Unacceptable Risk

by David Dun

  "Is there twenty-four-hour security?" Michael asked.

  "Well, I don't really think so, but I'm sure it's safe."

  They stopped at the front desk and each person signed in and received a name tag. There were people coming and going and the place looked occupied.

  Michael picked up the pace as they walked through the door to one of the storage areas and proceeded to a spot pointed out by Dr. Lyman. There were about eighteen years' worth of three-ring binders, including the ones created by Michael's father before his death, with an average of three 4-inch binders per year totaling a little over sixty volumes. There were five trunks each about 4 feet by 1.5 feet by 14 inches. Each trunk was said to contain twelve volumes. Michael saw the trunks at a distance and literally trotted up to them with Grady on his heels. Reaching into his pocket, he removed a key. Each trunk had two locks. According to the labels affixed to the ends of the trunks, they were in chronological order. Michael started with the most recent trunk, dated from 1998 through October 2003. Grady felt the tension while she reassured herself that they had to be there.

  But when Michael opened the trunk, it was empty.

  "Amazing," Dr. Lyman said, sounding genuinely surprised in his own understated way.

  Michael kicked the next trunk in line and it too was obviously empty. The rest were not. Someone had taken everything back to 1995, no doubt figuring they would get the volume describing the plant or animal that would turn out to be Chaperone.

  Michael was visibly distraught. "It feels like it did when my mother died. Something very important has been taken away."

  "We should have had somebody here during the day," the security man said.

  "You mean you had someone here all night?"

  "Oh yeah, sitting right there on that chair until they were fully operational in here at nine a.m., and we asked the people to keep an eye out for strangers."

  "When were you last here?" Grady asked Lyman.

  "Just yesterday. The time before that was three days ago—the day they were delivered."

  "What time?"

  "Early afternoon."

  "Then did you call Michael right away?"

  "Well, it wasn't right away because we brought them over here first."

  "Who knew they were here?"

  "Just me and your security fellows. Well, wait a minute. That's not true. I did tell Nemus Larkin, a graduate student I work with. He's read Dr. Bowden's books and was very interested. I'm afraid I mentioned to him about the vector technology. And Chaperone."

  "Tell me you didn't." Michael groaned. "I told you not to."

  "I know, I know, but he's like a son."

  Grady knew that Michael had told Lyman, in fairness, so that he would understand the potential danger in taking possession of the journals. Unfortunately, Lyman had been unwise and overly enthusiastic.

  "Where does this graduate student live?" she asked.

  "In the basement of a house right near where I live."

  "Would you take us to his house?"

  "All right." Lyman shrugged. "But I'm sure he hasn't got it."

  As they walked to the car, Grady whispered to Michael, "Could Lyman have taken your journals?"

  "Absolutely not."

  "I'm with you. I saw his face. He was as surprised as you, maybe more."

  The entire group drove through the university and out Triphammer Road, past Jessup Field, past the fraternities into the neighborhoods, then down a side street to a dead-end cul-de-sac. Grady and Michael were in a car with two of the security people. They rolled up behind Dr. Lyman's vehicle in front of a brick house built into a hillside. The bottom story was a daylight basement and from the street level the house appeared as a two-story home.

  Grady went to Dr. Lyman's vehicle, just in front of them.

  "Please stay here with your security man."

  Before going to the house Grady and Michael had a lengthy conversation with the other two security men sketching out a plan.

  When they were ready Michael and Grady crossed over the sidewalk and entered through a gate in a well-kept picket fence. There was a concrete path that turned into steps alongside the house.

  "He's probably not home," Grady said to Michael as they walked down the steps along a gently terraced rose garden. Someone did a nice job on the roses as the beds were weeded and the roses pruned back in anticipation of winter. The backyard was spacious for the crowded neighborhood, perhaps sixty feet square with a few autumn-colored vine maples and a birch.

  When they arrived at the lower level, there was a tiny concrete porch for the basement door. Michael looked at Grady. "Once we're in, we play it by the script," she said.

  "Why?" Michael smiled wryly, knowing it would get her goat.

  Michael knocked.

  "Maybe we should wait and talk to Sam."

  "No, I want the journals now," Michael said.

  A young man with gold wire-rimmed glasses and a fair number of pimples opened the door. His blond hair was short and stood on end. He smiled. Grady noticed that he was grabbing the material on his jeans right about thigh level. His fingers were constantly busy, kneading the pants.

  "I'm Michael Bowden."

  "Oh great, great. I'm a big fan."

  "This is Grady a private detective."

  "When was the last time you were over at the antiquities building, the warehouse on Osborne?" Grady asked.

  "Let's see. When was the last time—"

  "It's not a hard question," Grady urged.

  "I was there with Dr. Lyman yesterday. But the last time. Let's see. That would be this morning. Why? What's wrong?"

  "You signed in?"

  "Did I sign in? Well, you're supposed to sign in."

  "Did you sign in?" Michael interjected pushing his way past the young man and into the apartment. The young fellow gave way and turned as Michael entered.

  "Your name is Nemus, right?"

  "Right. It's Nemus."

  "Nemus, you were telling Grady whether you signed in."

  "I think perhaps I didn't. I know the girl at the front there."

  "Did she see you walk past without signing in?" Grady asked.

  "Well, let's see she might have. But... ah, she probably didn't."

  "So, she doesn't know you went in?"

  "Well, I don't know. Like I said, she knows me."

  "Did you say hi to your friend?"

  "Well, I don't think so."

  "You mean you don't know?"

  "I didn't say hi."

  "How did you get there?"

  "I borrowed my friend's truck."

  "Which door did you use to leave the building?"

  "Well, there are only three, I think."

  "Nemus I don't recall Grady asking you how many doors there are. I think you stole my journals."

  "That's crazy. Why would I do that?"

  "Because they're worth a lot of money," Grady picked it up again. "The United States government wants them. The French want them. Terrorists want them. And Nemus they're all gonna know you have them. Michael's life's work."

  "You're not scaring me."

  "You have to deny your fear only because you're guilty," Michael said.

  Nemus looked as if the blood in his face had drained to his feet. Plainly he was unused to crime.

  "I don't have to talk to you."

  "Think about how that's going to sound to the graduate school." Michael continued. "What kind of a man says I don't have to talk to you, to a fellow scientist who has lost his life's work? What would you think of such a man Nemus?"

  "I'd think he was busy."

  "Will they think you're busy Nemus?" Grady's voice was subdued but full of incredulity. "Is that what Professor Lyman will think, or the chair of the department, or the President of the University? When the U.S. government is bearing down, when French agents are crawling all over the place? They'll think you're too busy?"

  Michael walked over to a bookcase and began pulling volumes out. Grady went to the nearest cl
oset and began rummaging.

  "You can't search my house."

  "Any minute the people you were going to sell to will be arriving," Grady explained. "They'll have guns. And they'll search your house. They'll take the journals and murder you. You better get those journals out of here before they come or you're a dead man."

  "You are crazy. They wouldn't..."

  "What wouldn't they do Nemus? They tried to kill us. They murdered Michael's wife and killed a woman named Marita. Raped her sister. Killed her child. Tell us about these people Nemus if you're such an expert," Grady urged.

  "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "Call the police Nemus," Grady said. "Tell them you're in danger. Tell them about the people who bought the journals."

  "You're not scaring me."

  "It's possible we'll have found the journals by the time they get here. We'll turn them over to the police and send the academic community a full report. I'm sure they'll lay awake nights worried about your legal rights."

  "Get out of my house now."

  "We're exposing you Nemus," Michael began. "Ending your world as you know it. You'll be ruined forever in academia. Scientists the world over will spurn you. They'll get sick in the guts when you walk in the room. A petty thief. A fraud. A man who can't do his own work. What are you becoming Nemus?"

  "I'm becoming nothing. Get out of here. Get out!"

  Nemus was trembling.

  Grady started in on the kitchen cupboards.

  "Grady call the government man. Tell him we want the U.S. government. The CIA in here."

  "They have no jurisdiction, you fool," Nemus said.

  "Tell them that when you're full of drugs and they're pumping you for information about the foreign agents you're trying to sell to," Grady said. "Write a long letter to the director of Homeland Security and the appropriate Senate committee. After you look it up."

  "Nemus concentrate on this," Michael took over. "Your whole life hangs in the balance. If you give me the journals and you leave Cornell we'll call it a misunderstanding and tell no one. If you don't a man who goes by Girard is going to take them and kill you. And if you escape that I'll probably find them in the next ten minutes or so and then you're career is dead forever. You got that?"

  Nemus was thinking.

  Michael headed toward the bedroom.

  Nemus ran to him and grabbed his wrist but he was a small man and Michael merely glared at him and yanked his wrist away.

  "Oh my God," Grady said. A man in a suit with a gun was plainly visible in the backyard. Nemus looked and moved back in the house as if to hide.

  Grady pulled her Dessert Eagle .357 out of her purse. And stood out of sight.

  "Here's the first one of Gerard's men Nemus."

  Then a second man jumped the fence.

  "We could call it a misunderstanding?" Nemus said.

  "They're in the bedroom," Grady said. "His voice rose an octave when you headed that way. Or maybe they are on the way to the bedroom."

  The window seat was in the hallway covered with cushions.

  "In two minutes Nemus we're gonna be shooting at people. Now we need to negotiate with these people and give them the journals if we're going to get out alive."

  Michael grabbed for the cushions to explore the window seat and Nemus sprinted to block him.

  "Nemus this is your moment," Michael said almost in a whisper. "Your whole life hangs in the balance. If you give me my journals and tell us everything, I'll sacrifice my journals to get us out alive. I'll walk away and tell only Professor Lyman. You could still work for a corporation. No arrest. No public humiliation."

  The men had now disappeared on either side of the front windows.

  "You promise?"

  "I promise."

  Grady walked back to the window seat and opened it.

  "Well look what we have here," Grady said revealing two full rows of binders. While Michael pulled them out she put her gun away, walked to the front door and stuck her head out.

  "You can come in now gentlemen." Then she turned to Michael. "We have a deal Nemus but only if you come clean. So tell us about the copies, if you want to stay out of jail."

  "I copied 1998. They gave me thirty grand and I sent the original out for copying."

  "Where is it now?" Michael asked.

  "I gave it to FedEx and threw the address away. They're coming anytime with one hundred grand to collect copies of the other volumes. They are just copying them and leaving the originals with me to return. I swear it."

  "You copied these?" Michael said. "You bastard. You copied these volumes."

  "I only copied the 1998 volume so far."

  "What exactly did you do with it?" Grady demanded.

  "I told you. I gave it to FedEx."

  "Do you have the tracking slip?" Grady asked.

  "Yeah I guess I do. On the desk."

  "When did you deposit it?"

  "This morning." Grady grabbed the tracking slip off the desk, got on the phone to Jill, and gave her the information. The package was sent to a street address in New York. It would be diverted and would end up in LA at Sam's new offices. They put Nemus on the phone for about thirty seconds to confirm the change. Jill would investigate the mailing address, but it would no doubt be newly established and a dead end.

  "How much were they paying you for the 1998 copy?"

  "I told you thirty thousand. But I don't know who they were. I swear."

  "Where's the money?"

  "They were going to give me the money with the rest. The hundred thousand for the copies of the others. Like I said."

  Grady hated this Nemus character for putting her through the last forty-five minutes. She planned to talk to Lyman and make sure this fool was done at Cornell.

  "I'll tell the guys to bring the trunks," Michael said.

  "I'm gonna call the cops on you guys."

  "Yeah, needle dick, you do that. We'll call the FBI. And we'll tell them what you stole, show them the FedEx receipt, and have you arrested for a damn felony," Grady shot back.

  Nemus shut his mouth.

  Grady went to get the security guys with the two 4-foot trunks and the Ford Explorer. They carried them up to the car like a couple of tiny caskets. After they had packed up the volumes, they left Nemus to his own thoughts and to contemplate the blessing of his intact body and his freedom.

  Baptiste and Figgy sat at a table at a convenient restaurant located down the street from the executive terminal at Teterboro Airport. They were trying to be prudent in their eating and so had each ordered blackened salmon on cream-sauced pasta, but had the chef hold the pasta and substitute broccoli. It was boring for a Frenchman but perhaps more palatable to Figgy, Baptiste wasn't sure. It had been three long and hectic days since Baptiste had left France, on a flight to New York—the one following the flight taken by Benoit Moreau.

  "Once we're on that plane, we've got no control."

  "Wouldn't you want it that way if you were Gaudet?" Baptiste replied.

  "There are better ways to meet people."

  "It seems to me that we need him more than he needs us. As I see it, he makes money with or without us. He just makes more with us. Without him I don't see us making anything."

  "That's not true. What about the copy of Bowden's 1998 journal you're waiting for? Is that nothing?"

  "We won't know until we've had a chance to study it."

  "Does the admiral know you're about to get the journal?"

  Baptiste looked at Figgy as if he'd lost his mind. "No, and he won't until I'm ready. I need you to understand this. Gaudet is a shield, a ... How do you say? A prophylactic for us. We need to convince my government that Gaudet stole the journal. Not you, and certainly not me. We're just making a deal with him."

  "A deal with Gaudet?"

  "It's complicated, but it'll work. Benoit will handle it all through a Swiss escrow. She knows Gaudet and we don't." Baptiste changed the subject to an unpleasant topic before Figgy could prote
st. "You killed Sam's man. A guy he probably liked."

  "What the hell are you bringing that up for? It's old news. When he recognized me, I had no choice. The man attacked me!" Figgy's face had grown red. "Where are you going with this?"

  "We need you either all the way in or all the way out. All the way in means trusting me to run this show. It also means letting Gaudet execute his Cordyceps plan against the U.S."

  "You're a crazy motherfucker, Baptiste. That was never part of the deal. We were supposed to sell the technology to a foreign government. That's it."

  Baptiste clucked his tongue and shook his head, and when Figgy had quieted, he explained the plan to multiply their cut of the deal as laid out by Benoit Moreau. "To really make money, we need Cordyceps to happen."

  "It seems you and Benoit have thought of everything. I hope you two haven't outsmarted yourselves. You know she was Gaudet's lover—probably still is."

  "And?"

  "She could be with him right now discussing this deal!"

  "You are completely out of your mind. I said you need to—"

  "Whoa! Don't get touchy. You ... you are in love, aren't you? Shit. In love with a black widow."

  Baptiste stood and threw his napkin down. "That's enough! Worry about yourself, Meeks. Pay the bill and let's get out of here."

  They waited at Executive Air at La Guardia for Gaudet to arrive. They noticed a sleek jet with large engines taxi up in front of the establishment and shut down.

  "It's a Citation X," Figgy said. "A very fast plane."

  Baptiste had no idea what kind of plane would come to fetch them. Several business types, men and women, disembarked, so it was obviously not Gaudet. Next a single-engine plane with a butterfly tail came taxiing up and they dismissed that as too small.

  "It's a Beechcraft Bonanza," Figgy said. They waited and noted that it was one minute until the appointed time. Two men and a woman got out of the Beechcraft. Oddly, the woman wore an Islamic burka that covered her from head to toe. Her height, if indeed it was a she, was difficult to ascertain under the tentlike garment. That was unusual enough, but it seemed oddly out of place when the two men and the woman boarded the Citation X.