“Probably not.”
“And if they win?”
“AgriGenics would be forced into the protection of the bankruptcy court,” said Sendaki.
“And do you think a bankruptcy judge would let AgriGenics try to work out of its financial problems?” asked Hobart.
“Facing those kinds of judgments? It’s not likely. A court would probably just liquidate the company, sell the assets. And even if the creditors agreed to some type of workout proposal…”
“That could take years,” said Hobart, finishing Sendaki’s thought for him. “And there is no guarantee that the court or the creditors would let you have anything to do with the company. After all, you got AgriGenics into the biological weapons business, didn’t you?”
“Now wait a minute,” protested Sendaki. “You were the one who got me into this. You made all the arguments…”
“I know. I know. I appealed to your patriotism. But, you have a law degree. You know how lawyers think. Do you think your good intentions will mean anything to the lawyers for the farmers?”
Sendaki was silent.
“This is the way I see it, Dr. Sendaki. All of your wonderful work, all of your discoveries, all of the ways to improve the world’s food supply…all of it is the property of AgriGenics. They are trade secrets, patents…all forms of intellectual property. They probably will be auctioned to the highest bidder. Even if AgriGenics keeps them and survives in some form, the chance that you will be able to apply your genius to them, to finish the work you started, is almost nil.
“You could walk away and start a new company,” Hobart continued. “But, every time you try to do anything you will face a lawsuit by AgriGenics or whomever has bought its patents that you are infringing. Or, they will say you are using trade secrets that aren’t your property. You know the drill. You will spend the rest of your productive life litigating. Whether you ultimately win becomes irrelevant.”
“An interesting scenario,” said Sendaki. “I am sure you did not ask me here to gaze into crystal balls. What is the point?”
“The point, Dr. Sendaki, is that I am offering you a way out, a way to continue your work and lead this revolution that you have already started. What do you think would happen if the United States government became involved in these lawsuits? What if we told every federal judge who hears these cases that the incidents happened as the result of accidents that occurred while AgriGenics was performing work under the direct supervision of the government?”
“You are kidding.”
“No, I’m not,” said Hobart.
“And, I suppose that the government would not provide any details of the work since that would endanger national security?”
“Ahh. Dr. Sendaki. You are prescient.”
“No, I just remember my own moot court problem.”
“And, of course, any information that AgriGenics might reveal would be classified and a threat to national security.”
“So, you’re offering AgriGenics sovereign immunity.”
“As you say, Dr. Sendaki, you wrote the problem. You know the ins and outs of the legal doctrine, the uncertainties. But, yes. That’s right. You be the judge of what it is worth.”
“It might just work,” said Sendaki. “And what is my side of the bargain?”
“It’s very simple. You act in a way that is consistent with this strategy. That means any information about the work you did for the government, your relationship with it, anything at all, is strictly classified. You treat it that way. You say nothing about it to anyone unless you are under a court order.”
“And that includes my meetings with you?”
Hobart smiled and nodded. It was going smoothly. His main worry had been that the sheer outrageousness of his proposal would offend Sendaki, that he would stalk out of the office and that would be it. But, Sendaki was considering it. It was simple, really. Sendaki kept his company and Hobart kept his career, his freedom and his life. This might work after all.
“Think about it, Dr. Sendaki. It gives you a good chance of keeping AgriGenics afloat, of continuing your work. The government will be on your side of the table in these lawsuits, that’s a big help.”
Sendaki nodded.
“And, forget about the two of us for a moment,” continued Hobart. “What is the best result for the country, for the world? Which way saves more lives? Which way reduces the amount of human suffering?”
Sendaki was silent for a full minute staring at Hobart, thinking.
“All right,” he said finally. “There is one condition. I need to know who you are. If I am not satisfied with the government’s role, I will complain directly to you. And, if I am still not satisfied, I will tell the whole story from the highest mountaintop, starting with your name.”
Hobart stood up, pulled out his wallet and extracted one of his cards. He handed it to Sendaki.
“Call any time, Dr. Sendaki,” he said. “Consider me the government’s exclusive agent for this…uh…arrangement. No one else will admit its existence.”
“One last thing,” said Sendaki. “Did that agent…Spreckel…did he work for you?”
Hobart just shrugged.
“Have a good flight, Dr. Sendaki,” he said.
Chapter 42
THE LANDLADY TURNED back and focused a skeptical eye on Lee before she let him cross the threshold. She was gray and frail. Her aging bones had betrayed her on her painful way up the stairs outside the house. Still, Lee knew she would stand her ground and refuse him passage unless she was assured of his right to be there.
“For the last time, you’ve seen the letter,” he said. “Her mother called you, didn’t she? What’s the problem?”
“I saw what they did in there,” said Stella Fogarty. “I don’t want you ruining anything or taking anything you aren’t supposed to. What did you say your name was, young man?”
“Enzo Lee. Here. Here’s my card. I work at the San Francisco News. If there’s anything amiss, you’ll know where to find me.”
Stella Fogarty held his card up to her face with both hands. She tilted her head back to focus through the bottom half of her bifocals. She silently mouthed the words that she read: “Enzo Lee. Reporter.” Having an identity seemed to do it for her. The printed card carried enough authority to pass her muster.
“Oh. All right. Go in,” she said, stepping aside and jerking her thumb toward the opened door. “I’ll be next door. Come get me when you leave.”
Lee went up the inner stairs slowly. The air inside was stale, but the weather was cool so it wasn’t hot. When he reached the top of the stairs, he could see the papers still lying all over the floor of the small office, books on the floor of the living room, and the contents of Sarah’s closet and dresser still strewn around her bedroom.
The sight of it reignited his anger. It hadn’t been enough for them to take Sarah’s life. They had terrorized her first, driven her from her home. He kicked one of the books lying on the living room floor and sent it skidding into the far wall. Then he stopped. What was he doing? He went to the bay windows that faced the street and threw open one side. The cool air gushing in made the curtains flap.
Lee stood by the window for a moment. Then, he got down on his knees. He propped his elbows on the sill, resting his chin on his crossed wrists, and looked out at the pink church across the street with the cross at the top outlined in neon. Then he closed his eyes, breathing deeply.
He had grieved before when his mother died. The end had been a relief after five days in the hospital, watching her strength ebb and her fight turn to pain and resignation. He had missed her deeply and felt at the same time that along with her he had somehow lost his own childhood.
But, Sarah’s death had left him numb. He had spent the day in jail lying on a cot, staring at the ceiling. He hardly cared when they released him with apologies for the mistake.
He had gotten a room at a New York hotel and didn’t leave it for the next three days. He kept the shades drawn. He slept
for 12 hours at a time and watched television when he was awake. He ordered a bottle of whiskey but ended up smashing it in the bathtub. Room service brought him a sandwich when the hunger pangs became too severe.
Finally, he had emerged to catch a flight to Lincoln for Sarah’s funeral. He slept in a Holiday Inn and drove two hours to attend the service in the morning. He met Sarah’s parents there. They were anguished and confused. They didn’t understand why she was dead. Had she done something wrong? Why had a government agent killed her? What was she doing in New York? Lee didn’t know what to tell them. They didn’t know whether to treat him as a friend or a criminal. In the end, he said nothing. Sarah was right. They were unsophisticated. Besides, no amount of sophistication would make what had happened to Sarah understandable. He was so exhausted he didn’t trust himself to explain anything to them.
But, his grief must have been apparent to Sarah’s mother. At the cemetery when everyone was leaving, she came to him. She invited him to go to Sarah’s flat in San Francisco before she and her husband made the journey to close it. Take anything you’d like, she had said, to remember Sarah.
Then her mother had cried and Lee had held her and he cried, too, finally. They were the first tears he had shed since the day of the shooting. Sarah’s father stood by helplessly.
Lee stood up at the window. He left it open to air out the flat. He looked around him at the mess. He pictured in his mind Sarah’s mother coming into her daughter’s flat and seeing it like this, seeing this gross violation of her.
He started with the books. When they were put back on the shelves and he had straightened all the furniture and dusted the living room, including the hardwood floors, he went to the bedroom. He worked quickly, returning the clothing to the closets and drawers. He refolded everything so it would look orderly. As he handled the clothes, he tried not to picture Sarah wearing any of it. Just cotton and nylon, he told himself. Wool and rayon.
Lee was nearly finished with the office when he found the envelope. It was teal colored with a logo, a single helix laden with fruit and flowers, on the left. He looked at the postmark. It was dated several days before Sarah had left the flat. She must have put it in a pile of junk mail, planning to tend to it when she had more time.
He opened the envelope. Inside was a one-page letter on AgriGenics’ stationary and a yellow rose, dried and pressed, inside a clear, sealed package about the size of a cigarette pack. The letter read:
Dear Friend,
We at AgriGenics are dedicated to leading the coming revolution in agriculture that new discoveries in genetic research will bring. We are at the dawn of a new era that we believe will reshape man’s relationship to nature. We invite you to sample the aroma of what we call our Cinnamon Rose, a new species of rose developed with the special scent-producing genes of the Cinnamomum tree. It proves that a rose can be more than just a rose.
With our compliments,
AgriGenics
When Lee left Sarah’s flat - tidy, clean and freshly aired - the only things he took with him were the letter and the rose in its unopened package.
• • •
LEE SAT ACROSS a small table from Sendaki in a small, informal dining room connected by a closed doorway to the kitchen. He had gone to the palatial home of AgriGenics’ new chief executive to tell Sendaki of the story he was planning to write. It was to be Sendaki’s first-hand account of the company’s involvement in the government’s covert biological weapons program.
Sendaki had just finished saying that he would deny everything and sue Lee for libel if the News ran the story.
“I have the resources to destroy you, Enzo,” said Sendaki. “And I can intimidate the News. You will never get the story published.”
“I see,” said Lee. He felt like ripping out Sendaki’s throat with his bare hands and was struggling to control himself. “And, what happened to Arthur Sendaki, the patriot and champion of truth?”
Sendaki looked down at his lap and then shrugged. He looked up at Enzo.
“Look at it from my point of view, Enzo,” he said. “What’s to be gained?
“I’m sorry about Sarah…and the others,” Sendaki continued. “I truly am. But, it can’t be undone. What is important now is the future. I will do everything in my power to extricate AgriGenics from this morass, undo the damage caused by Brian Graylock, and accomplish what I originally set out to do.”
“What about the people in government who were involved in this?” said Lee. “They killed Sarah. Are you going to let them go?”
“I don’t expect you to understand,” said Sendaki. “But, there are greater issues here. And if you think the people in government are actually going to be held accountable…well…just look at recent history. Graylock is dead. Spreckel is dead. Everything will be blamed on them.”
Lee studied Sendaki. He tried to put aside his anger to understand what was going on. Then, he thought he understood. With Graylock gone, Sendaki also could lay all of AgriGenics’ wrongdoing on him. The AgriGenics founder could even skirt the issue of his own involvement in the illegal biological weapons program and keep his company up and running. Sendaki would emerge from this without a blemish. The only problem would be the claims against AgriGenics brought by the farmers whose crops had been destroyed. But, Sendaki would have thought of that.
“You’ve cut a deal, haven’t you?” Lee said. The short scientist looked away, and Lee knew he was right.
When Sendaki looked back he had a bemused expression, bordering on the smug, that infuriated Lee. “The king can do no wrong,” he said.
“What the hell are you talking about?” demanded Lee.
“That’s the concept, the motto, really, behind sovereign immunity,” said Sendaki. “The king can do no wrong. That’s why you can’t sue the government unless it allows it. And, that’s what will allow AgriGenics to survive and realize its destiny.
“You’ve got to take the long view, Enzo,” Sendaki continued. “I can’t undo what has been done. But, I can still save lives – hundreds of millions of them – if the work continues. The survival of AgriGenics is paramount.”
Lee had had enough. There was no need to prolong this. He reached into the pocket of his jacket, pulled out the Cinnamon Rose in its clear package and laid it on the table between them.
Sendaki stared at it. His eyes widened as if he was seeing the most incredible spectacle in the world. He couldn’t divert his gaze from the pressed flower on the table. The scientist started getting out of his chair.
“Don’t,” said Lee. He had taken his pen, a fine-point Papermate, and was holding it like a dagger over the Cinnamon Rose. Sendaki looked at Lee and must have seen the rage that Lee felt. He sat back down.
“I only want one thing from you,” said Lee. “Tell me who Spreckel worked for and I’ll leave.”
• • •
LEE SAT IN his car outside of Col. Rodney Hobart’s townhouse in Alexandria, Virginia. He had watched Hobart leave for work an hour earlier. Pretending he had a package for somebody named Joyce Walker, Lee had elicited from two neighbors that Rodney Hobart lived alone in his townhouse. That was consistent with court records Lee had found the previous day showing that Hobart had divorced his wife two years earlier. She had custody of their two children.
Lee took the AgriGenics letter and the Cinnamon Rose he had taken from Sarah’s flat and put them into a plain envelope. He had already typed Hobart’s name and address on the front along with the word “Confidential.” He got out of the car and walked down the cement walk to the front of Hobart’s townhouse. The flap covering the mail slot screeched when he lifted it. He inserted the envelope, hesitated for a moment and then let it slip through his fingers. He heard it land on the other side. Then, he walked back to his car and began the drive back to the airport and his flight home.
About the Author
ROBERT B. LOWE was a newspaper reporter for 12 years for publications in Arizona and Florida. He won a Pulitzer Prize for his investigativ
e reporting. He attended Harvard Law School and practiced law in California’s Silicon Valley for five years before becoming a software entrepreneur. He has co-founded two high-tech startups and worked as a consultant for other technology companies. He resides in the Bay Area with his family. Project Moses is his first novel.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
About the Author
Project Moses - A Mystery Thriller (Enzo Lee Mystery-Thriller Series) Page 27
