“There’s obviously a chance that she won’t believe us. I know we’ve uncovered enough of NeuroDynamics’s blatant criminal acts so that the FBI will discover the full truth with or without her help.” John paused, then said, “But at the very least, I want to be the one to tell her what they’ve done to her. She deserves to hear it from someone who can explain it all to her. If she agrees to help us, it’s icing on the cake, as far as I’m concerned.”
Jo thought for a moment about the compassionate man sitting next to her. He wanted to bring down Candleworth and his organization, but he never stopped thinking about the welfare of the individuals who were little more than pawns. If she was honest with herself, it was one of the main reasons she was falling in love with him. He cared about the victims as much as she did.
She reached out a hand to John and they rode the rest of the way to Belinda Peterson’s house in silence.
Just south of the turn-off for Split Rock Light House, they found the house number on a weathered post on the lake side of the highway. The unpaved driveway disappeared into the woods, and they wound their way down until they reached a honey-colored wood log home, with a green shingled roof. Jo parked the Highlander behind a blue sedan, and they got out of the SUV. She heard the chatter of crows as they walked up the sidewalk.
Jo rang the doorbell and shivered in the cold while they waited for someone to answer. After a minute without an answer, John pounded on the door. Finally, they heard the click of the deadbolt being turned and the door opened, revealing a gaunt-looking Belinda Peterson.
She shielded her eyes from the bright sunshine and said, “What do you want? Can’t you read?” She pointed to a small sign pasted to the sidelight next to the door. It read: NO SOLICITORS.
When Belinda started to close the door, Jo stuck her booted foot in the opening, afraid that they wouldn’t be given a chance to explain. She felt the pain radiate up her leg as the door struck, but ignored it and said, “We’re not here to sell you anything. We just want to talk to you. It’s important.”
Her eyes widened when she took a closer look at Jo. “Hey, aren’t you the cleaning lady from the office?” She pointed to John. “And who’s this?” Confusion mingled with indignation on her face.
Jo said, “I’m sorry to have deceived you. I’m not part of the cleaning crew at NeuroDynamics. I am Special Agent Jo Schwann, with the FBI, and I’ve been working undercover in your company.” She pulled out her credentials.
Belinda scrunched up her features as she glanced at Jo’s badge. “I don’t understand. This must be some kind of mistake. What does the FBI want with me?”
Jo said, “May we come inside?”
Belinda cut her eyes toward John. “And who’s this? Another FBI agent?”
John spoke up. “No, ma’am. My name is Dr. John Goodman. I’m assisting Agent Schwann with the investigation into your company. Please, may we come in and explain everything?”
Jo held her breath, willing Belinda to let them enter.
The CFO kept her hand on the door and Jo watched the indecision cross her features. Belinda finally stepped aside to let them in.
Jo waited for her eyes to adjust to the dimly lit house. All the shades had been drawn and only a sliver of sunshine escaped around the edges of the windows. She and John followed Belinda into a spacious family room. There was a blazing fire in the gas log fireplace at the far end of the room and Belinda asked them to be seated on the leather couch in front of it. She eased down in a chair next to them, curling her feet up beneath her.
To Jo, the woman no longer resembled the commanding CFO she had first met in her office only a few days earlier. She wore a tattered bathrobe and her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail. Her face was free of makeup and the firelight accentuated the dark circles under her eyes.
Belinda reached for a bottle of ibuprofen on the end table next to her and swallowed three pills without a drink of water. Jo glanced at John. His brows came together and he said, “Ms. Peterson, are you all right?”
She waved off his question with her hand and said, “Just a bad headache.” John’s frown deepened, and Jo thought he would say something more, but he just shook his head. He’s biding his time, waiting to help her. He knows we have to gain her trust first.
Belinda rubbed at her temples. “So, tell me. What is this all about?”
Jo leaned forward. “About two weeks ago, the FBI received a call from the medical examiner’s office in Duluth. They had discovered a NeuroDynamics microchip in the brain of recently deceased young man, by the name of Mitch Calhoun. Does that name sound familiar to you?”
Belinda frowned. “Yes, he was one of our test patients. But you aren’t insinuating that the microchip caused his death, are you? Dr. Candleworth, the CEO of my company told us about his death and said that he died of natural causes.”
John sent a fleeting look at Jo and then spoke. “You were told a lie. Mr. Calhoun died of an aneurysm that resulted from the microchip. And he’s not the only one. Thomas Falco died yesterday. I saw the brains of both men and I saw the damage the microchips inflicted.”
“You must be mistaken …”
“I have copies of the ME’s reports here with me. May I turn on the lamp and show them to you?”
He flicked on the table lamp and pulled a stack of papers from his bag. He retrieved several pages and showed them to her.
Belinda quickly read through the reports, and then looked up in shock. “No, no that can’t be. There must be some kind of mistake. I have one of the microchips. Are you saying they’re defective?”
Jo said, “Not exactly. Functionally, it appears that they are operating exactly the way they are intended. However, it is the intent that we are concerned about. Were you aware that you were also injected with some substance called NC-15 when you received the microchip?”
Belinda crossed her arms. “No, I don’t believe you. That microchip was put in my head to relieve migraines. Dr. Candleworth would never do such a thing. He’s a good man. You’re making this all up just to scare me.” She stood up. “I think you should leave now.”
John spoke quickly. “Believe me, I wish this weren’t true. But it is. Here is a copy of your medical file. It proves that you received the injection and that they have been testing your ability to be controlled ever since.”
Belinda plopped back onto her chair as if her legs could no longer support the weight of what she had been told. Her face was chalk white as she said, “Control? Let me see that.” She snatched the papers out of John’s hands.
Jo watched as the horror spread across Belinda Peterson’s face. Belinda released a cry of pain and read aloud from the report. “Early work with subject indicates willingness to abandon inhibitions, including committing petty crimes. What have they done to me?”
John said, “It appears that this NC-15 has some kind of mind control properties. Do you know anything about it?”
Belinda’s eyes filled with tears. “No, I’ve never heard of this substance. This is a nightmare. What can I do?”
Jo spoke rapidly, seizing the opportunity to gain Belinda’s help. “You can get us inside information.” She reached out and placed a hand on her knee. “Will you help us?”
The tears spilled down Belinda’s cheeks as she said, “Tell me what to do.”
Chapter Thirty
AgriDynamics
The AgriDynamics plant was about seven miles west of town. The sprawling complex covered several acres. It looked like a commercial airplane hangar but with loading docks. Cranes loaded crates containing disassembled wind turbines onto flat beds and semis from an independent trucking firm hauled them away. Three wind turbines on the property supplied power.
Chip was working what he hoped would be his final weekend. He was assigned to help Hank pack crates. Hank was tall and thin with a perpetual haggard look that resulted from his struggle to support a wife and four kids on the earnings from two low-paying jobs.
“Where are these babies heade
d, Hank?”
“We used to ship most of our turbines to wind farms out west, California, Idaho, even Mexico. Now our business is mostly in the Midwest. This load is going up to Minnesota.”
“Looks to me like Swanson is sitting on a gold mine here. Probably pulling in big bucks, I would bet.”
“Used to.”
“Not anymore? Why’s that?”
“Hal isn’t keeping up with Japan and China. Their innovations and new technologies are blowing us away. He once was real hands-on and interested in moving the company forward. Now it seems he’s only interested in the bottom line and the bottle.
“Herman over on the manufacturing end is a real engineer, got a degree and all. To hear him talk, we’ll be out of business in five years. He says we’re making Stone Age turbines.”
“It’s almost lunch break, but I’ve got to take a leak now. See you in the break room.” Chip headed in the direction of the restroom but kept on going down a long corridor that led to the manufacturing side of the plant. He inched open a heavy metal door, slipped in and stood in the shadows along the wall.
Acrid fumes burned his eyes and nose. He took out his camera phone and began to take photos of the workers in their booties, gloves, and facemasks. The lunch bell rang.
“Clean up those spills and dump that solvent in the barrel before you go to lunch,” said the supervisor who was dressed in a full HAZMAT suit. He turned and spotted Chip. “Hey, what in the hell are you doing in here without protective gear? This epoxy resin is dangerous. Get your ass out of here.”
Chip exited with the workers. Outside the area they deposited their protective wear into another barrel.
With an eerie feeling, Chip scanned the plant one more time. He thought he saw someone on the glass-enclosed catwalk above the workers, but then dismissed it as a shadow.
Jane sat in her truck nursing the strong bitter coffee in her thermal travel mug. Her eyes were on the doors of the truck bays but her mind was elsewhere. Lust was doing battle with reality. Was she really falling for this guy? He would probably finish his book and head back to Baltimore or maybe out to Hollywood. Then where would she be? She had her kids and her profession. That was more than enough. Chip just didn’t fit in her life, even if he was starting to fit into the community. Sure, the sex was good. No … the sex was great. But she couldn’t let it cloud her judgement. Tomorrow she would break it off with him, end it before it caused her more heartbreak than she could endure again.
Mental turmoil almost caused her to miss the truck as it exited the warehouse and headed down the state road. With her headlights off she followed at a safe distance, using the truck’s taillights as her guide. It turned off the main road and headed down the rutted dirt road that led to the town’s landfill. She pulled over and shifted into park, letting the engine idle.
The driver stepped out of the cab. In the hazy glow of the moon, his astronaut-like HAZMAT suit was mesmerizing. He unloaded the barrels and began to dump their contents.
She put the truck in reverse and slowly backed up onto the main road, turned on her headlights and pushed the speedometer up to eighty miles per hour, heading for home. She had little doubt that Chip’s speculations were being confirmed. A thick fog was clouding the road ahead, and her mind was as murky as her vision. Now what, she pondered. Now what?
At the end of his shift Chip told the warehouse supervisor that he would not be returning. He had learned all he needed to know and his camera phone had the proof.
He arrived home at 7:30 a.m., fell into bed with his clothes on and set the alarm for noon. That would give him enough time to shower, google ‘epoxy resins’ and get to Jane’s by 1:00 p.m. Sunday would be his day of rest from Brain Freeze.
Five hours later Chip dressed in clean jeans and an open-necked white shirt with the tails out. He packed up his laptop, jumped into the Volvo and drove to Jane’s hobby farm southeast of town. About a half a mile from her place he spotted her running along the road. He pulled over along side her.
“Hi, want a lift the rest of the way?”
“No thanks. Go ahead. I want to finish my run.”
Disappointment began to creep into Chip’s mind. Jane was obviously not primping for this afternoon. She was dressed in baggy gray sweats and her hair was pulled through the back of a green John Deere cap. Maybe a shower together was what she had in mind, but he doubted it. Maybe she was just becoming comfortable with him, which would please him to no end, but he doubted that, too. He had a gnawing feeling that their relationship was already reaching a rough patch.
In her kitchen Jane grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator. “I’ve got bottled water, Diet Coke or I could make a pot of coffee. What would you like?
Chip was longing for a beer, but opted for Coke.
“What happened last night at the plant? Did you get into the manufacturing area?”
“Yes, and it was quite a sight. Looked like Chernobyl in there. Apparently a highly toxic epoxy resin is used as an adhesive and an equally toxic solvent is used for cleaning up. Then everything, including the disposable gloves and masks worn by the workers, is dumped into barrels. I got a few pictures and loaded them on my laptop. Take a look.”
Jane clicked through the photos. “That HAZMAT suit the supervisor is wearing is the same type of suit the truck driver was wearing. Scary to think that the production workers aren’t taking an equal amount of protection, isn’t it?”
“Did the driver dump the barrels into Beaver Creek?”
“No, he dumped the stuff in the town landfill. But the creek is near enough that hazardous materials could run off into it.”
“It’s pretty clear to me, Jane. Hal is using non-EPA approved chemicals, failing to properly dispose of hazardous wastes and polluting Beaver Creek, endangering the livestock and people of Turners Bend. On top of that, he is taking federal funds for running a green operation that supplies alternative energy. When Owen Hansen threatened to expose him, he must have sent some goons to stop him. This is criminal. The authorities have to be brought in, and he needs to be shut down.”
Jane paced back and forth in her kitchen. She sighed and shook her head.
“Chip, we can’t do this. I want to talk to Hal. Get him to promise to stop this. If we inform the authorities, someone else could get hurt. Shutting down AgriDynamics would be devastating. Haven’t you noticed it’s the biggest employer in Boone County? The economy is bad enough already and family farms are dying—the town would shrivel up and die. I don’t want that on my conscience.”
“Come on, Jane, the guy’s a drunk. He’s gone down a slippery path. Do you think he is going to listen to his ex-wife? He deserves to be put behind bars.”
Jane stopped her pacing. She stood still and quiet for a moment. A chill entered the room and sent warning signals up and down Chip’s spine.
“Chip, he is the father of my children. He is a native son of this town. I will not have him exposed in this manner. You’re an outsider here. You just can’t bop into town and turn us upside down. Go write your crime stories and stay out of our business. And stay out of my life, too. Do you hear me? Get out of my house, and get out of my life.”
Stunned at her vehemence, Chip moved toward her with outstretched arms. “Calm down, Jane. You’re getting carried away, saying things you don’t mean.”
“I’m sorry, Chip. I don’t want to be angry with you. Please go and let me think about this. I need time. I need space.” Her anger had turned to pleading. Chip gave her a brief hug and left.
For the next two days, Chip couldn’t sleep, he couldn’t eat, and he sure couldn’t write. He wrestled with his feelings for Jane and the moral dilemma that he found himself in concerning AgriDynamics. He didn’t go to the Bun. He wanted to go to the Bend, but feared he might run into Hal. He didn’t check his email or answer his phone. Honey sensed something was wrong and followed him around the house. Runt, however, didn’t have his mother’s sensitivities. He wanted to play and kept bringing his soc
k toy to Chip for a game. “Sorry, boy, I’m not in the mood for any games. Go lay down.” Finally, Runt gave up and flopped over, instantly falling asleep, and Chip lifted him into his playpen.
He put Honey in the Volvo and headed out for a long drive. He rolled down the back windows, and Honey stuck her head out the window to catch the breeze. She closed her eyes and her nose twitched as the wind blew back her silky ears.
Chapter Thirty-One
Turners Bend
Late April
The rains of early April had ceased and with May approaching planting season was underway. All around Boone County fields were being plowed. In the distance droning engines could be heard as tractors plowed up the rich, black soil. From the road the giant insects ate their way across the landscape. Green John Deeres, yellow Caterpillars, red Massey Fergusons and blue New Hollands churned the earth into deep furrows from sunup to sundown.
Until he came to Iowa, Chip had never experienced the intoxicating smell of soil. He had never imagined what a calming effect it would have on him. He powered down his car window and drove at a slow steady speed, savoring the mossy, musky, piquant aroma. He thought about what Jane had said about the community of Turners Bend and its people, the people who in just six months had become so dear to him. He came to the conclusion that he would have to let Jane deal with Hal and AgriDynamics in her own way.
After two hours he turned toward home. He pulled the Volvo into the garage, let Honey out and walked toward the backdoor. As he approached, he saw the broken window, shards of glass on the porch. The door stood ajar. He did not see any vehicles or hear any noises, so he cautiously pushed the door open with his foot and peered into the kitchen expecting the place to be ransacked. At first nothing seemed to be disturbed. He entered and began to explore. His laptop was gone from the kitchen table. In the living room the only things missing were his iPod and Bose speakers. Then it hit him. The playpen was empty. Where was Runt? He called for him, searching everywhere, every room, every closet, under the bed. No Runt. He ran outside and began to call and whistle, searching around his property. What kind of people would take his puppy? Or did he somehow escape and run out the open door?
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