by Robin Lamont
He ran a hand through his shaggy hair. “If it’s true, it’s some crazy shit. Why would anyone take the risk of drugs getting into the food chain?”
“Because they can produce a lot of it for far less cost – the story of American capitalism.”
“Any news on Tim?”
“No. But I think he was able to piece it together: the dogs’ bleeding, his own symptoms. Something else, too. I spoke with Katherine Buck earlier and she told me that one day she was grinding cornmeal, and apparently, Tim showed an unusual interest in it, asking a lot of questions. Maybe what they feed the dogs looks like cornmeal. He grew up on a farm and after seeing Ostrovsky in Davidson’s corn field, I think he started making connections. The photos that he sent me were just a heads up.”
“Why didn’t he call you and tell you everything then?”
“He was trying to put a ribbon around it, for me,” she sighed. “Right after he sent me the photos, he went back to the lab after most of the staff had left. He knew it was his best chance of taking one of the dogs and wanted to get one of them out for blood tests, believing that the results would match his own. But something happened. I talked with the tech who was still there when Tim came back. She said that he told her to go home and he’d finish up for her. Dillon Byer was in the lab waiting to lock up. He must have seen Tim with the dog.”
“And Tim confronted him about what was going down.”
“Maybe, yeah.”
“And you think Byer got rid of Tim?”
“Not then. Tim was able to get out of there with the dog. I think he intended to bring the dog to DC. But he saw that the dog was too sick, so he took him to a vet right away. He went back to the motel to pack up ….”
“And Byer was waiting for him.”
“He would’ve known where Tim was staying. I’m sure, though, that Byer drove him off the road and … I don’t know what happened after that.”
Lucas began to pace in a tight circle. “Jesus, Jude,” he exclaimed, “we’re in way over our heads.”
“Not if I can get inside that lab.”
“You can’t be serious,” Lucas barked angrily. “You want to get yourself killed, too? And even if you get in and out successfully, talk about American capitalism … this is big pharma and the agriculture industry wrapped into one package. Amaethon will have the entire U.S. government on its side. Don’t think for a minute that federal agencies won’t do everything in their power to make sure no one even finds out about this.”
Jude retorted, “Kurt Buck’s daughter is in critical condition. He won’t let it go, and neither will the others.”
“You’re fooling yourself. A couple mil in settlement fees and people will let a lot of things go. Amaethon throws enough money at this and everyone in Half Moon is walking around saying, ‘what drug?’ while you’re serving eight-to-ten in federal prison. That is, of course, if Byer doesn’t get to you first.”
“Since when did you get so cynical?”
“I’m not even going to respond to that.”
Turning away from him, Jude reached out to one of the swings. Clouds had blotted out the stars, and the light from the farmhouse windows couldn’t reach them. She thrust her hand forward in the dark, searching for one of the swing seats until her fingers closed around it. She sat in the rubber tire and rocked back and forth as Lucas pressed on. “You know, I found street level photos of the lab. You can see the high voltage fence around the whole property. You’ll never get past that – not alive, anyway. And even if you could, breaking into a lab is exactly what they want, to brand animal activists as criminals.”
“Dillon Byer went to the cop who’s looking into Tim’s disappearance – a state trooper named Haydon – and told him that he had seen me with Tim here in Half Moon the day he went missing.”
“That’s ridiculous. You were in New York, right?”
Jude coughed. “Yes, but not for the reason I told you.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s not important now. But I was nowhere near Half Moon. I tried to tell Haydon, and if he checks it out, he’s going to find out that Byer was lying, and Byer must know that. He was trying to deflect suspicion onto me so he can buy some time.
“Time enough to clean out the lab, alter the records, and get rid of the animals. They’re probably doing that right now.” She dug her heels into the grass to stop rocking. “There are two dozen beagles in there, Lucas. And I don’t know how many rats and mice. Some are sick and suffering. And think about the control group that’s not getting any of the drug. They’re all still healthy. And Byer and Ostrovsky are going to kill them all.”
Lucas clapped his hand to his head and groaned. Finally, he said, “I hate it, Jude. I hate it. But there are tens of thousands of animals in labs all over the country–”
“Well, I’m here, right now. And I’m going to get as many as I can out.”
She could hear Lucas taking deep breaths through his nose. Finally, he said, “I admire your passion and your courage, my friend. You know I do. But what you’re proposing is a suicide mission. Nothing less. Let’s go to the cops.”
“Can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
When Jude didn’t respond, Lucas muttered, “Ah, shit. What did you do?”
“A few hours ago, I was in custody … technically speaking. And I escaped.”
“You what?”
“I tried to tell Haydon,” argued Jude. “And I suppose I did get a little heated, but he thought I was so delusional that he brought me to the hospital and handcuffed me to a bed. I got Dr. Harbolt to uncuff me and we left. Haydon’s probably got a warrant out for me right now. He’s going to sort it out, but by the time he does, it’ll be too late. I’m going in as soon as the light comes up.”
“The light won’t matter,” said Lucas gruffly, stepping in front of her. He held up two fingers. “What do you see?”
“What are you talking about?”
“How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Cut it out.”
Holding his ground, Lucas asked again, “How many fingers?”
Jude jumped up, leaving the swing’s chains clattering. “How would I know? It’s pitch black out here. Why do you always do this to me? I thought you were my friend.”
“I am your friend. Which is why I’m trying to stop you from sabotaging your whole freaking life.”
“I don’t need saving, okay?”
He grasped her by the shoulders. “You need something, Jude. Because what you’re doing is not working.”
“You have no faith in me,” she exclaimed, wrenching herself from his grasp. “This will work.”
“I’m not talking about getting into the lab. I’m talking about your life. It’s not working.”
Jude swiped back, blurting, “You don’t know the first thing about me.”
“Really? You really believe that?” He took a step away and put up his hands as if to ward her off. “Never mind. Maybe you’re right, because I can’t tell anymore who you are. You lie to me and everyone about being in New York, about you and Tim. Who knows what else you’re lying about? The truth is you don’t want anyone to know the first thing about you. You’re so trapped in your one-woman show trying to fight animal abuse, you can’t see anyone or anything around you. And sometimes I think you’re so busy trying to out-run yourself that you don’t even really see the animals.”
She wheeled around and stormed back to the farmhouse, throwing over her shoulder, “I don’t have time for your dime-store BS psychology.”
Her stiff back and determined stride gave Lucas little hope that going after her would do anything but make her more obstinate. Nevertheless, he called out, “How many fingers, Jude?”
CHAPTER 25
The laboratory halls were tomb-like. I’m being buried alive, thought Byer as he contin
ued searching for his partner. Breathing the stale air was claustrophobic and the silence back-breakingly oppressive. Get me out of here was a chant that had been going through his mind like an unwanted pop song for the past few hours. As he packed files into cardboard boxes and downloaded electronic files onto a thumb drive, the song kept repeating and repeating. Out of here, get me … When he was done, he wiped the hard drive and went to look for his Chief Scientific Officer.
The door to the room where the rats and mice were housed was ajar, but it was dark inside. He’d directed Stu to keep the lights off as much as possible. The last thing they needed was a cop to swing by to ask if everything was all right. Byer opened the door a little wider and heard the scrabbling of their feet. It was a bad sound, and not just because Stu was supposed to have taken care of the lot. He hoped at least the dogs were done with. Gripping the door knob tighter, Byer called out. The rustling of sawdust was his answer.
Where is he? Byer continued down the hall and checked two other rooms. His frustration level was rising. They were running out of time. He came to the end of the hall by the reception area where glass windows looked out on the parking lot. At first, he saw only his reflection in the night-backed glass, but a second look told him that the horizon was getting lighter. Byer checked his watch and was surprised to see that it was 5:30 a.m. He’d been cleaning up for hours and hadn’t noticed the time. Jesus Christ, get me out …
Then he smelled burnt coffee and hurried toward the break room.
As he flicked on the overhead lights, Byer saw the coffeemaker was on and that the smell was coming from the blackened bottom of its glass pot. Ostrovsky was splayed on the cheap vinyl sofa next to a vending machine. His mouth was open, and one arm dangled over the side. Byer walked slowly over to him. “Stuart?” he asked tersely. “Stu?” A little more tentatively. He reached out to see if he could detect a pulse, and as his fingers made contact, Ostrovsky made a phlegmy noise in his throat. Byer stepped back in alarm.
The gurgling became louder and Ostrovsky began to cough. It woke him and he struggled to sit up.
“What the fuck, Stu?” cried Byer. “What’s the matter with you?”
Ostrovsky managed to push himself up and he blinked at the harsh fluorescent lighting. Rubbing his face, he mumbled, “What time is it?”
Byer didn’t bother to answer. “What have you been doing?” he demanded. “You’re supposed to be taking care of the animals.”
“I … uh … I started to.”
“You started? Where?”
“The kennel. Everything was ready. I tried to do the injections, but I had a little problem,” he said, licking his dry lips. “I took some new medication for the … you know. It made me dizzy and I had to lie down.”
“Son of a bitch. Come on, already. We have to get out of here.”
“Yeah, okay.” He rose a bit unsteadily to his feet, and once he got his balance, he held his hands out to check them. No tremor. “I’m good to go,” he confirmed.
“Then go.”
They walked out into the hall and Byer began his angry trek back to the office. Ostrovksy stopped him, saying “Wait a minute.”
“What now?”
“You hear that?” asked the scientist, his head snapping towards reception.
Byer listened for a second, waiting to hear footsteps or a car driving into the parking lot. But he heard neither of those things and shook his head.
“You don’t hear that?”
“What?” asked Byer, exasperated.
“Out there. On the road,” explained his partner.
Byer finally heard something, but it didn’t make any sense. It sounded like a group of people yelling in the distance. And they were getting closer.
* * *
Some held signs they’d made with magic marker and poster board. Others brandished long corn stalks that waved like strange and unruly banners. A few had brought cow bells and weren’t afraid to bang on them. Several cars and flatbeds crawled behind them, purposefully honking their horns. About a dozen farmers, their neighbors, and some of the townspeople marched down Route 107, materializing out of the early morning mist like apparitions. Noisy ghosts, they chanted, “No drugs in our food,” and “Our kids are eating your drugs!”
The gray morning carried an early September chill that would wear off by midday. But at this hour, most of the marchers wore boots, flannel shirts, and fleece, which made them look like countrified zombies as they neared Amaethon’s perimeter fence. Kurt Buck and Lucas were in the lead, Jude buried somewhere in the middle of the crowd.
It had taken a sustained effort throughout the night. Those gathered in Buck’s living room reached out to their neighbors who called their friends who texted others. No one got much sleep. But no one cared. A monster had snuck into the wrong community, something Buck had underscored when he addressed the assemblage at their appointed meeting place. Theirs was a community where farm-to-table meant more than a restaurant slogan – it meant pride, livelihood, and sustenance. The corporate lobbyists in Washington had all but shut down Vermont’s attempt to have genetically engineered food labeled so you could know what you were feeding your kids. And now, the federal government was supporting this insane experiment that had gone horribly wrong in their town. Children were bleeding, animals dying, and the landscape being poisoned.
Time had limited their ability to reach more people in the community, but latecomers kept adding to the back of the line. Cars going by on Route 107 slowed to see what the fuss was about. Some of the high school kids, friends of Heather, took up stations on the road’s solid yellow line and told them. A few of the drivers pulled over to the side and joined up.
Amaethon’s front gate was locked and the building dark. When the group reached a critical mass, Kurt Buck and Lucas went into action, organizing the citizens to stretch out along the fence’s perimeter. Keep making noise, keep moving, create chaos. Jude weaved in and out of them, looking for her entry point. Tori Ann Lacey’s aunt ran Melissa’s Cleaning Service which cleaned the lab twice a week. Except for the rooms where the animals were kept and only the techs were allowed, Melissa knew every inch of the place. She’d come over to the farmhouse to share what she knew and draw out a rough map. There was one possible entrance into the building.
Jude made her way to the westernmost edge of the hi-voltage electrified fence. She plucked a blade of grass and tossed it onto one of the lower wires where it snapped and leapt into the air. The line was live, but she hadn’t expected anything else.
She turned to see Kurt Buck at her shoulder. A few hours earlier, his wife had called to tell him that Heather was going to pull through. Buck’s fear turned to fury, mobilizing him to help Jude plan her entry. They made eye contact. “This is it?” he asked. And when Jude nodded, he produced a five-foot metal stake onto which he’d welded a thick copper wire near one end. Using a mallet, he drove the stake into the ground, and from his back pocket he pulled out a bottle of water and poured it on the ground around the stake. Then he fit a large crocodile clip taken from an old battery onto the end of the copper wire.
Just then, Lucas found them. He tried one more time, imploring, “Please don’t do this. You’ll be subject to prosecution along with her, Kurt. Aiding and abetting.”
But the farmer nodded and said, “Fine. Let ’em come after me.”
Jude turned to Lucas and said, “We need your help.”
For a moment, Lucas hung his head in defeat. She was going to do this no matter what. “Okay,” he replied reluctantly.
“Then let’s go.”
Kurt warned them both to stand back and shoo away the nearest protesters. He donned rubber gloves and with his arm extended, connected the crocodile clip to the fence. He ducked. A brain-rattling buzz reverberated around them, sparks flew up into the air, and the acrid smell of short-circuited wires filled their nostrils.
A few
seconds later, Buck repeated the test, throwing blades of grass at the wires, and this time they fell lazily to the ground. He nodded to Jude and pointed to his watch. She had 15 minutes – the minimum time they’d calculated it would take for the security company to respond to the silent alarm. Then he cupped his hands to give her a leg up and over.
From the fence to the southwest corner of the building was a forty-yard sprint. Jude made it and flattened herself against the building. Behind her, at Lucas’s signal, the chanting from the protesters intensified. Crouching low, she moved quickly along the rear of the building, searching for the window described to her. This part of the lab was built partially underground, and the high windows cut into the concrete blocks indoors were at knee level where she ran. The one she was looking for was supposed to be the third from the corner. One, two, her breath coming fast. This had to be it.
She lowered herself to her knees and pushed on the lower edge of the casement. It didn’t budge. The coffee she’d consumed all night came up in her throat. Could Melissa’s count be off? Was there a room or window she hadn’t accounted for? Jude pushed harder this time, and with a rasp, the window moved. Another few shoves and inch by inch, it opened inward.
When she thought it was wide enough, she slid on her belly and backed herself into the opening, her feet feeling cautiously for the shelf unit Melissa had described. Jude could only hope that she wouldn’t knock any of the cleaning supplies over and make a racket. As she eased farther in, she began to lose her grip. She clung to fistfuls of dirt which crumbled in her fingers and she felt herself falling backwards. Just then, her right foot hit the metal shelf. She made a final, futile grab at the casement rim before dropping to the floor.
A sharp pain shot through her ankle. She shook it out and waited for the burn to subside, listening for footsteps. She also pretended that a few moments would allow her eyes to adjust to the dark. But in fact, her eyes weren’t working all that well. They hadn’t been since her fight with Lucas at the swings. Translucent gray clouds seemed to sail across her visual horizon like smoke. No, she didn’t see how many fingers Lucas put up. And no, she hadn’t told anyone. This was the only chance they had.