The Murder That Never Was (Forensic Instincts 5)

“RusChem’s owner is a scientific genius named Maxim Lubinov,” Aidan reported. “You can Google the guy to get his public persona, including a photo and bio. Harvard pedigree—college and medical school. He’s now a foremost expert in microbiology and stem cell research. He’s basically reclusive and doesn’t make many public appearances, but he did recently speak at the Marriott Marquis on scientific advances in increasing cell energy production. You can read the summary of his presentation yourselves.”

Ryan was already on his computer, calling up the readily available data.

“And his private persona?” Casey asked.

“Father’s a high-ranking military officer. I’m sure that’s provided his son with necessary contacts throughout the Russian Federation. Lubinov’s initial career was as a research scientist—a fact that’s conveniently missing from his bio because he pushed ethical boundaries to the point where he resigned before the company could fire him.”

“What’s the company name?” Ryan asked, his fingers still flying.

Aidan supplied it but then said, “You won’t find much there, and I wouldn’t waste my time. What’s more important is that Lubinov used the opportunity to fly solo. He developed a series of health supplements and sold them to Osen Pharmaceuticals in a lucrative deal.”

“Osen Pharmaceuticals is huge,” Marc murmured. “Lubinov must have scored a bundle.”

“He did,” Aidan replied. “More important still is what he did with his newly acquired financial gains and stream of income.”

“He launched RusChem,” Casey guessed.

“Right. And he’s gone to great lengths to keep all details of the company under wraps, including who they are and what they do.”

“All this is a smoke screen for cashing in on some PED distribution?” Patrick asked, brows raised. “No way. This is much too elaborate a setup for just that.”

“You’re right,” Aidan agreed. “Lubinov’s goals are much loftier than cash for drugs. From what I was able to gather, he’s heading up some kind of grandiose research project involving über-PEDs. He’s secreted himself away at a private estate in Burlington, Vermont, where he converted a massive, twelve-thousand-foot home into a boutique sports medicine and training facility. His employees are few and unconditionally loyal. He says jump, and they say how high. Clearly, there’s a lot more going on in that mansion than I’m privy to. But he’s obviously on the verge of coming up with a breakthrough formula that he believes will rock the world.”

That important chunk of information sank in for a minute.

“Burlington,” Claire murmured. “That’s in the Green Mountains. And Lake Champlain is nearby. That’s the place I was seeing.”

“I’ll give you the coordinates, Ryan,” Aidan said.

“Good.” Ryan scribbled down the information Aidan provided him with.

“Hi, Aidan, it’s Hutch.” Hutch knew Aidan through his friendship with Marc, a friendship that dated back to Marc’s FBI days.

“Hey, I didn’t know they let you in,” Aidan returned dryly.

“Just lucky, I guess.” Hutch was simultaneously processing what Aidan was saying and pondering another, equally important offshoot of Lubinov’s work. “I’ve got a good handle on Maxim Lubinov. What I want to know is, where does Eurasian Criminal Enterprise fit into this? Is Lubinov hiring mob members to act as RusChem employees, as well as to eliminate any potential threat to his work?”

“Absolutely. He needs them for both. This way, his name isn’t associated with RusChem, and he doesn’t have to get his hands dirty protecting his interests. He’s got Slava Petrovich—that guy you asked me to look into—doing both. Petrovich is Lubinov’s cleaner, as well as his front man for RusChem. Petrovich hires the right people to kill off the wrong ones, and takes care of the bigger jobs himself.”

“Maxim Lubinov is a hands-on killer when he has to be,” Claire amended. “He’s poisoned someone himself.”

“Oh, I have no doubt that’s true,” Aidan replied. “Lubinov will do anything to protect his venture. If murder is necessary, so be it. He’s not a guy with a conscience.”

There was a brief pause and the sound of Aidan turning a page. “Getting back to Slava Petrovich, I checked with my former FSB contacts about his background. He’s one terrifying SOB. His nickname is Slava the Slayer, and he was known in the FSB for taking care of problems using whatever means necessary. No further explanation required. But, guys, this bastard is dangerous, and he has skills, so you’d better be careful.” A pause. “On the other hand, I don’t see how you can avoid tangling with him if you want to get to Lubinov. This is an ugly situation all ways around. Are you sure you don’t want to cut your losses on this one?”

“Not happening,” Casey replied firmly. “We’re going to stop Maxim Lubinov and secure our clients’ safety.”

“The hell you are,” Hutch shot back in a no-bullshit tone. “You and Forensic Instincts aren’t immortal. Nor are you expendable. You’re not becoming collateral damage.”

“Okay, this is where I hang up,” Aidan said. “I’ve given you everything I know. What you do with it is up to you. But, for the record, I agree with Hutch. Not to mention that Madeleine, and especially Abby, would kill me if anything happened to Marc.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to me, Aidan,” Marc replied.

“Good. Because I’ve spent a hell of a lot of time with Ryan planning your bachelor party. You’re going to be there to endure every embarrassing minute.”

“Good-bye, leatherneck.” Marc’s middle finger was already on the cell phone button.

Hutch pulled over a laptop the minute Aidan hung up.