Amazon Roulette

by C. M. Gleason

  Helen turned back to the roommate, who hadn’t moved from the tiny efficiency kitchen. “Do you know anything about this event?” she asked.

  “A little,” Delia said. She still looked as if she had seen a ghost. “Missy was very excited about this gig because it was the biggest, most prestigious one she’d ever landed. It came about because the regular caterer had to cancel at the last minute, and someone called her to fill in. She was in a tizzy yesterday because she’d just gotten a last-minute change to the menu—one of the attendees had ordered some special wine or something, and then he added something else to it. She kept complaining about these last-minute changes, but she loved it—she was so excited about it.”

  Helen was shaking her head. There had to be more. The beetles had to figure in somehow, didn’t they? And what if she was on the wrong track…what if it wasn’t—

  “Agent Darrow, check this out.”

  She took the paper, which was crumpled and had been found in the trash. Special delicacies? Mr. Wen-Ho… She picked up the iPad to search, then froze when she saw the name of the company hired to deliver the “special delicacies.”

  Gaia, Inc.

  * * *

  New York City

  October 1

  6:00 p.m., EST

  The members of The Alliance filed into the conference room, conversing loudly. By all accounts, their two-day summit had been a success, and whatever business this group of a dozen ladies and gentlemen had conducted had been happily finished.

  Despite the fact that their business had concluded and they’d clearly moved on to informal socializing, LaTrelle didn’t have the luxury of relaxing just yet. Not until dessert was served would he be able to draw a deep breath. The reputation of Le Beau-Joux Events rode on everything going smoothly.

  He wasn’t going to think about the fact that his boss, Missy, hadn’t been in contact at all. Last he’d heard, she’d gone to the hospital with that severe allergic reaction—but that was really early this morning. She should be home by now. Very unlike her not to be checking in with him—especially with an event of this magnitude happening.

  Instead of worrying about it, though, he watched his staff with an eagle eye as they served the first course flawlessly. Not one drop of wine spilled, not one clatter of flatware or clink of dish. When it was time to peel away from Le Beau-Joux, he’d definitely poach Yoyo to go with him. Maybe BeckyAnn too.

  And so it went on, course served, course removed, glasses refilled, replaced, and filled, and another course served.

  LaTrelle pulled out his cell to check the time and peek at his texts and realized it had been on silent for hours. But he’d been busy, tending to things here, so it didn’t matter. There were quite a few messages, but none from Missy.

  He shook his head. That wasn’t like her, not to be breathing down his neck. She must really be sick.

  Slipping into the back room, where the prepped food had been finished, plated, and now was being put away, LaTrelle scanned his messages.

  He stopped at one, and the hair on the back of his neck rose. I must have read that wrong.

  He looked at it again, his heart pounding. Is this some kind of joke?

  The message was from Missy’s roommate—whom he hardly knew, but had gone out with once or twice a few years ago. Delia had written: Missy died at hospital 2day. Sudden cardiac arrest! Police are here! Call me when u get this! I can’t believe it!

  LaTrelle stared at the text. It had to be a joke. What sort of allergic reaction had Missy had? And why were the police involved?

  Confused, distracted, and stunned, he shoved the phone into his pocket. It was time for dessert—no, wait, those special delicacies that guy had brought in. He’d forgotten about them.

  That wouldn’t have been good. Mr. Wen-Ho wouldn’t be pleased if his gesture had been ignored.

  “And now for the special delicacy,” said LaTrelle. He was so upset about the text from Delia his voice trembled, and so did the box in his hands.

  The diners looked over in curiosity—and well so, for normally the caterer was seen and not heard, flitting about silently and efficiently. But LaTrelle was shaken up, and he wasn’t thinking clearly.

  He thought perhaps Mr. Wen-Ho would appreciate the attention being drawn to his special gift. LaTrelle broke the seals and pulled the silver ribbons from the box.

  “I present to you, the special delicacies—courtesy of Mr. Wen-Ho!” LaTrelle lifted the lid, suddenly aware that Mr. Wen-Ho was protesting in confusion and surprise.

  But whatever Mr. Wen-Ho was saying was drowned out as a swarm of bees—or something—erupted into the room, pouring from the open box. They were furious, whizzing about, flying, buzzing, swirling in a cyclone of fury.

  Everyone in the room reacted—rising from their chairs, batting ineffectually at the insects, shrieking and exclaiming in shock and fear.

  LaTrelle stumbled back from the box, stunned by the vast number of bugs that had burst forth, and the fury with which they raged about the room. People, windows, walls, table—all were pelted by the creatures, which left black stains on the skin, walls, windows…

  “What is happening? What is going on in here?” the voices, in a variety of accents and languages, demanded.

  LaTrelle tried to replace the lid on the box, but it was too late. The box was empty, and its whizzing contents had filled the room.

  People were batting at the insects, slapping at them with napkins, coats, hands, and even plates.

  “Let’s get out of here!” someone cried.

  LaTrelle lunged for the door.

  FORTY-ONE

  Helen Darrow stabbed the door-close button in the service elevator in the Pembel-Rose Building. The conference room where the dinner was being served by Le Beau-Joux Catering was on the fifteenth floor, and the regular elevators were taking forever.

  She’d coordinated with the NYPD and they’d sent a team up the stairs, and another through a different bank of elevators, but Helen had elected to take the service elevator—for where else would a caterer go? She didn’t exactly know what was going to happen, but she knew it involved the beetles. She chafed as the elevator rumbled and rolled, taking its sweet time moving from four to five.

  The delay, the sort of pause in the midst of adrenaline rush and physical activity, forced her to be patient. And allowed her mind to go where she had resolutely kept it from going.

  Helen…please be careful.

  Gabe’s words, rushed and heartfelt, echoed in her mind as she watched the lights flash on the elevator. Much too slowly. Six.

  Please be careful.

  She needn’t read anything more into that except for one colleague’s warning to another. An old friend wishing another well.

  I know you think I’m blinded by love for Marina Alexander, and it’s influencing my decisions. But I’m not.

  The lights on the elevator blinked so slowly. Nine… Get me out of here. Get me doing something other than waiting and thinking about things that are irrelevant right now.

  People’s lives were at stake.

  “But I’m not,” he’d said.

  Did that mean he wasn’t blinded by love, or that he wasn’t in love? He’d said, “I’m not.” He hadn’t said, “It isn’t”—meaning his love wasn’t influencing his decisions. Helen groaned aloud, forcing her thoughts back to the matter at hand. Hurry up, elevator!

  Ten.

  Good grief, can’t this damned thing go any faster?

  Helen had her weapon in hand, but what that was going to do to a swarm of beetles was ineffectual. What would kill copper-infused insects? She highly suspected Raid or its ilk wouldn’t.

  Eleven.

  Thank God. Almost there. And she’d managed to put Gabe out of her mind for two floors.

  Twelve.

  Helen held her breath, tightened her hands on her weapon, and eased to the side of the doors…just in case.

  Finally, at fifteen, the elevator rolled to a stop. The doors slid open, revealin
g the service hall for the building. Listening, fingers prickling, firearm in hand, Helen arced around the area as she stepped quickly and carefully from the elevator.

  No sign of anyone; everything was still. But from somewhere, she could hear shouts and exclamations.

  The conference room.

  Helen hurried through the service room toward the sounds. Instincts on high alert, watching and waiting, blood rushing through her, heart pumping, fingers tight, thumb on the safety.

  The sounds of chaos drew closer as she moved down the hall, along with shouts and thuds. Sounded like someone trying to break down a door.

  Cries of “Let us out!” and “Help!” became more clear as she rushed quickly and carefully down the service hall, then out into the main corridor. She’d taken only a few steps toward her goal when a figure appeared, emerging from one of the alcoves halfway between her and the conference room.

  Helen halted, holding her weapon at the ready, taking a strong stance. “FBI. Identify yourself.”

  But by then, she’d recognized the man who stood in the hall, hands slightly removed from his rangy body in the most halfhearted of surrender poses. In one of them, his fingers curled around a vial.

  “Agent Darrow. It’s a pleasure to meet you, and very convenient you should be the one to arrive first on the scene.” He smiled pleasantly, calm and easy despite being covered by a gun. “This saves me from an awkward situation.”

  The photos she’d seen hadn’t been able to capture the intensity of his green eyes, nor the confidence exuding from him. “Dr. Rue Varden. We meet at last,” she said, inching closer. “Keep your hands where I can see them—”

  “I have something you need.” He gestured slightly with the hand holding the vial and jerked his chin in the general vicinity of the conference room, where a door shuddered and rocked in its hinges. “If you want it, you’re going to need to put that weapon back in its holster and allow me to go on my way.”

  Helen didn’t move. “Unlike my colleague MacNeil, I don’t bargain with terrorists.”

  Varden quirked a brow. “As you like.” He removed the top from the vial and his intention became clear. “I made certain the conference room doors were locked so the insects and contaminate can be contained, but if you prefer to do this on your own, then by all means…I’m sure you have plenty of time to develop an antibiotic.” His smile was cool and pleasant as he began to tip the vial. The dark red liquid inside crept to the edge of the opening.

  “We tracked you to Ann Arbor. I know the lab where you made that,” she said, stepping closer, gun steady.

  He nodded briefly. “Yes, of course you did—so you know that what I have here is what you need to save those people. Don’t be a fool, Agent Darrow. You can’t save them any other way. You have no time to develop something like this. I’ve done you a favor. But you can’t have it both ways. You get the antibiotic, or you get me.”

  The conference room door shuddered again, and the cries of its occupants—shouts, exclamations, but not really terror, for they didn’t understand what the threat was—grew louder and more intense.

  “The minutes are ticking by,” Varden said. His voice was smooth and precise, as if he’d learned English as a second language. “When your colleagues arrive—and I can hear the rumble of the elevators; they’re nearly here—they’ll open the door to the conference room and all those insects will pour out. The people inside are already infected, and will soon contaminate everyone they touch… You really have no choice, Agent Darrow. And believe it or not, I am here to help.” He offered the vial again. “Put your weapon down. Slide it away from both of us—I have no need or desire to grab it. And I’ll give you what you need.”

  Helen gritted her teeth. Damn. Now she understood Gabe’s situation. She slowly lowered the gun, then set it on the ground. With a sharp shove, she kicked it away from both of them.

  “Believe me when I say ‘thank you.’” Varden put the top back on the vial and walked toward her, reaching into his pocket. Helen tensed, suddenly afraid she’d completely miscalculated—but when he pulled out his hand, he had a second vial. He offered them to her. “Five mils per person. Should be enough for everyone.”

  She took the vials, resisting the urge to grab him and try to stop the terrorist…but he gave her a brief smile, those green eyes meeting hers boldly. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you at last, Agent Darrow. Until we meet again. And…here come your colleagues.”

  And then he was gone, and she was running to the conference room door.

  FORTY-TWO

  October 2

  Quito, Ecuador

  It had been a harrowing moment, during their takeoff. Though she’d closed her eyes, Marina had to open them as the plane lifted, and she eased on the yoke with numb fingers as they rose…and rose…and rose.

  They just cleared the trees, giving the tallest one a trim as they roared over. Eli had indeed been shot as he climbed into the craft, but it wasn’t until a short time later she learned it was from the rubber bullets Roman favored—which also indicated to Marina how serious her father was about her safety.

  They flew through the dusk, with Marina simply searching for another airstrip or clearing on which she could land. She didn’t know how far they could make it, nor did she trust the ratty plane…but it was two hours before she found a place to land in the middle of nowhere.

  Fifteen hours later, with some help from non-English-speaking locals, they’d arrived in Quito.

  She called Gabe—who was beside himself with worry—and told him about Cora Allegan. She learned from him what had happened in New York, and was stunned to discover that Helen Darrow had somehow obtained the antibiotic needed to treat those contaminated.

  “How did she do that?” Marina asked.

  “Helen’s not saying much,” Gabe replied, his voice odd. “But we did track Varden back to Ann Arbor before he ditched the GPS bug…and someone in a chem lab reported a strange incident with a man who gained access, and who wore a University of Michigan badge.”

  Interesting.

  “How is Helen?” Marina asked.

  There was a pause. “She’s fine. By the time I got to New York, she already had things under control.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “When will you be back? I’m sure we have things to discuss.”

  “Eli—Dr. Sanchez—and I will be back tomorrow.”

  After Marina hung up the phone, she made her way to the restaurant connected to the hotel where she and Eli had booked rooms.

  Now, she settled back into her chair. The eatery was decorated in traditional style. It was also cozy, dim, and, she had quickly discovered, had a most excellent Cabernet. Not to mention what smelled like a most perfect buffalo steak. She’d ordered it grilled to a gorgeous medium rare. Fried plantains and a chopped avocado salad with pineapple completed her meal.

  She looked up as Eli sank into the seat opposite her. “Everything good?” she asked, sipping from the wine.

  He laughed. “Typical of my mother—she didn’t even realize I was gone. Said I travel so much and to too many crazy places she can’t keep track of me.” He picked up his own wine and tasted it, nodding in affirmation. Then he lifted the glass. “To one hell of a getaway, Captain Alexander.”

  “So now it’s captain?” She looked at him from over the edge of her glass. “I’ll take it, doctor.”

  “Now,” he said, pausing to check on the status of his own steak. “Excellent,” he muttered, then looked up again. His eyes settled on her, and there was a definite glint of heat therein as they lingered. “All right then, before we move on to what I’m beginning to believe is the inevitable conclusion to this adventure,” Eli said, sobering, “I’d like to know a little more about the situation with you and MacNeil. Are you or are you not together, or is he with Agent Darrow—or what?”

  She smiled. “Gabe and Helen were together years ago. There’s probably more than a spark still between them, though. As for Gabe and me…
like I said before, we’re friends, we respect each other and enjoy each other’s company—but there’s no commitment, no expectation. We’re just too busy.”

  Eli settled back into his chair. The corners of his eyes crinkled. “I’m very glad to hear that. I didn’t want to get on the bad side of Homeland Security.”

  “Now it’s my turn,” she said, easing back into her seat as well, enjoying this sort of foreplay as much as any other. “What precisely is it that you do to terrify all those undergrads and keep them away from you? Because…other than your love for six-legged creatures, and your unerring aim with the butt of a gun, I’m not finding a lot about you that’s terrifying. Oh, wait—I forgot about your driving. That was terrifying.”

  He laughed again and finished his wine. “First few days of class every year, I sit in the ento lunchroom and open up my lunch…which always consists of a lot of beetles, grubs, and worms. They’re pretty crunchy, too, you know. I’m always willing to share, but for some reason…no one ever wants to. Especially the females.”

  “As a lover of mopanē worms myself, I can’t imagine why not.”

  Eli shook his head, his eyes light with pleasant surprise. “Damn it, doc. You just continue to surprise me. Well, if you like mopanēs, you ought to try my deep-fried grubs in ginger sauce.”

  “Anytime.”

  Their eyes met and held.

  Still smiling, Eli lifted his glass. “To dining on grubs. With you.”

  EPILOGUE

  Lev shuddered deep inside, felt the white light and pleasant heat surrounding him. He had the sensation of weightlessness, yet that of being anchored, connected…rooted to the earth.

  Gaia, he thought deep in his heart. I am here. I am listening to Your council. I await Your guidance.

  Lush green surrounded him…cold, sharp ice and snow…the cool, salty embrace of the sea…the rough, hard stone…it was all there, like a kaleidoscope of nature.

  Of Gaia.

  Then he heard Her speak to him. He felt it, deep inside, like his own breath, his own thoughts. He knew it.