No Place to Hide

by Opa Hysea Wise

  After receiving the plate number, she reached out to Carole through a secured link and relayed the events. None too happy with the current threat, Carole said she would run the plate and send a team to the area and requested a meeting with Artie later in the day.

  Artie approached Smythe. “Smythe. We can travel now. Bad guys are gone.”

  Smythe meekly nodded. Artie leaned in toward Smythe and tilted her head. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing really. Just a bit of a bruised ego. I knew better than to take the route. How many times had you previously told me not to veer from the planned route. But I didn’t listen, did I? Seems like a recent pattern in my life—not listening and following instructions.”

  “Stop beating yourself up. It doesn’t do you or me any good. Awareness is key Smythe and it looks like you just figured out an old behavioral pattern that isn’t serving you. If I can be so bold—look at the reason for the behavior. From where I’m standing you don’t yet trust me—which I don’t understand,” Artie said with a smile. “I’m really quite trustworthy.”

  “Now, let me have your keys. One of my team members will drive your vehicle back to your apartment.”

  *

  * *

  Carole sat back in her chair after returning to her office from an impromptu department meeting. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks as Artie provided the details of her latest encounter with the syndicate. Carole confided she was having difficulty moving the case forward, feeling some unexpected hesitancy from the District Attorney’s office, but would pressure them again.

  “I’m beginning to wonder, Artie, if moving Smythe out of the valley is now a viable option. This makes at least two attempts.”

  “They’ll find her, Carole, whether she’s here or in Witsec somewhere in the middle of nowhere. I ensured my team vehicles are clean as well as Smythe’s, and our devices have been swept, but something still doesn’t feel right. All I know is that moving Smythe will not stop them from locating her. Remember the Jennison case?” Artie said, defending her stance to keep Smythe where she was for the moment.

  “Yep, I do. Your instincts were right then. All I can say is that I’m glad you were a sharpshooter; otherwise, he wouldn’t be alive today.”

  “To your consternation as well. But eventually, you trusted me, right?

  “I did.”

  “Then trust my instincts now, Carole. Don’t force her out of the valley.”

  Carole hesitated. She knew her friend had good intentions, and there was no doubt that Artie’s experience would go unmatched to anyone in the FBI. Yet, this case was much more complicated than even Carole could have imagined, and her director was beginning to pressure her. Carole stared out her office window to the empty conference room where she first met Smythe, recalling Smythe’s behavior. As far as she was concerned, Carole had only two options. Reluctantly place Smythe into federal custody, or leave her with Artie.

  “For now, I’ll agree. But I may have to remove her at a later time, Artie. You’ve got to figure out how they have been able to track her.”

  “I understand. Let me worry about that angle.”

  “Listen, I’m going to change the subject just slightly on you, Artie. I’ve been doing some digging. Can we meet in an hour?”

  “Yes, I’ll leave now. Normal place?”

  “Yes. See you in a bit.”

  An hour later, Carole and Artie sat at the back of Rodolfo’s restaurant. With only a smattering of patrons, the waitstaff paid little attention to the women as they prepared for an event later that evening.

  “This syndicate came into the valley from Hawaii. Specifically, Kauai,” Carole said.

  “What?”

  “Yeah, my sources tell me the murder of the vic had nothing to do with the extortion of money. This was a planned hit. What I now know is that there are some missing and potentially incriminating documents from a global company located on the island of Kauai. Evidently, those documents point to the intentional spraying of toxic chemicals on agricultural land. Not only are they poisoning parts of the island, but there are potentially harmful effects on humans who consume this food—meaning us.”

  “What kind of chemicals?”

  “Chemicals that have been sanctioned by the FDA in limited use only, while some of the other chemicals have not been sanctioned at all. And here’s the thing—there is some evidence those chemicals that have been sanctioned are overutilized.”

  “The vic was in possession of those documents?”

  “He was, or at least he knew who had them. The documents were to be delivered to an environmental group here that has the legal muscle to halt the spraying. From what I’ve pieced together thus far, the island has an interesting history of global agriculture.”

  Artie stopped picking at her salad. “How so?”

  “Well, to begin with, the establishment of sugar plantations. Sugar plantations pulled the Hawaiian islands, specifically Kauai, into a capital agricultural production industry, leaving a legacy of issues related to consolidated land ownership and control over water rights. During the late 1980s, those large sugar plantations eventually shut down. With the Hawaiian economy dependent on tourism by then, conversations were started about making Kauai the center for biotechnology research to diversify and take over some of the agricultural economy. It seems these companies began creating test fields for genetically engineered crops, experimenting with seeds and pesticides on every food type within these fields.”

  “What has any of this got to do with Smythe or the vic who was killed?” Artie asked.

  “Hear me out, Artie. Because of the climate on Kauai, multiple formulations could be tested in the same fields all year long. Those bioengineered crops, i.e., genetically modified crops, have been created by chem companies.”

  “Wait, you’re telling me that chem companies are the ones that created GMO crops?”

  “Exactly. It took me some time to wrap my head around that, too. GMOs, which are a product of the deliberate engineering of an organism’s characteristics by the manipulation of its DNA, are the new food source in the United States.”

  Artie sat dumbfounded and shook her head. She glanced down at her salad once more before pushing it to the side.

  Carole took out a piece of paper and began to draw.

  “Let me see if I can explain it differently. Let’s say you have a tomato. Tomatoes don’t do well in harsh climates, and are notorious for having issues with pests, right? If you were a chem company, you might figure out a way to make the tomato impervious to harsh climates and pests through the use of chemicals. So, you have your bioengineers figure it out. They take the genes of, say, a specific fish, and transfer it into the genes of a tomato. Now they have a tomato that can withstand a cold climate. They’ve boosted the yield, subsequently boosting the bottom line.

  “The chem companies, from what my sources tell me, are experimenting with genetically modified seeds, exceeding the allowable limit of pesticides many times over—pesticides which, by the way, are banned in Europe because of the potential danger to both the environment and human health.”

  “Wait, you just jumped from fish DNA to pesticides. Pesticides in what? The tomato?”

  “That’s what we’re finding out, or at least it would seem so. If you create seed that repels insects, you have genetically altered the seed to create their own insecticide.”

  “Insecticide in a tomato? So, your vic had evidence of this?”

  “The evidence is out there already, Artie. As I said, this is no extortion case. This is about the potentially harmful effects of chemicals used in our food.”

  “So chem companies create crops with their own insecticide within them, which then means you can’t wash the chemical compound out of the tomato because it is a part of the tomato,” Artie said aloud, attempting to digest the information. She sat staring at the diagram in front of her and then at her salad, jabbing a wedge of tomato with her fork to examine it. She twirled the fork around,
looking at all sides of the fruit. She thought about the number of people she knew who now had cancer—healthy people who ate well and exercised. Where did it get them?

  “But not all tomatoes are bad, right?”

  “No. Not all tomatoes are bad. You eat organic, right?

  Artie nodded. “Mostly.”

  “Then stick with it.”

  Carole reached her hand out and crumpled the diagram in front of Artie.

  “So, then it’s not a local yokel group. They’re connected to something much larger on the island of Kauai, which means they are probably well funded.”

  “Yes, and our own government may be turning a blind eye to it all. Artie, you have got to keep Smythe alive in order for her to testify. We’ve got to give a clear signal for the watchdog group to come forward with the information. I don’t know who has it, but when we searched the vic’s home, we found nothing. His home had been tossed.”

  Artie nodded her head.

  “When I know more, if I can share, I will.”

  Instead of returning to check on her client, Artie headed to her office. She felt stunned by the information Carole shared with her, and she needed to time to digest it. She paced in circles, her mind bursting with theories surrounding who the chemical companies were in bed with. Government officials? If so, were they island or Washington officials, or both?

  She began to research GMO seed and quickly found which chemical companies were currently on the island. While she did not have FBI clearance to begin looking into their financials, Carole did. She could only hope Carole was investigating that angle. She thought about past FBI cases with Carole. Artie had always been the better agent, meticulous in all of her investigations and possessing an uncanny sense to read her environment. Carole, on the other hand, could be careless in her investigations, missing the less obvious angles—and sometimes, the obvious ones.

  The expansiveness of the case caused Artie to revisit her security plans, again wondering who was tracking her client and what resources were available to them. She felt an urgency to identify any weak spots in her security plans, knowing a well-funded crime ring would be difficult to stop.

  What Do You Want From Me?

  THE NEXT MORNING, SMYTHE AWAKENED WITH A START. A LOUD BANG seemed to come from right outside her window. She held her breath; anxious someone attempted to force their way into her apartment. She listened for any sound of Artie in the next room, but heard nothing. No quiet footsteps, no click from a weapon. The apartment was at rest. Well, apart from the annoying click of her ceiling fan. She figured she should fix the part making that god-awful noise—or at least contact the maintenance department.

  I wonder if Artie would even allow them in.

  She rolled over to her side and glanced at the time displayed on her bedside clock. Occupied by the tic-tic-tic of her fan, a quiet thought began to surface and wreak havoc in her consciousness.

  Something is off. Why in the world do I want a cigarette at this time of morning?

  Smythe turned onto her back. The baker’s words created a quiet onslaught within her soul. “You will never be enough until you know you are enough.”

  Two-thirty in the morning or not, she could take it no longer.

  I need to breathe. I need to feel the cold air against my face. And I want a cigarette!

  She rose silently, tiptoeing from her bed to close her bedroom door and twisting the knob on her bedside lamp. She let out a quiet sigh. Opening her closet door, she pulled a T-shirt, sweatshirt, and sweatpants from the dresser. She stared at her vest and cap for a time before placing them on the bed. She quietly dressed, putting the vest on under her sweatshirt and the cap on her head before tiptoeing out her bedroom door. Trying her best not to make a sound, she walked to the kitchen counter where her car keys and wallet lay. As she felt around for them in the dark, Artie shifted on the air mattress.

  “Where are you going at this ungodly hour, Smythe?”

  “I want a cigarette. I need to talk to my Beloved, and I need to do this alone, Artie.”

  “Smythe—”

  “Please, Artie. I need a cigarette and some coffee. I need just to breathe again.”

  Artie could hear the angst in the tone in her client’s voice.

  “You can be alone in your car Smythe, but my team and I will surround you. That’s the compromise.”

  “No, you don’t understand,” Smythe whispered. “I need to be alone. I don’t want to endanger you or your teams any longer. It’s really early. I also don’t want the distraction of someone else, much less an entire team watching my every move.”

  “We’re not watching you, Smythe. We’re watching your surroundings.” Artie yawned. “And you are not endangering our lives. It’s our job to protect you by any means necessary. We all understand the danger of what we do.”

  Smythe turned on the light in the kitchen. To her surprise, Artie was sitting upright on her mattress. “Artie, I really need to clear my head. I think I need to drive to the mountains—watch the sunrise from there.”

  A slight tinge of annoyance began to surface within Smythe. Is it too much to ask to simply watch a sunrise at the spur of the moment without such a production? God, how I miss doing whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted to!

  Artie looked at Smythe, her eyes masking the confusion and anger rising within her heart. Finally, she pierced the silence. “I can be ready in about five minutes. I’ll alert my teams,” she groaned, starting to stand up. “Actually, make it 15 minutes. I need to make coffee for them.”

  Artie alerted her teams and started a pot of coffee. “Don’t forget your vest and hat, Smythe.”

  Still fuming, Smythe pointed to her head.

  “Well done,” Artie mumbled. “And the vest?”

  Smythe grit her teeth and lifted the bottom of her sweatshirt.

  Once the coffee was made and distributed and her bed dismantled, Artie nodded to Smythe, who was now sitting on the sofa.

  “Ready?” Smythe asked.

  “After you.”

  “Please, let me drive. It’s a lot to ask, I know. If you see something, I’ll stop. I just really need to be alone.”

  “At least you’ve said please,” Artie smirked. “Smythe. This is a huge risk.” Artie watched her client for a moment. “Do you want to talk about what’s going on?”

  “I can’t pinpoint it. I’m restless, scared, angry—just a bit of a mess. I need to get out of the city for a minute.”

  There it is again, Artie thought. She could hear grief in Smythe’s voice. Something deeply troubled her client—something beyond the attempted murder. She pursed her lips. “I’ll allow it, but I will have one of my team vehicles in front of you and another behind you. We’ll take back roads to the mountain. There should be little traffic, if any. We’ll drive at your pace, but at the slightest sniff of trouble, I’ll need you to stop, duck your head, and wait for one us to get to you. Understand?”

  “Ok. I understand. Thank you.”

  “This is a risk, Smythe.”

  “I know. I get it.”

  Artie nodded. She outfitted Smythe with a tracking device and a com unit. Satisfied both were functioning properly, she escorted Smythe to her SUV before entering the Team 1’s vehicle.

  “Boss, are you sure about this?” Dennis asked.

  “No. No, I’m not. Do you have a tailing team ready?

  “Yes. Today it’s Team 5. They’ll hang back about a mile.”

  “Smythe, we’re all set. Let’s go.”

  The caravan headed out through a winding road that led to the mountain range an hour away. Smythe drove in silence with her windows down, feeling the embrace of cold air as it swept across her face. She inhaled the smell of concrete and smiled. It reminded her of adventure. Her shoulders began to relax, her hands lightly holding the steering wheel as she began to hum. Surprised by her reaction, she realized she was outdoors, heading into nature. While she was never really fond of the great outdoors other than the ocean, the mere distan
ce from the valley offered her a sense of freedom.

  She continued to drive, her playlist playing softly in the background. She turned up the volume. The artist, Israel and the New Breed, quietly pierced her heart with the lyrics of “Take the Limits Off”. In many ways, it felt as if it were a theme song to her journey sung by her Beloved.

  Ahead of her, the darkened sky held the splendor of the approaching mountain range. As traces of the mountain came into view, the lyrics ended. Smythe lifted her gaze, and a small aching tear traced down her cheek, dropping from her chin onto her sweatshirt.

  The caravan arrived at the base of the mountain and paused long enough to receive direction from Smythe on the location of her destination. Without a car in sight either before or behind them, she proceeded up a two-lane highway, navigating the road carved into the side of the mountain. As she drove, she could begin to feel the rhythm of the road’s curvature. It held a melodic cadence, offering the traveler an opportunity to dance to the majesty of its unique song. Smythe took the hand of the mountain, allowing herself to dance to its gentle rhythm, arriving at her destination—a turnout that offered a spectacular view of the valley below. And they arrived just in time to witness the morning sun hinting at its upcoming arrival.

  Smythe turned off her car and lit a cigarette. She found herself in reverent joy at the shimmering valley below, beholding the red and orange glint of the sun beginning to peer over the mountain ridge on the other side of the valley. She could see the bluish lights of the city twinkling below, even making out some of the major roads that cut the valley into quadrants.

  Perfectly imperfect. We try so hard to march in a straight line. Geez, what a mess we’ve made. When will it stop? When will I stop?

  She continued to watch the color of the sky change to brilliant shades of burnt orange, golden hues of yellow, and hints of cerulean blue breaking through the gray light sky.

  I cannot be anything more than what I am. But what am I? Am I just deluding myself? I’ve stepped out onto this ledge because I believed that I have something to offer, but I’m beginning to wonder—again. Yet, here I sit, doing the exact things I’ve learned through my modules, and nothing has manifested in my life. Very few clients, no love in my life, the book is more daunting now than ever, and I’m still living in this fucking valley! And oh, let’s not forget the reason I have a security detail LIVING IN MY HOUSE!