by Scott Sigler
“We can’t risk any of them,” Danté said. “We need at least one live animal to gain the support of the world and to get Fischer to back the fuck off.” Danté blinked a few times, then again sat in his chair. The back of his right hand wiped across his mouth, clearing away the string of spittle.
So much for Fischer supposedly not having a clue. Either Danté hadn’t been honest before, or something had changed. “Danté, let me talk to Fischer. I know him. I can tell him how close we are, get him to ease up.”
“Absolutely not. I’m not taking any chance he can find the project.”
“But sir, we—”
“No! He cannot find Black Manitou. Fischer knows about Hoel. Just take care of the project and let me handle the rest of it. Let me make this perfectly clear.” Danté leaned into the screen, violet eyes crazy-wide. “No … more … autopsies. You do not kill a single fetus, for any reason. Do you understand?”
Colding nodded.
Danté broke the connection without another word. The Genada logo spun slowly on the screen.
Colding thought about Danté’s reaction. The man was normally so composed, but he’d lost it. Lost it bad, and maybe said some things he hadn’t wanted to say. Fischer knows about Hoel. Of course Fischer knew about Hoel; she had been his operative. Unless …
Unless Fischer knew Hoel … was dead. And if she was, there was only one person who had the opportunity to kill her before Fischer could have taken her to safety.
Magnus Paglione.
But that was just a theory, and a far-fetched one at that. Thank God Magnus was far away at the Manitoba headquarters.
As long as Magnus stayed there, everything would work out just fine.
NOVEMBER 19: MOLLY MCBUTTER
Implantation +10 Days
IN THE C-5’S cockpit, Sara Purinam whistled the tune to “Cat Scratch Fever” as she walked through the maintenance checklist on her clipboard. She and Alonzo were doing the weekly walk-through of all cockpit systems. A couple of things needed work, but Big Fred was in solid shape. Even on a military base with full crews, C-5s were maintenance nightmares. Out here? Making sure she was ready to go on a moment’s notice was a full-time job.
“’Zo, you go through the comms check yet?”
Alonzo nodded. “Yes, genius. It was fine. Just like I told you when you asked me five minutes ago.”
Ah. That was right, she had asked him.
Alonzo set his clipboard in his lap and looked at her. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d swear someone fucked you stupid.”
She whipped out her clipboard and bopped him on top of the head. He flinched and laughed, rubbing the spot she’d hit.
“Ouch! I notice you didn’t deny it.”
She shrugged. He’d already figured it out, no point in lying to him.
“Sara, what happened to no way I’m hitting that again?”
“So I was wrong. So sue me.”
He fiddled with his clipboard. “Just … well, no one cares if you’re getting some nookie, but we all saw how messed up you were last time you and Colding danced.”
“Well, it’s different now.” It was different. But Alonzo’s concern made her see it through his eyes. She had hated Colding. Now? She wondered if the opposite was happening, and after only a few days.
“Just use your head,” Alonzo said. “I mean, you know, use it for thinking.”
She rolled her eyes. “Ho-kay, I think I’m done with your verbal diarrhea. I’m going to check the systems in the barn. You stay here and think about the things you’ve said, young man, and you feel shame.”
She stood and turned. He held up his hand and smiled. She gave him the high five he wanted. Alonzo supported her, but his concern made sense. Made sense to her brain, sure, but not to her heart.
You are in so much trouble, girl. You’re falling hard and you know it.
She couldn’t help it. To think the reason he never contacted her was that he still grieved for his dead wife. Heart-wrenching, and just so tragically romantic she could barely stand it.
Sara wandered down to the first deck, where Jian, Rhumkorrf and Tim were working on the cows.
“Good morning,” Jian said with a welcome smile. She was standing inside stall twenty-five, working on cow, well, Cow 25. The woman’s silky black hair looked patchy, rumpled. Colding had talked about the fetus incident, the hair pulling … Jian’s breakdown.
“Morning, Jian. How are you?”
Jian waved a hand dismissively. I’m fine, the gesture said, then she returned to her work.
Sara moved across the aisle to scratch the nose of a cow with an ear tag that read A-34. It was a big cow. Hell, they all were big. Sara stood five-foot-ten, and if the cows had their heads up they could look her right in the eye. Thirty-four had an all-white head save for a black eyepatch on the right side. She reminded Sara of that dog “Petey” from the old Little Rascals movies. She scratched the big, bony part of its nose. The cow’s eyes narrowed in pleasure. It pushed into her hand, its neck so strong and head so big it made Sara stumble backward.
“Hey, take it easy, old girl,” Sara said with a laugh. “Don’t go getting greedy on me now.”
Tim looked up from his current patient. “Do you fucking mind? We’re trying to work here.”
Sara felt like she’d been slapped. She just wanted to say hello. Before she could respond, Jian shuffled out of stall twenty-five and scowled at Tim.
“Sara can go anywhere she wants,” Jian said in a cold tone. “You just keep your mouth shut or I will shut it for you.”
Tim blinked slowly. If Sara hadn’t known better, she would have sworn Feely was drunk.
“Well,” Tim said. “Look who had her Cocoa Puffs this morning.”
Jian’s eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”
“Means you’re koo-koo,” Tim said. “I’ll translate into English for you. You’re fucking crazy.”
“Feely!” Rhumkorrf snapped. “That will be quite enough of that.”
“Back off,” Tim said. “I’ve had about enough of your little Nazi mouth.”
Rhumkorrf paused, opened his mouth to speak, closed it, then opened it again. “Are you threatening me with physical violence?”
Tim shook his head. “No, I said I’ve had about enough of your Nazi mouth. That’s a statement of preference. But I also want to put my foot so far up your ass you can smell my toes. That, to be clear, is a threat of physical violence.”
Rhumkorrf blinked. Tim stared. Jian and Sara looked back and forth between them. Sara had to do something to get rid of this tension.
“Jian, give me some paper,” Sara said. Jian paused for a second, then did as she was asked. Sara grabbed a black permanent marker and wrote something down on the paper.
Jian read it, then covered her mouth with her hand to try and hide a giggle. She grabbed a roll of Scotch tape, pulled out a strip, and taped the paper to the stall. Written on it in neat, black block letters were the words MOLLY MCBUTTER.
“They need names,” Sara said. “What kind of a name is thirty-four? From now on this one is Molly McButter.”
Rhumkorrf started to protest, but Jian grabbed the marker and another sheet of paper. With almost childlike glee, she wrote down a name and taped it to cage forty-three. That cage held a cow with an all-white head, the only all-white head in the herd, who was now apparently named BETTY.
Rhumkorrf sighed, then shrugged. “All right. I suppose this is harmless.”
“It’s retarded,” Tim said. “That’s what it is.”
Sara gave him a pleading look. He stared back, then rolled his eyes a little. “Retarded, that is, unless you name one Sir Moos-a-Lot. Then we’re all good in the hood.”
Jian grabbed another piece of paper. “How you spell moozalot?”
Sara smiled and winked at Tim. He smiled back, then told Jian how to spell it.
NOVEMBER 20: BLOWTORCH
Implantation +11 Days
“WHAT DO YOU mean, he’s here?”
>
His secretary repeated her message. Danté Paglione’s stomach dropped again, even further than it had the first time. “Send Magnus to my office, now.”
Danté leaned back in his chair. His palms slid in circles on the cool marble desktop. This was bad.
Magnus’s office was next door. He arrived first, his solid form sliding through the door without a sound. “You beckoned, O master?”
“It’s Fischer,” Danté said. “He’s here.”
Magnus stopped and stared. He seemed to process the information for a second, then shrugged. “He could have called first, but then I’m guessing you wouldn’t have been in a hurry to set up a meeting. Relax, brother, we can deal with this.”
Magnus sat in one of the two chairs opposite the desk. How could he be so damn calm?
“Did Farm Girl call you?” Danté said. “Why wouldn’t she warn us Fischer was coming?”
“She would have, if she’d known,” Magnus said. “Fischer must have stopped telling people where he’s going. He knows someone is picking off his signals, so he’s stopped sending signals.”
“What else could he have done we don’t know about?”
Magnus shrugged. “I guess we’re about to find out.”
Seconds later, Colonel Paul Fischer walked through the door. He wasn’t alone. Two men in Canadian Army uniforms accompanied him, as did three other men wearing civilian suits. Fischer’s hat was under one arm. His other hand carried a leather satchel with an open top.
“Colonel Fischer, this is unacceptable,” Danté said. “If you’re here to continue your witch hunt against Genada, I assure you our lawyers will have a field day.”
“I won’t be long,” Fischer said. “In fact, let’s get right down to business. Where are Claus Rhumkorrf, Liu Jian Dan, Tim Feely and Patrick James Colding?”
“In hiding,” Magnus said. “Seems some ecoterrorists want to kill them. We’ve got to protect our people.”
Fischer stared down at Magnus. “Protect them? Like you protected Erika Hoel?”
“Sad, that,” Magnus said. “We saved four out of five. Wouldn’t you Americans describe that as batting eight hundred?”
“Magnus,” Danté said. “Let me handle this.”
Magnus nodded, but kept his eyes fixed on Fischer. Fischer turned back to face the older Paglione brother.
“Colonel,” Danté said, “please leave.”
“Let me spell this out first,” Fischer said. “The Canadian government, the United States government and several other governments are cooperating to freeze Genada’s assets.”
Danté’s stomach flip-flopped, and he felt that now all-too-familiar pinching in his chest. He’d known this day might come. “You don’t have that kind of international pull, Fischer. You can’t freeze our assets.”
“Not all of them,” Fischer said. “Switzerland and the Cayman Islands are still in process, but that will be taken care of by the end of the day. And you’re wrong. After the Novozyme incident, I do have that much international pull. Even with the Chinese.”
Fischer let that last word hang in the air. Danté’s mouth felt dry.
“I’m not much of a talker, Danté, so I’ll make it simple. We know you’re continuing research that potentially threatens all of humanity. You thought you could keep it going while the G8 demands you shut it down. You’re known for your smart business decisions, but that one is just stupid.”
Magnus leaned forward. “Are you calling my brother stupid?”
“How perceptive of you,” Fischer said. “The Canadian government is investigating the murder of Erika Hoel. Officially, Rhumkorrf, Feely, Colding and Liu Jian Dan are the primary suspects. They are all wanted for multiple murders.”
Danté looked at Magnus, then back to Fischer. “Multiple? What the hell are you talking about?”
Fischer reached into his leather satchel and pulled out a manila folder, which he placed on Danté’s desk. “Russian authorities identified the body of a Jane Doe with DNA matching that of a missing woman. That missing woman was Galina Poriskova, former employee of Genada. Although her remains were heavily decomposed, the Russians said she had been burned badly by an intense flame. A blowtorch, probably. They know this because the bones were burned in some places. Also, her right pinkie had been cut off. Galina Poriskova was going to shut Genada down, Danté, but she was tortured to death. Now, you and I both know who did that, but Jian, Rhumkorrf and Colding are the official suspects. Genada’s assets are frozen because, as your brother just admitted, you are now harboring those suspects.”
Magnus smiled. Danté recognized a rare expression on his brother’s face—respect.
“Colonel Fischer,” Danté said. “I assure you that—”
“Save it,” Fischer said. “As of right now, Genada is shut down.”
He pulled another folder out of the satchel and tossed it on top of the Galina murder report.
“That’s what we know about your C-5. Brilliant work, I admit. We want your flying lab, we want all of your research, and we want your staff. While I want to see you and your psycho brother in jail, my mission is to find Rhumkorrf and the others. Should we find them, that means Genada is no longer harboring fugitives. Your accounts would be opened up.” He put a business card on the desk. “If you need to reach me, that’s my number. Otherwise, good luck dealing with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.”
Fischer turned and walked out of the room, limping just a bit. The other men followed.
Magnus sat quietly. Danté pushed the C-5 folder aside and opened up Galina’s murder report. There were pictures. The pain in his chest grew stronger, more piercing.
“Magnus … how could you do this?”
“She was a threat.”
A threat. She was also a human being. Burns down to the bone? What kind of an animal had Magnus become?
“It will be okay,” Magnus said. “Danté, I’m here to protect you.”
“We don’t need that kind of protection. We need to get our lawyers going on this right now.”
“Come on, Danté,” Magnus said. “Lawyers? What do you think they can do against the bureaucracies of the entire free world?”
“We have to do something.”
“Do we? Wouldn’t it be easier if Fischer just … went away?”
Danté stared at his brother’s cold eyes. Magnus couldn’t consider something that drastic. That wasn’t even sane.
Then he looked down at the photos again and wondered whether Magnus had ever been sane.
“You don’t do a thing,” Danté said. “You hear me? Not a damned thing. I can fix this. All we need is a live animal. Once we have that, we go public. Everyone will back off. They can’t drop the hammer on a company that will save millions of lives. In fact, Magnus, I need you at Black Manitou. You have to make sure there are no problems.”
Magnus stared, said nothing for a few seconds. “You want me out of the way?”
“That’s not it,” Danté said, but they both knew that was it. “The project is our only hope. If this round of fetuses doesn’t turn out, we don’t have the money to fund another. I told Colding not to kill any additional fetuses, for any reason—you make sure he obeys that order. You also have to make sure that island is locked down tight. If someone gets off and Fischer finds them, he’ll find Black Manitou, and then it’s all over. Can you do that, Magnus? Can you do that for me?”
Magnus blinked, and his eyes softened a little. “Damn, you’re good at this stuff, brother. My brain knows exactly what you’re doing, but the way you sling words, it makes my heart want to obey.”
“Will you go?”
He nodded. “Yes. I’ll call Bobby and leave right now. I’ll be on Black Manitou by tomorrow morning. Do me a favor, call Colding and let him know he’s taking over Andy’s security shifts for a few days.”
Magnus turned and walked out.
Danté breathed in and out, long and slow, until the pain in his chest started to fade. Colding wouldn’t be happy about Mag
nus coming to Black Manitou, but that was just too bad.
NOVEMBER 22: HOT EVENING
Implantation +13 Days
SARA LOOKED BEHIND her as she quietly walked down the basement stairs. No one there. She walked to the security room door, punched in the supersecret code and slipped inside. Colding sat behind the monitors, feet up on the desk, a thick sheaf of papers in his hand. His eyes lit up when he saw her. Such a smile. That boy was nothing but trouble.
“Hey,” he said. “Anyone see you come in?”
She shook her head. “I think I lost the tail, Mister Bond.”
“Oh, knock it off. I just don’t want Magnus finding out about us. Technically, I am your boss, you know.”
“You can boss me around anytime.” She walked to the desk, pressed against him and stroked his hair. “I’m down for some covert lovin’, but what are you doing here? Isn’t this Andy and Gunther’s gig?”
Colding shook his head. “Not since Bobby dropped off Magnus yesterday. Seems Mags prefers the company of Andy, so the two of them are either snowmobiling or in the lounge getting ripped.”
“Bit of a sudden shift in the totem pole order? Andy must love that.”
“Yeah. He’s walking around like the cat that tortured and killed the canary. But it’s not so bad. I can’t keep as close an eye on Jian as I’d like to, but I’m watching her on the lab cameras. Other than that, just catching up on my reading.”
His pile of papers looked like a manuscript. The header at the top read HOT EVENING—BY GUNTHER JONES.
“Oh, snap! Is that Gunther’s trashy vampire romance novel?”
He nodded. “Yeah, only it’s not all that trashy. The writing isn’t that great, but I have to admit I can’t put it down. I already read the first one, Hot Dusk.”
He set his stack of pages down carefully, then reached back on the counter and found another thick sheaf. “Here,” he said, handing it to her. “Hot Dusk, the first in the series.”