“We are en route to the Big Island,” the lead said. “We will cruise through the night and make landfall there tomorrow afternoon. We will arrange for transport to the Mauna Kea summit.”
Archer nodded. “Good. Then tomorrow we can end this, right?”
“Presuming you deliver GREENBACK as promised,” the lead said.
“It will work. From an environmental standpoint, however, I cannot predict what the effects will be. Releasing GREENBACK into the atmosphere may have profound implications. The naturally occurring microbes may mutate, causing—”
“That will no longer be your concern, Doctor Archer,” since it is we who will own and control GREENBACK. Our attorneys are filing the legal paperwork claiming ownership of the patent—in Washington and Shanghai—as we speak.”
Archer gave a sarcastic salute. “All I’m saying is that it hasn’t been done before, so unexpected results are not entirely unanticipated.”
“Your concern is duly noted, but I remind you that your only responsibility now is to ensure the viability of the cells you have created until they can be tested at Mauna Kea.”
“Understood.”
“Is there anything else you will be needing until we arrive at Mauna Kea?”
“Yes, there is something everyone who is going will need.”
“And what is that?”
“Cold weather mountaineering gear. Since the summit is nearly fourteen thousand feet high, it’s extremely cold. During the winter there is enough snow to support a local ski operation. There probably won’t be that much snow this time of year, but it will be windy and very cold. I doubt you carry parkas, gloves, boots, scarves?”
The lead glanced at his crewmembers, who shook their heads in turn.
“The ascent cannot be made without them. The local tour companies provide cold weather gear for their clients. Such provisions can be had in the town of Waimea, which is the unofficial ‘base camp’ for Mauna Kea.”
The lead nodded. “Very well. We will take care of the logistics. Continue to monitor the cell line. You are to inform us immediately should you become aware of any problems. Not to do so will jeopardize your freedom. Is this clear?”
“Absolutely.”
“Then continue your good work, doctor.” The lead swept out of the lab followed by a group of crewmembers.
Archer scratched his head in thought for a moment, considering an array of cell samples in a nearby rack stand. He turned to the scientist monitoring him.
“Since I’ll be sitting here for quite some time until we reach the Big Island, I’d like to do a little side-experiment. I will of course continue to monitor the health of the new GREENBACK population, but there is some fine-tuning that could be done that may optimize the microbe’s response to CO2.”
His monitor scientist approached, peering intently at the surface of Archer’s lab bench. “Provided you tell me the exact purpose of what you are doing at all times, explaining each step as you go, okay.”
“Of course,” Archer nodded, his left hand crumpling a sticker which had been labeling one of the tubes and letting it drop to the floor.
Tara’s new temporary cell-phone, bought at a strip mall outside Lahaina, interrupted the solo ukulele performance in Kimo’s, a waterfront restaurant on Front Street. Ignoring the irate glances from customers at nearby tables, she covered one ear with a hand and took the call.
“Aloha Tara,” Kristen’s voice came through the receiver. “We’re just leaving the lab. They have the sample and they’re processing it now.”
“Good work. So get to the airport and have Rob bring you back here. Hopefully, we’ll need Lance to decode another message. Let’s hope the next one brings us safely to your Dad.” Lance nodded as he took a bite of the grilled snapper, or opakapaka, he’d ordered.
As the sun set over the former whaling town, Tara and Lance enjoyed a seafood dinner—the food, if not each other’s company. For a brief moment, they almost forgot about the circumstances that had brought them to Maui.
Two hours later Tara and Lance had eaten and checked into a Lahaina hotel that was walking distance from the waterfront. Outside their first floor room, the seaside town bustled with activity as vacationers strolled the shop-lined streets and prepared for a night out.
Tara had just decided that now was the time to start grilling Lance in earnest about his role in the kidnapping when they heard footsteps approaching their door, followed by a knock.
Tara held a hand up to Lance, indicating she wanted silence. She padded over to the peephole and peered out to see Dave and Kristen standing there. She let them in.
“I could get used to this helicopter travel,” Dave greeted them. “Oahu’s pretty nice right about now. Looks like it’s gonna rain here.”
“Where’s Rob?” Tara asked.
Kristen answered, “He’s still at the airport now. Said he had some post-flight checks to do, and then he said he’ll be in a hotel. We just have to call him when we’re ready,” she finished, tossing the pilot’s business card onto the dresser. “Meanwhile, the lab said they'd get to my job right away, so I'm going to check my e-mail and see if they've sent me anything yet.”
A couple of minutes later a squeal of excitement told the rest of them that Kristen had heard from the genomics lab.
She read aloud from the e-mail:
We have sequenced a bacterium found within the two test tube samples you hand delivered to us today. Both samples contained the same medium—clean seawater containing a culture of lab quality marine bacteria. Thus far we have only sequenced one of the tubes, since each sample contains the same bugs, but let us know if you would like the other sequenced as well.
Kristen looked at Lance and said, “I hope you’re ready to do some computer work. I’m downloading the file now,” she said, swatting at the laptop’s keyboard.
“I’ll fire up some coffee,” Lance said, moving toward the pot on top of the small refrigerator.
Dave waved him off. “I can make the coffee. What I can’t do is the computer stuff. So you get started on that, and I’ll bring the coffee to you.” Tara nodded her approval as she began dialing her cell-phone.
Lance nodded and went to Kristen’s laptop, already open on the room’s single table. “Thanks,” he said, sitting in front of the machine. “The hard work’s already been done. Since I already wrote the deciphering program, I should just need to run this new sequence through it.”
While Tara checked in with Rob on her phone, Kristen and Dave sat on the end of the bed, watching the local news with the sound muted while Lance formatted the raw genetic data for use with the custom algorithm he'd created at Hanauma Bay. It didn’t take him long.
“The START/STOP strings are in the lab sequence,” Lance announced as Dave brought him a cup of coffee.
“Yes! That means there’s another message from Dad,” Kristen said while Lance tapped a key. Characters scrolled down the screen so fast as to be unreadable. Then they stopped. Lance looked sick.
“What is it?” Kristen said. Tara crossed the room to the laptop as she hung up with Rob.
“There’s a message, all right,” Lance said. “But it’s not from Dad.”
…GAAA63ACGT...
9:06 P.M.
The four of them crowded around the table to view the message displayed on the laptop’s screen:
Welcome to Hawaii now go home. We will kill your father if you follow or alert authorities. Do nothing and you will see him soon. Alive.
Kristen doubled over, as if she’d been struck in the stomach. She felt physically ill. “Wh—What...how?” she stuttered. Dave gripped her hand, shaking his head.
Lance said, “I think it’s safe to say that Dad’s kidnappers have caught on to his secret courier service.”
“Lance,” Kristen said, gripping his shoulder, “Are you certain that you decoded the message properly?” But she could see from the look in her brother’s eyes that he was feeling sorry for her, for the anguish she now experienced. H
e had made no errors. He merely nodded in response.
“Maybe we should just do what they say,” Dave suggested.
No one replied to that.
“I guess we won’t be getting any more messages from Dad,” Lance said, turning away from the laptop.
“Oh my God,” Kristen said. She began to pace around the room.
“There is one good thing about this message,” Tara said, speaking for the first time since viewing the communication. Kristen and Lance gazed at her expectantly.
“We know they were here. In Lahaina. In that wreck.”
“That’s true,” Lance agreed, raising a finger in the air. “And we know when they were here.”
Tara nodded. “The explosion, or whatever that boat incident was that the harbor patrol checked out.”
“That had to be it,” Lance said. “And those scissors. Not a bit of rust on them. They probably came from the Nahoa, too. Maybe Dad tried to escape and was using them as a weapon, who knows.”
Tara ran to the dresser and snatched up her cell-phone. The two men looked at her as she hit a key then held the phone to her ear. She saw them watching her. “I'm calling Rob. Wherever the Nahoa is now, it’s definitely still within helicopter range.”
“That means Dad is within helicopter range,” Kristen said to Lance.
“It doesn't make sense to do a night search, does it?” Dave pointed out.
“I understand that,” Tara said, “But I want to let him know that we’re going at first light.”
Lance let his head loll back, as if tired, frustrated at the idea of getting up early again.
Kristen fought to control a sudden rage. “What, Lance? You don’t want to go? You keep forgetting that it was your sorry ass who got us into this god awful mess. You think I like draining my accounts like money grows on trees so I can try to get our father back from these...these absolute animals you threw him to?” She finished with a choked sob that made Dave put an arm around her.
Lance jumped to his feet, infuriated. “I know I'm busted here, okay? I'm being escorted around by an FBI agent while I try to explain what I did. But I'm still here, trying. I guess I could just give up on everything.”
“Maybe you should,” Kristen said, her voice lower and calmer sounding than before. “Perhaps you're incriminating yourself in the presence of Agent Shores more than you should be.”
Lance walked toward the door, eyes wide. Tara tensed, ready to take any action that might be necessary. She shot Kristen an angry look.
“Wait,” Kristen said. “Lance. Don’t do that. We might need your computer help again, and I want you in the helicopter with us if we spot the ship where Dad is being held. And I’d just be the one to have to bail you out if you turned yourself in, anyway.”
Lance stopped before he reached the door and turned back around to face his sister.
“That might be a bail that even you couldn’t pay.”
Her features took on a grim look at the reference to how serious Lance’s crime was in the eyes of the law. “You may be right. I know who could, though: Dad. How ironic is that? The one person who could have bailed you out from anything.”
Lance bit his lip, looking like he was about to explode. Brother and sister locked eyes. They engaged in a staring contest for the next ten seconds. Lance looked away first.
Tara spoke. “Let’s all get some sleep. We’re up at four-thirty.”
She retreated to the adjoining room she would share with Kristen.
A hard rain fell on the Nahoa. The elder Archer could hear it pummeling the ship’s deck just beyond the lab walls. He didn’t know what it meant for the weather outside. It could be just a passing squall, or the beginning of a rare Hawaiian hurricane. He had no way of knowing.
What he did know, however, was that it was late, and his guard had started to nod off about an hour ago. Now he seemed to be asleep more than awake, slumped over on the lab bench a good ten feet away, both arms cradling his rifle. He even snored at times, which sounded terrifying through the voice modulator.
Archer was amused that the scientist left in the lab to monitor his work seemed not to care about his sleepy colleague. He was there to be taught, and learn he did, peppering Archer with questions about his lab procedures. Why couldn’t you have done it like this instead of like that? Why transpose this sequence before insertion into the host? His questions were frequent and intelligent. He truly wanted to gain knowledge of Archer’s procedures, not only for his company, but for his own edification.
This was why he asked Dr. Archer to stop working while he used the lab’s bathroom.
Archer told the man he’d take a break. As soon as his scientist captor had entered the tiny bathroom and closed its door behind him, Archer glanced at his guard. The man was snoring steadily now, eyes closed, hands gripping his gun.
Archer flashed on the idea of wresting the sleeping man’s gun from him, killing him and the scientist in the bathroom, but he quickly forced this idea from his mind. Shots would be easily heard throughout the ship at this time of night—even over the steady drumbeat of raindrops—and then he would be overpowered or killed in a gun battle. Jumping ship now—at night in the rain, without knowing where they were—was a suicidal option.
He considered taking one of the guards as a hostage, but decided their lives might not be worth much to the lead. The lead...something about him bothered Archer, but he shoved the thought aside and focused on the task at hand—the plan he had devised.
He had organized an alphabet of DNA sequences to be used for creating his messages. Once his captors understood the system, they had had him code the message to Kristen to stop following the boat. Now, with no one watching him for the first time in several hours, Archer accessed the alphabet base pairs without being seen.
He worked as fast as humanly possible for such precision work, hands moving with robotic accuracy and speed as he transferred vial contents via pipette to Petri dish and well slide.
It was his shortest message yet, but also the most important. He was hunting in the cabinet beneath him for an empty test tube when he heard the toilet flush.
Quickly!
Archer tossed aside various items in the cabinet until he found one of the white-capped test tubes. He pulled it out and closed the cabinet door.
He could hear the man in the bathroom running the sink now. At least the guy was hygienic, Archer thought as he transferred the new microbial message he’d just created into the test tube. Kristen would definitely recognize the tube as coming from this lab were she to see it.
Dr. Archer capped the tube and slipped it into the pocket of his shorts just as the bathroom door opened.
…TTGC64CGAG...
Thursday, June 18, 4:57 A.M
The rain woke them before the pre-dawn hotel wake-up call.
Opening her door, Tara was taken aback by the deluge. Rain didn’t seem the appropriate term for the weather she witnessed. She could see no farther than a few yards outside the door. Water pelted her face. Gusts of wind blew trash past her feet. She closed the door and went though the bathroom that connected the room she shared with Kristen to Lance and Dave’s.
They were already opening their door, also marveling at the vicious weather. “Tropical storm,” Lance said. He looked at Dave. “Ever see anything like this?”
Dave shook his head. “Not this bad, no, but I have seen some heavy rainstorms on Oahu. They don’t last long.” Outside, the rain intensified. Kristen flipped on the television but there was nothing but static on every channel.
“Storm must have taken something out,” Dave said. “At least we still have power for now.”
Their room phone rang. Wake-up call.
“I’m calling Rob,” Tara said.
“I’ll get started on some coffee,” Lance said, moving to the small kitchenette area. Kristen continued to fiddle with the TV without success while Tara listened into her cell-phone. Rob was doing most of the talking. She ended the call after saying “Okay,”
a couple of times.
“Rob says it’s bad where he is too, over by the airport, and no way can he fly until this clears up. Says to check back in two more hours.”
Dave nodded, pulling back the curtains to reveal the dark rainstorm outside their room. “This is definitely not helicopter weather.”
Kristen sat down on one of the beds, sighing. “Okay, we’re up, we’ve got at least a couple hours to kill.”
“But it’s not beach weather either,” Lance said, bringing over steaming mugs of Kona coffee.
“No,” Kristen said, accepting a mug, “but there is something we can work on.”
“What’s that?” Tara asked.
“I’ve been wondering about the second part of the message before last. The message from Dad, with the boat name, and—”
“And the twenty-one digit number,” Lance said, remembering the second part of the message he himself had decoded on the beach. “Okay, it’s an alphanumeric string. Ideas?”
Tara availed herself of a cup of coffee and sat at the room’s only table to observe the conversation. Who is it that actually makes the connections? Is any of them impeding the discussion?
“Some other kind of code—a code within a code?” Dave threw out.
Lance shrugged.
“God, I hope not,” Kristen said. Then, “No, I don’t think that’s it. As if arranging DNA within a bacterial cell that you need a decryption key to decipher isn’t secure enough already. I think it’s safe to say that what we have is the message.’
“A serial number of some kind—not a boat tag, but something else?” Lance offered.
More coffee was consumed while the three of them considered this. “Serial number of what?” Dave asked. “A piece of lab equipment, maybe—like a DNA sequencer, or a computer?”
Lance shrugged again. Kristen retreated to her adjoining room and came back with her laptop. She set it up on the desk. “Hope the Internet works,” she said, flipping on the wireless switch. A few seconds later she breathed a sigh of relief. “Connected. This time I’ll focus on the number itself, unconnected to the boat.”
kiDNApped (A Tara Shores Thriller) Page 27
