The Carbon Cross (The Carbon Series Book 2)

by Randy Dutton

  While loading the images and sound files, she popped a Budweiser, took a swallow, then started dusting each glass coffee mug for fingerprints.

  Three hours passed before she finished listening to the sound files and compiled a preliminary report.

  Her cleaned-up face came onscreen a VoIP link. “How ya doing, Yoav?”

  “Pretty good, Starr. How’d the meeting go?”

  Collette noticed Yoav’s eyes had lit up with Starr’s incoming video call and playful tone. She rolled her chair over to watch the exchange.

  “Mission accomplished.” Starr flashed a bright smile. “I’m uploading the encrypted files to you now...along with my bill. You’ll be downloading a 360-degree high def video of the entire meeting with directional sound.”

  “Any surprises?”

  “Nah. There were only five men. I think you’ll be disappointed.”

  “How’s that?”

  “They were mostly planning for a future with dramatically lower CO2.” Sarcasm flowed from her voice.

  “Lower levels?”

  “Yeah. They were convinced the Snath technologies were out of control and would destroy the environment.”

  “They’re idiots. The science is against them.”

  “I don’t know.... They were up on everything, particularly Pete Heyward.”

  “He joined them?”

  “Yeah. Good looking guy, too....” Her voice purred.

  Yoav’s smile flattened.

  Starr continued, “Dr. Heyward knows a whole lot more about biology than this city girl.”

  “Him being there makes sense in a way—”

  “Because his dad owns the place? Ya think?!” Starr’s slight mocking tone renewed Yoav’s smile.

  “That and Pete’s a climate expert,” Yoav added.

  The two bantered a few more pleasantries before disconnecting.

  Collette sighed. “She’s pretty...beautiful sleek hair. Looks exotic.”

  Yoav ignored her envy. “She is that. Starr’s part Japanese, part Venezuelan, and the rest...pure Texan.”-

  “Why’d she leave the police force after three years? Couldn’t hack it?”

  He grinned at Collette’s hopeful comment. “Not at all.... She was very effective as an undercover cop.”

  “So why—”

  “Kept violating regulations...evidence disappeared...and she formed personal relationships with some undesirables.”

  Collette cocked her head. “How was she good if she broke the law?”

  His brow lifted. “I said effective. Most of her cases were closed because suspects went dead or missing.”

  Chapter 21

  August 16, 1600 hours

  Heyward Ranch

  Anna stared at the arriving rental car. Dressed in a light green linen sundress and sandals, her right shoulder leaned against one of the porch’s many stone pillars. To accommodate the hot evening, her hair was in a French braid.

  On the drive back, Pete had forewarned her about Art’s impending arrival. Now Pete stood next to Anna, his hand lightly stroking her bare back.

  “Good luck, Babe.” He smiled.

  She warily turned with a lifted brow. “This could get messy.”

  “You’ll be fine.” His lips touched then lingered on her cheek, forcing her expression to soften.

  “Thanks, Honey.” She smiled sweetly. “Too bad your dad won’t be here to referee this get together.”

  Her expression turned enigmatic as Art approached.

  “Hello...Maria,” Art quipped using the pseudonym Anna had used in the Maldives.

  Pete grimaced at Art’s use of the name.

  Anna forced a smile. “Good afternoon, Mr. Middleton.”

  “Call me Art.”

  “Then please, call me Anna...Anna Heyward.” Her tone was sharp.

  “Sorry...I couldn’t resist. For two months I’ve wondered who Maria – then Anna Picard – really was.”

  “You’ll excuse me if I don’t confess to anything, won’t you?”

  He paused at the rhetorical question, then grinned. “I’m not here to entrap you.”

  “And I’ll try to assuage your curiosity.”

  “Last month, when Pete said he had a wonderful two days with you in July, it pissed me off.”

  “I can understand that.” A slight smile returned.

  “Then hearing you’ve come to the rescue of, let’s see, how did...Maria...phrase it in the café, ‘Polluters and land exploiters,’ I was skeptical. You two getting married was hard for me to accept. It sounded like a con. But I have to say, if what you’ve done is true, I credit Pete for having fallen for an incredible woman.”

  “Thank you, Art.” She squeezed Pete’s hand. “But your praise should go to Pete for changing my perspective.”

  Anna continued, “I heard you put together the composite sketch. Not that I’m admitting it’s me, but later I may ask you to autograph a copy Pete gave me.” Her smile widened. “You have an good eye for detail.”

  “Thanks. Pete was right, though....” Art grinned ruefully.

  “About what?” Her head tilted right as her brow rose.

  “You are even prettier in person.”

  “Well, aren’t you the flatterer! And, before we move on to other things”—her head dipped—“please accept my...regret...for any inconveniences involved with the murder rap.”

  “Well, I didn’t feel as threatened as Tom, but thank you. By the way, how long had you planned the set-up?”

  “If I had done it...I can’t imagine it taking more than 15 minutes to think it through.”

  “Just 15 minutes?” His voice rose an octave. “That’s astonishing!”

  “Okay, to be fair”—her nose wrinkled—“it was common knowledge several industrialists were coming to the UN conference. No doubt”—her throat cleared for emphasis—“you guys were watched. It would be easy for...anyone...to recover a water bottle with fingerprints for identification, or as a contingency.”

  Anna looked coyly at Pete. “I like planning contingencies, don’t I, Dear?”

  He nodded, and her head tilted against his shoulder.

  “And hypothetically...it never hurts for the opposition to have an adversary’s fingerprints at their disposal,” she added.

  “I see.”

  She turned and ushered him into the house. “Having gotten the awkwardness out of the way, please, come inside. Irma’s prepared an early dinner.... Art, I hear you’re a philosopher.”

  “I dabble.”

  Her eye glinted, and with her left arm in Pete’s, she slipped her right arm into Art’s and led both through the double front door. “Did Pete tell you I love a good debate?”

  For the next hour they sat around the great room talking. Anna and Pete drank iced tea, while Art, beer in hand, queried Anna on moral and natural philosophical issues within the environmental movement. Far from defending them, she listed what environmentalists considered weaknesses in the skeptics’ arguments and how those points were being exploited for an uglier, more intrusive agenda. More often than not, she argued against the extreme environmental positions. Pete mostly played observer, enjoying the verbal sparring.

  When Irma served dinner, she banned debate from the table, considering environmental politics inappropriate for a convivial dinner. However, with such well-versed dinner companions, there was no shortage of alternative topics.

  Two hours after dinner, the three sat on the front porch. Anna’s head now leaned against Pete’s shoulder, with his arm around her. With her sandals off, one bare foot was rubbing Shade, Pete’s Labrador retriever.

  “So, Anna, you’re saying the World Wildlife Federation infiltrated the UN’s Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change?” Art leaned forward with an expression of disbelief.

  “No, we manipulated the UN into putting the WWF into a significant position within the IPCC. Research the IPCC’s published reports, and you’ll discover nearly two-thirds of the chapters are co-authored by a WWF-affiliat
ed individual placed into the IPCC. One-third of the chapters had WWF-affiliated people who helped develop the final content as coordinating lead authors. It took some doing to”—her head tilted—“let’s say, encourage the UN to do our bidding.”

  “And the others on the IPCC group?” His brow stayed furrowed.

  “Art, the IPCC was frontloaded with inexperienced graduate students, Sierra Club connections, and foreign team members without sufficient competence.”

  Her bare foot moved over the appreciative dog’s stretched out body. Its tail was thumping the porch’s slate surface and causing moss threads to scatter.

  “Why would they appoint foreign scientists if they weren’t qualified?”

  Anna’s brow lifted. “Seriously, Art? Don’t you see the political correctness at play here? The UN wanted groupthink. These guys were guaranteed to go along with the more outspoken leaders. We got these guys appointed for buy-in from developing countries. Remember, each country gets a vote that’s just as valuable as that of the US, at least as far as the press is concerned.”

  “You were involved in that, as well?”

  “For part of what started long before I graduated Harvard. The UN was...is...so corrupt, it was fun manipulating. Every Agenda 21 member was tasked to appoint a recruiter. Swanson sent me. A few of us used to place bets as to how many useful idiots we could get into the IPCC. Most researchers saw being a part of the IPCC as a means of getting government funding.”

  Art’s mouth opened.

  She grinned. “And before you ask, no, I didn’t win...but I got close.” She shrugged. “Too bad I didn’t consider the greater ramifications back then. I’d have been a much better loser.”

  “So, Anna, as one who has been in the inside, what should the UN have done?” Art leaned back and finished his iced tea.

  “Obviously, they should have been honest with the public. But the IPCC was created by politicians, the experts chosen by politicians, and the conclusions cherry-picked by politicians. It was a fait accompli that anything increasing their control would be chosen.”

  “Art, let me ask you this. Should mankind put its faith in drastic and untried technologies to capture carbon dioxide?”

  “I wouldn’t think so.”

  “Agreed. CO2 hasn’t really proven to be a threat yet, and I’m afraid we’ve unleashed a plague of Biblical proportions. Pete’s helped educate me in this regard. But”—she bit her lip and got more melancholy—“I regret my role in what transpired.”

  “Babe,” Pete interrupted her introspection, “you were one of tens of thousands. What was done was decades in the making by forces beyond your control. And you, more than anyone else, have redeemed yourself.”

  Her hand touched his knee and smiled. “Thanks, Honey.”

  She turned to Art. “Pete’s my guiding light. He’s the first person who ever saw the good in me.... So, Art, how do we fix this? Should we manipulate the environment, or adapt?”

  “Mankind’s greatest strength has been adaptation. We’ve not done so well with manipulation. I believe Earth’s climate fluctuates, and any wide swing will be naturally balanced.”

  “We’re in agreement. Climate changes all the time. But the UN places adaptation as a much lower priority. So, what comes next? Should we review the records to see if manipulation or errors haven’t crept into the system?”

  “Yes.”

  “Agreed. That would be good science and good policy. Then again, the UN refuses to admit errors.”

  “Personally, the IPCC should be scrapped!” Art said.

  “Agreed”—Anna stifled a yawn—“but then, I’d expand that to scrapping the UN.”

  “Hey, look at the time,” Art stood up and stretched. The dog bounced up at the sudden movement. “I should be off. Again, Anna, congratulations on your pregnancy. You two are a good fit and I understand why Pete adores you so.”

  Art’s hand extended. “Thanks, Pete, for the invite. I enjoyed dinner and meeting this wonderful woman. Anna, as dangerous as we know you are”—he smiled—“you are even more charming.”

  She gave a small nod. “Why, thank you, Art. I’ll take both as compliments.”

  “Art, the pleasure’s all ours.” Pete moved slowly toward the door.

  Winking at Pete she turned back to Art. Her voice was soft and conspiratorial, “And Art, if you ever get into trouble...call me.”

  Art’s eyes widened.

  “I know a great attorney.”

  “Right...Get a lawyer, not a fixer.” He smiled at the joke. “Pete, will you be at the October meeting?”

  “Nope. We’re leaving for our honeymoon soon and then relocating.”

  “Really? Where to?”

  Pete and Anna looked at each other. Pete turned back to Art and shook his head. “Can’t tell you. Perhaps in the future, when we sort this out.”

  “I understand. Well, good luck, and if you need anything, call me.”

  With that, he departed.

  Anna and Pete stood on the porch, arm in arm, watching his tail-lights disappear.

  “I like him.” She covered a long yawn. “I’m tired and argued out. Let’s go to bed.”

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  Chapter 22

  August 17, 0800 hours

  The Spider

  “Good Samaritan?” Gabriel leaned forward after turning off the recording. “What does Pete Heyward know about Operation Prion?”

  “He didn’t actually use the operational name,” Yoav said.

  “No, but he knew more than was public.”

  Yoav shrugged. “His father’s runs an oil company. They probably employed some of the anarchists Devon recruited from the universities.... One of them likely leaked that a well sabotaging effort was underway.”

  “But only a few had the full list.”

  “I could hire Starr to probe....” He flicked a University of Texas cheerleader photo on the screen next to one of Pete receiving his PhD.

  “The man just got married. He’d avoid any appearance of socializing with an attractive woman several years younger,” Gabriel said.

  The analyst looked at his notes. “Well, he’s got a younger sister and brother who are both single and social.” He flipped two more photos onto the screen. “These were taken within the year.”

  Yoav pointed at a blond woman in a glittering ice skating outfit. “MacKenzie’s 29 and an elementary teacher.” His finger aimed at a sandy haired man on the pitcher’s mound before a windup. “Patrick’s 31 and a mechanical engineer. Starr can get close to one of them.”

  Gabriel paused. “Give Starr both profiles and let her decide.” He sat back, cradled a hot coffee and stared at the Krugerrand monitor that hadn’t changed in weeks. “Write up a mission tasking.”

  Yoav opened a spreadsheet and started typing. “Well, they’re also looking for Johansson, so maybe we can piggyback on anything they may have uncovered.”

  “Add that. I’ve not worked with Starr. How well can she insinuate into the Heyward family?”

  “Three years as an undercover cop proved she’s discrete and very charming...when she wants to be.”

  “And when she’s not?”

  “She’s ruthless.”

  “Sounds a bit like Anna,” Gabriel said wistfully.

  “From what I’ve studied, Anna’s got a darker personality.”

  Gabriel exhaled a deep breath. “Very dark.” His head shook. “Okay, find out what Pete knows about Prion.”

  “You know...the Heywards also exposed Anna’s bomb plot. Perhaps their investigation might shed some light on her—”

  “No!” Gabriel’s tone was stern. “I don’t want Starr to know about Anna. A slip could initiate Anna’s blackmail against Swanson. We don’t know how public the Heywards would be if they knew of a separate investigation.”

  “Okay...she won’t hear it from us. In addition to Starr’s tasking, I’ll have her record any names that get mentioned.”

  Chapter 23

&
nbsp; August 17, 1200 hours

  The Green Way

  Puerto Montt, Chile

  The Green Way slowed its approach to a long quay wall. The 5,300 nautical mile journey was ending in Chile’s Reloncaví Sound.

  “Welcome to Puerto Montt.” Captain Trevayne greeted his two passengers over the harbor pilot’s verbal commands to the conning officer.

  Sven’s arm was around Tanya’s shoulder. Peering through the rivulets of water streaming off the pilot house windows, they were gaining a perspective of the place they would call home.

  “I look forward to dry land for a change”—Tanya rolled her eyes—“and a calm deck.”

  “You won’t find this area very dry, and even less so closer to the mountains,” the Captain said. “It rains frequently...regardless of the season.”

  Trevayne motioned toward bright lights cutting through the squall. “But the food’s good and the scenery, when you can see it, unsurpassed. You like seafood and German cuisine?”

  “I love both.” She inhaled deeply and broadly smiled. “And I smell...chili peppers.”

  “There’s a market across the street.... How about skiing, hiking, sailing, exploring?”

  “Yes!” She excitedly gripped Sven’s arm.

  “You’ll love it here. And you’ll both blend in. Many of the 200,000 residents are of German and Scandinavian heritage—”

  “Where will I set up?” Sven interrupted. “I want to get back to work.”

  The captain pointed at two rectangular buildings along the quay. “There. The large rectangular one is 7,800 square meters, the smaller one to its northeast is a 1,200 square meter machine shop.”His finger shifted to two adjoining storage tanks. “The tanks are 600 kiloliters each and have been cleaned and sterilized as you requested. When Mr. Hopkins heard your requirements, he purchased the entire facility.... Will they suffice?”

  “They’ll do nicely.” The geneticist nodded stoically.