The man waved to the guards at ground level and quickly punched a security code into a keypad. Three beeps later, the door opened, and he disappeared inside.
The interior fit that of a typical warehouse facility—plenty of empty space. Along one wall, large, wooden crates were stacked three high and marked with stenciling that read Coffee. Another side of the building had floor-to-ceiling shelving filled with various machinery but mostly bags of fertilizer. Up above was a crisscross of catwalks.
The visitor crossed the width of the building to the side where the large crates were stacked. He stood in front of one and looked up toward the ceiling. With closer inspection, one could see armed men patrolling the catwalks that led to a small office at the far end of the building. He waved at the office.
Suddenly, the crate in front of him swung open, revealing a hidden chamber with an opening in the floor. The man entered and climbed down a metal ladder, roughly twenty-five feet, until he stood in a brightly lit corridor. He walked to the end of the hall and opened the door leading to a large laboratory. As he reached for a lab coat near the entrance, a voice called out to him.
“Julio, over here.”
Julio Ortega turned toward the sound and saw his younger brother bent over a microscope. He quickly made his way over while he slipped on the coat. “Is it true?” he asked.
Elan looked up from the scope. “I believe so. We still need to conduct live trials, but I think we’ve stabilized the growth of the cells. Come, take a look.” He motioned with his hand.
Julio and Elan Ortega specialized in human genome research. More specifically, they loved messing around with human DNA. They studied what others in the scientific community called “fringe science.” As they became more involved with this sort of research, they pulled further away from the establishment. They were now experimenting with no governing boards or peers, in a realm of questionable morals and very little allegiance to any type of Hippocratic Oath of responsibility toward mankind.
Julio looked into the microscope. “This is amazing. The cells are no longer congealing. We must test this right away.”
Only a few weeks earlier, the Ortegas were in the jungle, working in a small makeshift lab. Free from interruptions and surrounded by a bounty of flora to experiment with, they had spent close to a year developing and testing a variety of mixtures.
Over four thousand combinations later, they finally had the positive reaction they were looking for—a huge break for the brothers. It was then that the Ortegas pulled up stakes and relocated to a modified warehouse in Mitú to begin the next phase of testing. However, their celebration was short lived. Somehow, they had documented the formula incorrectly and were unable to replicate the results seen earlier in the jungle. With thirty-six different ingredients and virtually limitless possible combinations, that mistake was a serious setback. From then on, they had worked night and day, mixing and matching, attempting to replicate every single combination of the ingredients they had tried in the past in the hope of finding that magical mix again. They had.
Julio readied the drug while Elan walked into the holding room next door. Inside, a chimpanzee lay on a bed.
“Hello, Malcolm.”
Malcolm was the name they gave all their test subjects. This particular animal was Malcolm #69. The other sixty-eight were dead.
A few days before, he had been a lively ball of fur. The drug had improved his physical and mental abilities. He had grasped almost all of the sign commands they had taught him. They joked that, in a week, he would speak and be capable of debating politics. His improvement had continued for two days, but then Malcolm became sick like the others. The brothers were confident that they were getting closer to stabilizing and controlling the side effects of the drug.
Malcolm didn’t respond to Elan’s greeting. He was lethargic—an unusual condition for a fully grown male chimp. He didn’t move. He didn’t blink. He hadn’t touched his last meal. It was unfortunate, but his health was diminishing. However, because he wasn’t dead yet, it was a huge improvement for the brothers’ track record.
Ever since they had lost the recipe, all of the test subjects had died within minutes of being injected. The working recipe they had discovered in the jungle kept their subjects alive for a few hours—long enough for the brothers to start making adjustments to the drug so they could stabilize the effects. The fact that Malcolm #69 was still alive meant the Ortegas were not only back on track, but ahead.
Elan checked the chimp’s blood pressure. “Don’t worry, Malcolm. We have hope this time around.”
Chapter 18
Our trip to “Rest Stop City” turned out to be a big bust. The location where the two teens were found didn’t help much either. Talking to this so-called witness had become a high priority for me. I made it clear to Cabrera and Gómez that we had to pursue all angles, and that required a trip into the jungle.
Gómez said we would need a guide. “I know the perfect person. I’ll handle the arrangements.”
We said our goodbyes at the hotel. If our plan fell into place, we would leave the next morning at eleven.
“Why not leave earlier—get a good start on the day?” I asked Cabrera as we walked into the hotel restaurant for dinner.
“We’ll need time to shop for supplies. What you’re wearing isn’t going to suffice for the hike. Plus, we’ll need some camping gear just in case.”
I stopped. “What do you mean, just in case?”
Cabrera turned back toward me. “It’s a four-hour hike to where the village is. I don’t know how physically fit you are. Plus, we’ll have to spend at least one night at the village, and I haven’t a clue as to what the accommodations are there. Best to bring something.”
“Wait. We aren’t driving? I saw the road continue into the jungle.”
“Yeah, but the road can only get us so close. From there, we’ll be on foot.”
The significance of the journey we were about to embark on suddenly became clear, and I understood his hesitation. We would be heading into the jungle to find an indigenous tribe so I could question one of their people. In the back of my head, I guess I knew this, but the realization of how bizarre this experience would be didn’t hit me until then.
“Don’t worry. You’re in good hands,” Cabrera said with a warm smile.
I excused myself from the table so I could give Reilly an update.
“You sure that’s necessary? Can’t the local authorities send in a team to extract the guy?” Reilly asked.
“We’re talking about a member of an indigenous tribe, not some drug runner for a cartel.”
Reilly hesitated before answering. I don’t think he saw the difference. As usual though, he gave me the answer he always did.
“Do what you need to do to get the job done.”
I returned just as the waiter left our table. I inhaled deeply as I sat. “Smells great.”
Dinner came with a generous helping of rice and beans—no surprise there. Cabrera had also ordered a platter of various grilled meats, fried plantains, and cheese.
As we ate, he continually steered the conversation away from the investigation and back to me. He wanted to know about my life in Hong Kong, especially the type of cases I investigated. Then he moved on to asking about my life in San Francisco, the kids, my late husband, and my mother-in-law. He peppered me nonstop, and I answered everything at first. Maybe I enjoyed the attention more than I should have. Okay, I definitely did. But eventually I realized we weren’t getting any work done, and it was turning into a bad habit.
“How do you guys accomplish anything around here if you never discuss the case?”
“We don’t normally have beautiful distractions like you to contend with.”
I laughed and flipped my hair back. A girl can ignore the effects her beauty has on a man for only so long. “Don’t you have girlfriend?” I asked, my eyes darting away from his.
His head tilted from side to side. “Eh, I haven’t had much luck.”
I didn’t believe him. On top of his looks, he had this endearing way of constantly running his hands through his wavy brown hair to keep it out of his eyes. His broad shoulders and V-shaped torso didn’t hurt either.
The physical aside, he was also easy to talk to and knew when to be funny and when not to. Nothing irritates me more than a guy who doesn’t know when his jokes have run their course. Since my arrival, he had also opened every door for me. I thought it might be a cultural thing, so I paid attention to other men during our outings. I didn’t see the same courtesy afforded to all of the women, and it made me feel special. This guy would easily check off the many wants on a single gal’s list.
From the start, I had ignored his advances and pretended I either didn’t notice or wasn’t interested. Truth is, if we were back in San Francisco, he would most likely be picking me up for a date. There was nothing wrong with him except he lived all the way in Bogotá and I didn’t. My assignment was to investigate Riggs’s case and then leave as soon as possible. I wasn’t counting on a partner with puppy-dog eyes who wagged his tail for me whenever I entered the room. I mean, it’s not like I had headed to Vegas with a group of single friends and left the door open for something wild to happen. This was Bogotá. It was work. And what happens here—
Hmmm. I guess that Vegas line could work here.
Before I knew it, we had finished dinner and were sitting outside on the hotel’s veranda. The weather was mild that night, and the crickets sang their hearts out. There was Jameson in my glass, and my head rested comfortably against Cabrera’s shoulder as I listened to his soothing voice vibrate through his arm. For the last hour, he’d been telling me stories about growing up in Bogotá.
“When I was seven or eight, my mother enrolled me in piano lessons even though I begged her to let me take Brazilian jiujitsu.”
“Isn’t that a form of mixed martial arts?” I asked.
“It is now, but back then it was still being developed into its own art form based on judo.”
“So what happened?”
“I took the piano lessons.” His smile crept up one side of his face.
“Something tells me you didn’t take the lessons.”
“I did, but I told the teacher my mother could only afford to pay half the fee and asked if she would allow me to clean up around the studio to make up for the difference.”
“Let me guess; she said yes?”
Cabrera nodded. “I used the other half of the money to take lessons at the local gym.”
“And you were able to keep this from your mother?”
“My mother has a habit of believing what she wants to believe. So long as she heard me practicing, I was fine.”
“How long were you able to keep this charade of yours going?”
“Four years.”
My eyebrows shot up as I lifted my head off his shoulder. “What?”
“Yeah. During that time, I had seven recitals, and I also won the title championship in jiujitsu for my age group each of those years.”
Boy, did I have you pegged wrong. “What were you, some kind of kid prodigy?”
“No. My IQ fell short of the official prodigy category.”
And I thought I was pretty accomplished. “I don’t even want to know how smart you are.”
Cabrera laughed and then launched into another story. It didn’t take long for his voice to put me back into that comfortable state. I was so relaxed and in the moment that, when I dug myself further into his side and murmured, it took a few seconds for me to realize what I had done. I sat up awkwardly. Fast.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
I pretended to check my watch. “The time. I should get some sleep if I’m going to be ready for our hike tomorrow.” I was still grasping the idea that I had totally snuggled up to him. At what point did we stop eating grilled meat at the dinner table and start acting like a couple under the moonlight? I looked at the empty rocks glass in my hand and realized the culprit. Dammit!
Chapter 19
When I woke the next morning, I felt surprisingly fine considering how many Jamesons I’d downed the night before. I chalked up my remarkable recovery to two sources: first, I’m half-Irish; second, I had been able to work jogging back into my schedule and was in pretty good shape. As a teenage schoolgirl, in high school, I loved running, especially for track and field. The 110-meter hurdle was my specialty. Nowadays, I settled for a forty-five-minute run around North Beach with my MP3 player booming. I was definitely ready for my adventure in the rain forest.
Of course, what happened the night before popped back into my head, and my mood shifted slightly. Ugh, why must I have such a keen sense of memory? I couldn’t believe I actually snuggled. I fell into his trap. Warm body, muscular arm, hint of aftershave, calming voice. He had the right bait, and I was the weak bitch.
Well, I had to move on. I could either be an adult about this, meaning I don’t mention anything and act as if it didn’t happen, or I can be really awkward and still not mention anything. I decided against awkward. I could handle this. He probably thought I was a sure thing last night. Ah-ha, Abby Kane scores a point in our cat-and-mouse game.
Though when I met up with Cabrera for a quick breakfast at the hole-in-the-wall next to the hotel, I was a bit thrown by his actions. He was a little too good at playing the nothing-happened-last-night game—much more than I’d expect or would have liked. Just the other day, he was the puppy dog following me around. Maybe I’d had Cabrera all wrong. Maybe he was just a nice guy and not into me.
Suddenly I realized I was irritated by the realization he might not be interested, which of course was completely insane. There I sat with my fake smile masking my pouty lips, my body temperature rising and my brain in overdrive as I analyzed the situation. If I were a guy trying to read my signals, I’d be totally confused. That’s when I saw what was really going on. I felt so silly. I knew right then what I needed to do: I would have to make it clear that he could and should go back to chasing me even though I wanted to keep it professional between us.
During our shopping trip, I picked out better hiking shoes and longer shorts—real cargo shorts. The ones I had were “too short” according to Cabrera. While they weren’t exactly Daisy Dukes, I could understand his concern.
“In the jungle, everything will want to bite you.”
That was all I needed to hear in order to try on a few cargo capris. Later, Cabrera handed me a large backpack. “I packed this for you. It’s everything you need. You can leave the bag you packed yourself at the hotel. You won’t need anything in it.”
“What makes you so sure? You don’t know what I have in this duffle bag.”
“Trust me.”
“You know, I’m no stranger to the outdoors. I’ll have you know I went on many a hunting trip with my father while growing up.”
“Oh? Do tell.”
“He liked to hunt big game, and we would make trips to Africa often. I’ve taken down water buffalo, impalas, and more. We even went to Alaska and hunted moose. Can you single-handedly slaughter a moose with a knife? I can.”
I could see the wheels spinning in his head. I had blindsided him with that slaughter tidbit.
“All right, you’re not a newbie, but still, trekking through the Amazon is different. The dangers you faced on your rich-man safaris don’t compare to what the jungle can throw at you. The animals here will hunt you, and there won’t be a Land Rover separating you from them. That’s all I’m saying.”
I decided not to fuel this stupid debate. We were both swinging our dicks, trying to impress the other. He wanted to play the role of tough man looking out for weak woman. Fine. What’s the harm?
A few minutes later, Gómez met up with us. He had brought along our guide as promised. I wasn’t expecting a man who stood closer to my height than to Gómez’s or Cabrera’s to lead us on the hike.
“Call me Rapau,” he said, smiling. “I am very knowledgeable about the area where we are headin
g.”
His dark skin and accent were the only clues that he was from an indigenous tribe. Everything else about him, from his haircut to his clothes, was westernized.
“Rapau isn’t from the exact tribe you seek, but he will be able to translate for you,” Gómez said, shifting his eyes back and forth between Cabrera and me. “He has been there many times. Nothing to worry about.”
I watched Rapau walk off to grab supplies of his own before turning back to Gómez. “Does he know about the investigation?”
“Yes. I briefed him. It’s important he know everything if he is to deal with the tribe elders and not offend them.”
“Offend them?”
“The indigenous people aren’t like us. You don’t walk into their village and start poking your head around. That’s actually a good way to lose it.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “I’d hate to see that happen.”
Gómez motioned to the bulge under my jacket near my hip. “Be sure to keep your weapon hidden at all times.”
“I always do. But out of curiosity, why?”
“Until Rapau makes all the proper introductions, you will be considered trespassers on the tribe’s land. A gun will be seen as a threat.”
“What happens if they’re threatened?” Cabrera asked.
Gómez shifted his eyes to his friend. “They will attack.”
Chapter 20
I inhaled deeply, taking in every bit of the fragrant greenery surrounding me. My nose filled with what I could only describe as a humid, flowery smell—nothing like the woodsy scent I had grown accustomed to during my hikes through Muir Woods across the bay back home. I stopped in a spot where the canopy had opened, and the sun shined through, lighting me like a star on a Broadway stage. I closed my eyes and left it up to my ears to paint the picture.
The jungle rustled in all directions. I assumed there was a bevy of mischievous little critters wondering who this strange person was trouncing through their backyard. Every step I took sent them scattering. High above in the treetops, the squawking conversation of parrots reverberated while, in the distance, a different type of screeching piqued my interest and forced me to open my eyes a sliver for a look. Swinging amongst the tree limbs away from me, I saw a lanky shadow. We were two hours in on our jungle expedition, and I was having a ball.
Tenderloin (Abby Kane FBI Thriller) Page 7