Then it dawned on me. “Couldn’t these have been sent after Interpol took my laptop?”
“I don’t know if it’s possible to change a timestamp.” Mr. Brown paused for a second and then raised a finger. “No, the e-mails were found on Dr. Schmidt’s computer before yours was confiscated.”
I sat back. “Then I don’t know how they got there.”
“I’ll find a computer expert to see if they can explain how it was done,” Lee said.
“The main thing is we have that Dale Samson guy on video, picking Nick’s pocket,” Jack said.
CHAPTER 7
April 30, 2003
When I came through the main living room on my way to have breakfast, Jack was sitting on the couch with a newspaper open in front of him.
He looked up. “Virk’s article is in the London News, so I assume it’ll be syndicated in all the GM Comm newspapers.”
I approached Jack. “How bad is it?”
“What you’d feared.” Jack motioned for me to take the paper. “But it’s not long and way back in the paper, I assume because the story is getting stale.”
“The whole thing should’ve had maybe two news cycles at most. Lovemark sure is dragging it out.” I didn’t feel like reading any more propaganda, so I didn’t take the newspaper.
“She wrote that there were also protestors at Schmidt’s funeral and that you’re trying to be the leader of a rising movement.” Jack shook his head. “However, she thinks you don’t have the right temperament to lead people against some of the most powerful companies in the world.”
My blood pressure was rising, but I still didn’t want to read it. “Let’s go have breakfast.”
“If we had birds, this is what I’d line their cage with.” Jack tossed the newspaper on the table and picked up his coffee mug.
Ivan, Sue, Sam, Eugene, and Lorraine were all sitting at the dining table. At meals, mainly breakfast, was when most of us were around and had a chance to talk.
Sue must’ve sensed my lingering annoyance. “That Virk chick must’ve had the story written before she came for the interview.”
I sat down. “Probably.”
“It can’t get any worse, so it’ll only get better.” Jack reached for the scrambled eggs.
“I propose we stop reading the negative press and focus on our work.” Ivan stood from his chair, having completed his meal. “The most productive response is to continue to provide factual proof. I am going back to Oslo today; the Council has summoned me, and I need to get back to our research.”
“The Council wants to talk to you?” Jack asked. “Because you’ve been gone for awhile?”
“I think they are concerned about the negative publicity.” Ivan had a steely glare. “I am going to tell them the exact same thing I just told all of you.”
“Go get ’em, Ivan,” Sue said.
“Good luck.” I took a deep breath and envisioned a duck with water dripping off its back. That gave me an unexpected and sudden urge to meditate.
Ivan left the room, with Eugene right behind him.
“Anyone interested in meditating?” I asked. “I know we used to do it before breakfast, but it’ll still work after.”
Lorraine glanced at Sam. “We have to relieve Jorge and Lee.”
Sue looked surprised. “Finally.”
“We haven’t done the relaxing mumbo jumbo in a long time,” Jack said. “I’m in.”
After breakfast, we adjourned to the living room. It was a cool, rainy morning outside, so the fireplace had been lit. We sat down on the rug next to the cozy burning wood.
Jack groaned. “Hope I’ll be able to get up again.”
We all closed our eyes.
Deep breaths, in and out. Morgan’s beautiful face, framed by her strawberry-blonde hair, came into my mind’s eye. I tried not to be sad and let the memory pass. I focused on my breathing, but it was hard to clear my mind.
In the twenty minutes, only a few moments were peaceful. That was okay, because at least I was trying to meditate again and I hadn’t relived Morgan being shot.
Sue opened her eyes and sat quietly, looking at the fire.
Within a minute Jack opened his eyes. “I remember it being easier to clear thoughts from my thick head.”
“Me too,” I said. “It’ll just take some practice. I want to start meditating every morning again.”
“Good.” Sue got up and walked out of the room.
Jack and I looked at each other but didn’t say anything. Sue could be abrupt, but her facial expression had looked concerned or even scared.
“What’s the plan for today?” Jack asked.
“I have to finish going through Sue’s edits of my book, but that’s not going to take long. Why?”
“I have a meeting here with a man named Tom Crane.”
I stood up because my leg was falling asleep. “You mean the billionaire tech guy, Tom Crane?”
“One and the same. He wants to talk to me about Moile.”
“He has oil and hydraulic fracturing interests? I thought he made his money in computers, programs, and such.”
“Everyone with that kind of money has interest in oil.”
“But he’s a philanthropist now, spending his time with his foundation trying to save …” Then it dawned on me. “… starving children in Africa. Do you think he has anything to do with genetically engineered food? Is he a good or bad guy?”
“Interesting.” Jack got to his feet. “We know Naintosa is trying hard to introduce their seed in Africa.”
“Did he setup the meeting, or did you?”
“He did. I’m just curious.”
“Do you know him well?”
“A bit, not well.”
“Is he a member of the Club?”
A glint came into Jack’s eyes. “He’d been sniffing around before; I bet he wants even more to be a member now and that’s part of why he wants to meet. I’m not entirely sure of the angle, but we’ll see.”
“He’d be better off meeting with the current members or filling out an application form. It won’t help his cause, talking to someone who was booted out.”
“Application form—good one.” Jack smiled. “He’s a smart man, so I’ll see what he has to say. His problem is that he’s a self-made billionaire, one of the richest men in the world, in fact. The Club doesn’t like new money and isn’t looking for new members, especially someone with such a high profile.”
“Let me know how the meeting goes.” I left Jack and went to the study.
When I reached my side of the desk, I opened my laptop and pressed the start button. While waiting for it to boot up, I went to the window to look outside. There was a persistent drizzle again today that reminded me of Seattle.
Sue entered the study. She’d changed into jeans and a light-blue sweater, her thick, shoulder-length auburn hair pulled into a ponytail. “Hey.”
“You okay?” I looked at her for an extra second. She really was beautiful, but not in a way where she had to put effort into it. Her attractiveness was natural and casual. She didn’t need makeup to accentuate her dazzling blue eyes, high cheekbones, and cute button nose. Her body was petite and lean, with just enough curve in the right places.
“Yeah, why?” She cocked her head to the side. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Nothing.” I shook my head. “You left right after meditating and seemed upset.”
She sat down in front of her computer and opened it. “There was a weird, ominous feeling while I was meditating. It came out of nowhere, and to be honest, scared me. I guess I needed a few moments to collect myself.”
“In the past we’ve always talked about stuff like that.” I went back to my computer and sat down in front of it. “Can you explain the feeling?”
“Like I said, just weird and ominous.”
“Did a vision come with it?”
Sue paused. “More feeling.”
There was nothing to try figuring out unless Sue had more d
etails. “Okay, let me know if you think of a reason.”
She nodded and looked at her screen.
Three of the editors I’d met in London had sent me e-mails. Two were interested in my manuscript; one being the editor I liked the best. She was seasoned, gave off a good vibe, liked my writing, and worked for a big publisher. “The editor I want to work with the most wants the book.”
“Great,” Sue said. “Her response was quick.”
“My guess is that since I’m in the news there’s a bigger chance of book sales, even though the novel is fiction … sort of.”
The editor wanted me to get an agent to negotiate the contract and suggested three names. I researched them on the Internet and decided on which one I’d choose first. Then I e-mailed them. Usually, getting an agent was hard, but with an already-interested editor of a prominent publisher on board, a large portion of the work had already been accomplished. What agent wouldn’t want easy money like that?
“I forgot to tell you.” I looked up from my screen at Sue reading from hers. “Tom Crane is coming here to meet with Jack.”
“Billionaire philanthropist Tom Crane?”
“Yeah.” I glanced at the antique silver clock on the wall. “He’s probably here now.”
“What for?”
I told her Jack’s theories.
“I’ve always been suspicious of him and his foundation,” Sue said. “You know he’s buddies with Davis Lovemark.”
“Really? Friends with Lovemark and potential ties to Naintosa in Africa; he has to have something to do with the population control plan. And Jack said he’s tried to get into the Club. We need to do some digging on him.”
Sue wrote on a pad of paper beside her. “I’m on it. It’s second on the list. You worry about making sure your manuscript is ready to send your editor. It’ll be my pleasure to dig deep into Crane.”
Whenever Sue put it that way, I always felt sorry for the person she was going after. “What are you working on now anyway?”
“An environmental opinion piece for the magazine back in Seattle.” She shrugged. “Nothing you don’t already know.”
I was editing, and Sue was writing. The only sound was the clacking of keyboards.
Sue swiveled her chair and looked out the window. “The rain has let up. Let’s take a break and walk around the grounds. We’ll be more productive after some fresh air.”
As I got out of my chair she looked me up and down. “As soon as your house arrest is over, we need to go clothes shopping for you.”
“Why? What’s wrong with my clothes?”
“I know you hate clothes shopping, but you’re starting to look frayed.”
I gave a half-hearted smile that was obviously fake. “Let’s go for a walk.”
We proceeded down the hall and into the foyer.
Jack was talking to a tall, slim man beside the main entrance. Tom Crane was wearing his telltale black-rimmed glasses and a bright-patterned bowtie. He always looked nerdy and unassuming, but underneath his exterior he was known to be crafty and extremely intelligent.
I whispered, “Let’s go out the back door and let them have their meeting.”
Jack looked our way. “Nick, Sue, come over and meet Tom.”
As we approached I tried to look into his eyes. Through the glasses I could see apprehension, and then as if he saw I was reading him, a sharpness of attention.
Jack motioned with his arm. “Tom, these are my friends, Nick Barnes and Sue Clark.”
“The infamous anti-genetic engineering duo.” His accent sounded neutral, because we all originated from the Pacific Northwest. His main home was still outside Seattle.
“More than just that,” Sue said.
He raised his eyebrows at Sue’s strong tone yet extended his arm. After Sue shook his hand, I followed. It was firm, but to my surprise, clammy.
“Are you two about to have your meeting?” I wiped my right hand on my jeans in a nonchalant way I hoped no one would notice.
“Finished,” Jack said. “Tom is just leaving.”
“But I hope to be invited back.” Tom gave Jack a questioning look.
“You’re welcome anytime, but not to talk about Moile, the seed bank, or our mutual acquaintances.” Jack’s tone was polite, but his look had an underlying menace.
Tom nodded at Jack and then turned to us. “Maybe you all should find something else to occupy your time.”
“Why?” Sue asked. “Have we hit a little close to home?”
I thought of stopping Sue’s polite aggressiveness but decided to join her instead. “You’re either part of the population control plan or want to be, right?”
I was betting he hadn’t expected us to be confrontational, yet neither had I. His face turned a shade of pink. Jack had opened the door for him, and he walked through, not saying another word.
Jack closed the door. “Y’all have a minute?”
“Sure, we were just going outside for some fresh air,” Sue said.
Jack opened the door again. “Mind if I join you?”
We walked outside to see Tom getting into the backseat of a black Rolls Royce, the driver holding the door. Tom gave a quick look back at us.
We waited for the car to leave before proceeding to the garden.
The air was cool and the sky still a dark gray. One of my favorite smells was a spring garden after a rain—that and a freshly mown golf course.
“How did the meeting go?” My guess was not very well.
“What did he want?” Sue asked.
“He’s shrewd; I’ll give him that,” Jack said. “He wants to buy a part or all of Moile R&D.”
“Did he say why,” I asked.
“He said it’s because drinking water is now our most valuable resource, and he wants to hold oil companies accountable for their polluting while hydraulic fracturing.”
“That’s exactly why you started the company,” Sue said.
“As you are keenly aware,” Jack said. “What a person says is not always what they mean … or not the whole truth anyway.”
We walked to a covered gazebo. My running shoes were damp from the wet grass.
“My best guess is,” Jack continued, “that he wants to be part of Moile to generate publicity for another honorable deed his foundation is doing. Then when he gains control, he’ll fudge the figures to appease his oil and gas buddies, further trying to impress the members of the Club.”
I needed clarification. “Your ex-Club or is there an oil Club?” “There is an oil Club, but my ex-Club is the main Club. At this point in his life, Crane’s main goal is to join the most powerful men in the world, help steer humanity, and profit in kind. It’s an ego thing. He’s been doing all he can on his own, but he can only do so much without the cooperation of the top movers and shakers. My guess is he thinks screwing me over would be another feather in his cap toward his case of them making him a member. You know this ain’t my first rodeo, and you’d have to get up pretty early to pull the wool over my eyes.”
That last comment made me smile and was so telling of the experience Jack had and the fight still in him. I hoped to someday get to that point.
Sue and I sat down on a dry bench with Jack on the one opposite us.
“Tom gave me a not-so-subtle warning about leaving the Norwegian seed bank alone,” Jack said. “He’s heavily involved with it and doesn’t want us messing around. Oh, and, stop all this nonsense about genetically engineered food being bad, because his foundation is working with Naintosa to push it hard into Africa, and then India, to feed all the starving children.”
“Okay, he admitted it,” Sue said. “I’ll do some research and then write an article we can post on our website.”
“Might as well piss him off,” I said. “As long as, of course, your findings prove that he’s really profiting from making starving children sick.”
“We still don’t know for sure why the population control plan is being so heavily focused on North America,” Sue said. “But
now we can guess their next push is Africa and then India.”
Jack nodded. “And I have a feeling there’s something even fishier happening at the seed bank.”
INTERLOGUE 1
May 1, 2003
The fact that Chief Inspector Jacques Plante was financially and politically rewarded for information and steering certain investigative matters in directions benefitting Davis Lovemark and Carlo Da Silva had to remain secret. He was a valuable asset. Davis and Carlo had men on the inside of most lawful institutions, and Jacques was their main man at Interpol.
Their usual mode of communication was by secure phone, but they did at times meet in person. Since they all happened to be in London at the moment, they thought a face-to-face was best.
Davis kept a row house in Regent’s Park for special meetings and encounters. The ownership was so far removed from him that no one could trace it back. There was a unique rear entrance that seemed to go into a totally different home. The exterior was nondescript, looking like every other house on the block, but the interior was lavish.
Davis was sitting in an overstuffed Corinthian brown leather chair sipping Tieguanyin tea when Jacques was escorted into the sitting room by a slim young lady wearing a tight green dress.
“Can I get you anything, sir?” She had a stark Scottish burr.
“What he’s having, miss.” Jacques almost stumbled on the words. His French accent was quite the contrast to hers.
“I’ll send someone in with it.” Her long red hair waved when she turned.
Both men’s eyes lingered on her as she left the room.
Jacques went to a matching chair on the opposite side of a small teak table and removed his charcoal raincoat, revealing a navy-blue suit. “You always have beautiful women working for you.”
“My HR department sends them to me.” Davis placed the cup on its saucer that rested on the table. “She’s a work in progress. She has special skills in getting information from others, so I may use her in other ways than just assisting me.”
“I could imagine.” Jacques raised an eyebrow.
“Not in that way. Hmm … well yes, in that way too.” Davis only had a hint of a British accent when he was at his home base in the States, but when he was back in England it was full on.
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