by Jon McGoran
Sable got in behind the wheel as I got in the other side, and we drove off, not too fast. A gravel road took us onto a small paved road, then we turned onto an avenue with palm trees arcing up out of a broad green median divider.
“Charlie’s getting the plane fueled up,” Sable said. “He’ll pick you up in an hour and a half to take you back to Philly.”
“You’re staying?”
Sable shook his head. “No, I’ll be getting the Helio ready to get Ms. Hartwell the hell out of here.”
I assumed he meant a helicopter. “Where?”
He shook his head. “Not my place to tell you. But she seems to trust you, so you can ask her yourself.”
We were approaching the middle of town, a courthouse and a church surrounding a small traffic circle with some kind of small communications tower in the middle. To my right and left, I could see the edges of town.
“How long does it take to get the plane ready?”
“Just a few minutes.” As we rounded the circle, he pointed down a cross street at a squat, Spanish-looking building with a sign out front: TASTE OF THE EVERGLADES. “After that, he’ll be in there fueling himself up on conch fritters and cold beer.”
We turned right, into a curved parking lot sandwiched between a U-shaped motel and a standalone central office. A red and white sign said EVERGLADES CITY MOTEL. The place looked neat and almost humble. The office had a small glass vestibule with a simple door on either side, but right between them was an incongruously extravagant concrete fountain, looking totally out of place. Still, it was a lot nicer than the Liberty Motel.
Sable stopped the car and handed me a key. “Room seventeen.”
I looked down at it. It had a number seventeen on it. “Okay. Thanks, I guess.”
He nodded and put out his hand.
We shook, and as I got out, he said, “I’ll see you soon.”
Then he drove away.
The breeze picked up, but it was sticky. Sable disappeared around the corner. Then I was alone, except for a few mosquitoes that had already found me. Each room had a door with a number on it, a window, and a pair of cheap white resin chairs facing the parking lot. I found number seventeen and let myself in.
31
The room was sparse: a bed, a table with a couple chairs, and a kitchenette. Miriam was sitting at the table wearing the same shades as before, plus a long, coppery-looking wig. When I closed the door, she took them both off, studying me, searching for something. I don’t know if she saw what she was looking for.
“You came,” she said.
I nodded.
“I didn’t think you would. Sable didn’t think so, either.”
“How do you know him? Sable, I mean.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know him, not really. Although I guess he’s one of my only friends now. Him and you.” She smiled weakly. “Sorry. It’s been a rough time.”
I sat down across from her. “How’s he involved in all this?”
“I was at the airport in Philly, making my big escape. Sable walks up alongside me and says, ‘You know they’re looking for you, right?’ I said, ‘Excuse me?’ and he says, ‘You’ll never make it out.’ So I had no idea who he was, but I said, ‘Then what am I supposed to do?’ And he offered to help me. I was terrified. For all I knew, he was some goon from Energene. But I knew he was right—if I went ahead, the police would get me. At least with him I had a chance. So I went with him. Now I’m here, still alive and free, as far as it goes, so…” She went quiet for a moment. “I want to thank you. Back at the motel in Philly. If you hadn’t been there, they would have killed me.”
Her gratitude made me feel guilty. If I’d woken up faster, gotten downstairs faster, reacted faster at the first knock, maybe Ron Hartwell would be alive. Of course, maybe I’d be have been killed alongside him.
“Sorry for all the cloak-and-dagger stuff,” she said. “I didn’t think they’d find me in North Philly. I needed to be sure they won’t find me here.”
“What do you know about Beta Librae?”
She shrugged. “Just what Sable told me. An environmental group financed by Gregory Mikel, the investor.”
“Have you ever heard of them before?”
“I’ve heard of Mikel. I knew he was an activist. I’d never heard of Beta Librae.”
“Do you trust them?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“What do you think they want?”
She let out a bitter laugh. “I don’t even know what I want, other than Ron being alive and us never to have gone down this road. But that’s not really an option.”
No, that was not an option.
“I don’t know what they want,” she said quietly. “But they seem to want me to stay alive, and I guess I want that too.”
She didn’t seem entirely sure. Her eyes went distant again, and moist. I couldn’t imagine what she was going through, but this wasn’t the time to dwell on it.
“So,” I said, rubbing my hands together. “You said there was something else you wanted to tell me.”
She smiled sadly, grateful for the interruption of whatever was going through her head.
“I have Ron’s files. The stuff that made him so suspicious in the first place, and some other stuff. I’m not a molecular biologist, so a lot of it I don’t understand, but a lot I do. And some of it Ron explained to me before—” Her voice caught, and she took a deep breath. “Anyway, to someone with the right background, it would mean even more. And it would be very incriminating.”
“What does it say?”
“There’s documents about Soyagene, a report on the stolen shipments, plans for some kind of phase-two rollout starting next week. There’s inventories and production memos—some secret and some not. But there’s also confidential memos and reports about allergenicity, about different levels and intensities. Ron said he had to dig deep to find it. He printed them out, because he couldn’t copy the files electronically. A couple of days later, they were gone. As far as we know, these hard copies are the only ones in existence. He said they prove Energene has known about the allergenicity issues all along. They’re planning on releasing it, anyway. If it’s true, millions of people could get sick. Thousands could die.”
“If it’s that unsafe, why would they go ahead with it? Wouldn’t they just be sickening their own customers and opening themselves up to massive lawsuits?”
She paused. “I’ve asked myself that too. I don’t know why. I thought maybe the documents referred to earlier versions of Soyagene, before they fixed it. But they’re talking about a product they’re about to roll out. Maybe they can make their money back before they have to pull it off the market. Maybe they hope to release the next version, the fixed version, before anyone even knows what’s going on.”
I’d seen companies do that, but not on this scale.
“Energene has pharmaceutical divisions,” she said. “They might be hoping to profit from some kind of treatment. I don’t know.”
“Did you tell Sable?”
She shook her head. “I thought about it. I Googled Mikel, and he seems for real. He might be in a position to do something with it, but Sable … I don’t know. He just appears out of nowhere. I have no proof of his connection to Mikel. He could be making it all up. I’m trusting him with my life, but this … this is too important.”
“So what’s your plan?”
“I made a copy of the files to give you. I don’t know what you did on Martha’s Vineyard and in Dunston, but you stopped powerful people from doing bad things, and you got powerful authorities to help you. I need you to do that again.”
Oh, that. No problem. I thought back to my mutually exclusive lists and wondered how many friends of friends of friends I’d have to go through to get someone both trustworthy and helpful. Before I could tell them anything, though, I needed to know more about what it all meant. I was still thinking about all that when she continued. “Then I’m out of here.”
“
Where?”
“Haiti, at first. Cap-Haïtien. I need to get out of the country, and I need to take the files to Regi, my friend at the Health Ministry. We wanted to tell him earlier, but by the time Ron figured out what was going on, we didn’t trust the phones or e-mail. Regi will understand what’s in those files. He’ll figure out what happened to the people in that village, and he’ll be able to do something about it. His government isn’t crazy about Energene or the other corporations, anyway. They won’t be afraid to take them on. Hopefully, once he figures it out, he can get the information out there, to the press, whatever, stop it from happening anywhere else.”
“How are you going to get there?”
“Sable.”
“And then what?”
“If I’m still wanted for murder, I’ll find somewhere nice that doesn’t have extradition. Maybe the Maldives if the sea hasn’t swallowed them up yet.” A flicker of fear passed through her eyes. “And I’ll hope whoever killed Ron doesn’t track me down.”
I put my hand on her shoulder. “I’ll find out who killed Ron.” I didn’t say anything about all the other stuff she hoped for.
“Thanks.” She gave me a brave smile, suddenly reminding me of an old lady who’s lost her faith but keeps going to church because she doesn’t know what else to do. She hoisted her shoulder bag and put on her wig and her shades. “Charlie will come to get you soon. We should get those files so you’re ready to go when he gets here.”
“Where are they?”
“The motel safe. I didn’t know where to keep them.”
She turned and put her hand on the doorknob but paused, looking out the window. As she opened the door, I could feel the anxiety coming off her like a charge, like static electricity or lightning about to strike.
32
There were a couple of cars in the parking lot, but no people. The office building was only forty feet away, but it felt like a mile. Miriam looked both ways twice, then hurried across the asphalt. I caught up with her at the steps in time to open the door for her.
The guy behind the desk was barely twenty and gangly enough that I wasn’t sure he’d finished growing. He was reading a V-Wars comic on his iPad and he seemed reluctant to put it down until he looked up and saw Miriam. “Hi again,” he said, smiling. “How can I help you?”
Miriam showed him her room key. “I have some items in the safe.”
“Oh right,” he said, snapping his finger. “Be right back.”
I don’t think he was used to anyone using the motel safe. Frankly, I was surprised they had one, and I wondered if it was a real safe or just a closet. As soon as he left, the phone rang once, then started beeping and clicking. I realized it was a fax machine. Then the real phone started ringing, as well. Five times, and then it stopped. Busy place, I thought.
A few seconds later, the door to one of the motel units opened, and a man in his fifties stormed out, barefoot and unhappy, with his shirt open and his thinning hair plastered to his scalp with shampoo or conditioner. He left the door open behind him as he stormed across the parking lot.
The kid returned with two manila envelopes and said, “Here you go.”
As he handed them to Miriam, the door opened behind us, and the guy with the wet hair said, “Water stopped. Again.”
The kid hurried around from behind the desk. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Jenkins. You should have called.”
The guy turned and headed back to his room. “I did,” he growled, as the kid hurried after him.
Miriam handed me one of the envelopes. “Keep this safe. See what you can do with it. If anything happens to me, or if you run into a dead end, just make sure it gets out before next Tuesday. That’s when they’re planning to start releasing the Soyagene. That’s when more people will start getting sick. Send it to the press, put it out on the Internet, wherever. I’ll send it out too, if I’m still … If I can.” She sighed and shook her head. “I’ve been terrified someone was going to realize I had this stuff, but I think maybe now the best thing is to just get it out there.”
“What about sending it to Mikel?”
She shook her head. “I could give it to Sable, but I don’t know for sure that he really works for Mikel.”
“Right, but what about sending it directly to him?”
She tilted her head thoughtfully, but then something outside caught my eye. Jenkins and the kid had almost reached Jenkins’s open door when the kid stopped. Jenkins turned and glared at him, but the kid was distracted.
Then I saw them, getting out of a black SUV, asking the kid a question. Axe-Man and Old Spice. The gunmen from the Liberty Motel.
33
For an instant, I thought I had gasped, then I realized it was Miriam, following my eyes.
“That’s them, isn’t it?” she said breathlessly. “No, no, no, no,” over and over again, like she was hyperventilating. I put my arm on her shoulder, reassuring, but I was holding my breath, waiting to see if the kid was going to point toward us, if his lips were going to say, “Yeah, she’s in the office.” His eyes flickered in our direction, but he shrugged and shook his head.
He looked back at us, maybe sensing trouble, wanting to come warn us. But Jenkins snapped at him, and they both went into his room.
“Call Sable,” I said. “Do you have his number?”
She nodded, fumbling for her phone. “He said it’s just for emergencies.” I gave her a look that reflected the urgency of the situation, and she said, “Right,” tapping at the phone and putting it to her ear.
Outside, Axe-Man was knocking on the door to room number one, at the end. Old Spice started knocking on room number two, right next to it. Even from a distance, I could see the bulges of the guns under their jackets. Room number one opened, and an older woman looked out at Axe-Man, confused. She shook her head and closed the door. Door number two didn’t open, and as Axe-Man walked around to room number three, Old Spice glanced around furtively, then quickly picked the lock and slipped inside. Axe-Man knocked on the door to room number three, and a few seconds later, Old Spice came back out and headed to door number four.
The way they were leapfrogging down the row, we had maybe three or four minutes before they finished checking the units and came to the office. I looked down at the papers in my hand. We had the only two copies. If they got us both, they won.
“Sable!” Miriam hissed into the phone. “They’re here. The guys that came after me before.” She listened for a second, then looked up at me. “He says he can be here in five minutes.”
I took the phone from her. “We have three minutes, tops,” I said.
“No way,” Sable said. “I can’t—”
“There’s an open field across the street where you could easily land a helicopter.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ll lead them away from the motel,” I told him. “You come and get Miriam in the copter.”
“I don’t have a copter…” He paused, and I could hear a loud engine starting up in the background. “Okay. Three minutes.” Then he was gone.
I handed the phone back to Miriam and ducked behind the desk, tearing open the envelope in my hand and pulling out the papers.
“What are you doing?” she whispered, her eyes round with terror.
I grabbed a Sharpie and a sheet of Everglades City Motel stationery from a pile on the desk and wrote on it:
Send a copy of this to Gregory Mikel c/o the Mikel Group.
Keep the original somewhere safe, and be careful.
I love you,
Doyle
I fanned the papers, put them in the fax machine, and punched in Nola’s fax number at work—one digit off from the main phone number.
“What are you doing?” Miriam asked again in a strangled high-pitched hiss.
“I’m trying to get this into Mikel’s hands. You said if anything happened to you, we needed to get this out, right?”
“Yes,” she said, a tight little whisper.
“Just in
case.” I didn’t say it, but there was a good chance something was about to happen to her.
The fax machine dialed and started beeping.
I looked out the door, where Old Spice was knocking on the door next to where Jenkins and the kid were trying to get the shower to work. Axe-Man emerged from the room next to that. Room seventeen, where Miriam had been staying.
She started shaking. They’d already covered half the rooms. A door at the far end of the motel opened, and an old man came out, struggling with a small suitcase. Axe-Man eyeballed him for a moment, then turned so his body shielded the doorknob as he quickly picked the lock.
The older guy tossed his suitcase into the backseat of a dusty Buick. Then he got in and drove around to the office, to the door facing away from Axe Man.
There was no sign of Sable.
Miriam started shaking. She’d been heroic keeping it together as long as she had, but I was afraid she’d used up whatever reserves she was drawing from.
The old guy got out of the car and left the engine running and the door open. The dinging sound followed him as he came up the steps.
The fax machine started pulling the cover sheet through.
I turned to Miriam. “Give me your wig and your shades,” I said. “And your cardigan—give me that too.”
“What?” She wrapped one arm around her midsection and clamped the other on top of her head.
“Sable will be here in a minute with the copter. He’ll touch down in that field across the street. I’m going to draw those two away from here. Once I do and you see that copter coming, you head over there and meet him.” It would have been nice if I had my gun.
I took the wig off her head, took the shades off her face, and held out my hand for her cardigan.