought.
He’s the one who made a big mistake here, by messing with my family.
Tom wasn’t sure if Diana was playing good-cop/bad-cop here, or if she was genuinely afraid that he might lose control, but either way he wasn’t going to let up until the crooked undertaker spilled his guts about just what was going on here.
It’s starting to look like Dennis was on the right track.

    But before Grayson could come clean, Tom caught a flurry of motion out of the corner of his eye. To his alarm, a young man in a lab coat lunged from behind the door at the foot of the stairs. Tom mentally kicked himself for not thoroughly clearing the basement before starting their search; he had let his personal connection to the case undermine his discipline. “Diana, watch out!”

    His warning came too late. The nameless employeesnatched a stainless-steel tray from a counter and swung it at Diana’s head. The improvised weapon connected with a jarring impact. Diana collapsed face-first onto the tile floor. She whimpered in pain.

    “Diana!” He couldn’t tell if she was unconscious or not. Letting go