by E L Russell
After the day's drama, she decided to hunker down at her old digs at the Zalea and to work from home for a few days. Once the decision was made, she felt better. She took her shower and then went to pick up the water bottle Clark had retrieved. She took it to her former research lab at Hermann Memorial and, with the assistance of friends there, entered the asshole's DNA into the database.
Back at the Zalea, she told Clark what she'd done with the DNA sample and told him she planned to stay at the hotel and work from her penthouse apartment on the QT.
Meret smiled, remembering Clark's conspirator tone as he assured her he was good for the clandestine operation and she could count on him. As she set up her laptop on her spacious balcony that faced mostly southeast, away from the line of sight from Main Street, she nevertheless admitted to some paranoia. Even though Clark had said the asshole had made arrangements to get to the airport, she pulled the table back against the building.
She snorted in disgust at herself and was glad when a text diverted her. Ms. Smith-Essam. Her arrival remained unchanged with no delays in sight, and she was boarding the final leg. She was en route from Tasmania to enter Rice's graduate school of Microbiology, and her resume had immediately put her at the top of Meret's list for a personal assistant.
At lest some things were moving along. Meret smiled with satisfaction. Dr. Zhen Jianjun, a long time friend, and research associate was also aboard as her soon-to-be consulting business partner, and he wanted to meet with her about a drone project he thought would bring in some revenue while they built up a client list. He also had a prototype of a pen, one that recorded audio and video of conversations. It might also be useful in drumming up clients. Once activated, each pen can stream almost a half of a terabyte of data whenever it had web access to one of their secure servers. It made great sense to her and asked him to have his contractor make a gross.
Just as she emptied her emails, her doorbell rang. The monitor showed a member of the hotel's housekeeping staff standing there holding one of the hotel's VIP guest welcome baskets. She recognized him. She opened the door.
"Tony, what's all this?"
"The staff wants you to know we appreciate your presence here at the hotel." He handed her a small envelope. "We customized some of the usual content."
After thanking him, she took the basket and opened the note that said Welcome and was signed by many.
"Thank you. Tony, you warm my heart. Will you tell the others? I am very touched? Really. Thank you." Tony had been on the staff for a long time, and she knew him fairly well. She knew he would share her appreciation.
"Sure thing, Miss Mathers. On a personal note, it's good to have you with us again."
"Thanks, Tony."
With a huge smile on his face, he turned toward the elevator, and she closed her door, hugging the basket of chocolates and assorted small bottles of liqueur. What a nice gesture. She wiped a tear from her cheek. It was good to be home again.
10
Wakeup Run
April, Houston - A break through
Meret’s compulsion to anticipate her grandfather’s decision to limit her access to her family trust seldom allowed her to enjoy a good night’s sleep. Tonight was no exception. The flashing red digits of her alarm clock animated her frustration. “First at 1:23,” then “2:34,” and then “3:45,” and finally, “4:56” Oh, shit, fuck it. I’m up. It’s only the end of a freaking career. Exhausted and eager to end her days as an unemployed microbiologist, she slid out bed and within three steps wore fresh running gear that included what might be the last pair of shoe-glued sneaks in Texas.
She bent her 5-foot 12-inch frame and quickly blow-dried and finger combed her long black hair. After efficiently pulling it into a tight ponytail, she brushed her teeth and minimally relined her eyebrows to complete her daily routine. Well, we did it. Now we only have to make the freaking consulting business work after I hire an assistant, build a lab, gather a team, and secure some contracts. How difficult could that be?
After yogurt and tea, pulsing red digits of 5:02 pushed her out of her penthouse apartment and into an elevator. She left the building by a side door opening onto a public parking area and into the bright sunlight of a cool spring morning. Sunlight? Shit, what time is it? Her cell claimed “8:35.” I freaking overslept. She shaded her eyes and looked at the crowded street. Rush hour. The run around Rice will be packed with moms and strollers and only get worse the longer she delayed. Charging down a side street, she headed for the Centennial Gardens and the Outdoor Theatre on the other side of the only grassy hill in Houston worth a sprint. Crossing the wide communal park and past the zoo, she headed for Rice.
For the past three years, with little exception, she wore only scrubs or training gear. One or the other was appropriate for most all occasions in her role as researcher, instructor, mentor, and even as partner when, in fact, she generally wore nothing. On those few, very special occasions when she needed to dress up, her plain, black pantsuit or red sheath would be available hanging in the back of her closet from last year’s weddings of two cousins.
Leaving the zoo area, Meret set off running through the maze of tall buildings known as the Medical Center for today’s first part of her 3K. Crossing Main Street at University, she leaned into a quick clockwise run around Rice campus on its wide crushed granite path. She usually did her best thinking running under the cozy shaded canopy of huge oak trees, but today images of several recent farewell cakes, cocktails, balloons, and well wishers filled her mind astray recently filled her stomach. Stumbling over an unexpected depression, she felt the heat rise up her neck and embarrassed, looked around to see if anyone noticed.
She ran past a jogging young woman pushing a double-wide three-wheeled toddler stroller headed for the same depression. She looked over her shoulder so she could warn her, but a wheel slammed into the hole with a wincing snap and slid off its axis to wobble into the street. The woman struggled against the torque of the stroller’s handle and the shifting pair of toddlers keep it upright.
Meret turned and ran toward the disabled stroller. Their combined strength righted the nest of blankets and brought the bundle to a balanced stop. Seeing the mother and both babies laughing, she turned toward the street for the escaping wheel. Seeing it still rolling down the slight incline, after a quick check of early morning rush hour traffic, she dashed toward the escaping tire. A black SUV with dark windows sped from behind, inches away from hitting her with its mirror. It continued almost clipping he baby carriage without stopping. Scooping the mangled wheel on the run, she heard the screech of tires as the black van slid to a stop. Standing in the middle of the two lanes of traffic, she held the wheel in both hands, hesitating to return to safety like a jumper in a double-dutch competition.
The driver of the van, now parked illegally near one of the small side entrances to the campus, jumped from the van and waved toward her.
Ignoring the driver, she navigated a safe path and returned to the mother and her children. “You guys okay?” Meret offered the woman the remains of the wheel. “I think this might still work after it’s strengthened out a bit.”
The woman took it and laughed. “Thanks, I think you’re right, but its too bent to slide back on.” She lifted her chin back down the path. “Thanks, we just started the run, my car’s not parked far away.”
“Let me help you.” Meret placed one of the toddlers in the buggy and help the mother retrieve some objects that spilled from the buggy when it flipped.
When the mother’s arm strength failed to provide enough torque to balance the stroller on the two remain wheels, Meret reached for a small blanket in one of the stroller’s back pouches. “May I?”
“Oh, you don’t need to—”
“No problem.” She rolled the blanket into a butt slapping shower tool and threaded it through the foot brace on the left side of the front seat. Holding the loose ends in one hand she wrapped the extra length around her wrist and gently lifted the leaning stroller u
ntil it was level. “See, no problem. If you steer slowly, I think you could make it to your car with no problem.”
After a few steps the woman said, “Weren’t we in the same class at Rice?”
Meret laughed, “It’s been a few years since my undergraduate days.”
“I’ll say, a boy in elementary, a girl in pre-school, and two boys in my exercise class. How about you?”
“Oh, I was taken by science.”
After a less than pregnant pause, the woman said, “Oh, I see.”
They made good time getting to her car. After helping her strap in the toddlers and stow the stroller in the Escalade, Meret restarted her fitness monitor and turned to resume her run.
Within minutes she crossed a small side entrance to the Rice campus, a man’s voice behind her said, “Dr. Mather?” Almost out of sight until her run brought took her past him, the driver of the offending black van, wearing a black suit and RayBans approached her.
This guy’s all wrong. She stopped and stepped back. “You’re the jerk that almost hit me. What he hell were you thinking, driving like that?”
He pushed his blond hair away from his forehead and straightened his blue tie. “Sorry, I was distracted by the loose wheel on the road.”
“I didn’t notice you slow down even after you ran over it.” Why does this guy freak me out. Get a grip, girl. She took another step backward.
He shrugged, “Well, I’m glad you weren’t hurt.” He looked around once and then took off his glasses. “Actually, I was looking for you, doctor.”
She touched the small pepper spray tube in her thigh pouch. “You’re looking for me.” It was not a question.
He took a step toward her and held his hands open. “I called the Zalea hotel in hopes of catching you there, but they told me you were out.”
He smiled and she felt the hair on her neck bristle. How the hell did he know? She flashed an open hand for him to stop and grabbed her pepper spray with a thumb and forefinger without removing it from its holster. “Hold it right there. Who the hell are you?”
He pulled a wallet from his coat and held half of it in his fist so she could read it. “I’m CIA Special Agent Granger Hawking and I apologize for the poor introduction.”
She wanted no part of nice chitchat and less of his presence. “I don’t know who you are, cowboy, but I know this isn’t the way the CIA does business. You need to leave, now.”
He waved her off with open palms and took a step backwards towards his van. “I apologize for interrupting your run. You are correct, this is not how the company does business, but we are under a great deal of pressure right now and running extremely shorthanded.”
“What business do you have with me?”
“My director sent me to contact you about working with us on a problem that is in the national interest.”
“Such as?”
“All I can tell you is that we have creditable INTEL that says a huge terrorist attack involving biological weapons is about to occur somewhere soon.”
“What kind of attack and why are you telling me about it?” And why am I still talking to you?
He shook his head. “I don’t know. Look, I don’t work in the field. I work in something like an HR department.”
“You want me to be an asset?”
He seemed to miss her Her sarcasm. “No, more like a consultant.”
“Who’s your director?”
“Director Davies.”
She started to jog backwards. “Have him call me. I’m done talking, Mr. Hawking.”
He waved a hand. “National security, doctor.”
Keeping one hand over her pepper spray stash, she stopped and removed her phone. Holding it toward him, she said. “Leave or one click puts your mug on the web.”
He continued backing away patting the air in front of him for her to stop. “I’m sorry.”
She held her ground and waited for the large black SUV with its dark windows intrude into the morning rush hour. Then she looked at her cell. Shit, hit the wrong button. She smiled. Fourty-three seconds of HD video and audio.
11
Poppy
April, Houston -A new special friend
Still unsettled by her encounter during her early morning run, Meret stayed in her apartment and worked on her consulting business. There was no question in her mind that the business was going forward. That afternoon, she would finally meet her new personal assistant who had come with such auspicious recommendations and academic records that she went straight to Meret’s fist choice. When she learned that Rice University had accepted the woman for a grad school program, the connection seemed ordained. The woman would be too busy to take anything but a part time job, which suited Meret's current needs perfectly. To date, they had exchanged only emails, and she looked forward to the face-to-face meeting.
Her cell phone rang and her screen said caller unknown.
“Hello?”
“G’day. Doctor Mather? Smith-Essam here. Highway 69 is backed up from Bush International, and I'm afraid I'm going to be late for our first meeting."
"Ms. Smith-Essam.” The voice was as upbeat as she imagined it would be. “Welcome to Houston. Thanks for calling. You must be exhausted. There are always slowdowns. Hopefully, it’s not as bad as it seems. Make sure your driver takes you to the Zalea in Houston near the zoo and not the other one. Have the front desk buzz me when you arrived, and I'll meet you downstairs by the concierge desk. Remember, I'm expecting you'll live here at the hotel at least until you check out the graduate apartments. We'll take it from there. I'm so glad you're here. How did you survive the long flight?"
“Once I got to Auckland, it was only a bit of a stop at Los Angeles before getting on to Houston.”
“Twenty-two or more hours in coach. Ugh. You are a champion traveler. How about your gear?”
"I've got everything I'll need for a few days. I plan to shop for whatever else comes up. Grad school orientation isn't until mid-August."
"Good. I may have a shot at our first contract, and we'll need the time to prepare a few things. Let's just touch base tonight and then I'll turn you loose." She knew the woman would be running on empty and she had plans for the evening. "Look for me in a corner just inside the valet parking entrance near the concierge booth. I'll be in a black Jacket. And you?"
“I’m in a long sleeved red denim shirt carrying a white shoulder kit with a red lion and black UTAS letters on it. I dare say you’ll see me before I’ll see you.”
Meret chuckled. She liked the sound of her already. “Sounds like it.”
When the young woman wearing a floppy tarp hat arrived at the hotel in a three-button red denim shirt, Meret put away her tab, waved, and stood to greet her. Energy flowed around her new assistant in a palpable way and her flashing blue eyes scanned the room.
“Ms. Smith-Essam?”
"Please, call me Poppy, or I won't know who you're talking to." She removed her hat, and a mop of sun-kissed brown curly hair sprang loose around her dark caramel face and an irresistible smile. "You were right about getting from Taz to Houston. It wads a marathon, but I made it."
“Your application said—”
She barked a good-natured laugh "Right, you were expecting someone named Doretha? Nah, I've been called Poppy since I first learned to walk. My mum said I called every adult male Poppy, but my grandda told me his name was Frank and that I was the only person in the family who should be called Poppy. He said I reminded him of a small flower.”
Meret returned the grin. "Poppy it is then, and please, call me Meret. Can you cope with a drink before I show you your room ?”
Poppy flashed an infectious grin. "I believe I could handle a longneck."
"What brought you to Houston study when the University of Tasmania has one of the top-ranked microbiology departments in the world?"
"A professor at TAS did his graduate work at Rice and suggested I look into their degree program." Their bottled beer arrived with glasses. "Ta," she s
aid with a smile for the waiter. "And I'm sure as heck not getting back on an airplane anytime soon."
“Why microbiology?”
“Fanny Smith, of course.”
“Someone at school or in your family influenced you?”
"Family." Her voice softened, and her eyes took on a faraway glaze. "Fanny Smith was the last fluent speaker of our Tasmanian aboriginal language, and her wax cylinder recordings of songs are the only recordings of any of our indigenous languages. She died in 1905 and my mum claims her as her great grand mum. That got me started in genealogy during grade school and that, in turn, got me interested in microbiology. I'm really fascinated by the engineering and programming side of working with our genome, especially with the promise of new tools like CRISPR-cas9.”
“I read your Master’s paper on Epigenetics. It’s extremely well researched. I think you’ll find the program at Rice exciting and challenging. Do you think you can handle the additional hours per week your grant requires?” With a depreciating wave of her hand, she said, “I’m kind of an obsessive workaholic. I’ll be just fine.”
Meret believed it. The young woman positively oozed energy, and that after a twenty-two-hour flight.
"Excellent. As my assistant you'll work from my office here at the Zalea hotel, which is next to my apartment” She laughed at her string of words. “Which is next to your suite."
“You actually live here?”
It was her turn to wave a dismissive hand. “It’s a family business.”
"Ta, that'll be convenient.”
“I'm in transition from work at the hospital and classes at Rice until we get our consulting firm up and going. That's what you’ll help me with, setting everything up. We'll need a location, a well-furnished facility, and two or three professional lab researchers with assistants. I've already hired a long time friend, who is a microbiologist with a genius for emerging technologies. His name is Dr. Zhen Jianjun. I've also been asked to do a series of non-graded lectures for Rice starting in September. As you might imagine, your position as my personal assistant will give you an opportunity to see both academic and commercial sides of an emerging technology. Things will quickly get busy, and when they do, we'll get you some help as well."