“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you are the only one who knows the whole truth; but you’re living on borrowed time.”
“No, I mean, why are you admitting what you’ve done?”
“Why not? If you turn me in, it all comes out. When the CIA finds out you are Claudia Irving, then you’ll become a greater threat. And the perfect bargaining chip to be used by the Consortium. I can only imagine the director’s face if the truth were to be known.”
“I don’t understand.”
“They’d have to assume I’ve confessed all my sins, implicating them along the way. Both the CIA and the Consortium. There will be absolutely nothing I can do to protect you at that point—enough of this brotherly-sisterly chit-chat. Max, this is your last warning.”
“Or what? You’ll, what is it you say, ‘take me out’?”
“First, I’ll start with your friend. I’ve enjoyed getting to know her, but she’s expendable.”
“Allison! So you’re the one she met at the support group! For God’s sake, leave her out of this!”
The change in Daniel’s expression caused her body to shudder. The sinister smile made her insides churn with revulsion. It was hard for her to fathom that her own flesh and blood was a cold-hearted killer—and that he could be so cruel.
“Let this be your last warning. Gotta go, sis.” The look on Daniel’s face changed. It was counter to his earlier menacing expression. He stared a moment longer and then turned and headed for the front door.
“Solum! Stop!”
He cocked his head back in her direction.
Max stood in a prone position; her gun aimed directly at him.
His peculiar expression returned. “This dance again!”
“I’ll give you what you want! But leave Allison alone! And let this be your warning.”
Suddenly, an explosion of etched glass shattered through the air. Max stood frozen as she felt parts of her own life shatter into a thousand pieces.
Daniel grabbed his arm and spun around. He was gone.
When Sam arrived, it was patently obvious that the front door had been blown to smithereens, sending him straight into a frenzy. “Max,” he shouted, as he rushed in with his own weapon drawn.
Max was seated on the sofa, with her gun clasped to her chest. She could see Sam rush toward her over the broken glass, but her body did not react. She had no idea whether she had been sitting there for a few minutes or hours. And Sam sounded like he was in an echo chamber.
“Max, what happened?” The fright in his voice was apparent, but he tried to remain calm. He surveyed the scene one more time. Any attempt to solicit information from her was unsuccessful. “Max, snap out of it!” he yelled. His shouting had no effect and finding no other recourse, he resorted to shaking her shoulders looking for a reaction.
“Sam, stop shaking me!”
“Do you mind telling me what the bejesus happened here? There’s a bloody trail halfway down the street.”
“Blood! Oh my God—I really did shoot him.”
“I doubt it’s life-threatening. From the amount of blood, you most likely just grazed him. But who the hell is him?”
Max rocked back and forth, trying to regain her senses. She had to focus on her next assignment. She gave it careful thought before responding. “The Consortium sent Daniel to scare me off the investigation.”
“And?!”
“I told him I’d back off!”
“And then you shot him. Nice touch. But what are you really going to do?”
“Back off!”
“Max, you’re definitely not sounding like yourself, nor are you making much sense.”
“Perhaps it’s time we move on.”
“I’d like to believe you, but you don’t give up that easily.”
“You know as well as I do, there’s no way to prove who is actually responsible for the deaths of the beekeeper and Jeff. All we know is that the beekeeper was illegally growing a plant to make propolis. That purpose—died with him. Look, I’ve tangled with the Consortium before, just as you have. And, do I need to remind you that when we were running around Italy trying to protect a scientist, we were almost killed in the process. I’m on their hit list, most likely you are too. It’s not worth it. Let’s get back to investigating cases we can solve.”
“I can’t believe you’re really backing down; we’re so close.”
“You can’t win them all.”
“If you’re not going to pursue this case further, why don’t you at least bring POTUS up-to-date.”
“You’re kidding! With his twitter fingers on steroids, he’s likely to put more people in harm’s way.” The last thing Sam needed to find out was that she had already been hauled into the Oval Office and warned to stay away. “Look, I’m convinced doctors are being killed because they discovered ways to save lives without putting money into the pockets of the pharmaceutical companies. It’s insane, I know, but we have no proof. Besides, Erin Elizabeth is determined to prove there’s a conspiracy. So, we’ll let her do the legwork. If we need to jump back in, we’ll reevaluate the ramifications at that time. In the meantime, I’m turning over what evidence we have on Jeff’s death to the Capitol Police. Let them run with it. As far as this case goes—I’m done!”
“Max, we’re so close on this one.” Sam goaded. At the same time, he was taken aback by his own admission. He wanted to see the case through to the end.
“It’s not up for discussion—it’s over.”
Sam relented, knowing she was right. They needed to walk away while they still had legs that could carry them. “You’re the boss. I’ll go get the broom and clean up this mess.”
“Thanks. And while you’re still pissed off at me, you might as well know I’m going out of town for a few days. I’ll need you to hold down the fort.”
“With Stanton?”
“No.”
“Max, it may not be safe out there. How can you be sure this is over, just because you stepped down? They can still come after you. Your back can still carry a bullseye.”
“They won’t!” Max headed for her office, ending the conversation.
Sam left it unchallenged; he could only fight so many battles in any given day. But it did not negate his lingering concerns.
Max felt horrible for not telling him the truth—the part that she was not retreating from the case. Aside from that, she believed for some inexplicable reason, Daniel would keep her safe.
Chapter 32
The Beekeeper’s Secret
The plane landed at the International Airport in Monterrey, Mexico, on schedule. Within minutes of pulling up to the gangway, Max headed to another gate to wait for a flight scheduled to leave for Sao Paolo, Brazil. She assumed her final destination was Manaus, but thus far it appeared to be a round-about and lengthy flight pattern. The detailed instructions she received earlier from Dr. Harold Johnson, however, were clear. It was also clear she had no logical choice but to accept her new assignment. She checked her watch; one more hour before takeoff.
“Excuse me, Miss Ford,” said the woman standing before her.
Max looked up and gaped with a surprised expression. It was not the presence of this intrusive woman or the fact she knew her name that was unsettling—it was her appearance. Max thought she was looking at a mirror image of herself. In a flash, Dr. Johnson’s instruction became clear, right down to her attire. Both were wearing a pair of jeans and a white sweater with a black leather jacket opened to reveal a red scarf loosely coiled around their necks.
“These are for you.” The woman wheeled two large metal totes in front of Max and then swooped into the seat next to her. On both sides of each tote, emblazoned with large stickers printed with the words: Property of the U.S. Government. Max’s uneasiness elevated. The look-a-like then handed her a piece of paper with an address.
“You will have only six hours to make the delivery. The drive will take you nearly four and a half hours to reach your destination. Do you understand?”
“Not exactly.” Max was still bewildered.
Without responding, the woman handed her a passport and a driver’s license. On both documents, the name Simone Tattler was inscribed next to a not so attractive photo of Max. Even more disturbing; it was a diplomatic passport.
“Not bad!” Max said, curious as to what was next.
“There’s a Hertz rental-car waiting for you. It’s best you leave now. You will find further instructions in the glove compartment.”
In a sudden moment of revelation, it hit her. She was not headed to Manaus. She was going to drive across the Mexican border with fake I.D. and God knows with what contraband, to who the hell knows where.
“I’ll need your ticket,” the woman stated with a stretched-out hand.
“So, you’re traveling back to Sao Paolo as Maxine Ford.”
The statement was not a question, and the imposter understood. She scooted off to stand in line to wait for the announcement for first class passengers to board.
Max scurried out of the terminal and off to the Hertz ticket counter.
When she approached the border crossing at Nueva Ciudad Guerrero, she let out a few deep yoga breaths to calm her nerves while she envisioned the totes stored in the trunk. Easing up on the brake she moved another car length ahead and edged closer to the immigration kiosk. She was third in line. Again, she inhaled and then let the air out of her lungs in a slow measured pattern.
“Passport, senorita,” asked the border agent with the smarmy smile.
Max returned a courteous expression, but nothing too inviting, and waited for the agent to flip through the passport. She had noticed earlier that the passport was reminiscent of a well-traveled document, filled with stamps from around the world. Thorough, she thought, once again admiring the handiwork.
As the agent ran through the usual list of ‘are you transporting’ items, Max responded no to each question, despite the fact she had no clue.
“Open your trunk, por favor,” he ordered, expecting her to hit a button.
Max had to make sure he would not try to open the cases and feigned stupidity as a reason to get out of the car. “It’s a rental car. I think I have to use the key.” The agent didn’t argue, and from the way he eyed her, she assumed he took it as an opportunity to give her a once-over. She took full advantage that time and offered a genuine, slightly, more alluring smile.
She opened the trunk in a relaxed manner, trying to be as nonchalant as possible.
“And what’s in there?” he asked, seeming less friendly than before.
“Sorry. I’m not the official courier,” she responded and then proceeded to deliver her rehearsed lines. “I’ve been instructed by the U.S. Consulate General in Santa Catarina to deliver them to the U.S. State Department in Houston. I was not given the combination to the locks.”
Agitated, he looked at her passport again and eyed her more closely. Then he refocused on the government seals. Using his better judgement, he chose not to pursue it further, most likely to avoid an international skirmish. For certain, the two countries did not need another incident. He closed the trunk and handed Max back her passport. “Buenos dias.” He tipped his hat and walked back to the kiosk, waved her on, and approached the next car.
Max, not giving her luck a second thought, drove across the border to Falcon Heights, Texas. Safe, back inside her own country, she headed off finally to learn the purpose behind her clandestine mission. She made good time getting to Corpus Christi in just a little over two hours. Now as she eased through the streets in the Flour Bluff district, she could not help but notice the remnants of damage that Hurricane Harvey had left in its wake. It was painful to see such devastation, even after several months had passed. She continued to make her way to the docks near the Industrial Canal through the deserted and run-down area. The GPS indicated five more minutes with no sign of the terrain improving. Max was having misgivings, but she was at the point of no return. Then, out of nowhere, her apprehension turned to exhilaration. She sensed that she was about to find out the vital missing piece of the unsolved puzzle.
Max drove up to the massive corrugated steel warehouse on the left, marked with the number 3666. The door to the building was left ajar. When she entered the first floor, it was totally desolate, absent of any lighting. Only subtle hues from the setting sun shed light through the large windows, casting a shadow on a man standing across the giant room.
“You’re a welcome sight!” he called out.
“Dr. Harold Johnson, I presume,” she responded, to the unidentifiable person.
“At your service.”
Max headed in his direction, noting the pigeons cooing above. She hoped they were the only creatures swirling over her head. At the same time, she tried to dodge the massive pools of unknown liquid spotting the floor. Wheeling the two heavy totes, traversing them through an obstacle course only added to her woes. But as she shortened the distance between herself and the doctor, she could tell he was a well-seasoned gentleman, estimating his age to be in the seventies.
“Let me help you with those. We still have quite a hike.”
“Before I hand over the totes, I want to know what’s in them.” The pleasantries were quaint, but she’d gone through a hell of a lot and was impatient to know why.
“You’ve earned the right. But first, please follow me so we can join the others.” He moved in to help her with the cargo.
“I’m fine, thank you.”
“Suit yourself.”
Hal turned and continued across the massive room to another steel door. Passing through the entryway they approached a metal staircase, at which point Max reluctantly surrendered one of the totes. But she took great care with the other as she warily stepped down into a black hole.
“Where are we going?” she asked. Her queasy feeling did not abate, even though they were back on solid ground.
“Follow me. We’re almost there.”
Her trepidation increased as she trudged through a long, dark, secret, underground tunnel, with the doctor using his phone to light the way. The saving grace was that Max could only see in front of where she was walking because there was a putrid smell—its origin she preferred not to know.
“Here we are,” Hal announced.
At last they reached another staircase, similar to the one they had walked down. This one however, presented a greater challenge as they edged themselves up the steps with the two totes, for what must have been three stories high.
Max remained silent as she maneuvered the one tote with the unknown cargo until at last they reached another door. The doctor led the way into a room that seemed out of place, considering the abandoned condition of the building she had first entered. What surprised her most was the humongous long wooden table with the large group of men seated on both sides. It reminded her of a corporate boardroom, but the men bore no resemblance to typical captains of industry.
“Gentlemen, the package has arrived.”
Hal proceeded to introduce her to each of the men as they stood up around the long conference table. There was a surprising mix of doctors, along with representatives of the American Honey Producers Association and the American Beekeeping Federation. They were all dressed in white lab coats. Placed in front of each of them were large acrylic boxes.
“Miss Ford...”
“Please call me Max,” she interjected robotically.
“Certainly, Max. Now to answer your questions.
Hal opened the two cases. Inside were boxes with plexiglass covers perforated with tiny holes. There was a strange sound coming from within the containers.
“This case contains young drones that will become sexually mature within the next few days, which is why the timing was so vital
. This other case holds the finest virgin queens waiting to be bred. These are extraordinarily unique bees that come from hives deep in the Amazon jungle. Their breeding dates back thousands of years.”
“Bees. You had me play this cloak and dagger game for a bunch of bees?”
“Max, you’ve gone to great lengths to investigate the murders of Oliver Prince, Senator Lance, and you know what happened to Sorenson. It was with Sorenson’s help...”
“Excuse me, Sorenson was FDA.”
Hal chuckled. “Max, he was working with us. He was the unnamed whistleblower that crossed the headlines several years ago.”
“You’re speaking about Brad Johansson.”
“Correct. I see you’ve done your homework. But that’s how we knew the cancer drug trials were being stalled. And that the natural cures were being shunned, primarily because they can’t be patented. How do you patent broccoli, garlic, or onions? No patent—no high-profit drugs for Big PhRMA. But Sorenson couldn’t risk transporting the cargo, so he arranged for Senator Lance to make the delivery. The senator was a great supporter of our cause and agreed. He believed his credentials made it safe for him to cross the Mexican border to deliver the package initially. We’re certain the Consortium was involved in the series of mysterious deaths. You believe it as well, but you’re unable to prove it.”
“How do you...”
“Please, let me continue. By some means, it was leaked that Prince was conducting lab experiments with these amazing queen bees, but incorrectly assumed he was trying to reproduce the pill the Japanese have perfected with a protocol of high dosages of propolis. A pill that has been proven to reverse the effects of Alzheimer’s and various cancers.
“You’re referring to Dr. Mizukami. So, you don’t want to import the pills, because of what happened to Dr. Bradstreet and others, but you want to produce your own?”
“You’re partially correct. A string of holistic doctors who have chosen to bring various drugs in from other countries illegally to save their patients’ lives—have lost their own lives. There are approximately fifteen-point-five-million Americans living with some form of cancer. More than a half million Americans a year will die from these horrible diseases. The American Cancer Society estimates another one-point-seven-million people will be diagnosed with cancer this year alone. And these doctors apparently had the cures. But we knew it would be virtually impossible to get FDA approval for these remedies. We can barely skirt by with honey soap products that require FDA approval. So we devised another plan.”
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