“They’ve been under investigation by the FBI for some time now,” Manuela said. “They reportedly deal in arms and military weapons. Lately they’ve been pushing chemical weapons and maybe even biological stuff. We do know that they’re not picky about who they sell to. They’ve been known to supply some Middle Eastern terrorist factions with stuff. They’ve sold to the IRA. I’ve come to the conclusion that their main headquarters is right here in Austin or in a neighboring town.”
“Where do they get their goods?”
“This is America, my friend,” Leiter said with a sigh, as if that explained everything.
“Where did Alfred Hutchinson live?” Bond asked.
“It’s actually not far from here. It’s in West Lake Hills too. We’ve taken a look at it a couple of times, and it seems deserted. Charles has an apartment in the city, over in the Hyde Park area. It’s an older section of town, but a lot of college students live there. The young man apparently has a thing for the young coeds. Can’t say I blame him.”
Manuela slapped Leiter on the shoulder. “Just kidding, dear,” he said.
“We need to locate Charles,” Bond said. “We’re not sure if he knows his father is dead.”
“We haven’t made contact with ReproCare yet. We’ve been observing them, but I think it’s about time we did make contact. How would you like to handle that, James? The doctor in charge is a woman who frequents the restaurant where we’re going later. You’ve always been good at bringing out the best in women. Charles Hutchinson hangs out there too, because it’s one of those college nightspots that are so popular.”
Manuela spoke up. “He is some kind of playboy, this Charles. He drives a fancy sports car and always has a lot of girlfriends. He came to Austin a few years ago to attend the university, but he dropped out when he discovered he could get by on his good looks, English accent, and his father’s notoriety.”
“What’s interesting is that once his father became a roving ambassador in England, Charles would accompany him on trips around the world. He’s a real jet-setter. I imagine he’s got a lot of money too. A spoiled rich kid,” Leiter said.
“But that’s not all,” Manuela added, with an inflection that hinted that the best was yet to come.
“We suspect Charles Hutchinson may be involved with the Suppliers,” Leiter said as he poured another shot of tequila.
“How do you know?”
“We have a list of people who we think are members of the Suppliers. We haven’t got any hard evidence yet. We’re on a wait-andobserve status, but we certainly have our suspects. Charles has been seen in their company … at the restaurant and in other public places. And these people aren’t normally who you would expect an ambassador’s rich kid to associate with. They’re the type of people who still flaunt Confederate flags and look like Marine recruits.”
“What evidence do you have that links this sperm bank with the Suppliers?”
Leiter shook his head. “None. We haven’t found it yet. We’re working on hunches. The connection just might be our little friend Charles. You coming here looking for him just might be the break we’ve been waiting for.”
“Then we’ve got to find him.”
“Agreed. Are you hungry?”
“Starving.”
“Good. Prepare to feast at one of Austin’s most popular and best restaurants. It’s nothing fancy, but you can’t get better Mexican food.”
“It’s Tex-Mex, not Mexican,” Manuela said huffily.
“Manuela’s a purist when it comes to Mexican food,” Leiter explained. “Let’s go.”
With that, Leiter stood up and got out of the wheelchair. Bond was surprised at the ease with which the lanky Texan did so.
“What are you staring at, limey?” Leiter asked. “I can still walk!” He limped over to a corner of the room and grabbed a mahogany walking stick. “I just use the chair around the house ’cause I’m lazy and enjoy the ride. And it’s got a great built-in vibrating lower lumbar massager in it. That’s the best part! Let’s hit the road, Jack.”
SEVEN
THE SUPPLIERS
MANUELA DROVE BOND AND LEITER BACK TO THE AREA OF BARTON SPRINGS Road just east of Zilker Park. The sun had set and the college kids were out in force. “Restaurant Row” was lined with several establishments specializing in trendy Texas-style foods and other cuisines, plus a sports shop featuring Rollerblade and surfboard products. She pulled into the crowded parking lot of Chuy’s Restaurant, a gaudy establishment that resembled the drive-ins of the late fifties and early sixties.
Bond had changed into casual wear—navy trousers, a light blue Sea Island cotton shirt, and a light navy jacket. He wore his Walther PPK in a shoulder holster underneath the jacket. Manuela had assured him that he was “casual” enough.
When they walked in the door, they were assaulted by loud pop music and the cacophony of a large crowd. Bond felt like a fish out of water, for many of the patrons around him were twenty years younger or more. Here was the youth of America in all their glory, and in all shapes, sizes, and colors. There were clean-cut yuppies dressed in designer clothes, and shabby pseudohippies with long hair and tie-dyed T-shirts. Some of the men were dressed like cowboys; others wore jackets and ties. The women wore anything from business suits to T-shirts and cutoffs.
This onslaught on Bond’s senses was nothing compared to the shock he got when he focused on the interior design. “Overly festive” and “much too colorful” were the descriptions that came to mind. In the front entry way was an Elvis Presley shrine behind glass. It was decorated with a bust of “the King,” a toy guitar, colored wooden fish, and other odd items. The mil pescado bar was decorated with a thousand colored fishes hanging from the ceiling. It was all designed to evoke a hip, pop-art style with a slightly off-center sensibility. Bond realized that some people would find it amusing, but he was put off by the atmosphere. It wasn’t his kind of place.
“So you really recommend this spot?” he asked.
“You’ll love it,” Leiter said.
“I’m not loving it so far.”
“I know, it’s crowded and noisy, and it looks like your worst nightmare, but the food is incredible. Look at those women. Christ. You know, Texas girls are the most beautiful in America.”
“I thought that’s what they said about California girls.”
“No way, José. Just look around.”
“He’s right, James, the women are beautiful in Texas,” said Manuela. “Too bad the men are all jerks.”
Leiter had some pull with the manager, so they didn’t have to wait the usual forty-five minutes before being shown to a table at a booth. A waiter placed a basket of hand-fried tortilla chips with fresh homemade salsa in front of them. The utensils were inside a wax-paper packet which read, “This silverware has been SANITIZED for your protection!” Leiter ordered two rounds of frozen margaritas, much to Bond’s dismay. Made from silver tequila, squeezed lime juice, and triple sec, margaritas were a staple in Texas, and the frozen variety made a slushy beverage that Bond liked to call “a musical comedy drink.” It was served in a salted wineglass with a lime wedge. When he tasted it, however, he was surprised by its satisfying flavor. It certainly went well with the hot salsa. Leiter and Bond were soon laughing and reminiscing about old times.
The menu featured a variety of Tex-Mex specialties. Leiter and Manuela ordered fajitas for two. They recommended that Bond try either the fajitas or the enchiladas. He chose the latter. As an appetizer, they shared a bowl of chile con queso—a hot cheese dip made from cheddar and American cheeses, red peppers, and roasted tomatoes. When the food arrived, Bond could hardly believe his eyes. It is said that everything is big in Texas, and that certainly applied to the food portions. The enormous enchiladas were hand-rolled corn tortillas stuffed with ground sirloin and topped with the restaurant’s special Tex-Mex sauce—a red chile sauce with chili meat—and then with melted cheese. On the side were refried pinto beans cooked with garlic and onions. The Mexi
can rice was mildly flavored with onions and tomatoes.
“All right, Felix, you win,” Bond said after tasting the food. “This is good.”
“What’d I tell you?” Leiter said, his mouth full of chicken. He and Manuela were sharing chicken fajitas which were marinated in beer, oil, and spices, then grilled with onions, cilantro, and bell peppers.
“Do you see any of our targets?” Bond asked, once he had finished with the rich food.
“As a matter of fact, Dr. Ashley Anderson just sat down at the table over by the aquarium,” Leiter said.
“She’s the boss at ReproCare,” explained Manuela. “She was brought into the company when it was sold to BioLinks. ReproCare was about to go bankrupt when BioLinks stepped in and took it over.”
Bond glanced across the room. A tall blonde woman who looked like a model a bit past her prime was just sitting down opposite a large cowboy. She was still quite striking, probably in her late thirties, and was dressed conservatively in a business suit. The skirt was short, revealing long shapely legs in high heels. Dr. Anderson exhibited an aura of self confidence and authority. Bond might not have guessed that she was a physician, but he certainly would have placed her at the top of a large corporation.
The cowboy, on the other hand, was in his forties and looked like redneck white trash. He was bulky and overweight, but most of the mass was muscle. He was dressed in a sleeveless blue shirt, revealing large biceps. Tattoos were prominent on both arms. Sewn across the back of the shirt was a Confederate flag. He wore a large Stetson, blue jeans, and brown cowboy boots. His round baby face was distinctively marked by a scar that ran down the length of his left cheek. He was the complete antithesis of Dr. Ashley Anderson.
“Well, well,” Leiter said. “This could be our first big break.”
“How is that?”
“The fellow she’s with is Jack Herman. He’s a lowlife who’s been on our list for a long time. If he’s not a member of the Suppliers, then they’re missing out on an excellent employment opportunity.”
“What do you know about him?”
“He’s been convicted of a couple of crimes, served some time, got out. He’s probably on parole as we speak, but ten to one says he’s breaking it. He was busted for selling drugs about fifteen years ago and spent three years in the penitentiary. His next biggie was armed robbery. He got ten years for that but only served six. I can guarantee you that he’s not sitting with Dr. Anderson discussing how he can become a donor to the sperm bank.”
“You thought that the clinic might have connections to the Suppliers …”
“I never would have thought Dr. Anderson would be involved,” Manuela said. “She always seemed so respectable. But then again, she tends to enjoy the nightlife quite a bit. She’s been seen with all kinds of men—and women—when you think about it, Felix. I actually wouldn’t be surprised if she swings both ways.”
“Yeah, and don’t forget our friend Charles Hutchinson. They were an item for a little while.”
“I don’t know if it was sexual,” Manuela said. “But yes, they were often seen in public together for a couple of months.”
“If they were an item, it was sexual. She is, after all, a woman who collects sperm,” Bond said in mock seriousness. Leiter burst out laughing. Manuela rolled her eyes.
“How can they sell sperm outside the U.S.? I find that very odd. Can they do that legally?” Bond asked.
“Apparently so,” Leiter said. “You’re right, it is unusual. Other sperm banks just deal their stuff domestically. ReproCare, however, is touted as having ‘the finest sperm’ in America. They sell it to other infertility clinics all over the world. I guess people think they’re getting a good deal if it came from America.”
“Tell me more about the Suppliers,” Bond continued.
“They’ve been around about six years,” Manuela said. “The FBI caught one of their leaders three years ago, before I was on the case. Fellow by the name of Bob Gibson. He was suspected of organized crime, selling illegal weapons and smuggling arms overseas, but the only thing we could convict him on was possession of illegal arms. He’s still in prison. We’re not sure who’s in charge now, but as we told you, they operate out of Austin or somewhere nearby. They have tentacles that reach all over the country, though. There was a fellow who was driving a truck from Alaska to Canada, en route to Arkansas, who was implicated in carrying a deadly material called ricin.”
“I know about ricin,” Bond said.
Leiter continued the story. “When the Canadian customs agents searched the truck, they found four guns, twenty thousand rounds of ammunition, thirteen pounds of black powder, neo-Nazi literature, and three books that you can’t buy at most bookstores, but that can be purchased by mail order or over the Internet. They were all about subversive warfare. A couple of the books detailed how to extract ricin from castor beans. Also in the truck was a plastic bag filled with white powder, and about eighty thousand in cash.”
“What happened?”
“The man actually warned the inspectors not to open the bag of white powder. He told them it was deadly. The computer check on the guy was clear, so they let him go—without the powder. It turns out that it was enough ricin to wipe out a large suburb—it’s one of the deadliest nerve poisons, and there’s no antidote.”
“I’m familiar with it,” Bond said.
“Well, what was he doing with it? Even though it’s not against the law to possess the stuff, the FBI became interested in him and he was arrested later in Arkansas on a minor traffic charge. He hung himself in his cell before any answers could be found. It turned out he lived in Austin.”
Manuela picked up the story from there. “We searched his house and found a tin can filled with a pound and a half of castor beans and more recipe books for making ricin. His lawyer said his client had planned to use the ricin for peaceful purposes, such as killing coyotes that threatened his chickens or something like that. He claimed people had the right to have rat poison or coyote poison, just like they had the right to carry a handgun. The federal prosecutor in Arkansas replied to that one by saying it was tantamount to insisting you could use an atomic bomb to protect your property from a burglar. The most important thing we found in the house was literature about the Suppliers. That’s what really clued everyone in on the organization. He was one of their couriers.”
“It’s believed that he was supplying ricin to the Minnesota Patriots, another nasty group of right-wing freaks,” Leiter said.
The cowboy, Jack Herman, stood up and shook Dr. Anderson’s hand. He left the restaurant without looking back. Dr. Ashley Anderson sat at her table alone.
“Well, it’s now or never,” Bond said. He got up and strolled over to where she was sitting.
“Hello, Dr. Anderson?” he said. She looked up at him, prepared to brush him off. Before she could say, “Get lost,” the words caught in her mouth. Who was this dark handsome stranger standing before her?
“The name is Bond. James Bond. I saw that you were sitting alone,” he said. “I’m visiting Austin from England for the first time, and I’d like to talk to you. May I buy you a drink?”
“Well, I don’t normally accept drinks from strangers,” she said in a broad Texas accent, “but since you’re here all the way from England you can’t be all bad. Have a seat. How did you know my name?”
Bond extended his hand. She shook it briefly; then he sat down.
Before answering her question, Bond caught the waiter and ordered two frozen margaritas.
“I’m a friend of Alfred Hutchinson. I’m looking for his son, Charles. I understand you know him.”
Ashley Anderson blinked. Bond was sure that he had caught her completely off guard, but she rebounded quickly and said, “Yes, he works at my clinic.”
“Do you have any idea where he is? It’s imperative that I find him.”
“Why?”
“Well, his father died three days ago.”
The woman blinked again. Bond
searched her face for signs that she might be surprised at hearing this news, but his instincts told him that she already knew.
“Oh dear,” she said. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I’ve been dispatched over here to find Charles, as Mr. Hutchinson’s lawyers have been unable to contact him. He’s wanted for funeral arrangements and other matters.”
“I see,” she said. “I haven’t seen him in over a week. I’ve been in Europe for several days. In fact, I just got back today. Charles is one of our couriers. He carries sperm for our clinic—I run an infertility clinic—”
“I know,” Bond said.
“Unfortunately, I really don’t deal with our couriers’ schedules. I think he left for Europe while I was gone. I’m not exactly certain when he’s due to be back, but he’s never gone more than a few days.”
“Where did he go?”
“France? Or Italy. I’m not sure. I could check tomorrow at the clinic. I can find out when he’ll be back too. Maybe we can get hold of him. Why don’t you give us a call tomorrow? I’ll give you my card.”
“Could I come by the clinic instead of phoning? Maybe we can have lunch and you can tell me what all I’d have to do if I wanted to become a donor.”
Ashley Anderson smiled. The English stranger worked fast.
“If you’d like to do that, come on by. I can’t do lunch, though.” She handed him her card. “I’m tied up until the afternoon. Can you come about two o’clock?”
“Fine, I’ll be there.” The drinks arrived and there was a short silence. Bond studied Ashley Anderson’s face now that he was close to her. She had a wide mouth and large blue eyes. Her blond hair was shoulder-length, thin and straight. She was looking at him as if she were evaluating prize livestock. He finally broke the silence by saying, “Tell me a little about the clinic. I’ve always been curious about how those things work.”
“Sperm banks? Well, we basically serve two functions. The first is we supply sperm to patients with infertility problems. The second is we provide the means for cancer patients to freeze and store their sperm before undergoing radiation therapy.”
The Facts Of Death Page 8
