"Do you know this Dr. Loge's first name, Bill?"
"Siegfried, Mr. Mongo. Like in the opera."
It had to be the son, I thought. Siegmund, Siegfried, and Auberlich; it sounded like an invitation list to a cast party for Wagner's Der Ring des Nibelungen. Rings within Rings. I made a mental note to myself to drop Garth a cryptical postcard saying that the doings in Peru County were more fun than a three-ring circus. "What does Dr. Loge do?"
"He heads the Volsung Corporation. That's all I know about his work."
"Have you ever met him?"
The boy shook his head. "No, sir. The scientists never come out of there. They're flown in and out."
"Obviously, Obie must have come out."
"Yes, sir. He was going to school here, at the university."
"The extension program?"
"No. He was a regular student. He must be nineteen or twenty. He hung around with us because we were all interested in fantasy."
"Obie boards at the university?"
"Right. But he'd visit his father on weekends. Someone would pick him up in a car, take him back and forth. That's where he got the Fluosol-DA. He brought it out to demonstrate for us so he could get a big score, and he gave it to me. It's not like there's anything secret about it; I told you they discovered twenty years ago that lab animals could breathe the stuff."
"What else can it fee used for besides blood transfusions?"
"Nothing; at least nothing that I know of."
"What would a bunch of plant geneticists want with artificial hemoglobin?"
"I have no idea, Mr. Mongo." He suddenly grinned mischievously. "Hey! Maybe they're all 'pod people' in there, like Invasion of the Body Snatchers!"
For some reason, I didn't find the notion overwhelmingly amusing. "Did Obie ever talk about what went on in there?"
"Never-except to tell us what we already knew; the Volsung Corporation was involved with plant genetics, gene splicing, recombinant DNA." He took a deep breath, got slightly red in the face. "Recombinant DNA research is the key to the future, sir. We'll have all disease-free crops that will grow anywhere, and even manufacture their own fertilizer. They already have bacteria that produce insulin, other bacteria that eat up oil spills."
Also bacteria that could produce human growth hormone, I thought. Unfortunately, the scientists had pieced together the little fellows too late to be of any help to me.
"We have super-wheat and super-corn," Bill Jackson continued in a voice that was steadily climbing in pitch. "It's going to revolutionize agriculture around the world! We'll be able to feed everybody! No one need ever go hungry again! They- " He abruptly stopped speaking, bit his lower lip, flushed. "I'm sorry, sir. I do talk too much when I get excited."
"It's all right, Bill. I'm interested in everything you have to say. Obie never even hinted at what specific projects Volsung might be working on?"
"No, sir. He never talked about specifics, and we all understood. There's a lot of top secret stuff in that industry, you know. They're always worried about industrial espionage."
Or some other kind of espionage, judging from the camouflage coloring of their building. Since General Foods wasn't likely to order up a bombing run, I assumed Volsung had to be concerned about someone-something-else spotting them from the air. Like a spy satellite.
"Bill, I'd very much like to talk to Obie Loge. Is he boarding at the university this summer?"
"No way. He was taking summer courses, but he was yanked out and flown home right after… after…"
"Take it easy, Bill," I said, gently patting his shoulder. "You want to take a lemonade break?"
He shook his head, wiped his eyes. Bill Jackson was a very sensitive, gentle, and kind young man.
"Where does Obie live?"
"Actually, I don't know. I guess I must have asked him, but he couldn't even tell me that." He cocked his head to one side, grimaced. "Of course, I never really cared. I wouldn't have wanted to visit him anyway."
"Why not?"
The boy shrugged. "Well, first of all he's a lot older than I am, and the only thing we really had in common was an interest in fantasy. He could really be a mean-excuse me-sucker when he wanted to be. A real sore loser. It's probably why he liked to hang around with us; he could push us around when he felt like it, and nobody his own age would put up with him."
"Bill, does 'Mirkwood' mean anything to you?"
He grinned, laughed. "Sure! You've got to be kidding, Mr. Mongo. Mirkwood's the evil forest that the Company passes through on their Quest. Don't you remember those giant spiders?"
"But does it mean anything to you in another context? Did it mean anything else to Tommy?"
He thought a long time about it, obviously anxious to please me, but ended up shaking his head. "No, sir. It doesn't mean anything else to me, and I never heard Tommy mention it outside the context of Tolkien and Sorscience."
"Bill, did Sheriff Bolesh or any of his deputies ask you questions like these?"
"No, sir."
"Did-?"
"Someone else did, though."
"Who?"
"I don't know his name."
"Would your mother?"
"I doubt it. He came up to me at the university. He didn't give me his name, but I knew he worked at the Volsung Corporation. I'd seen him around town once or twice."
"I thought you said- "
"The scientists never come out. This guy's like a chauffeur and handyman. He drives into town to pick up odds and ends, and he used to chauffeur Obie on weekends." Bill Jackson frowned, shook his head. "Spooky guy."
"How so?"
"He's kind of hard to describe. He wasn't spooky-crazy or spooky-mean; otherwise, I wouldn't have talked to him. He was just… spooky. He had these big brown eyes that kind of looked right through you, and you just knew he could tell if you were lying or telling the truth. He never smiled, and he was completely bald-like Yul Brynner. I'm positive he was pretty old, but I can't tell you why I think that. It was hard to tell his age."
Bill Jackson's words startled me. His description could have fit one of the two men with whom I shared the terrible secret I had mentioned to Janet, a secret that would die with me. But the man I was thinking of wouldn't be holed up in a windowless blockhouse in Peru County doing odd jobs and chauffeuring kids. Not likely.
"Bill, as far as you know, did anyone in the county work on the construction of that building?"
"I don't think so, sir. They brought in truckloads of construction workers, and they set up tents for them out on the prairie. When the building was finished, the workers were taken away."
My watch read four thirty. "Bill, thank you for answering my questions."
"Oh, any time, Mr. Mongo."
"You've been very helpful. I have to pick up someone at the bus station. May I come back if I have any more questions about Sorscience or Obie Loge?"
"Gee, I hope you do come back, Mr. Mongo. Listen, I think there's something else you should know. Tommy was real upset about something just before he took off."
"Bill," I said quietly, "I know that, and I don't think you and I should discuss it. I promised your mother I'd only ask questions about Sorscience."
"But this does have to do with Sorscience. I'm sure Tommy was mad because of something that had to do with Obie Loge. They had a big argument. Rodney told me. Obie was sore because Tommy had questioned something Obie wanted to use for a score."
"What?" I asked, feeling a chill run up and down my spine.
"I don't know. Rodney was in a hurry to get someplace. He just said that Obie was full of-excuse me-shit because nothing like what Obie was describing could ever exist in real life."
Zeke Cohen got off the bus, blinked and sniffed in the late afternoon sunlight like some lost night creature searching for New York's night air. His black hair was wrapped in a crimson bandana, worn low across his forehead. A wide-brimmed leather hat sat on top of his head; buckskin, fringed vest over red silk shirt, jeans, boots; about a poun
d of gold chains hanging around his neck, one small gold earring in his ear. It was a perfect disguise for traveling unnoticed around Peru County, Nebraska. Zeke was a graduate student in criminology, studying for his doctorate in laboratory sciences. He enjoyed a reputation as the fastest computer gun in the East, West, North, or South. He taught a new undergraduate class in computer sciences, and his students called him Wyatt.
"You're not carrying, are you, Zeke?" I asked as we drove across the flat farmland that stretched to the horizon in all directions. "Coke here is something that gives you cavities instead of holes in the nose, and grass is a soft green growth they cut with a machine called a lawn mower. They'll bust your ass good if they catch you with any shit."
"Huh? Oh, no. Not even a joint."
"Also, no cruising-in case you're feeling horny. There's nothing to cruise. 'Gay' here means ho-ho."
Zeke had been staring out the window; now he slowly turned his glittering black eyes on me. "Hey, Doc, what is that stuff out there?"
"It's called wheat, Zeke," I replied drily.
"So that's what it looks like when it's in the ground, huh?"
"You got it. You stop bullshitting me, and I'll stop bullshitting you."
He laughed loudly. "Man, I've never seen so much open space!"
"It's 'the heartland,' Zeke, m'boy."
"It looks kind of weird, you know?" He paused, glanced at me again. "You look funny here, Doc. Out of place."
"You mean, like a dwarf?"
"Yeah," he said thoughtfully. "Here you look like a dwarf." He laughed quickly, self-consciously. "Sorry, Doc. I didn't mean anything personal. I must be suffering from culture shock."
"No offense taken," I said evenly. "Here, I feel like a dwarf. But don't be too smug; you don't exactly blend into the landscape, either. Did you make those calls I asked you to?"
"Yeah. There's no Volsung Corporation listed on any of the stock exchanges, so maybe it really is a privately held and capitalized company. Just to make sure, I checked with a friend of mine in business administration who's a stock market maven. Genetic engineering is the hottest thing going, witness Genentech. If there were a new genetic sciences company that had gone public, or was about to, she'd know about it."
"Thanks, Zeke. You're already earning your money. I'll give you an advance when we get to my sister's place."
"Hey, Doc, I really appreciate this gig. Summer sessions are out, I'm tired of research, and New York is boring in August. Besides, I can use the money. Just what is it I'm supposed to do? You were a little vague on the phone."
"My nephew was big on computers; he's got a roomful of stuff. The basic unit is a Radio Shack TR4100, but don't let that fool you-and don't get careless. He's added on all sorts of goodies that he built himself, and he knew what he was doing. Basically, I want to know everything that's on the memory discs stacked next to the terminal. It's probably all encoded. You into fantasy?"
"You mean sword and sorcery stuff? Not really." He looked at me, leered. "I like detective novels. Somebody should write a huge detective saga, like one of those four-volume fantasy mothers."
"You'll just have to wait for my memoirs, Zeke. I hope you brought your glasses, because Tommy-my nephew-was up to his eyeballs in fantasy. He was particularly into the Lord of the Kings, which you'll find on the table by the terminal. It's almost certain that Tommy built codes from those books, so you'll have to read them. Take your time; the important thing is to make sure you don't erase anything."
"Got it."
"You'll be staying at my sister's home, in Tommy's room, so you can set your own schedule. You'll love the food. Anything you want, she or I will get for you. I'll check in with you at least once a day, and probably more. I'll give you my parents' number; that's where I'm staying. I want to know the minute you find out anything."
"Sounds like fun."
"I'd like you to stay put in the house. If you get restless, take a cow for a walk. In Peru County, you're a walking one-man band of minority groups, and a lot of people here won't like your music. I don't want anyone to know you're here."
Another leer. "Why? You think the good folks of Peru County would hang a gay black Jew?"
"No," I said without smiling. "I'm afraid they'll hang a dwarf and his sister."
7
It was all I could do to stay away from Janet's home the next morning, but I knew that it wouldn't do any good to stand over Zeke and drool down his neck while he was working. I certainly wanted quick results, but pressuring Zeke would be counter productive.
I spent the morning in the Peru City library reading everything I could find on DNA research and genetic engineering. I assumed I was slightly better informed than the average layman because of my long-standing interest in human growth hormone, but I wanted to dig deeper.
It struck me how far and fast the field had expanded since the time, only a few years ago, when gene splicing had been viewed as a sure road to self-destruction, a doomsday device impossible to defuse and just waiting to swallow up, or deform, all life on earth. Many scientists had urged that all research into genetic engineering be banned, for fear of creating diseases that could not be defended against. Indeed, although a total ban was never seriously considered, DNA research was virtually the only human endeavor every scientist on the face of the earth had agreed must be carefully controlled, with strict international safeguards. Protocols had been signed.
First individual cells had been cloned, then frogs. There'd been a report of the cloning of a human, but it had been universally dismissed as ridiculous and the "clone" had never been produced; genetic research and gene splicing with higher forms of life had proved far more difficult, and was still considered highly dangerous, if not unethical.
However, the scientists had shown that some gene splicing could be conducted safely, and gradually the controls in certain specific areas had been relaxed. A great deal of genetic research was still taboo, but work with bacteria and plants had already yielded the wondrous results Bill Jackson had alluded to. In the fields of bacteriology and botany, nothing less than new species of life were being created virtually every day. Universities with genetic research programs had toyed with the idea of setting up their own profit-making companies, and the first gene-splicing concern to go public, Genentech, had sold all its stock within minutes of its initial offering on Wall Street.
Perceptions had changed dramatically; the end of human disease and deformity was being confidently forecast; the doomsday device had become, in the view of many, the key to the Gates of Eden.
There was absolutely no reason for an outfit like Volsung to have set up shop in secret, in the middle of a midwestern prairie, behind a death fence. Not if they were doing what they said they were doing. Which, of course, I damn well knew they weren't.
Tense and nervous with growing anxiety over just how big a beast I had stumbled on, I still managed to put on a happy face for my parents while we had lunch. Exhausted, more from tension than any exertion, I lay down afterward. I'd just fallen asleep when my father came to wake me up. Janet had called and asked that I come over right away.
Flying in Zeke had certainly brought quick results, but they weren't exactly what I'd hoped or looked for.
Jake Bolesh was standing on my sister's porch, gripping Zeke's elbow. Zeke's hands were cuffed behind his back. Two of Bolesh's deputies were going in and out of the house, lugging Tommy's computer components, book collection, and taped cartons, loading everything into a police van. Janet, looking sullen and angry, was standing at the end of the driveway, arms folded defiantly across her chest. John Dernhelm stood at the far end of the porch, looking sheepish and unsure of himself; it told me who had informed Bolesh about my conversation with Coop Lugmor, and how Bolesh had found out about Zeke. It occurred to me that most of the people in Peru County probably acted as informers for the county sheriff.
"Robby, I'm sorry," Janet said tersely as I got out of the car. "John got frightened and did a stupid thing."
"It's all right, Janet," I said, patting her on the arm as I walked past her. "I'll take care of it."
"I couldn't help it, Doc," Zeke began as I approached the porch, stopped on the first step. "This cracker barged in here half an hour ago and- "
"Shut up, nigger!" Bolesh snapped.
Like a poisonous chameleon, the old Jake Bolesh I'd known and loved had changed back to his true colors. In an odd way, I found that comforting; as a mean-spirited, cruel, and dangerous son-of-a-bitch, he was easier to see and to defend against. The fencing, the dainty little gavotte that had begun the day before in his office, was ended. Perhaps, I thought, it was just as well.
I found it a bit unsettling to realize how much I enjoyed nursing the near lifelong grudge that was Jake Bolesh; more than anything else, I wanted to nail him for something. Anything. A character defect.
"You're in trouble, Frederickson."
"Oh? Why is that, Jake?"
"Aiding and abetting a felony, after the fact."
"Terrific charge. I love it. What's the felony? Hiring someone to index my nephew's effects?"
"How about conspiring to withhold evidence?"
I glanced at Zeke, who gave a slight shake of his head. He hadn't found out anything. I was just about to turn my eyes away when I saw him roll his eyes in an exaggerated manner, then look down at his chest and close his left eye. He had something for me in his left shirt pocket.
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