Alton stopped to consider. “Not really, but I don’t want you and Delaney to wait on me. Why don’t you all head back to the resort? I’ll probably crack this cipher in the next few hours.”
“Sweetie…”
“I know, pacing myself,” said Alton. “I tell you what. Why don’t I plan on joining you in a couple of hours either way? I’m feeling pretty good, and considering Summit’s medical fragility, I don’t feel right quitting for the night just yet. When I’m ready to leave, I’ll call the taxi company Fuentes told us about yesterday.”
“Okay, Sweetie. Maybe you should set the alarm on your phone so you don’t stay too late.”
Alton nodded. “Okay, that’s probably a good idea. I’ll see you in a little bit.”
The ladies left, leaving Alton in a heavy silence broken only by the soft tapping of computer keys. He stood to stretch his leg after a few minutes, hoping to avoid the intensity of discomfort he had experienced earlier in the day.
Unscrambling Summit’s files had, so far, proceeded at a snail’s pace. Yes, her encryption program contained sophisticated algorithms, but Alton felt unsatisfied with his progress. When experiencing similar challenges in the past, he had benefitted from a change in focus, switching to a new task for a while. This tactic usually resulted in quick success when returning to the work at hand. With this in mind, he decided to read the first set of lab notes he had decrypted that morning, the ones he had passed along to Cragmire for analysis. Such a review should provide a sufficient change of pace to clear his mind of the latest decoding challenge.
Alton settled back into the lab stool and opened the research file. Summit used a program written specifically to support scientific research and clinical trials. The application provided an efficient format for specifying multiple trials and cataloging test results. It also contained a scheduling calendar and notepad section that Cragmire, in his rush to interpret the scientific results, had apparently ignored.
Summit had filled the notepad section with copious information. Some items were personal, but most pertained to her research. A particular note caught Alton’s eye: “Set up time with LeFlore.” Who was that? The French surname suggested the person wasn’t a local, yet neither Fuentes nor Pavia had mentioned anyone by that name. Alton ran a search for “LeFlore” in all sections of the application and found three hits in the calendar app. Summit had first met this person at the lab on a Tuesday night nearly three months ago. The second meeting had been scheduled for several weeks ago, while the third had occurred the previous week. Summit had marked the second and third meetings with the same entry: “Meet LeFlore at Santa Rosa.” Alton checked his phone’s map application. The city of Santa Rosa lay inland. It looked to be a good thirty or forty minutes away, not exactly a convenient place for a busy scientist to arrange a meeting—unless she had hoped to avoid detection.
The discovery evoked a dozen questions in Alton’s mind. Had Summit been involved in a romantic relationship? Was she greasing a local official? Selling her discoveries to one of her employer’s competitors? Or had she merely been seeing a friend or soliciting support for her efforts to aid the indigenous wildlife via her tortoise breeding program? Did this LeFlore have anything to do with Summit’s disappearance?
Alton shook his head and reminded himself of the futility of rampant speculation without sufficient information. He’d have to wait until the next day to review his discovery with Fuentes and the rest of the NSA team. Perhaps the captain in particular would have more information on this heretofore unknown person.
In the meantime, Alton probed further into the information Summit had left behind in her research program, hoping to find clues to last week’s attack. After thirty minutes of skimming notes on a variety of subjects and a plethora of appointments, he spotted a 9:00 p.m. meeting in the calendar application labeled as simply “Meet Chin in lab.” Once again, the surname suggested this contact might not be a local. Alton crafted careful notes of the information he had uncovered regarding Summit’s mysterious contacts.
He felt a flicker of anger. Surely Cragmire had reviewed Summit’s notes more than once. How had the man missed information of such obvious importance? The biologist had excelled in his review of the scientific research but had proven unreliable for assessing the significance of nonscientific clues. As a result, the NSA team had almost missed this information entirely.
They couldn’t afford to let any other key information slip by. First thing in the morning, Alton would share both of these names with the others. He would also ask Delaney to assign someone—Mallory, perhaps—to review the non-scientific sections of the lab notes as he decrypted them.
Feeling he had squeezed Summit’s notes dry of meaningful clues, Alton returned to his decryption efforts. The research notes had certainly provided the distraction he had sought. In fact, they were proving to be too distracting. Against his will, Alton’s mind once again pondered the possible significance of the two names, hampering his efforts to refocus on his decoding work.
The chime of Alton’s phone alarm ended the inner battle. He shook his head. “Ten o’clock already?”
Alton ran his hands through his hair. He had hoped to solve the code of the previous Monday’s lab notes, but that would have to wait until tomorrow. He powered down his laptop and stood up. His leg throbbed with a bit more discomfort and stiffness than usual, exacerbated by his negligence of the daily exercising and stretching rituals that normally kept the pain in check.
Alton limped over to the facility’s panel of light switches and turned off the lights. He moved toward the lab’s main entrance but soon realized that during his hours of focus, his leg wasn’t the only physical aspect he had ignored. He had also neglected to visit the restroom. Walking had served to highlight this need, and he moved with alacrity through the dark lab towards the bathroom.
After visiting the small restroom, Alton made for the entrance at a slower pace, hoping to minimize the strain on his tender limb. The reduced speed also helped him avoid running into any of the scattered equipment while moving through the facility’s dark shadows.
Glancing around the lab one last time to ensure he hadn’t forgotten anything, Alton froze. Outside, a man in dark clothing emerged from around the building’s corner and stole across the rear lawn. Had one of last week’s attackers returned? If so, why? Had the man discovered the data protection on Summit’s computer and returned in a desperate search for her passwords?
Motives aside, the intruder must be detained. Alton and the rest of the investigators could always interrogate him later.
Alton limped through the jumble of equipment on the lab floor. He weaved his way to the door on the back wall, praying it could be unlocked from inside without a key. But once through, how would he stop the intruder? Glancing around the room, Alton spotted a fire extinguisher mounted on the rear wall five feet or so from the exterior door, the one leading to the tortoise enclosure. He angled over and released the latch that held the two-foot cylinder in place.
Grasping the extinguisher, Alton approached the door and breathed a sigh of relief to see an interior-operated deadbolt lock. He unlatched the door and opened it as gently as possible. Sliding his head around the edge of the door, he scanned the outdoor area and spotted the uninvited guest within seconds.
The intruder followed a narrow sidewalk path leading between the building’s back wall and the short, wooden fence of the tortoise enclosure. Alton could make out none of the man’s features. Dark shadows cast by nearby palm trees rendered the intruder scarcely visible at all.
Continuing along the path, the intruder moved out of the shadows, into the pale light of a full moon. As he walked, he seemed to be studying the rear wall, perhaps searching for an entrance through which he could enter the facility unseen. If so, he would walk up to Alton’s rear door within moments.
Alton pulled his head back inside the facility and shut the door. He removed the safety clip from the fire extinguisher and crouched down, hoping t
he intruder would enter through the door and walk a few paces into the lab before spotting him.
The intruder proceeded along the path until Alton could see him through the window. Alton gave a start of recognition. A scar ran through the intruder’s left eyebrow! It had to be the man who had pestered Pavia for a job. Studying the intruder, Alton thought the man’s nose also looked a little crooked, although he couldn’t be sure in the moonlight’s dim illumination.
Alton winced, his awkward crouch amplifying the pain shooting up and down his bad leg. He held his breath as the intruder’s quiet steps ceased outside the rear door. The steps resumed, heading away from the door. Had the man spotted a clue to Alton’s presence? Something must have scared him away, but what?
Alton rose, knowing he had to act to capture the trespasser. He opened the door and came almost face to face with the man, confirming in that moment the asymmetrical shape of his nose.
The intruder turned and fled.
“Stop!” yelled Alton, limping after him and raising the fire extinguisher. He depressed the firing pin, sending a stream of high-powered chemicals foaming directly onto the intruder’s back and head. The intruder stumbled and fell as a choking cloud of chemicals enveloped him.
Alton could hear scuffling sounds on the sidewalk, but the white haze kept him blind to the man’s movements. He sent another stream of chemicals into the fog, hoping to keep the trespasser incapacitated long enough for Alton to capture him.
The extinguisher’s fluid petered out just as Alton limped up to the edge of the chemical cloud. He began to enter it but backed off as the burning haze set his eyes brimming with tears.
Alton strained his ears, trying to make out a series of curious noises from the cloud over his own labored breathing. Had he heard the sounds of receding footsteps or of a man writhing about on the sidewalk?
Alton raised the extinguisher, using it first to fan away the fumes, then readying it as a club should the intruder try to attack.
At last, the cloud began to clear, and Alton braced himself to confront a possible murderer.
CHAPTER 18
A wisp of chemical fog curled into Alton’s eyes, setting them burning again. He wiped an arm across his face and waited for tears to wash his eyes clean.
As his vision cleared, Alton stepped forward into the now-vanishing cloud. He spotted the intruder beating a retreat around the corner, headed towards the front of the building.
Alton snatched his cellphone and a small card from his pocket. He dialed a number on the card and waited anxious seconds before Sergeant Muro, the policeman patrolling the grounds, answered his phone.
“Come quick!” said Alton. “Some guy just tried to break into the lab. He’s headed back towards the parking lot.”
Within a minute, Alton heard the sounds of footsteps. Muro sprinted up to the front of the research facility just as Alton himself limped to the spot.
“Where is the man?” asked Muro.
“I don’t know. He disappeared before I could make it back to the parking lot. He must be running through the underbrush around here. Let’s see if we can hear him.”
Alton and Muro froze, scarcely breathing. They heard the sigh of palm fronds rustling in the breeze and the nocturnal call of amphibians, but no indications of an escaping criminal.
“Do you hear anything?” asked Alton, just to be sure.
“No,” replied Muro. “I think is gone this man.”
“Why don’t you call Captain Fuentes and let him know what just happened? I’ll contact Delaney.”
The policeman nodded, and Alton reentered the lab. After flipping on the lights, he headed for the eyewash station. He positioned his face above the sink and switched on the water, letting jets of tepid fluid wash out the last traces of fire-retardant chemicals that continued to burn his corneas.
“Hello?” called a voice from the lab door.
“Dr. Tuttle,” said Alton. “You missed all the excitement.”
“The commotion woke me up—light sleeper, you know. I got up here as fast as I could. I’m not as young as I used to be.” The man panted as he spoke.
Officer Muro cracked a smile. “Yes, I pass him coming out of his little house when I run up here.”
“What happened?” asked Tuttle.
Alton wiped an arm across his face. “I’m going to call Delaney. Why don’t you hang out so I can explain to both of you at the same time?” He pulled out his cellphone and dialed a number.
“Hello?” said Delaney. She sounded groggy.
“It’s Blackwell. We had a near break-in at the lab.”
“What?” The NSA supervisor sounded more awake now.
Alton explained the chain of events. “The intruder was definitely the man Pavia described,” he concluded. “He had a scar running through his left eyebrow and a bent nose. He’s probably the only person on the island matching that description.”
“Agreed,” said Delaney. She paused. “Does your wife know about this?”
“No. I’ll tell her when I get back to the resort.”
“You’d better get going, then. We’ll have a long day tomorrow.”
“Before I do, let me tell you about a discovery I made tonight. I went back and read the first day’s notes that Cragmire analyzed. The program Summit used for her research contains task and calendar sections, to allow the user to make a ‘to-do’ list and schedule appointments. In those sections, I saw repeated references to someone named LeFlore and another person called Chin. Summit met with both people more than once, but her meetings were either far away from the research facility or so late at night that she’d probably be the only one here. It suggests she was trying to hide her relationship with these people. But the question is why?”
“My thoughts exactly,” said Delaney. “It doesn’t make sense. Summit ran this facility. It’s not like there’s someone here who could fire her if they didn’t approve of her associates.”
“Perhaps she was afraid of word getting back to Lexington Labs, which would imply they wouldn’t approve. But I’m getting ahead of myself. I think we need to find out who these people are and learn a little more about them before we start forming theories.”
“Agreed. We’ll look into their backgrounds first thing tomorrow.”
Alton bade Tuttle goodnight. Thirty minutes later, he exited a cab and walked through the lobby of his resort. The serenity of the crackling fireplace seemed at odds with the violent events of the past hour.
He mounted the stairs to his treetop loft and entered the room. Mallory sat in bed, reading. Upon seeing him enter, she folded down a corner of the open page and placed her paperback on the nightstand.
Alton stepped closer to the bed, and Mallory drew in her breath at the sight of his disheveled, soaked clothes and sweat-streaked face.
“Sweetie! What happened?” she asked, rising out of bed. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Someone came back to the facility just as I was leaving, presumably one of the attackers. It was the guy with the scar Pavia told us about. He approached from the rear of the building. When he saw me, he took off. I tried to stop him with a fire-extinguisher blast, but he escaped.”
“Did he attack you?” asked Mallory, eyeing her husband’s clothes.
“No, but the chemicals in the extinguisher smart pretty bad when they get in your eyes, so I had to use the eyewash station. It does a good job…even gives you a free shower at the same time,” he added with a chuckle.
Mallory’s eyes conveyed her unspoken concern. Alton pulled her to his chest. “I’m fine. It’s not the first time one of us has had a tussle. I can handle myself.”
“I know.” She looked up into his eyes. “You’re never going to make me stop worrying about you. You know that, right?”
“Honey—” began Alton.
“It’s not about your capabilities. I know you can take care of yourself. We both can. It’s about my husband, the man I love, facing danger. What if, despite your many talents, someone
…does something to you? I’m always going to worry when you’re in a dangerous situation. It’s part of the package deal you signed up for when you married me.”
Alton remembered his own anxiety, bordering on panic, during those times Mallory had faced danger. He knew his wife, a former Army lieutenant and current FBI agent, could handle herself. His concern wasn’t about that. Rather, it arose from the fear of the empty void that would open in his life should anything happen to Mallory. “I understand. I feel the same way.” He embraced his wife again and drew her into a lingering kiss. “I would never want you to worry, but I tell you, I wouldn’t trade your love for anything.”
“I know, Sweetie. Just please make sure you’re around to enjoy it.”
CHAPTER 19
A man with an angry scar across his eyebrow stumbled through overgrown terrain, walking where the maze of palm trees and underbrush grew thick and running where they did not. For the umpteenth time, he wiped a forearm across his face in a vain effort to remove the fire extinguisher’s burning chemicals from his eyes. Eventually, streams of tears achieved what rubbing could not, and the clarity of his vision returned.
He splashed through a stream, doubled back on land for a few dozen yards, then reentered the water. As he walked, he used the flowing water to wash off the last remnants of fire-extinguisher residue. After sloshing through the creek for nearly a hundred meters, he emerged onto the far bank and entered a muddy path that cut through a tangle of dense foliage.
The scarred man traveled along the path for another twenty minutes, eventually emerging onto a backstreet in a quiet pueblo. He walked at a steady pace towards home.
For the first time, his mind returned to the facility, causing his physical exhaustion to give way to frustration. His mission had ended in failure. Yes, he had avoided capture, but he had also left empty-handed.
His distress soon transformed to anger. What right had the American scientist to hold close that which should rightfully belong to all? Why was it anymore hers than his? After all, she was the interloper on the islands, not he.
The Evolution of Evil (The Blackwell Files Book 6) Page 9