"Leave it," she instructed as they heard heavy footsteps pounding up the enclosed staircase.
They picked up Digby in the barn and ran outside. Now the whooping alarm was joined by the distant sound of arriving fire trucks and squad cars. "Here come my guys," Jack said. "City services to the rescue." In seconds, the red lights from two fire units were ping-ponging on the stable walls. Four sheriff's squad cars boiled in behind.
"It's gonna blow!" Jack yelled as the firefighters got out of the trucks dressed in their red helmets and yellow slickers and started toward him.
"Get back! It's gonna blow!" he yelled again. Jack literally pushed one of the firefighters back into the truck.
Izzy was doing more or less the same at the second truck as Jack jumped onto the engine nearest him then pulled Susan aboard.
"Get it outta here!" Jack yelled. "Go! Go! Go! This place is gonna explode!" In all truth, he wasn't absolutely sure it was going to explode, but the alarms had him in an adrenaline panic.
The cops and the firefighters finally got the idea and backed the vehicles out fast. They were about two hundred yards away when the driver of Jack and Susan's truck stopped and set the brake.
"No! Get back further!" Jack yelled as the second truck with Izzy, Carlos, and Digby aboard pulled up beside them.
"There's supposed to be a fire out here. Where's the fuckin' fire?" the truck captain yelled at them.
Just then they felt the earth tremble. The ground around the barn began to explode upwards into the air. It blew mighty chunks of dirt and sand hundreds of feet into the night sky, one huge eruption after another. Boulders, rocks, and jagged pieces of the underground lab swirled around, then began raining down on them. The last charge erupted somewhere near the middle of the barn, blowing the walls and roof apart. More huge pieces of the metal-walled lab shot up into the sky, whirling around like deadly confetti then spiraled dangerously down to earth.
Jack dove under the truck, pulling Susan with him. Several firefighters followed.
Somebody's footlocker landed ten feet from the truck, blazing merrily.
Finally the explosions stopped and what was left of the lab was either flying around in the air or burning in little piles all over the desert.
"Fire's right there," Jack said to the cowering fire captain who moments before had been wondering where it was.
"Thanks. I see it now," the man replied sarcastically.
After the rest of the fiery debris landed, they crawled out from under the truck and watched it all burn. Jack and Susan hugged each other, just glad to be alive.
Izzy was standing next to them, his handsome features scrunched up into a frown. "I told you it was no fun out here," he finally said. "This place always sucked."
Chapter Fifty-Two.
"I want to get out of here," Jack whined, looking
up at Susan. His shoulder was stitched up and he was rigged with more plastic plumbing than a high school science fair. Some clear stuff was leaking into him and some evil-looking brown shit was leaking out. Pain radiated from his shoulder to his spinal column down his back and into his balls. From there it went into his toes. He reasoned that when you got shot in the shoulder your toes shouldn't ache, but they were killing him.
"What's this?" Susan said, picking up the clipboard hanging on the end of the bed.
"My meds."
"Percocets?" she cocked a suspicious eyebrow at him.
"Little Jack has a big boo-boo. He needs his pain meds."
"Jack ..."
"I'm not hooked on this shit, okay?"
"You say."
"I'm not. If I was hooked I'd know it. I'm an experienced police specialist. I used to bust guys for drug abuse. Give it a rest, okay?"
"I think you should get checked into a clinic."
"Is that any way to talk to the guy you've been screwing?" He was dodging madly as she scoped him with a critical stare.
"Jack, if I'm going to have a meaningful relationship with you we have to be honest with one another."
"Susan, honesty is my middle name. Well . . . maybe not exactly honesty, but certainly expediency is. Or Wendell. And, hey ... if there aren't a few tiny deceptions in a relationship it can get pretty damn boring."
She didn't smile.
"I'm serious," she said, then turned and walked to the door. "I've got to get to the courthouse. We're back in front of Krook-shank at two."
"Susan . . . y'know, it's hard for me to ... to .. . to come to grips with this."
"I know."
"I don't think you do. And it's not denial or anything, y'know. It's . . . well, it's just ... I hurt a lot."
"I know."
"And I hope this isn't going to be a problem for us."
"If you don't get it taken care of, Jack, there is no us." Standing in the doorway, frowning, she looked at him for a long moment. "You can deny this, Jack, but then I'm gone. If you go to the clinic I'll be there. I'll help you through it. It's your choice." Then she walked out.
In that moment his life was as confusing as the tangle of tubes running in and out of him. He was wondering what to do when his chronic back suddenly went into spasms, making the decision for him. He buzzed for the nurse and she came in ten minutes later.
"I think I need my pain medicine," he said to her in a low whisper. He was sad, and lost, and consumed with self-hatred.
In Federal Courtroom Sixteen, Herman was submitting the rest of his evidence in support of the TRO.
He entered the vials of chimera DNA that Susan had taken from the lab. Izzy had already testified to the fact that they had found them five stories below ground on reservation land he had leased to DARPA. The Indio fire captain testified that the lab had been detonated and that there were trace elements of radioactivity, indicating the explosives had been low-yield nuclear charges.
Dr. Adjemenian and her two genetics experts explained the genome map and how it matched the DNA in the lab, proving beyond any doubt the existence of the chimeras. It was an awesome presentation. Now Herman was doing his closing argument, and he was in rare form.
"Your Honor, our expert scientific witnesses have testified that the DNA in this vial is in fact 99.3 percent human homology. We have here in court an actual DNA sample taken from the secret government lab. We also have irrefutable evidence that the government built this underground facility at the Ten-Eyck reservation. A lab, I might add, that they chose to destroy with a low-yield nuclear device to cover up the existence of their dangerous experiments. Mr. Amato challenged the existence of the chimeras, and it appears that now there are none left alive to bring before you as I had promised. It also appears that Charles Chimera and his five John Doe brothers perished in that nuclear explosion. However, if need be I could take the very material in this vial before you and hire my own genetics lab to harvest a chimpanzee egg, fertilize it with this genetically engineered DNA, and create a chimera zygote. I could then grow the very same hybrid being myself and bring it into this courtroom six months hence. My question is, Your Honor, is all of that really necessary?"
"Are you asking for a ruling on that now?" Judge Krook-shank asked from the bench, looking at the government lawyers.
Amato had chosen not to be in court this afternoon, leaving the retreat and final surrender in the less-than-capable hands of a skinny government lawyer named Chris Webb. He was a lean, intense, boringly nondescript man who could not convey six conflicting emotions in one ten-dollar word, but was pretty good at his one expression, which was forlorn humiliation. It wrapped his features in a tight frown.
"Your Honor," Chris Webb said. "Before you rule on that I would like to put on my closing argument. That is, if counsel is finished with his."
"I'm not quite finished yet," Herman said.
"Go ahead then," Krookshank said.
"I think it is important to note here that, as a society, we give up certain powers and freedoms to our government. . . powers that we entrust to them by virtue of the fact that we, as individuals, ca
nnot undertake ourselves. It is therefore incumbent upon our government when it accepts this gift of power not to abuse it.
"I think we have ample evidence of abuse of power here. Genetic engineering for the sole purpose of creating subhuman warriors is way beyond the scope of this society's gift of power. Here today we have seen not only ample evidence of this abuse of power, but also a staggering lack of good sense and scientific morality. Therefore I implore the court to grant my TRO and then injunctive relief on behalf of the DNA life-forms I have brought into court today. This court your court, Your Honor-must make sure that these abuses will never occur again."
Susan entered the crowded room full of reporters and onlookers and took a seat at the back. Herman saw her but didn't wave. He had one more thing to say.
Sandy Toshiabi at the plaintiff's table turned to give Susan a smile and a thumbs-up.
"Life is precious, Your Honor," Herman went on. "Precious in all forms wherever it exists. But it is important that we don't try to redirect or redesign the course of natural evolution. The results can become ungodly nightmares, but they won't all stay in our dreams. Some are bound to get away from us and, like these chimeras, chase us into the streets. One day they may even overthrow us, become our masters and enslave us. It is with these frightening scenarios in mind that I beg the court to rule for the plaintiff."
He sat down.
Chris Webb didn't have much to offer. He wandered around trying to attack standing and Herman's lack of a fiduciary obligation. "Mr. Strockmire doesn't have an attorney-client relationship," he argued. "Earlier he claimed that this animal, Charles Chimera, reached out to him. But now he says the animals are all dead. He cannot produce his client or any evidence that he was ever retained. This alone is enough to disallow the TRO. Further, Mr. Strockmire doesn't have the legal right to represent vials of liquid." Chris Webb also argued that science had to be allowed to flourish if we were going to have a brave new world.
Herman smiled. This dipshit didn't even know that Brave New World was the title of a novel about science and government gone mad.
So there it was, lawyers dressed in black, bullshitting just as always. And once again only Herman seemed to be standing alone between the forces of tyranny and sanity. Only Herman the German seemed to give a damn.
Judge Krookshank called a recess and went into chambers to deliberate or maybe, Herman thought, he just went in there to
take a whiz, because he was back in less than ten minutes.
They were all hustled out of the hall and reseated in the big, gothic courtroom looking up at the judge while he polished his glasses.
"On the issue of standing, which I said I would rule on at a later date ... it is the decision of this court that these chimeras, this DNA, is not essentially human DNA, despite the fact that it is closer than the DNA of some humans who have been granted standing in court before. These animals, while close, are still not essentially Homo sapiens, so this court rules that they cannot be plaintiffs in a court of law."
Chris Webb slammed his palm down on the table in victory.
"However," Judge Krookshank said. "There are signs that grave criminal wrongdoing has been committed, and this court agrees with counsel for the plaintiff that these human-chimp hybrids might well present a serious threat to human beings if this experimentation is allowed to continue. This court will therefore hear a case for injunctive relief to prevent DARPA, or any other agency of the United States, from further engaging in this kind of reckless experimental activity on these chimpanzees or any other life-forms that have had their DNA unalterably changed. Mr. Strockmire, if you can find a human client and get that action filed, I will personally hear it at the earliest possible date."
"Thank you, Your Honor. I have contacted the SPCA and will file on behalf of that organization this afternoon."
Judge Krookshank looked down at his calendar and marked a date. "Is June fifth too soon for the hearing?"
"Works for me," Herman said, grinning.
"I'm afraid June is going to be impossible," Chris Webb said standing. "We have a lot of pretrial work to do on this."
"There are enough of you, so you'll just have to work quickly. Let's say June fifth then." Judge Krookshank banged his gavel. "Court is in recess." But before he stood he looked down at Herman and smiled. "Good try, Mr. Strockmire. I almost went for
your argument on standing. Pretty convincing. Maybe next time." "Thank you, Your Honor."
Herman turned and exchanged smiles with Sandy. Then he looked for Susan, but she had already slipped away.
Chapter Fifty-Three.
While Jack lay in the hospital bed waiting to be
released from Cedars he read the story in the L.A. Times. There was a small picture of him next to Sandy's drawing of the chimera a toss-up which one of them looked better. Russell Ibanazi made a statement about how his beloved reservation had been exploited by the federal government and that he was personally offended by the horrible research that had taken place out there without the tribe's knowledge.
Way to go, Izzy.
Donald Trump was interviewed about his plans to build a new, luxurious casino on the Ten-Eyck land. He was calling it Indian Lakes Resort. That meant there was going to be a lot of concrete pipe
going in out there because Jack couldn't recall seeing one drop of water on the reservation.
The paper confirmed that the nuclear devices used had been low-yield "clean" weapons detonated from a satellite in space. A sidebar story on the second page detailed computer-cracker Roland Minton's death. His body had finally been returned to his mother for burial.
At the bottom of the story was a picture of General Turpin. Jack had never seen him before. It said that he ran DARPA but had resigned two days ago. His expression was as hard as Vince Valdez's. Both guys looked cold enough to freeze mercury. There wasn't much info about General Turpin, just a brief mention of a Senate inquest initiated by animal-rights activists who were going to march on Washington.
There was a long story in the Metro section written by the Liar for Hire. The diminutive PR man had profiled Herman and the Institute for Planetary Justice and provided his picture.
Jack had been left in the wake of the story, which was probably not great for the Wirta Detective Agency, but frankly he hated dealing with the press so it was more or less okay by him. He'd been safely tucked away in Cedars-Sinai and, except for a few phone interviews with a reporter at the Times, he had been left out of it. Really out of it. . . Susan hadn't been back to see him.
Now, three days later, he was getting ready to leave the hospital. His doctor had released him. Jack really liked his new doctor. When he'd asked how often he could refill his prescription for Percocets, the doc said, "Until the pain goes away."
Adios, Carbon Paper ... at least for a while, anyway.
Things were definitely looking up. Except that Susan hadn't come to see him.
It was ten in the morning and ten was when the docs at Cedars made their final rounds. Jack's guy came in and wrote him a nice painkiller prescription: forty Percocets.
"You can get this filled in the pharmacy downstairs," he said. "If I were you I'd try and back off a little each day. Percocets can become very addictive if you're not careful."
"Y'know, I've heard that can happen. I'll be sure and be careful."
Then came the ten o'clock parade of wheelchairs patients being pushed into elevators carrying floral arrangements and get-well teddy bears.
Jack was wheeled out of his room by a nurse and found Miro waiting for him. His face had lost its puffiness but the ugly bruises were still there. He had a temporary bridge where his front teeth had been knocked out.
"Look who's going home today," Miro gushed.
"Thanks for coming," Jack smiled.
"Hey, it's the least Miro can do for his best bud."
They stood at the payment counter downstairs and Jack handled the bill with his Blue Cross card. "Hope I'm covered for gunshot wounds, since I'm Am
erica's favorite standing target." He smiled at the girl behind the desk.
"Oh, was this a gunshot wound? Let me see if your HMO reimburses for that." She started flipping pages on his form, then turned to her computer.
"I wouldn't talk too much," Miro whispered in his ear and Jack nodded solemnly.
But Jack was covered, so he signed the release document, then told Miro he needed to stop by the hospital pharmacy to get his pain prescription filled.
"We can do that later. I need to drop you at your apartment so I can get back to the office by noon." Something about the way he said it shot a warning up into Jack's fuzzy brain. Cops had world-class bullshit detectors. Miro wheeled the chair out of the hospital into the parking lot, then helped Jack into his yellow Ford Escort.
"Wait till you see all the flowers at your place. Smells so sweet
Miro couldn't believe how gorgeous." He had slipped behind the wheel and back into third person as he started the engine.
"Yeah, flowers are always nice," Jack managed.
Jack's apartment was off Sepulveda in the Valley a duplex that had seen better times. The apartment was in the back. Miro pulled into the drive and parked, then ran around to help the patient out of the front seat. Jack's arm was in a sling and his back was killing him. He needed more painkillers and he needed them now. He had the prescription slip in his pocket, but Miro had pushed the wheelchair right past the hospital pharmacy, then had driven past the corner drugstore. For a best bud this was not good behavior.
"Hey, Miro, you gotta take me to the pharmacy down the street."
"In a minute Miro will get that done. In an itsy-bitsy minute. Soon as Miro gets you settled."
"Okay, but my shoulder is killing me. So's my back."
"Stop being a noodge."
They were standing at Jack's busted screen door. Miro took the key out of the flowerpot. "Bad hiding place, honey. A cop should know better." He opened up and let them in. The house was full of flowers and people.
Susan was there with Herman, Shane, Alexa, Lieutenant Matthews, Chick, even some guy Jack didn't know who smiled way too much. Izzy was also there, this time looking a lot like Wayne Newton in tennis togs.
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