The Tenth Saint (35 page)

Theory of numbers … algebraic topology … combinatorics … Euclidean Fourier analysis …

Some of it didn’t even make sense to her. She had vowed to forget complex mathematics after her requisite course of study at university. She continued searching.

Homogeneous complex domains … Hamiltonian mechanics … Hodge structures …

“Think, Sarah,” she said aloud. What field of math could have anything to do with environmental destruction?

Quasiconformal mappings … holonomic quantum field theory … Riemann-Hilbert correspondence …

Nothing was clicking. She looked up each winner since 1978. Perhaps something in their curricula vitae would point to a nugget of useful information.

Eventually she stumbled upon this:

Sandor Hughes, 1987 prize in quantum mechanics, founder and chairman of the board, Donovan Geodynamics.

Her heart galloped like a Thoroughbred out of the gate.

She knew exactly what she would find in Laguna Madre.

Twenty-Eight

T
he residents of Port Mansfield, mostly older folks who’d come down to the edge of Texas to enjoy the fishing during their golden years, were idle and friendly. They were more than happy to oblige a young woman, especially when she played the part of the sweet but clueless British tourist so well. She had taken care to look harmless and blend into the background. The last thing she wanted them to know was that she was a rich girl who’d arrived on her father’s jet, which was waiting for her at a remote airstrip on the outskirts of town for what she hoped would be a quick escape.

She wore a tight, black T-shirt and black skinny jeans with her favorite Puma track shoes. She’d tucked her hair into a black baseball cap, letting the ponytail of blonde curls spill out. Her backpack was slung across her shoulder, making her look like a tourist, though in reality it held all manner of tools for her mission.

Marlin Road was a long, dusty thoroughfare without much traffic, especially at that time of morning. It was lined with warehouses, many of which were shuttered, with eighteen-wheeler trailers parked outside. The coolness of fall had not yet set in here, and the late afternoon air was warm and heavy with humidity, like London in the dead of summer. Sea brine and fish scented the air. Sarah was grateful for the scant activity as she made her way to her destination; the fewer eyes on her, the better.

Number 701 was a complex of gray concrete buildings at the end of a cul-de-sac facing a parking lot empty but for a massive flagpole with the Stars and Stripes whipping in a brisk breeze. The place looked deserted and, with its dearth of windows, tomb-like. And it was far larger than she expected, likely the size of a power plant.
What is this place?
Daniel was likely captive in there.

She hid behind a trailer at a neighboring building and scanned the area around the doors. She could see surveillance cameras but very few exterior lights. It was as if the principals wanted the structure to be invisible. If she were going to slip inside undetected, she would have to wait for night, only a couple of hours away. Even then, her approach would have to be stealthy.

She pondered her strategy until the light in the sky waned and a moonless night cloaked Port Mansfield. When darkness was complete, she approached the building from the north side, where there were no doors or windows and therefore no cameras.

She walked along the edge of the building, stepping carefully so she would not be seen or heard and stopped beneath the camera at the rear entrance on the west side, which pointed toward a parking lot. She was outside its range.

Breaking and entering had never been part of her repertoire, but this time something grave was at stake. If she had to bargain for Daniel’s life, she was prepared. Given the opportunity, she would use Calcedony’s letter.

By its position next to a smaller parking lot, Sarah deduced that the rear door was used as an employee exit. Eventually, someone would come out and claim one of the few cars parked there. She was right. It wasn’t long before the opportunity to enter the building presented itself.

An employee exited for a cigarette break and left the door cracked open. Engrossed in a conversation on his cell phone, the man paced and puffed. When his back was turned, she slipped inside.

She stood at the doorway for a moment to collect her thoughts. She inhaled and took a look around, her senses on high alert. It was dark, compromising her vision. She faintly heard voices and footsteps. It sounded like two men, but she couldn’t be sure. They could be security guards.

Overhead, she saw the shadowy outline of a catwalk, an exposed steel truss holding up the roof. With her back to the wall, she inched toward the corner nearest her and crouched in the dark.

Hearing no more voices or footsteps, she took out a length of climbing rope and a handful of cams and carabiners from her backpack. She knew it was dangerous to climb alone, but she had done it often enough to feel comfortable with her technique. She anchored the first cam into the exposed concrete wall, tugging on it to make sure it was secure. She tied the rope around her waist and groin like a makeshift harness and hooked into her wall anchor and repeated the process until she reached the catwalk a good thirty feet above the floor.

She collected her rope and wrapped it around one shoulder to use later for the descent. The space below was a long, wide corridor acting as a central spine to a network of pods. As far as she could tell by the limited light, the pods were sealed off from the main artery by big metal doors.

She had no idea what the pods held, nor did she have any way of entering to find out. Her only hope was the guard returning from his smoking break. With a little luck, he could be her entree to the concealed portions of the facility. She waited until he came back. His footsteps echoed on the marble floor and created a slight vibration on the metal catwalk. She stood stone still until he was past her hiding place.

Using her rope, she quickly rappelled down. With catlike agility, she landed on the floor and followed the guard as he turned left toward another section of the building. She was confident she hadn’t been seen because no alarm had sounded, but she didn’t know how long her luck would hold.

The guard came to a set of solid steel double doors, where a sign announced Restricted Area. He slid a card down a reader and punched a code into a panel on the wall. The doors pneumatically slid open, and he entered.

With her heart in her throat, Sarah hurried inside just as the doors were closing.

Inside the pod, she was assaulted by bright light. She turned her head away and covered her eyes with the back of her hand until they adjusted. She crouched behind an unmanned security desk separating the entry from the work area and peered around the corner.

The guard went to his station and sat behind a desk with three computer screens displaying grids that appeared to be monitoring something. Each grid contained cells with individual color maps, a thermal measurement of some sort.

Sarah tried to understand her surroundings. Glass walls separated the guard’s desk from a cavernous room the size of an automotive factory, which held thousands of panels suspended vertically from the ceiling. They were coated in a bluish film and hung about two feet off the floor, with troughs of water underneath. From the bottom edges of the panels, water dripped into the troughs. Around the room’s perimeter were massive structures of round lamps, similar to those in a baseball stadium.

She knew what it was: a light-fed bioreactor holding potentially thousands of acres of algae converting carbon dioxide into oxygen. The artificial lights simulated sunlight, which made the algae grow and reproduce. Theoretically, there could be an endless supply of algae. It could grow as quickly as they wanted it to— or too quickly.

So this was Donovan’s infamous plant, the place where all the experiments were being conducted prior to releasing the organisms into the sea for the next phase of research. Sarah wondered what else she would find if she snooped around, but her instincts told her not to push her luck.

Besides, finding Daniel was the core of her mission. He was there; she was certain of it. But locating him in this vast network of restricted areas and top secret facilities was going to require all her strength and ingenuity.

The guard took a telephone call and called up a series of screens on his computer, explaining a procedure to the caller. Confident that his attention was elsewhere, she turned toward the pneumatic double doors and spotted the wall-mounted button that would open them from the inside. She pressed it, and the doors opened almost silently. She stepped onto the dimly lit corridor and tiptoed toward a dark corner where she could reassemble her gear and get back onto the catwalk. She would wait there and watch as she contemplated her next move. She roped up quickly; there was no time to waste.

As she reached for the cam to fasten her carabiner, a hand gripped her wrist.

A guard shone his flashlight on her, and she shut her eyes reflexively. “Well, well,” the man said in a thick Texas accent. “Just the lady we wanted to see.”

Twenty-Nine

A
s the two guards led Sarah through the corridor, she catalogued every detail in her memory. They passed through one set of sliding metal doors and then another. One area looked like an executive suite complex. Several closed doors were arranged in a semicircle around a receptionist desk, which held nothing but a phone.

“Wait here,” one of the guards said. He and his partner exited through one of the doors, and she heard the lock click.

With the guards out of the room, she had an opportunity to look around, though she was certain she was being watched.

The room itself gave nothing away. Plain white walls stretched thirteen feet high, and the oversized doors were white with brushed metal handles. On the desk were no papers, no computer. Other than the phone, not a single item identified this as a working office.

After what felt like about thirty minutes, one of the guards reappeared, and she got a better look at him. He was a giant of a middle-aged man with big, beefy shoulders and a disproportionately small head. His legs were slightly bowed. His feet, clad in black alligator cowboy boots, pointed in a V. His uniform consisted of a light blue, short-sleeved shirt that stretched too tightly across his beach ball—sized belly and navy pants cinched with a belt and holster. He worked a wad of chewing tobacco, his thin lips snarling, then spat the brown filth into a spittoon on his belt. “Come with me.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“Don’t be impatient, little lady. You’ll know soon enough.” He led her through one of the locked doors down another corridor to a maze of rooms. Stopping at one of the doors, he knocked. “Hey, got a visitor for ya.” He swung the door open and pulled Sarah inside.

She caught her breath.

Daniel. Blood had formed a crust over his left eye, and his T-shirt was ripped at the neck. He was sitting on the floor, back to the wall.

Sarah bit her lip to contain her emotion.

“Sarah?” He stood abruptly. “What are you doing here?”

”Well, she came looking for you, of course,” the guard interjected. “And to hand something over.” He turned to Sarah. “Ain’t that right?”

“Yes,” she said, her eyes fixed on Daniel. “That’s right.”

“Sarah, no.” Daniel’s tone was firm. “Don’t give them a thing. They already have—”

“You shut up.” The guard drove the butt of his handgun between Daniel’s shoulder blades, driving him to his knees. “Now, little lady, you got a letter for me?”

She crossed her arms. “Maybe I do, but I have some conditions.”

The guard laughed. “Do you, now?”

“You bring me your boss. I want him to look me in the eye and tell me why he wants this so badly.”

“Lady, you’re crazy. You are in no position to call the shots.” He yanked her backpack so forcefully she stumbled. “Let’s see what we’ve got in here.”

Methodically, the guard opened all zippered compartments and picked her gear apart. The letter was nowhere. “So where do you have it stashed?” His eyes traveled down her body. “You can tell me now, or I can strip-search you. What’s it going to be?”

A single, hard knock sounded and the door flew open.