Einstein Dog

by Craig Spence

  They wheeled into an obscure cul-de-sac flanked on either side by drab industrial buildings, and there it was: the bright red AMOS logo. “Wow!” Bertrand gawked, taking in the gleaming white walls of the AMOS plant. “This is big business.”

  “I really don’t like it,” Ariel fretted. “Let’s get out of here before we get zapped by a laser or torn to shreds by a vicious dog.”

  “What?” Bertrand demanded, skidding to a stop, so that Ariel almost crashed into him.

  “Hey!” she yelled. “Watch what you’re doing!”

  “Airee, what you just said . . . ”

  “I said let’s get out of here . . . ”

  “No. Not that,” he cut in excitedly. “You said we could get attacked by vicious dogs, right?”

  “I was joking, Birdman.”

  Bertrand wasn’t laughing. “Airee!” he cried, gripping her arm. “What you said just now, it makes sense. Crazy sense.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “SMART dogs! Don’t you see? SMART dogs!”

  “What about them?”

  “If you wanted the best guard dog in the world, would you go for a pit bull, or a SMART dog like Libra?”

  “That is crazy,” she said, intrigued.

  “If Hindquist is into the arms trade, he’d do just about anything to get his hands on a dog with Einstein’s brain.”

  “I don’t know, Birdman,” Ariel resisted “What better cover for an arms dealer than a medical supply company? He’d have access to high tech industries, a perfect way to launder money, and an international distribution system that could be used for shipping either medical equipment or weapons to just about any country in the world.”

  “Okay,” she said reluctantly. “It’s a pretty good theory. But only a theory.”

  “Which is why we have to continue snooping around, right?” he said doggedly.

  Ariel sighed, but pushed her bike along with him. “What, exactly, are you looking for?” she asked as he peered through the glass doors into the AMOS reception area.

  “Still don’t know,” Bertrand admitted. “Sometimes you just have to turn over a few stones to see what’s under them.”

  Whatever it was, they didn’t see it in the reception area.

  “No rocket launchers or weapons of mass destruction hidden in the flower pots?” Ariel observed.

  He laughed.

  They made their way along the side of the building, down a path separated from the parking lot by a landscaped berm. “I’ll say one thing, Hindquist keeps a tidy factory. This sidewalk is cleaner than our living room.”

  The path ended at the apron of a loading dock toward the back of the AMOS building. Maybe something of interest had fallen off one of the trucks, Bertrand thought — a packing slip or bit of material. They wheeled their bikes into the depression and he started a methodical inspection. Nothing. The bay had been swept clean.

  “Okay Birdman,” Ariel said. “You’ve had your snoop, now let’s get out of here before we’re spotted on their security system.”

  “Just one more thing.”

  He led them to a big blue dumpster placed at the back corner of the building. The metal lids were locked and it looked as if someone had gone round the bin with a vacuum. Still, if there were going to be a shred of information, this would be the most likely place to find it. Bertrand leaned his bike against the loading bay railing and got down on all fours so he could peer under the container . . . there was something under there, too. A bit of yellow plastic, by the looks of it. He lay flat on his belly and reached for the clue.

  “Got it,” he announced, sitting cross-legged on the concrete.

  He turned the evidence over in his fingers, examining it for markings. The item looked like a tiny funnel with the spout end sealed off; some sort of cap, Bertrand figured. An inscription embossed on the plastic rim in tiny letters solved the puzzle. ‘FlyRight Tranquilizer Darts.’ he was able to make out, squinting at the script. ‘Safety Cap.’

  “Tranquilizer darts?” Bertrand wondered, struggling to his feet.

  “Maybe they use them for knocking out nosy kids,” Ariel suggested.

  “Very funny,” he grumped, pocketing the cap.

  “Can we get out of here now?” Ariel pleaded.

  Bertrand was about to agree, but a movement at the parking lot entrance froze him. “Oh no!” he gasped.

  Startled, Ariel twisted in the direction of his gaze. “Oh my God!” she cried.

  Frank Hindquist watched Bertrand and Ariel on a television monitor built into the passenger console of the AMOS limousine. Their plan to cycle to the plant had been picked up by his surveillance team and their every move since arriving had been monitored by the AMOS security system.

  What on earth do they expect to find? he wondered.

  “Bring them in a bit closer,” he ordered.

  Charlie adjusted the security camera’s zoom from the mobile command vehicle, which was parked closer to AMOS. The camera, which was mounted on a lamp pole in the parking lot, could read fine print at a hundred yards.

  “Well, perhaps that’s a bit of an exaggeration,” Hindquist chuckled.

  The frame tightened around the Smith boy and his friend. Hindquist watched as they poked around the loading bay. A couple of kids didn’t amount to much of a threat to an organization like AMOS, but Hindquist still analyzed their every move. Vigilance had become a sort of instinct with him.

  “Should we go in?” Charlie wanted to know.

  Hindquist sighed. The stupidity of his underlings exasperated him. “When I want you to go in, I’ll give the command,” he said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Dolt!” Hindquist muttered. Why end their surveillance? There was no imminent danger. Perhaps the boy would reveal something that could be used to strengthen AMOS’ defenses.

  “He already has,” Hindquist remembered.

  AMOS technicians were investigating the website where Bertrand had found speculations about The Global Council. How had the information, sketchy as it was, leaked onto the internet? Hindquist would find out and take appropriate action.

  “That’s it,” he chuckled, watching the boy search under the dumpster. “A sloppy organization would leave plenty of clues there . . . ”

  Suddenly Hindquist’s expression changed. He frowned, leaning forward in his seat. The boy had found something! He was reaching under the dumpster, straining to recover whatever it was.

  “Zoom in close,” Hindquist barked. The camera leapt forward. “At his hands. What’s he got in his hands?”

  “I don’t know boss. I can’t make it out,” Charlie responded nervously.

  Yellow. A yellow piece of plastic. The boy held it up for the girl to see.

  “Closer,” Hindquist ordered, furious now that he knew what the boy had found. It was a dart cap. Charlie must have discarded it when he was prepping the blowgun.

  “Idiot!” Hindquist spat. “You bloody idiot!”

  “What, boss?” Charlie pleaded.

  “Go!” Hindquist barked. “Close in now.”

  He opened a cabinet and took out a hand control unit. Hindquist would work the surveillance camera now that Charlie and Bob were busy. He zoomed back to the wide angle setting just in time to see the mobile command vehicle speed into view.

  “Slow down!” he yelled.

  Too late. The van rocketed into the lot like something you’d see in a demolition derby. It hit the entrance ramp with an axle-bending jolt, sending one of its hubcaps flying.

  “Fools!” Hindquist snarled.

  The Smith kid would figure out in a second that the Gowler brothers hadn’t arrived by chance, on patrol; they’d been in full emergency response mode, which meant surveillance. Bertrand would want to know why.

  “Stupid!” Hindquist spat.

  To make matters worse, the van was disabled. Groaning, Hindquist watched as the children mounted their bikes and began pedaling furiously. The command vehicle sat there, its front wheels splay
ed like broken legs.

  “Get going!” Charlie yelled, his voice picked up by the open radio.

  “She won’t move!” Bob cried frantically.

  The passenger door popped open and the elder Gowler tumbled out. “Hey!” he shouted. “Stop, you two!”

  Bertrand and Ariel ignored him, pedaling hard toward the far end of the lot, where they hopped the curb, cut across the lawn and made good their escape. Bellowing, Charlie gave chase, but they easily outdistanced him.

  “Drive on,” Hindquist instructed his chauffer calmly. “Quickly, but not recklessly, please. Pull up beside them when we get within range, but don’t do anything threatening, nothing at all, do you understand?”

  The driver nodded curtly. As the car accelerated, Hindquist sank back into the yielding leather cushions and thought. He needed a scenario that would mask the Gowler’s bungling.

  Bertrand and Ariel had ridden a block and a half before Hindquist caught up to them. They were still pedaling as if their lives depended upon it. The limo swept past Charlie, who lumbered along in flagging pursuit, and Bob, who had easily outpaced his brother. It cruised into formation beside Bertrand and the girl.

  “Hello Bertrand,” Hindquist shouted out the passenger side window.

  Bertrand glanced at him, then pedaled even harder.

  “You might as well stop,” Hindquist advised. “There’s no need to get away.”

  Bertrand ignored the invitation.

  “Be sensible. I simply want to know why you’re here.”

  At last the boy gave up. He coasted another twenty-five metres or so, then dismounted and sat dejectedly on the curb. Ariel joined him. The chauffer parked a short distance ahead, hustling round the limo to open the door for Hindquist.

  “Well,” the president of Advanced Medical Operating Systems said, leaning against the trunk. “That was quite the chase.”

  Huffing, the Gowler brothers caught up at last. Hindquist waved them off. “Go attend to the van,” he said. “I’ll interview our visitors.”

  Charlie glared at the children as if he hadn’t heard Hindquist’s order.

  “Take care of the van!” Hindquist repeated sharply, staring at the Gowlers’ backs as they skulked away.

  “They’re good at what they do, but prone to overreacting,” he said breezily. “I suppose it’s best to err on the side of caution when you think someone’s in danger.”

  “Danger?” Bertrand lifted his head.

  “Yes,” Hindquist explained. “They thought our garbage container had somehow rolled onto you. Under the circumstances they can be forgiven for a somewhat overzealous response.”

  “I suppose so,” Bertrand sounded unconvinced.

  Hindquist forced a grin. “We take security very seriously at AMOS. I’m afraid the two of you tripped our system.”

  “We didn’t mean to,” Ariel said.

  “I know,” Hindquist replied. “Nothing to worry about.

  I consider these little incidents tests.” He paused thoughtfully, then added, “I presume you weren’t after any industrial secrets.”

  “N-no,” Bertrand said.

  Hindquist waited.

  “We know you support the SMART Project. We just wanted to find out who you are, that’s all.”

  Still, Hindquist waited.

  “Actually,” Ariel jumped in, “Bertrand thinks you’re an international arms dealer, and we were here looking for weapons of mass destruction. You know, nuclear warheads, chemical weapons, that sort of thing.”

  For a second the world stopped spinning; it skipped a collective heartbeat. Then Hindquist laughed, great booming guffaws that rolled over the lawns and echoed back from the blank facades of the deserted buildings. Ariel laughed, too. Bertrand stared at these hysterics, thoroughly unamused.

  “Oh! That’s funny,” Hindquist choked, wiping a tear from his eye. “You are joking, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah,” Ariel chortled. “Just trying to lighten things up.”

  “Good.” Hindquist clapped his hands. “Now that we’ve settled things, I think it’s time to phone your parents and make arrangements to get you home.”

  “Home?” Ariel gulped.

  “I want it recorded in our logs that your families were contacted and you two were delivered safely home.” Hindquist insisted.

  He watched them intently for a moment, then smirked. “I don’t think your parents need know the full details of your little adventure here at AMOS. I could easily have happened upon you and, seeing how exhausted you looked, offered assistance. That would do, wouldn’t it?”

  Bertrand and Ariel exchanged a glance. Apparently it would have to.

  After their adventure, Bertrand pestered his father to let him see Libra. Professor Smith grumbled, but in the end remembered some work he had to do at the SMART lab.

  Stay away from that man! Libra warned when Bertrand told her about Hindquist.

  But . . .

  Stay away. He’s dangerous.

  Run, hide, do anything to avoid Hindquist, she warned.

  Libra couldn’t stay angry for long, though. After she finished scolding, she leaned against Bertrand, the two of them seated on the grassy slope of Campus Green. Her pups remained in the compound where she could keep an eye on them.

  Bertrand remembered the promise he’d made to her. Now he understood why she was so afraid.

  Hindquist is after your pups, he told her.

  She didn’t seem surprised.

  He tried to describe his theory about how valuable SMART dogs would be to an arms dealer, but Libra could not understand his tellies.

  I know Hindquist is evil, she said at last. That is enough. I do not doubt it when you say he is after my children. I have already sensed that too.

  “But I don’t know what to do!” Bertrand cried.

  You must do what you can, she said, and not blame yourself for what you can’t.

  “I feel like there’s nothing I can do, though,” he said bitterly.

  She licked his cheek. You are braver than you think, child. She held him in her gaze, then added, But you and Ariel must not face this on your own. You must tell Professor Smith.

  But . . .

  Tell him, Libra ordered.

  On the way home Bertrand asked his father what he knew about Frank Hindquist and AMOS.

  “I know he’s put up a million dollars for SMART research, son,” Professor Smith said. “Can’t say I really know why.”

  “His ideas about cell farming don’t really make sense, right?”

  “They don’t add up for me, but they must make sense to somebody. Pharmaceutical companies don’t invest that kind of money without expecting to see some kind of return.”

  “What if the cell farming thing is just a cover, Dad?”

  “What do you mean?” Professor Smith prompted.

  Bertrand didn’t hold back. He told his father about Advanced Military Ordinance Supply, the Global Council, his theory about the SMART dogs.

  “That’s what you were doing out at the AMOS factory?” Professor Smith exclaimed.

  “Yes,” Bertrand admitted. Then he described their encounter with the Gowler brothers and their conversation with Frank Hindquist.

  Professor Smith listened to Bertrand’s story then drove on in silence for a couple of blocks. “If what you say is true, it’s very serious, son,” he said when they stopped at a traffic light.

  “You mean you don’t think I’m just imagining things, Dad?”

  “I think you took a very big risk, going out there Birdie, and I don’t ever want you to do such a thing again, do you understand?”

  “Yes, but you believe me?”

  “I believe what you have told me needs to be looked into and, if it proves to be the case, we must sever our ties with Mr. Hindquist.”

  “But you don’t think I’m being stupid!” Bertrand insisted.

  “No, son,” Professor Smith assured him. “Even if what you say cannot be proved, I don’t think you’ve been stu
pid to investigate. I only wish you’d told me before you went snooping around the AMOS factory.”

  Bertrand grinned. It had never felt so good to be told off by his father.

  Bob scanned the grounds through his night-vision binoculars. Beyond the cones of light that dotted the Main Mall the campus bled into darkness. They planned to cross the green in a zone of deep shadow, then backtrack to the Stafford Building, entering through the same door Bob had used months earlier when he wired Professor Smith’s lab.

  Bob didn’t want to think about what was supposed to happen after that.

  Charlie goofed around with the blowgun, pretending to play it like a clarinet. “Bee-bop doo-op dee-doo-doo-bop! Pretty good, eh?” he chuckled, glancing at Bob for approval.

  “You’ll get us caught,” Bob cautioned.

  “You worry too much. There’s nobody around.”

  “Well, I’m nervous and that’s making things even worse.”

  “Doo-op do-op-dop-doo,” Charlie finished with a flourish, letting the blowgun hang down at his side on its strap. “This thing’s going to make a lot more sweet music tonight, man,” he crowed. “It’s gonna play the last lullaby for that smart-ass dog in there.”

  “Are you really going to kill her?” Bob asked.

  “Huh?”

  “The SMART dog. After you’ve seen her playing with her pups and those kids, you’re just going to go in there and kill her?”

  “Orders are orders, man,” Charlie replied cheerfully.

  “You could reduce the dose; just put her to sleep.”

  “Yeah! And are you going to explain to Hindquist why she’s still alive?”

  “Maybe the dart malfunctioned,” Bob suggested.

  “And maybe he’d see through you like the hole in a donut.”

  Charlie punched him hard on the shoulder. “Stop being such a mama’s boy and get ready to move,” he ordered.

  Bob looked across the gloomy depression of Campus Green toward the black hulk of the Stafford Building. What was about to happen was wrong, terribly wrong. But he would do it anyway because he was destined to obey the commandments of cowards bigger and stronger than he.

  Homes had been found for all her pups and her life of captivity was coming to an end, but the joy Libra should have taken in that knowledge was crowded out by the clammy certainty of doom.