Project Moses - A Mystery Thriller (Enzo Lee Mystery-Thriller Series)

by Robert B. Lowe

  “What are they growing?”

  “Rice is the one that we’re sure about.”

  “Where?”

  “Arizona.”

  “No one grows rice in Arizona,” said Templeton.

  “Barry, I saw it myself. Acres and acres of paddies. They’re pumping groundwater to do it. I know it sounds nuts. I can tell you how to get to it if you want to send someone out there. It’s in the middle of nowhere.”

  “God. Okay. We go with it,” said Templeton. “You realize your buddies at AgriGenics are going to be a bit perturbed about this. I hope you can get them before they get you.”

  “I’m trying. Believe me. Oh, Barry. One more thing. I’ve got to start sharing this stuff with a reporter back in San Francisco. I owe her.”

  “Well, ordinarily I’d break your arm first,” said Templeton. “But, in this case I’ll share the glory for a little protection. If any of this blows up in my face, I’ll want the company.”

  • • •

  LORELEI HUNT WAS tall and thin, her cheeks and eyes sunken from too much cocaine and booze, and too little sleep. She was 23 but looked fifteen years older. Her hair was straight and thick and she wore it Cleopatra style. She wore lavender hot pants designed to be skintight. On Lorelei, they were almost baggy. Her bottom ribs protruded where her pink tank top ended. She had silver high heels.

  The john with the black curly hair, well-trimmed mustache and slight British accent had asked for her on McArthur Blvd. He said a friend recommended her. They negotiated a price quickly and she hopped into his green Audi.

  They had been driving for fifteen minutes. When Lorelei realized they were leaving Oakland for Berkeley, she got a little upset. She didn’t want to spend the whole night driving around with this guy.

  “Listen, baby. I know a place right around here. Real quiet.”

  “No,” the john shook his head. “I have somewhere special I want to go. I have something special for you, too.” He held his thumb and finger to his nostrils and sniffed loudly.

  Lorelei relaxed. If the guy had some blow, that was another matter. She didn’t mind a detour if there was a snort or two at the end of it.

  They had turned up into the hills now. They drove through some residential areas and then were into a stretch where the street lights ended. They were probably up in Tilden Park somewhere.

  “What?”

  “I was saying my friend told me you have a remarkable gift for memory,” said the john.

  Lorelei was puzzled. When had she ever discussed her memory with a customer? Maybe a guy had been impressed that she had remembered him or that she recalled what really got him off.

  “Yeah,” she said. “I have a pretty good memory.”

  “Do you remember everything you see? Can you recall things long after you have seen them?”

  “Oh that,” said Lorelei. “Who is your friend, baby? He’s right. I have what they call a photographic memory. Just something I was born with.”

  The john nodded and said nothing. He continued driving along a road that twisted its way through hills. After a few more minutes, he downshifted the Audi and then abruptly turned into a small parking lot. In the darkness, Lorelei had barely been able to see the entrance to the lot.

  They parked with the nose of the car pointed into a stand of trees. He turned off the headlights and the ignition.

  “Get out,” said the john. His voice had a rougher edge to it. A lot of her customers liked to take control. She didn’t mind that so long as they didn’t hurt her or make her do something too disgusting without paying her for it. She hoped the guy just wanted to do it in the woods.

  She was grabbed as soon as she got out of the car. Somebody big and strong came out of nowhere and grabbed her arms from behind. She looked over her right shoulder and saw him. It was the burly man with long blond hair that she had seen a couple of weeks earlier, the one that the dike detective had been asking her about. The sight of him terrified Lorelei. She felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach. She breathed harder, trying to get more oxygen.

  “Please. Please. Please don’t hurt me.” She said it in a whisper. “Please. Please.”

  The blond man said nothing. He shoved her to the hood of the Audi and pushed her down on it face first. He used his body to hold her pinned, bent over, on the hood. He released her left arm and used both hands to hold her right arm against the hood, palm up. The hood of the car was hot. Lorelei struggled but it was no use.

  When she felt the first prick of the needle, Lorelei flinched. Then, she felt the drug coming into her vein, spreading quickly through her body. She relaxed completely as she felt the familiar tingle and had the sense that the heroin was washing through her. She closed her eyes and let it take control, falling into the high.

  She was vaguely aware of sliding off the hood of the car and onto the ground. She paid no attention at all to the Audi driving away. She was deep into a dream. It was a dream of home, of being a child again. She felt a happiness that was extraordinarily pure and sublime. The early-morning jogger who found her would remember her expression for a long time. He would tell his wife and friends how Lorelei Hunt wore a look of utter contentment.

  Chapter 37

  GEORGE WASHINGTON FISH had been washing test tubes in a basement at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology when Brian Graylock discovered him. At least that was Fish’s day job. During the nights, Fish had been running his own unauthorized experiments in the same genetics laboratory where he worked during the day.

  There was a time when the MIT genetics lab would have been honored to have Fish use its DNA synthesizers, sequencers and electron microscopes. That was before Fish was professionally exiled for falsifying research results to obtain federal grant money.

  Fortunately, Graylock had recognized Fish’s brilliance and overlooked his previous lapse in judgment. He had put Fish to work fashioning the most challenging of AgriGenics’ creations. Although his training was in virology, not botany or agriculture, Fish had been put in charge of AgriGenics’ Plant Disease Program. It was a dream job for Fish, devising the most effective and elegant way to totally wipe out a plant species. In some cases, Fish had been able to modify plant diseases already on hand at the company. More often, he was left to his own devices.

  Fish also had been placed in charge of AgriGenics’ Animal Disease Program, which included human diseases, too. His most difficult task had been to develop a human disease that had the following characteristics:

  (1) It had to kill quickly. (2) It had to make death appear natural and/or be nearly impossible to detect. (3) It had to be rendered harmless soon after reaching the intended victim.

  Fish had employed his full knowledge of viruses and genetics to design the disease. What he had devised was viral DNA carried in the cell of a bacterium normally present in the human body.

  It was an organism that thrived with proper nourishment in a carbon dioxide environment but survived for only a few minutes when exposed to the oxygen in the air. Once it infected the body through inhalation or other means, it reproduced like crazy. The bacterium Fish had used to carry the DNA normally resided in neurological tissue. Once it entered the body, it made a beeline for the spinal cord and the brain.

  The viral DNA produced huge quantities of a protein that blocked the production of a particular enzyme essential in preventing clots from forming in the bloodstream. The result was massive clotting within eight to twelve hours. In monkeys, the cause of death had usually been brain stroke.

  Once Fish had created a small supply of the deadly organism, he had followed Graylock’s orders and impregnated three pressed yellow roses and sealed them in impermeable envelopes containing a gaseous mixture of carbon dioxide and nitrogen. He gave the flowers to Graylock. Then, Fish carefully froze his remaining supply in liquid nitrogen.

  • • •

  BARRY TEMPLETON HAD stayed late to wait for the proofs of the state edition before heading home. He borrowed the two broadsheet pages he w
as interested in from the copydesk and took them to his cluttered cubicle. He noted with satisfaction that they had put the story on the front page, above the fold. It was the best play he could have hoped for.

  Rice Disease Linked to AgriGenics

  By Barry Templeton

  A mysterious fungus that has endangered the nation’s rice crop has been identified as the same fungus that a California biotechnology firm developed and has been using in unauthorized field experiments.

  Columbia University biologist Benjamin Nussbaum said yesterday that tests show that the disease destroying the rice plants is genetically identical to the fungus that employees say was developed and used by AgriGenics, Inc.

  Agricultural experts have been stymied in their attempts to combat the fungus which has endangered the rice crop throughout the country. The disease, unknown until it infected a Texas farm two weeks ago, is resistant to chemical treatments and is apparently transmitted over long distances by windblown spores.

  Three employees of AgriGenics said the fungus has been used for several weeks in tests of strains of resistant, genetically engineered rice. The employees, who signed sworn affidavits on the condition that their identities not be revealed, said that superiors at AgriGenics told them the fungus had been created by the company using genetic engineering techniques.

  AgriGenics spokesman Roy Curley issued a statement denying any responsibility for outbreaks of the disease that are forcing farmers to destroy thousands of acres of rice in a desperate attempt to halt the spread of the fungus.

  The company has been battered by recent allegations that it provided biological weapons used against crops, farm animals and people in several countries. Federal agencies also are investigating alleged violations of export and securities laws as well as prohibitions on the field testing of certain genetically engineered organisms…

  Templeton finished a quick read of the story. Then he went through it once again, word by word. He penciled in two changes and handed the proofs back to the copydesk. It was after 11 p.m. when he grabbed his coat and briefcase and took the elevator down to the lobby of the Times building.

  He lived with his wife in an apartment on Riverside Drive not too far from Columbia University. Templeton ordinarily took the subway to 103rd Street, walked the few blocks to Riverside and then the couple of blocks to his apartment. At this hour, he could have taken a cab but he actually enjoyed the subway, particularly when it wasn’t filled with rush-hour commuters and he could pay more attention to the people populating the trains and stations.

  Templeton noticed the big fellow with long blond hair after he entered the subway station at Times Square. He had followed Templeton into the station and took a seat on a wood bench a few yards away. They had ridden in different cars on the way uptown.

  Templeton noticed that the man followed him off the subway and out of the station at 103rd Street. He didn’t pay attention to him again until he had walked a couple of blocks and heard faint footsteps behind him. Templeton glanced back once and could barely make him out, half a block back, hugging the side of a building and walking in the shadows.

  Before he reached Riverside, Templeton tried a detour, turning north for two blocks and then west again. The footsteps seemed further away, but they were still there. He was certain now that the man was following him. But, Templeton wasn’t sure what to do about it as he continued walking to his apartment. The guy looked like he could both outrun and outfight Templeton. The most dangerous item in Templeton’s briefcase was a two-day-old tuna sandwich. On the other hand, he didn’t want the man following him to know where he lived. Templeton didn’t want to lead him right up to his apartment.

  He was on Riverside now, a block from his home. Templeton finally had a plan in mind. Whether the guy behind him was a mugger or was following him for some other reason, Templeton was reasonably sure he could scare him off just by confronting him, letting him know that Templeton was on to him.

  Templeton whirled suddenly on the sidewalk and peered into the shadows behind him. Underneath some trees about 50 yards back, he could see the man. He had stopped in the shadows.

  “Hey! Are you following me?” said Templeton in his most bellicose tone. He pointed his finger toward the man. “I want to know! Are you following me?”

  There was no answer. The man hadn’t moved. Templeton had hoped the man would have turned and slouched away by now, but he hadn’t. Templeton started walking toward the man.

  “I want to know what you’re doing there!” he said. “Why are you following me?”

  Templeton had gone about 10 yards when the man broke. But, instead of turning tail and running, he was sprinting directly toward Templeton. Templeton wasn’t sure what to do. He wanted to keep up the belligerent pose so he took a few more steps forward. But, then he realized the fellow was moving incredibly fast. And when the man got close enough so that Templeton could make out his face, he saw a ferocity that was scary. Templeton turned and started to run.

  Hans Dietrich was on Templeton in no time. With no witnesses around, Dietrich saw no reason why he shouldn’t quiet the dumpy little fellow. He grabbed the collar of Templeton’s coat with one hand, found the back of his belt with the other, and ran the flailing reporter head first into a tree trunk. Miraculously, Templeton never lost his grip on his briefcase as he fell to the sidewalk unconscious.

  Chapter 38

  “HI, LO. HOW goes the war?” said Lee.

  “Oh. Hi, Enzo. Still in New York, huh?” said Lorraine Carr. “Well, we had the top strip story today. Pilmann broke his hand pounding the desk yesterday. I don’t remember if it was to get more space for the story or because he was sure AgriGenics would sue us for libel and win.”

  “You’re kidding,” said Lee.

  “Oh, no. It’s true,” she said. “Today, he whacked his cast a couple of times. He loves the story and hates it, too.”

  “What about AgriGenics?” asked Lee.

  “They’ve got half the lawyers in town working the phones to kill the story. Every friend of a friend of a friend is calling the big shots, from publisher on down, to complain.”

  “Did you talk to the company today?”

  “Yep. First, Curley read me the riot act,” recounted Carr. “Unprincipled. Malicious. Reckless. He had a few other adjectives for me and some nice nouns for you.”

  “I bet he did,” said Lee.

  “And then I let him cry on my shoulder a little.”

  “Yeah?” said Lee. “Well, the stock was down to twelve a few minutes ago. From what? Thirty-two?”

  “Thirty-four. Right. There’s no question that they’re in free fall at this point,” said Lorraine. “The class action lawsuits are starting, too.”

  “Yeah?” said Lee.

  “Right,” said Lorraine. “All the litigation mills are hunting for AgriGenics shareholders so they can sue for securities fraud. They’re bringing in the directors, law firms, accountants and anyone else they can think of.”

  “That’s great, Lorraine. So, do you think it’s hot enough for the directors to nail Brian Graylock?”

  “I don’t know. They’re all hand picked by Graylock,” she said. “I think it all depends upon his Checker’s speech.”

  “The what?”

  “Oh, didn’t I tell you?” said Lorraine. “I’m sorry. I guess I assumed you knew. Graylock and Curley are flying out to New York. They’ve scheduled an emergency shareholders meeting to try to dig themselves out of this. It’s a preemptive strike. There was talk that the major shareholders wanted to elect a new board of directors. Some analysts, and even some members of the press, are invited.”

  “Including you?” said Lee.

  “Yep. The paper said it was me or no coverage. I was pleasantly surprised.”

  “When and where does this happen?” asked Lee.

  “Friday, the day after tomorrow, at 10:30 a.m. And get this. It’s at the United Nations. They’ve rented out the Delegates Dining Room and West Terrace.”


  “Okay, Lorraine. I think you ought to build up this meeting. ‘Do or die’ for AgriGenics and all that. Let the pressure keep building.”

  “Right. The story’s already half written.”

  “And call me when you get in,” said Lee. “I’m at the Morris Hotel under the name James Wright.”

  “James Wright?”

  “Yeah. What’s wrong with that?” said Lee.

  “Nothing. Well…it’s just kind of boring. You could have come up with something more unusual. You know…like Ewol Trebor.”

  “Hmmm. I like it, Lorraine. Next time, okay?”

  After she hung up the telephone, Lorraine Carr pulled her AgriGenics notes file on the screen. At the end, she typed: “Call Enzo in New York at the Morris Hotel. James Wright.”

  Lee silently contemplated what Lorraine had told him. Sarah, who had heard his end of the conversation walked over to him and, standing behind him, put her hands on his shoulders and squeezed them hard.

  “So, what’s the news?” she said.

  “They’re having a meeting in two days with the Wall Street types to try to talk their way out of this.”

  “And?”

  “I’m just thinking that it’s an affair I wouldn’t miss for the world.”

  • • •

  SARAH AND LEE speared the last of the scallops and avocado appetizer and gazed out at a magnificent sunset over the East River from the West Terrace of the United Nations Headquarters. With Manhattan behind them, the view across the river was the skyline of Brooklyn just starting to twinkle with lights as dusk set in.

  “Nice view,” said Sarah.

  Lee laughed.

  “Nice view? You’re supposed to say, ‘Incredible view.’ Or, ‘Fantastic skyline.’“

  “I don’t give up my superlatives that easily,” said Sarah.

  “What do you save them for?”

  “Food, mostly. Men on rare occasions.” Sarah smiled at him.

  For their entrees, Lee dug into a delicious duck confit smothered in lentils. Sarah opted for veal in a rich current sauce. A bottle of Bordeaux added to the wonderful food and a view that made them feel safe and far above the worldly troubles below.