by M. C. Miller
She wondered how it would play out. Would Mass pretend reconciliation to get her back in the lab so she’d finish streamlining methods of GenLET therapy? Would he feign concern and sympathy over Riya, Malcolm, and Alyssa – all the while plotting to make her own eventual demise look like a lab accident or illness? Would he try somehow to use unverifiable news about Alyssa as leverage over her?
What possible excuses could she give for having the laptop, for being in Marseille, for leaving India so abruptly after Malcolm’s death? The police would insist on explanations for some of it but Mass would eventually demand to know all. Lying to one of them would only alert the other to her subterfuge. Surely Mass would find out anything she told the police. Confiding in the police the truth about Mass would not work; Mass no doubt had already prepped them to expect her desperation to come out under pressure. The police were used to wild stories and excuses coming from criminals.
The thought of fleeing again seemed far-fetched. But was there a choice? More importantly, even if she wanted to, would that be possible anymore? Mass would have her under constant surveillance. Even if the police dropped all charges, her life might appear normal, but it would really be spent under corporate house arrest.
No sooner had the plane parked at the gate but a flight attendant hurried down the aisle. She leaned over Paul, verified his name then handed him a slip of paper.
“A note from the Captain,” she whispered.
Janis watched the exchange between them. Paul stiffened after reading the note. He stuffed the paper in one pocket while pulling a phone from another.
“What is it?” asked Janis.
“I’m not sure.” Before she could ask more, Paul pressed the phone to his ear and spoke to his boss in French. The exchange was hushed and rushed. Janis translated as best she could but only gleaned part of it.
There had been a change in plans.
Apparently, it was a surprise to both sides of the conversation.
Passengers stood and gathered belongings from the overhead compartments. The cabin door opened and Flight 2261 disembarked. Paul shouldered his small carry-on. Janis had nothing to take with her; all belongings collected from Marseille’s Hotel Alize, where she had registered under an assumed name, were being shipped separately. She left the plane, the only passenger with nothing in hand. The distinction was a nagging reminder of her vulnerability and displacement.
Paul led the way out the cabin door into the jetway. Immediately they were met by an airport guard. Instead of following the rest of the passengers into the terminal, the guard escorted them to a side utility work door which led outside and down a stair onto the tarmac. Jet noise and the whip of cold air surrounded them. At the base of the stairs, an airport security van idled, its side door open and waiting.
As they approached, a suited man stepped out and handed Paul a folded paper.
Paul gave it a cursory look. “My bosses in Marseille know nothing of this.”
“Call them again. It just happened.”
The suited man sounded American. With an upturned wiggle of an index finger, he motioned for Janis to approach the open door.
Janis started to move but was blocked by Paul’s outstretched arm. “I need to see more than this. I don’t take orders from this agency.” He handed the paper back.
Another man in the van thrust a satellite phone out an open window. “Here, Place Beauvau wants to talk to you.”
Janis halted in time to see surprise cross Paul’s face. She had never heard of Place Beauvau, but the reference was common knowledge to everyone else. The man outside the van passed the phone across.
Paul took it and had a brief conversation. Mostly, he listened.
Abruptly, the call ended. “Oui, monsieur, tout de suite.”
The American accepted the satellite phone back and handed Paul the folded paper again. “Are we squared away?”
Paul nodded as Janis drew close. “Who was that?”
Paul relaxed. “Minister of the Interior, in Paris.”
“What’s going on?”
“It appears you are in more trouble than I thought. The Americans want to extradite you too.”
“Why?”
The man outside the van took Janis by the arm and led her into the van. “It’s a matter of national security. Please, we have to go now.”
Paul backed away and pocketed the folded paper. Janis took a seat between the two Americans as the door slid shut and the van accelerated away from the terminal.
Janis didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried. The detour might be saving her from Mass, but by offering her up for what? The situation was not clear. She turned to the man who had stood outside the van.
“Am I being rescued or extradited?”
The man was matter-of-fact. “We’re taking you into custody for transport to the United States.”
“What kind of custody?”
The men in the van gave each other a knowing glance. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney and have an attorney present during any questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be provided for you at government expense. Do you understand these rights?”
“What am I being charged with?”
“First of all, do you understand your rights?”
“Yes! But I don’t understand what you think I’ve done.”
The man had had enough. “I don’t have the complete list. It includes violations of Title 18 of United States Code Section 1030, interstate flight to avoid prosecution, aiding and abetting a terrorist organization, espionage, trafficking in state secrets, and interference with an ongoing investigation.”
Janis sat back, dazed. The thought of it was too incredible to even protest.
Through the front windshield she could see a small jet waiting on the runway’s apron. They were headed straight for it. It carried only one marking, words in blue written above the windows.
UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.
Chapter 26
New Year’s Eve
Mt. Pleasant, Maryland
“Sophia, can I call you back? There’s someone at the door.”
Faye Gardner tapped her Bluetooth headset to disconnect and left half-made guacamole resting in a ceramic bowl on the kitchen island. The doorbell rang again. Wiping hands on apron, she strutted through the entrance hallway. It couldn’t be Jacob. He wasn’t expected for another hour.
She opened the door. Cold air and late afternoon light rushed in.
Colin Insworth stood his ground on the welcome mat. “We need to talk.”
Faye recoiled. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s necessary.”
“It’s New Year’s Eve.”
“Doesn’t matter. I won’t be long.”
Faye hesitated then took a step back, widening the opening to let him in. He moved forward as she turned away and headed back to the kitchen.
“You’ll have to talk while I work. I’m in the middle of something.”
“No problem.” Colin shut the door behind him and followed. “Aren’t we all.”
Faye busied herself preparing tapas and let Colin find his way to a stool.
“Nice place.”
Faye ignored the compliment. “So, what chased you out of your hole?”
“You’ve been following the news?”
“I have – that’s why I’m surprised you’re here.”
“Really, why is that?”
Faye tapped her smartphone, navigated to a saved page and read from it.
“Janis Insworth, top GenLET scientist and coworker of slain Nobel laureate Riya Basu, was arrested in Marseille last night while meeting with a representative from the radical group New Class Order. Police will not comment more, other than to say they are following up on a request from Interpol to extradite Ms. Insworth back to India for questioning regarding possible intellectual capital crimes connected with Malcolm S
towe, a security agent for NovoSenectus who died in a car accident shortly before Janis left the country.”
Colin nodded. “Yeah, that came out a few days ago.”
Faye went back to dicing tomatoes and accenting her words with flourishes of the knife. “You know the deal – I come back only if Janis is added to The Project. I don’t see how that can happen now.”
Colin got up and helped himself to a beer from the refrigerator. “May I?”
“Go ahead, it looks like you need it.”
He popped the top and took a swig. “Did you read the speculation swirling around the meeting she had? What was she doing in Marseille? Of all things, why meet with New Class Order?”
“I saw it.”
“Then you’ve seen the shit storm of rumor coming out of this. There’s more news being reported about what they don’t know rather than what they do.”
“Typical.”
“Except they could be onto something. You know there has to be more to it.”
“What does it matter? When did anyone get the full truth listening to the news.”
“But you’re not just anyone – you know Janis, far better than I ever did.”
“I knew her in a different time and place.”
“And yet you insist on working with her now.”
“Not because of who we were in college. There’s no one else in the world with the genetic markers that she and Alyssa carry. It’s as simple as that.”
“And that’s enough. It’s nothing personal.”
“It doesn’t matter; it’s what’s necessary.”
“Regardless. That’s pretty cold.”
“What do you want me to do – vouch for her? There’s no telling how she’s changed.”
“Enough to commit espionage? Enough to barter state secrets with terrorists?”
With the accusation, Faye stopped chopping. “If you know something, tell me.”
“I know the full story isn’t out yet.” Playing it casual, Colin sat back down on the stool. “I can tell you what the headlines are going to be tomorrow.”
Faye set down the knife. “What’s happening to Janis?”
“It’s bigger than that.” Colin nursed his brew and made her wait. “You recall what I said about Manhattan, Kansas?”
“The animal experiments on delayed fertility.”
“Exactly. Environmental chemicals in combination that might be causing delayed fertility in mammals – or more specifically, primates.”
“So what? I read similar studies out of Germany and Japan. Given the drop-off in teenage pregnancies around the world, there’s nothing controversial about that. Sooner or later, people outside of The Project would notice something isn’t right. It makes sense they would launch studies.”
“Even in the United States – home of The Project?”
“That’s a stupid question. You know the kind of security we’re talking about.”
“That’s right. The government is schizophrenic that way – one group studies what another group already knows about. It can’t be helped around Unacknowledged Special Access Programs.”
“And TS-4 security oaths.”
“I’m not talking about what’s being studied – I’m more interested in where.”
“Kansas.”
“More specifically, the N-B-A-F.”
“What’s your point?”
“Homeland Security builds a Level 4 biodefense facility in the middle of the heartland. Naturally, there’s blowback. Some believe the breadbasket of the United States is the absolute worst place to build such a thing. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Some people would have an issue no matter where you built it.”
“But their question hasn’t gone away. This is a place where the government works with the most dangerous agents, the kinds of things that pose the highest risk of fatal disease in humans. Why put such a thing in the middle of your prime area of food and biofuel production?”
“I’ve read the excuses – cheap land, remote from major population centers.”
“And what happens if something screws up – by accident or on purpose?”
“What’s your point? Are you saying there’s some kind of conspiracy?”
Colin threw back his head and drained the rest of his beer. Setting the bottle down, he stepped up his delivery. “Conspiracy theories wouldn’t be nearly as fascinating if they didn’t have so many strange and sobering facts on their side. Granted, the conclusions might be daft but that doesn’t prove everything is all right.”
“What kind of facts?”
“90% of the world’s food comes from just 15 plant and 8 animal species. 75% percent of genetic diversity of crops has been lost in the past century. 15% percent of the Earth’s land area has been degraded by human activities. It takes 500 years to replace one inch of topsoil lost to erosion. In the past 40 years, almost one-third of the world’s cropland was abandoned because of soil degradation and erosion. More than half of the world’s population live in urban areas – any disruption to food stocks would trigger a global food crisis in short order.”
“What are you getting at?”
“An accident in Kansas would have global repercussions. Food futures would skyrocket. It would get very expensive to eat. Even if nothing serious happened, the scope of BSL4 vulnerability would be exposed. An accident like that would launch an already heated discussion far beyond the theoretical. One accident at NBAF would do more to shut down biodefense and panic world markets than years of worldwide activism could ever hope to do. You have to ask yourself – who would benefit from handcuffing biodefense and causing that kind of panic and financial instability?”
“Are you saying something’s about to happen?”
“Something already did.” Colin slid off the stool and stepped around the kitchen island to stand nearer to Faye. “Tomorrow the news will say a man named Oliver Ross was arrested in Manhattan, Kansas. The FBI has evidence he was about to create a major biological accident at the site. U.S. agents are claiming they stopped the plot in the nick of time.”
“Who is he?”
“A scientist who worked there – researching delayed fertility in animals.”
“My God….” Faye absorbed the impact of the news even as she raced to put it in context. “What was he trying to do?”
“He had a virus tailored to infect poultry. If it had gotten out and spread, the poultry industry would have been devastated. The U.S. is the largest poultry producer, about 40 billion pounds of chicken a year. 20% of that gets exported.”
“How was he discovered?”
“The French tipped us off – but you won’t hear that on the news.”
“Marseille?”
Colin nodded. “Something found on a laptop Janis had in her possession. We told the French it’s imperative we keep the source of this hush-hush.”
“It doesn’t make sense. Why would she have something like that?”
“She got it from Malcolm Stowe – who got it from Riya Basu. Riya secretly tried to pass it to U.S. agents – and failed.”
“Riya?”
“Yes, she’s been very helpful to The Project for many years.” Colin’s words came low and quick. “Riya’s group was subcontracted to complete early investigations of radiation effects, the kind that ultimately went into the design of RIDIS. The only problem was, she decided to borrow classified Project work and use it to jumpstart her own GenLET research.”
“When was this?”
“Twelve years ago – the year RIDIS went operational and GenLET was still a theory. A year after I joined The Project.”
“What came of it?”
“We gave her an ultimatum – cooperate or be prosecuted. The United States would not pursue legal action on the security breach under one condition, a condition she must keep to herself. She had to pass regular updates to us on her work. I was named her one and only contact. She knew me only by a codename, Senex.”
“You blackmailed her?”
/> “We let her do the work she loved. Of course we wanted something in return.”
“She gave you GenLET?” Faye was stunned.
“It only seemed fair. Without RIDIS technology, GenLET research might have never taken off.”
“You don’t know that for sure.”
“It doesn’t matter. Riya knew how valuable RIDIS research could be so she took it despite her security oaths, confidentiality agreements, and Top Secret classifications. All she cared about was the work; it didn’t matter who had rights to the technology. She had this thing about her – she liked to say that knowledge should be free. All we did was call her bluff on that one.”
“You boxed her in.”
“She had a choice. Remain primary scientist and pass along updates to a drop-spot in Puerto Rico, or have her crime exposed and lose any future doing the work.”
“How long did this go on?”
“Several years. When the RIDIS database got huge and needed a caretaker, I got reassigned and The Project stopped monitoring the drop-spot. I notified Riya no further updates would be necessary. By then, The Project had other sources of information inside NovoSenectus. It made sense because we suspected that NovoSenectus security was getting close to discovering what was going on.”
“And what if they had?”
Colin shrugged. “No biggie. That’s why we located the drop-spot where we did. GeLixCo is their prime competitor. It would look like corporate espionage, nothing more.”
Faye sat back on a stool, the pieces coming together. “And now this new information about Oliver Ross in Kansas – Riya was trying to pass that?”
“Again, the drop-spot isn’t being monitored. It had to be a desperation move.”
“And it got her killed.”
“It looks that way.”
“Are you saying the accident just averted in Kansas was planned at NovoSenectus?”
“How would you connect the dots?”
“Why would NovoSenectus want to do such a thing?”
“We’ve checked the drop-spot. The information there lines up with what the French told us. It looks like Riya found something disturbing but could only think of one way to pass it along and remain anonymous. After she got shot, it fell into the hands of Malcolm Stowe. He turned up dead but now Janis has been found with it.”
