One small research laboratory belonging to the Merrill’s was engulfed in flames. Hardly a decisive victory. But a very clear message.
“I’d rather torch their homes,” Lester grumbled.
“Patience,” Paul replied.
“With them inside.”
“Hey, there’s always tomorrow night.”
They moved casually now toward the rental car, soon encountering one of the escaped beagles. It looked at them with apparent recognition. Lester spoke to it in passing.
“Don’t give us that look. You can’t come with us.”
“Head over to Cambridge and find yourself a young professor with little kids,” Paul advised. “Enjoy your retirement.”
They moved on past, the dog watching them go, and by the time they reached the car they could hear sirens in the distance.
Paul looked back up the street. He saw the little beagle just standing there, looking back at him.
“Let’s go,” Lester said. He dropped the tire iron down a drain grate and climbed into the car.
“Look, it’s too timid,” Paul said. “No clue how to fend for itself.”
“Do what you’re gonna do. Fast.”
Paul took a deep breath. He clapped his hands and the beagle came bounding to him. He scooped it up, held it to his chest with one arm, removed its collar with the other, and then got in the cramped rental.
As Lester drove, Paul said to the dog, “Don’t lick me. Stop it, you little runt. Okay, that’s better. Yeah, your troubles are over now, aren’t they? I got a plan for you. I’ll bring you to live with Edmund and Lucile. They’ll treat you a lot better than these pricks did. You’ll eat like a king, I’m telling you. You’ll romp with other dogs and smell all sorts of smells you never dreamed existed. How’s that sound?”
The dog leaned contentedly against Paul’s chest, oblivious to the joys ahead, as well as to the city around it and Paul’s words. All it knew was dependency.
Within thirty minutes they were back at Logan. The jet required no fuel for the short trip back to the North Country.
7
In the upscale neighborhood of Arlington, Massachusetts, Raymond Merrill, nearing fifty years of age and hoping to soon retire from the stress of professional life, lay awake beside his sleeping wife.
Throughout the night he had dozed and woke again several times, tossing and turning as his mind went round and round his problems. His older sister had gone against his advice—yet again. Too many hours had passed. She hadn’t checked in. He wondered if she was even alive to check in.
For decades she’d followed her strange obsession, unwilling to compromise, making the business and the research her life. Against all reason and sound economic principals, in more recent years she’d followed her obsession right to the brink of financial disaster. The post 2008 economy was shaky enough as it was, with defense and black budget dollars becoming more elusive by the day. Gambling with millions and disappointing backers was no longer merely risky business, it was completely unsustainable.
Then, like a fool, with the collective worth of all the family businesses teetering on collapse, within the last year she’d dipped into her personal funds to keep the ball rolling. And now, finally, with her personal funds dwindling, she’d taken the most extreme measures yet. Ignoring all warnings, she hired an executive chopper and a few extra security men and had gone off on a wild goose chase.
Merrill heard the house phone ring in another room, as the ringer on his bedside phone was always kept off. It was answered within two rings. Hearing the murmur of a voice, he waited for the sound of footsteps in the hall.
When the footsteps came, he slid out of bed carefully and went to the door. Opening it, he saw Jason’s familiar profile in the low light—his most trusted guard and exceedingly loyal assistant.
“No word on Rowan,” he said quietly.
Raymond felt himself sinking internally as he said, “Then, who called?”
“Police. They’re still on the line. Won’t tell me anything.”
Merrill stepped into the hall and closed the door gently behind him. He took the phone and politely identified himself. In turn, an investigator identified himself. Then Merrill listened with his mouth slack as he was informed about the fire.
“Destroyed?” he repeated in disbelief.
“I’m afraid so.”
Without questioning or waiting for further explanations, Merrill lowered the phone and shut it off. Buildings could be replaced, but certain accomplishments could not be easily duplicated.
“Sir,” Jason said, his demeanor calm, though he too had heard the news. “Just to be safe, we should consider moving the family.”
“She’s going to be the ruin of us all,” Merrill lamented, his glossy eyes staring beyond his guard to the unknown future.
“Not if we act now,” Jason assured him.
8
With the family jet towed into the hanger, Paul Snow scooped up the beagle that had been shadowing him as he worked. He pushed the button which closed the big hanger door, then exited the hanger through the small side door.
Opening his truck door, he leaned across the seat and placed the dog on the passenger seat. He barely got in behind the wheel before the dog was climbing onto his lap.
“You ought to be called Velcro,” he said, giving its head a few soft strokes. “Must feel nice, touching someone, after living in that cage.”
The beagle closed its eyes, relaxed.
Paul drove out to the center of Ludlow and turned left. The town was dark, spacious, starlit, and pleasantly silent after the short excursion to Boston. Within a few minutes he was turning right into Edmond’s driveway.
“Can’t leave you outside,” he said to the dog, who still paid his words no particular mind. “Can’t have you wandering around out here. We’ll have to rouse the crazy old guy to let you in.”
With the dog in one arm, he stepped up onto Ed’s porch and rapped on the door. The two beagles already residing within the household began barking. The strange dog seemed oblivious to the sound of other dogs.
The old man in his jammies soon appeared in the doorway, rifle in hand, of course. He stepped onto the porch, appearing ready to face whatever trouble might be waiting in the dark.
“Cool it,” Paul said.
“Eh? What’s the trouble?” Ed said, his eyes jumping around. “Need my help?”
“No trouble,” Paul assured him.
“Ya sure?”
“Unless you count beagles as trouble.”
Now Ed noticed the dog in Paul’s grip. Paul held it out as if it were a box of doughnuts to be passed between friends. It looked at Ed with its big brown eyes and sad beagle face.
“Ah, look at you,” the old man said, his voice softening. He leaned his rifle against the house and took the dog in his arms. “Don’t get much cuter than you, do they?”
“He’s yours,” Paul said. “Just don’t ask where he came from.”
“Why’s that? Come from some place he shouldn’t?”
“I said don’t ask. You want him, don’t you?”
“Hell yeah, I’ll take him. He and She will love this guy. Lucy might complain a little, but she’ll be okay in the end. Boy, look at him. Still a pup. Nice and calm for a young one.”
“He’s nervous now. But he’ll forget all about his problems in a few days.”
“That’s if Lucy don’t scare him with her scolding me about another dog.”
Paul laughed. He said, “Take it easy, partner” to the beagle.
Once more the dog ignored him. Now he was content to cuddle with Ed.
“You don’t want nothin’ for him?” Ed asked.
“Nah. I just couldn’t leave him where I found him. Figured you’d take good care of ‘em.”
“Cripes sakes,” Ed said to the beagle. “What kind of trouble were you into, eh?”
“Just don’t worry about it.”
“Do I look worried?”
“If anyone ever asks, you found him wand
ering around town.”
“Sounds like something I’d do.”
Paul nodded in acceptance. He stepped off the porch and walked to his idling truck. After getting in and backing around, he waved through the side window on his way down the driveway.
Ed waved back. Then, looking down at his new dog, he said, “Sounds like you were in a pinch, little guy. Lucky you for getting away. And lucky me for ending up with ya.”
“Edmond! Who are you talking to?” Lucy called from the dark hallway. “You’d better not be wandering around talking to yourself again!”
“Calm down,” he returned. “Nothing to fret over. I’m just talking to a dog.”
“A dog? Oh, Ed, enough with the talking animals already. I admitted that you were right about the wolves. Do you have to keep going on about it?”
Ed looked down at the beagle, smiling. “We’ll both be lucky if she don’t pop when I show her we’ve got another dog. Might as well call ya Lucky and hope you got enough luck for the both of us.”
***
Miles east of Ludlow, three wolves crossed the invisible state border. At the head of the trio, Evie saw the woods passing in a blur from the corners of her eyes, felt the rush of fresh air filling her lungs, and the seemingly unending energy coursing through her body. And yet, beyond that—something other, beyond and separate from her, and mysterious to her—seemed to be urging her forth.
She’d crossed a long straight and began easing into a turn before realizing that she was suddenly alone. Slowing and spinning sharply, she halted. Her heart beat madly as she stood looking back at her companions. The rushing wave of her enthusiasm ebbed.
Matthew called that they were not allowed to proceed without the company of an older wolf.
“Are we helpless children?” she asked, trotting sulkily back to them.
“Compared to Grandpa, we are,” Matthew confirmed.
“But we know Abel is coming.”
“Rules are rules,” David said.
“You’ve been nothing but defiant for days,” she snapped. “But a rule of fun you bow to?”
“It’s for our safety. For the good of all the pack, not the self.”
“He is right,” Matthew told her. “You are excited. I know.”
Turning on him, she said, “Don’t you want to see your sister?” But instantly she felt bad and lowered her head.
He growled that he did, glaring with his eyes, but loving his cousin too much to warn her with his teeth. “We may wait here till the darkness before first light. Then we must return.”
“Sorry,” she said when her heart had calmed and all three had settled down to rest.
David explained that someday the threats hanging over them would pass. Then the tension would pass, and she would no longer feel so driven by anxiety.
Evie kept silent. Truth was no comfort to her in that moment of frustration.
9
The Boston news station showed the scorched shell of the Merrill laboratory. A reporter rambled on about reports of an explosion filtering in from nearby residents, now crowding around, watching the fire department work.
“Interestingly, three separate residents of the immediate area have approached me with startlingly similar stories,” the reporter stated. “After stepping outside to investigate the commotion, each claims to have found a beagle roaming in their yard, and each confirmed the dogs to be wearing collars with numbered tags rather than owner names or contact info.”
“Yeah, I come out, just like stunned, after this deep thud woke me up,” said one young man to the camera. “It was kinda like one big firework, and I can hear the sirens coming and I see this dog by my door, just looking at me. He comes right to me, nice dog, you know, and I check him out and see this collar. Then I get asking around and some neighbors say the same thing. Now I don’t know anybody who puts a tag like that on a family pet. Real obvious to me. These must be research dogs. And I thought that was a place where scientist cut up frogs or something. Who knows, right?”
Raymond Merrill muted his TV. He could feel his wife’s eyes digging into him from where she stood a few yards away.
“Wake the children,” he said, working to keep his voice steady. “Pack a few things, quickly, and drive them to Virginia. It’s not open to debate.”
“Who have you crossed now?” she asked, standing there with her arms folded. “Some animal rights group?”
“Not exactly,” he returned. “Go and wake the children.”
“You think we’re actually in danger here in Arlington?”
“Go,” he said a little louder.
“Raymond …”
“Debra!” he shouted. “Go and wake the children. Now.”
His wife flinched as he shouted, then settled back into an angry glare.
“Please, Mrs. Merrill,” Jason said calmly, standing on the opposite side of the room. “This is very serious.”
“What have you done?” she said to her husband, before turning away and rushing up the stairs.
“It wasn’t me,” Merrill answered under his breath.
“Sir,” Jason said.
“Yes,” Merrill sighed. “I’m sorry about that little outburst. Once Debra and the kids are on the road, we will drive up to Portland.”
“What are you planning?”
“To follow the leader,” he returned with a far-off look in his eye. “We’ll burn it all.”
“The loss …”
“It can’t be helped. It’s not mine, anyway. To move it all would require me to work with Rowan’s people, and expose myself further.”
“The Ludlow’s could be burning it as we speak, as with your lab.”
“They might not,” Merrill said. “They could be awaiting my response. I could wave the white flag to them by burning her work myself.”
“I can do it,” Jason said. “There’s no need for you to make the trip or get your hands dirty. You should go with the family. I can come to you after.”
“No, no.” Merrill shook his head and then placed his palms over his brow, where the headache was starting to pound. “That’s my father in that lab, kept unnaturally alive. I must attend to it myself. I must cover my sister’s crimes, if our name is to endure.”
“Perhaps there is another way,” Jason said. “Perhaps—”
“No, no. It’s gone on far too long as it is. The man must be allowed to die. Let him have peace—if there is any. Let us play the victims publically and salvage what we can of our reputation within the professional community.”
“If that’s what you wish.”
“Certainly not,” Merrill answered. “But I see no other choice. If you think the animal activists will be tough on us, just imagine the reactions to our grander projects being brought to light.”
“Those dogs do live longer than average, sir.”
“Of course. But this early in the progress, who else would see it that way? The very minor slowing of a dog’s aging process won’t be nearly enough to disarm the ethical dilemma regarding human testing. The risks are still too great. Something my sister should’ve learned years ago.”
“I’ve continued to try her phone. Still no response.”
“I shudder to think what’s become of her.”
“Don’t despair,” Jason said, and as he spoke, a faint golden glow flickered in his eyes. “As I recall her ranting, the elder of Ludlow has a reputation of being firm but not cruel. After this business with the lab, there may still be hope for her.”
Merrill looked at his loyal guard and assistant, his friend, now his confidante.
Jason nodded firmly.
“If you were in his shoes, what would you do with someone like my sister?”
“I can’t be sure. I’ve learned only to think of what I can do. I only want to give you hope.”
“All right. If Rowan wasn’t my sister, what would you do with her?
“Nothing,” Jason said flatly.
“Nothing at all? After luring you with false promises, aft
er years of confinement and testing, you desire no revenge on her?”
“I serve you now, sir. You and your household. Rowan only matters to me as she relates to you. I admit that I do not care for her. But I do respect her as a service to you.”
Merrill sighed. “I’m not exactly broken up about it myself. The guilt of that knowledge is almost worse than the worrying. It’s far from a healthy relationship, but she is my sister and I am her brother. No matter how many times I’ve disagreed with her and wanted her out of my way, I still hate to think of her being murdered.”
He took his mug of hot tea from the table and sipped it. He was looking back and forth from Jason to the tea. Neither the tea nor the confidence of his friend could settle him.
Down the stairs stomped his high-school-aged son. Holding a duffle bag of clothes, looking tired and very irritable, he said, “What’s the point of this?”
“Just go with your mother and brother, please,” Merrill said flatly.
“I asked what the point was. I mean, what is this —? Are you a science geek or a secret agent?”
Raymond Merrill took a deep breath. He set down the mug. Never would he have dared to speak to his own father that way.
“Well?”
“This is probably a false alarm.”
“Can’t you just answer me, Dad?”
Now Merrill saw his wife and younger son carrying their bags. His eyes met those of his wife, and she ushered the children from the room toward the side door leading to the garage. They had a long drive to share. She could explain to the boys why their father’s work could potentially draw negative attention, if she felt so inclined.
Watching them go, Merrill did his best not to think of all the gory details, the slicing and dicing, the odd experiments which intrigued various organizations for various unwholesome reasons, which in turn provided the income that maintained a lifestyle for both boys that millions of other American children could only dream of. He knew that truly neither Debra nor the boys wished to know where their money and quality of life came from, as most Americans did not. They wished to go on in their comfort, not understanding the little utopia they’d been lucky enough to be born into and now considered theirs by rights, enjoyed, not earned. They did not wish to know how the progress of the western world was achieved, how their liberty and security was maintained, where their food came from, the fuel for their status symbol automobiles, the reliability of their medicines, surgical procedures and vaccines, knowledge of mental illness, or, hell, even the origins of cute puppies napping in pet store windows—everything which laid the foundations on which the pursuit of individual happiness could be entertained as plausible daily endeavor.
Snow Rising (The Great North Woods Pack Book 4) Page 5