Amazon Roulette

by C. M. Gleason

  He turned back to face her. “I’ve never killed anyone.”

  “Maybe not by your own hands—though I find that impossible to believe—but association is everything. The Skalas are going about their mission the wrong way. How many more innocent people will die while they try to…do whatever they’re trying to do?”

  “No one is listening, Marina. The governments give lip service, the corporations don’t bloody care, and the earth is raped and ravaged without boundary. If something doesn’t change, there will be countless more innocent people killed—or worse, they’ll live on a planet that cannot support them, and they’ll have a tortuous, painful existence. They’ll die anyway—in droves, and much more unpleasantly.”

  “People are listening. Change is happening. But it takes time.” Even as she spoke the words, Marina was aware of a sense of dread settling over her. She might not like him, she might not agree with his position and the violence his tribe propagated, but he was right.

  Varden’s expression turned bleak as he moved toward the door. “We have less than a decade to turn things around if we don’t want the earth to be irreparably damaged and the downward slide to begin. The honeybees—surely you know of annihilation of their colonies?—and some of the most basic building blocks of our earth are being steadily destroyed. The rain forests, the Arctic Circle, the bees…all of these things are instrumental to the give and take of the earth, to her very being. They seem like small matters—a decrease in honeybees is no problem; the keepers just ship them from place to place to do their work, then move on to the next crop. California, Mississippi, Texas, wherever. Package them up in crates and truck them out. But once they’re gone—or nearly gone—then begins the point of no return. You might deny the impact, but I know you are enough Skaladeska to recognize the change, to feel it. We are inextricably tied to the earth. And we’ll do whatever it takes to save it.”

  Marina realized her heart was thudding, hard and deep, as the sincerity of his words sank in. She could feel it. He was right.

  “There has to be another way.” She sounded desperate even to her own ears.

  He shook his head, his hand on the doorknob. “There isn’t. Not with the time we have left. No one is listening. And so, we—at least those of us brave enough to do so—must take extreme measures. Make sacrifices and difficult decisions. For the ultimate good.”

  The heavy door clicked behind him with finality.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Gabe was on his cell phone when Marina answered the door to his knock.

  He came in and strode across the room, giving her hardly more than a glance as he nodded in greeting while mmhmming into the phone.

  “Right,” he murmured, scrabbling around the desk for the requisite pad of paper and pen hotels always provided. Then, the tiny mobile phone tucked between his ear and shoulder, he bent to scrawl some notes. “And that’s the entire list? All right. Let me know what else you find. Great work, Inez. Thanks.”

  He disconnected the call, then jotted a few more words on the paper. As he straightened, his attention skimmed over the coffee to-go cup on her desk…the one Varden had brought. And—oh boy—left behind.

  “What’s the news?” Marina asked.

  “A few things. What have you been up to all day?” His eyes were rimmed with exhaustion, but his gaze fixed sharply on her.

  “Working. I ordered room service and had that steak, though.” She’d already decided not to mention Varden’s visit. Not just yet, anyway. “You look beat, Gabe. Should I order something for you? Or would you rather just rest?”

  “I ate something at the office.” He sank into an armchair in the corner, tipping his head back. “I’d like nothing more than a hot shower and a few hours of sleep, but I’m expecting to hear from Sanchez before the night’s over.”

  Marina eased behind the chair to rub his strong—and tense—shoulders. “I hate to tell you, but the night is over. It’s nearly one in the morning.”

  “No wonder I feel like the walking dead.” He managed a short laugh. Then, “Damn. I can’t believe he didn’t get back to me.”

  “He did say he needed a day,” Marina reminded him.

  “We don’t have a day.” He sounded irritated, and the muscles beneath her hands grew more taut. “Now that the beetle is connected to the Skalas, and the same beetle caused the St. Louis blackout, we know something is in the works. Plus Cora Allegan’s abduction somehow has to be wrapped up in this too. She’s on that list—I told you about it—the one on the flash drive we found in Siberia?”

  “Right. Any more news on that?”

  “Right away, we thought it seemed like a list of targets or potential targets, but who knows how long it’s been there in the caves of Siberia.”

  “Conveniently wrapped in a plastic baggie,” Marina added.

  “Right. So the question is whether it was meant to be found and be a red herring, or whether it was valuable enough to be protected—but nevertheless, somehow left behind.”

  “Well, if Cora Allegan is on the list and she has now been abducted by the Skalas, it would seem legit.”

  “Exactly my thoughts—and that call I was on was Inez, back in VA. There are two other people on the list who have disappeared recently—Mr. Lo Ing-wen, president of Oh Yeh Industries in China, and Mr. Eustace Pernweiler, CEO of some leather manufacturing company in the UK. In the case of Pernweiler, there was a calling card—so to speak—left by the Skalas. No one realized it was important until our people got in touch with Scotland Yard and they, in turn, spoke to Pernweiler’s admin, who’d tossed it in the trash.”

  “Same as before? Just a piece of paper with the Skala symbol on it?”

  “Right. So far, nothing’s been found at Oh Yeh, but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t one. As for the others on the list…well, three of them are dead—we’re looking into those deaths, but one was definitely after a long bout of cancer—and three others are no longer employed by the companies they’re listed with. They’ve moved on to bigger and better positions. And one has retired and spends his time on his yacht, sailing from New York to the Caribbean and south.”

  “What a life.”

  “You’re telling me. Obviously the list is a little outdated, or was a preliminary group that has since changed. Allegan, Pernweiler, and Ing-wen have all been with their corporations for more than five years. The question is whether the targets are the actual people or the corporations, regardless of who is in charge.” Gabe’s attention strayed to Varden’s to-go cup again, and Marina couldn’t quell a nudge of guilt. “Regardless, the others on the list are being notified as we speak, and protection has been arranged.”

  “Of course.”

  “We keep coming back to what the blackout has to do with any of this.”

  Marina perched on the edge of her bed. “You must have a theory.”

  He scrubbed his forehead and brows with long, tense fingers that left red marks on his tanned skin. “Several. None of them quite click. The blackout might have been a test to see if the bugs—beetles—could cause a power outage, and that knowledge would be utilized for a future attack. How bugs could cause an outage, I don’t know—but if a damned goose can fly into a plane engine and cause it to go haywire, I suppose it’s possible beetles could. Hell, I don’t know. Either way, the power disruption didn’t cause enough upset or—thank God—any deaths that would make the event relevant, or at least relevant enough to the Skalas. It might not have been an attack after all.”

  “What about financial or economic disruption? There was some due to the blackout, but doesn’t seem like there was enough to matter.”

  “Exactly. Yes, there certainly was significant inconvenience and some lost revenue, and there was a group that was coming in to St. Louis for a convention—some agricultural association—and the meeting had to be cancelled…hm.”

  Their eyes met and Marina said, “Modern agricultural practices aren’t very earth-friendly, at least on the enterprise side. Maybe St. Louis was
some sort of test, but I’ll bet the location wasn’t selected by chance.”

  Gabe perked up a little. “I wonder if there was any particular speaker or big revelation that was to be announced at the convention. It’s worth looking into.”

  “None of the people on the list were there? Or related to any organization attending the conference?”

  “Nothing jumped out at me on first pass, but I’ll have Inez dig deeper…especially since the list is obviously outdated.” His demeanor changed and he focused on her. “So…you must have had a visitor today—unless you suddenly started drinking coffee.”

  “Right. I did. A colleague came by earlier.” Her expression must have warned him not to probe further.

  He rose, weariness in every movement, his eyes wary. “All right, then. Good night, Marina. I expect to get an early start tomorrow. Do you want to stay here or go in to the office with me?”

  “I have a choice? Well then, I’d rather stay here…unless you’re going to visit Dr. Sanchez and try to shake some more info about the beetle out of him. Then I’d go with you.”

  “Be ready by seven, then. We’ll pay a visit to Sanchez, whether he’s ready for us or not. I don’t have any damned time to waste. If it weren’t so late, I’d storm his lab now.”

  Marina walked him to the door of her room. To her surprise, he paused with his hand on the knob and turned to look down at her. “I don’t know what you’re hiding from me, or what’s going on…I don’t know if it has to do with us or with the Skalas, or neither.”

  Her heart skipped a little beat. “Us?”

  “Hell, is there an ‘us’?” He leaned against the doorjamb, propped by a muscular arm.

  “It depends what you mean.” Marina put her hand on his chest. This was probably not the best time or place to talk about their relationship—whatever it was. Gabe was exhausted, stressed, and suspicious, and she was…distracted. To say the least.

  “I just want to know where we stand. Are we together, or are we just friends—colleagues—who enjoy each other’s company—on every level?”

  “Friends with bene—”

  He put a hand over her mouth. His eyes were dark. “I hate that phrase.” Then his lips shifted into a halfhearted smile. “This isn’t the right time to have this conversation, I know, but…”

  “You can stay, Gabe,” she said softly.

  His gaze settled on her long enough that her temperature actually began to rise, along with her heart rate. “Regretfully, I need a solid night’s sleep,” he said at last. “And I doubt I’ll get that here. Good night.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  September 28

  “If you had told me you were coming to the lab, I’d have waited there for you.” Eli Sanchez didn’t sound the least bit irritated or inconvenienced.

  Marina couldn’t say the same for Gabe, who didn’t appear to have gotten his good night’s sleep after all.

  They were sitting in Helen Darrow’s office and it was pushing nine o’clock—much later than the seven-thirty time at which they’d arrived at Sanchez’s lab…and missed him, because he’d already been on his way to the FBI field office.

  “I expected a call from you yesterday,” Gabe reminded him. He sat in one of the corner chairs, but tension had him bolt upright with his phone in his hands and his shoes planted flat on the floor. He appeared ready to lunge to his feet at any moment, and the fact that his tie was slightly off center and he was on his third cup of coffee didn’t help.

  “You demanded a call from me, but I didn’t promise one.” Eli shrugged, easy and relaxed in demeanor as well as in attire. He didn’t look like he belonged in a lab, with his switchback cargo pants and low hiking boots. The t-shirt (which announced “CARPE INSECTVM”—seize the insects?) beneath an open plaid shirt hinted at muscular pectorals and a flat belly. His short dreads were unconfined today and just brushed his shoulders. Marina had the sudden urge to touch them, curious about their texture.

  “The specimens are delicate,” Eli continued. “I could’ve rushed the project and taken the chance of ruining the data, or I could’ve taken my time and been able to give you something I know is accurate. I chose the latter, and I’m guessing you would too.”

  Before Gabe could respond, Helen took over. “So tell us what you’ve found, Dr. Sanchez.”

  “I’m fairly certain the beetle’s habitat is the Ecuadorean jungle, likely near the Inchiyacu region or perhaps somewhat south of there. It’s a primitive specimen, as I mentioned yesterday, from a rare suborder. But these particular samples are both from the same unique species—one never before identified. Until yesterday.” Sanchez was in lecture mode, but even so, some boyish excitement leaked into his tones.

  “So how does that help us? What makes this bu—insect so dangerous?” Gabe’s voice was only slightly less taut than his expression. “We need answers, Sanchez. We need reasons and causes and—”

  “I can only give you my observations. You’ll have to come up with the reasons and causes. What I’ve found is, the beetle has an inordinate amount of copper in it. And that’s—ah, hold on.” Sanchez pulled out his buzzing phone and, ignoring the black expression growing on Gabe’s face, answered it. “Yes. I’m already here. Helen Darrow.” He cupped his hand over the phone and spoke to the special agent: “Can you tell security to let Paul Labine in? You’re going to want to hear what he says.”

  Helen set down her coffee and picked up the office phone, scooping a thick lock of hair behind an ear. She was dressed in a tailored pantsuit of powder blue with a silvery-blue shell and a chunky silver necklace that settled just below the hollow of her throat. Her slender three-inch heels were impractical from Marina’s perspective, but she couldn’t deny they suited both the ensemble and its wearer.

  Marina, on the other hand, was dressed like someone who not only rarely entered an office, but who’d had little time to pack before being whisked off to Chicago: low-slung cargo pants, a scoop-necked black tee with cap sleeves, and sturdy sandals. She didn’t feel the least bit underdressed in the company of so many suits, but the blasting air conditioning threatened to make her teeth chatter. She already had goosebumps on her bare arms. Probably why Helen wore slacks and long sleeves even in the summer.

  Eli rose, waited at the office door, and finally came back in. The gentleman with him was short and stout, with wispy white hair and a set of sharp hazel eyes. He wore a suit and tie. Marina put him at around sixty, and shook his hand when Sanchez introduced them.

  “Paul is a geo-metallurgist,” he said, then perched on the edge of Helen’s desk. “He can fill you in on his credentials later. I was just beginning to tell everyone what I told you last night, Paul—that I believe there is an unnatural amount of elemental copper in the genetic makeup of this particular beetle, which is why I called you over.”

  “Right.” Paul Labine’s voice was gritty but strong. “I took the specimens and tested them as you asked—and you’re correct. There is a significant amount of elemental copper in the beetle’s physicality. By that I mean in its actual cells.”

  Marina’s attention sharpened. “How is that possible?”

  “And that,” said Eli with a smile, “is why Paul’s here.”

  “Copper is a funny metal,” said the older man. “Not only does it have antimicrobial properties—in fact, they’re beginning to use copper in places like hospitals for that reason. They’re putting a veneer of copper on door handles, for example, to help decrease the spread of germs. Let me clarify further, too, that in order to be antimicrobial, the copper has to be dry. And dry copper is almost miraculous in its ability to kill bacteria and germs on contact. But wet copper has no antimicrobial properties.

  “Also, and more relevant to your situation, copper doesn’t break down in the environment. This means we often find traces of it—and sometimes more than a trace—in the flora and fauna in an area with lots of copper in the soil. We hear of copper poisoning in sheep, for example, for many plants and animals can’t survi
ve when there’s too high a level of it in the ground. But there are some animals that use the copper in their bodies to transport oxygen in their systems—similar to the way the human body uses iron to do so. That’s why it’s not at all surprising to me to find living beetles with massive amounts of copper in their bodies.”

  “So…these insects must have evolved, and be living and breeding, somewhere where there’s a lot of copper in the ground. Somewhere in the Amazon jungle, in Ecuador…that has copper? Is there copper in Ecuador?”

  Marina heard Gabe’s question, but her mind was already spiking like a seismograph. It was all about copper. Everything happening was somehow all about copper. But how could that be anything more than a coincidence? Copper beetles connected to the Skaladeskas, being used to cause the blackout. And some deaths. Were they purposeful deaths, or were they accidental?

  And then there was the whole question regarding the massive amount of the copper that was supposedly—possibly—mined from the Upper Peninsula five millennia ago, and was no longer accounted for.

  And the Phoenician-style writings she’d found in the same area of the copper mines.

  Plus a copper-infused beetle—an unknown species—existing in the Amazon jungle.

  How could they be connected? How could it be more than coincidence?

  And…Marina closed her eyes to collect her stream of thoughts. Roman had sent her a copy of the Phoenician writing…that was similar to—well, heck, fairly identical to—writing found in the cave Matt Granger had discovered.

  That had to be coincidental.

  Didn’t it?

  She opened her eyes to find Sanchez looking around: at Gabe, then Helen, then finally at Marina. His dark eyes were filled with enthusiasm and intelligence. “You asked for causes and reasons. I can give you some facts, and a few theories to go with them. These coleops have heavy amounts of elemental copper in them, which means they not only conduct electricity extremely well…but they also have an antimicrobial element. They can’t bite or sting, but as I mentioned yesterday, some species of beetle spread germs and bacteria because it clings to their tarsi—their legs.”