Coffee (25 page)

“I’ll
have to decide when I see inside. So she’s not an overweight
clutz with a bad leg - that’s good.”

“Oh
no. Oh no. Not a chance. She’s a
peach!
” His
spit splattered Bryce’s face.



More
signs of intoxication showed on Warren’s big face. The
reddening eyes, rosy cheeks, and the now permanent grin. By 2:15am,
his condition deteriorated considerably. He words bubbled out
through wet lips. “Ha! Brin’ on the scums ‘n
thugs. I’ll pound their fuckin’ beady eyes through their
heads.”

“Well
put. You’re ready, now you drive.”

Warren
tried to focus through half closed eyes to see if Bryce was serious.
“Me drive? This is int’restin’. It’s yur
f’n’ral. Get out ‘a da way, I’m movin’
over.”

Warren’s
thick leg bounded over the center hump, pushing Bryce out onto the
street. He squeezed his big body behind the wheel. Bryce buckled
him in and patted him on the back. “There you go big boy, now
don’t take off until I get in the other side.”

Warren
had the engine started and revved before Bryce opened his door. As
he jumped in, Warren floored it, spinning dirt and rubber behind.
“Yee haaa!”

Bryce
pointed through the windshield to make it easier for Warren. “Out
here ... Turn right ... Right again alongside that fence.”
The tires bumped over the curve and nearly swiped the stop sign as
he turned. They passed by the front of the hospital, and continued
circling the complex, turning right again heading south. “Keep
following the fence around, I want the south side. ... Turn right
again. ... Now gun it.”

“Gun
it?” A lingering glimmer of sensibility urged him to glance
at Bryce for assurance. Determination covered Bryce’s face
like it was etched in stone. “You’re one crazy
m’ther-fucker.” He pounded the accelerator to the
floor.

Bryce
tightened his seat belt, and bent over so his head wasn’t
visible above the dash board. He slipped on the ski mask. By half
way down the southern fence, their speed reached fifty. “Hold
on to your lugnuts!” Bryce yelled as he grabbed the wheel from
Warren and jerked it to the right. The front tires crashed into the
cement curb, sending the nose of the car leaping into the air. When
the rear tires hit, the car arched up, listed to the right, and
smashed violently into the fence nearly two feet off the ground.

Their
momentum prevented a dangerous impact. Instead, the car easily took
out a section of fence between two heavy metal support towers. The
car bounced along the grass like a bronco while Warren leaned on the
brakes. Eventually, it skidded right, tearing a deep furrow into
the recently watered sod, and stopped.



Beyond
the hissing of the engine, Warren heard sirens. Through his closed
eyes, he sensed the flashing of bright lights. Warm salty liquid
entered his lips, which he realized came from a gash along his
hairline. “How was that chief?” He opened his blood
filled eyes to try and focus on Bryce, but saw the seat was empty.

A
wave of nausea curled through his gut. He found the driver’s
door handle, but it burst open in his hand. Intense light shined in
his eyes. He couldn’t make out the words in the shouting
voices. He felt a strong arm grab his elbow. An involuntary surge
boiled up from his stomach. With a security guard standing directly
in front of him, he vomited a powerful hot stream of stomach acid,
cheap Scotch, and airplane food into his uniform.

- Chapter Sixteen -

Bart
lectured as he pulled Etty by the elbow across the floor of the
Rotunda on the way back from the doctor’s appointment. After
dismissing the male nurse escorts with a growl, he leveled with her.
“Fainting. Female trouble. I think you’re faking all
of it. I don’t like you, Bishop, and the minute I catch you
doing one more bullshit thing, you’re out. You’ve
caused me more trouble than it’s worth, and I’ve had it.
I don't care what McKinsey says.”

Etty
hardly heard him. Now that they’d know she was still alive,
and some poor woman died in her place, hopefully they’ll call
in heavy artillery. She imagined a circle of flashing police cars,
hundreds of swat team members pointing assault rifles, helicopters
above. She looked over at Bart with less veiled disdain. “By
the way, I’ll be sure to tell McKinsey all about your circus
performance back there. I’m going to have fun watching you go
down.”

Bart
squeezed even harder on her arm. “You’re holding a
shotgun to your nose while tinkering with the trigger. To be
honest, I don’t get it, a smart girl like you.”

“Ow!”
She jerked away. Rubbing her arm, “I’m playing with the
trigger all right, but guess where the barrel’s pointing!”



Etty
went directly to the Finance Library. She picked up a handful of
junk food from a vending machine and sneaked it into her study
booth. She settled in for the night, with one objective - find out
everything she could about Global Growers.

The
staff still allowed her free access to most materials. Etty took
advantage, and accumulated stacks of papers, memos, financial
reports, research analyses, and patent applications. While she
unobtrusively munched on her stash of goodies, she read feverishly.

She
found a complete description of the mechanism for satellite
fertilizer release. First, Global studied the glue that certain
crustaceans, primarily barnacles, use to adhere to rocks.
Considered the strongest natural glue on earth, the potency of this
substance is clear to anyone watching the constant crashing of surf
on a barnacle covered shore. They noted how the barnacles’
arch enemy, mollusks such as the sea snail, seem to so easily break
through this incredible glue. The secret lay in the snail’s
ability to secrete a substance, an organic solvent similar to
stomach acid, which softened the glue.

Global
Growers scientists found a way to produce an organic material close
in composition and strength to the natural glue and the acid. They
also discovered a way to lock the acid into microscopic
“containers”, created using Nanotechnology - a
burgeoning physics allowing construction of objects and circuits
molecule by molecule. She only skimmed the complex details, but
understood that these containers, or ‘Fullerines’, were
made to break down under specific radio frequencies and release
acid. Glue, these microscopic acid containers, iron, and
fertilizer, were mixed and hardened into little globs. These were
planted with the seeds in the fields. Since the acid discharged when
subject to specific radio frequencies, Global had the ability to
selectively release whatever they mixed with their globs, wherever
and whenever they wanted. The iron not only created an antennae
field, it provided an additional nutrient to the soil.

Obviously,
they had found other uses for these globs. She searched for
background on the killer bacteria Bart had described. She found
papers from a Division of ARC dealing with recombinant DNA research.
Their charter described efforts to engineer plant-friendly
organisms that would be reprogrammed to produce certain plant growth
hormones. She saw nothing fiendish in this. But when she cross
referenced the lead scientist’s work before Global, she
discovered a history of bio-engineering related to human disease
research.

She
found a frightening paper on his creation of a hyper virulent
exotoxin through gene splicing in bacteria. They had looked for
medical applications, but abandoned the research after realizing the
substance was simply too dangerous. A later paper by the same
individual discussed an antitoxin, able to counter the deadly
exotoxin. He also worked to engineer a humanized monoclonal
antibody, which could be built up in a host to counter the
bacteria’s deadly chemicals.

The
pieces fit with Bart’s description. Global must have hired
this Doctor to apply his killer staphylococci to destructive human
uses. She rubbed her arm where she had seen a needle bruise on her
first morning, trying to feel a bump. Although not detectable, she
could now imagine tiny crusted balls embedded in her muscle, waiting
for the signal to break down and release their deadly cargo.

“As
long as it’s there, I’m not free,” she said to the
little booth. There was only one way to remove this Sword of
Damocles, and it wasn’t surgery - a knife could never find
them all. Not even destroying Global Growers would suffice, since
anyone could find a way to re-create the frequency at a later date.
She stashed printouts of the articles in her purse. Only one way,
she realized fearfully -
set off the frequency herself!



Bryce
rolled out of the car as it spun on the grass. He quickly ran along
the building line, staying clear of the bright fence lights and out
of view of the cameras that scanned the area. He saw Warren’s
head whip rather hard into the steering wheel, but he hoped his
drunkenness would make his body more limber and less likely to cause
serious damage.

He
found a safe vantage point, and waited anxiously for the busy
activity to diminish. Two men dragged Warren away from the scene,
his legs clumsily in tow. They hauled the car beyond the main gate,
and pushed it into a parking spot alongside the main road.
Additional guards stood at the gaping hole in the gate, until a team
of electricians arrived in a van to build a makeshift monitoring
line. They adjusted the cameras for better coverage of the grass
inside and outside the site.

With
people coming and going, it took nearly three hours before he felt
comfortable leaving his post - a bad break as it used almost all his
planned surveillance time. The night finally quieted. Only
mumbling voices on a pool patio, and cars on the street, broke the
early morning calm. Carrying his black bag, he darted from shadow
to shadow to the living quarters wing, and stopped next to the
window of a first floor apartment.

He
had only an hour to find Etty and get her out of the facility.
Daylight would break about the same time. He decided to intercept
her before she went to the hospital, a period when he could more
effectively control the situation. So he must find her apartment.

He
peered into the first window. Dark. The sliding windows only
opened a few inches, blocked by a permanent metal wedge. And this
one was latched completely shut by the occupant. The frosty grass
under his feet confirmed the chilly temperatures, and Bryce feared
everyone would be locked up tight.

He
shifted down to the next apartment, and the next, working his way
along the southern wall of the building. In each case - curtains
shut, lights off, windows locked. He rounded the corner, to try the
west side. One budged. He opened until it clicked into the maximum
position.

He
crouched to peep through the small opening. Warm apartment air
gushed out, faintly reminiscent of last night’s dinner. No
lights, owner asleep. He reached his hand in up to his shoulder and
felt around. A chair, a small table with magazines - a telephone!
He moved to the magazines, and slowly drew a stack of them through
the gap. He squinted in the minimum light. ‘Newsweek,
Playboy, what’s this?’ He lowered his face to within
inches of a highly glossed magazine-booklet with a large photograph
on the cover. He couldn’t stop a quiet chuckle - a porno
piece called ‘Buns and Roses.’ A naked buxom girl
straddled in ecstasy a man’s monstrous erect penis. It gave
him an idea. ‘What’s your name, you pervert,’ he
thought as he strained to read the address label on the bottom of
the Newsweek. ‘Robert George, room 121. Well Bob, welcome to
the exhilarating world of sexual harassment.’



Bart
Maslow followed the commotion on the Complex lawn from his
apartment. His night manager took charge of events on the ground,
but Bart turned on his radio for occasional progress reports. Once
the driver had been transferred to the Emergency room, he called
over to talk to a Doctor on duty. “This is Maslow, head of
Security. Let me speak to the Doctor who treated the driver who
crashed the gates.”

“This
is he.”

“How’s
he look?”

“He’s
asleep right now. He took twelve stitches on the forehead, nothing
too serious. He had .018 alcohol in his system - real sloppy. The
bump gave him a pretty good concussion.”

“Did
you get his name?”

“Yes.
He came out of unconsciousness long enough to sign a few papers.
Some security guys threatened bringing in Police if he didn’t
cooperate. He didn’t have any ID, but he said he had lots of
money to pay for damages and scribbled what looks like
Warren
Sherman
. He could hardly hold the pen.”

Warren
Sherman! The bond trader from Dartmouth College. “I’ll
be damned! Don’t let him out of your sight.”

“Don’t
worry, he’s not going anywhere.”

“Give
me a physical description.” The Doctor offered some general
features.

Bart
immediately called Norris at home, the man who ran the Human Biology
Research area. Few individuals knew the details of his work on
human disease and immunity, and only Maslow and McKinsey were
cleared for access to ‘Special Projects.’

“Norris.
Maslow. I need quick turn around on this, listen up.”

“It’s
the middle of the night.”

“There’s
someone in the Complex.”

“Sorry,
you’ll have to wait,” Norris said groggily.

“Not
possible. I need help now. Emergency. Some people may have
infiltrated our security. I’ll wake up McKinsey if I have
to.”

“Shit,
Maslow!” He heaved a lung full of air. “So what’s
all the fuss?”

“I
want your best girl, someone who can stay with the target for long
enough to find out some things - how many people are involved, the
nature of their plan, like that. She has to follow them around, get
close, and then communicate back to us. I need an
8+
in case it gets rough and she needs to terminate him, but I want a
girl who can evaluate the situation and not act stupid.”