by Rachel Grant
But she was wasting time wondering if the Guerreros had ever been found. She needed more information on Thermo-Con. Something that would get Riversong’s attention. In hopes of gleaning something useful, she read the article that concerned the Thermo-Con project again.
NEW BUILDING MATERIAL AROUSES KEEN INTEREST
The prototype house completed in November is one of the most interesting projects at Fort Belmont. Several generals, a lieutenant colonel, and even a bishop from the Republic of Nicaragua have all visited the house.
What makes the building so interesting might well be answered by one word, “Thermo-Con”: the new type of building material creating such a stir in the construction field. Its qualities are almost legendary—it floats, can be sawed with an ordinary carpenter’s handsaw, and drilled with a brace and bit; it holds nails and common wood screws, and its heat-resistance and insulating qualities defy belief.
Ordinary cement, water, and a patented formula of mineral origin are mixed in a “Thermo-Con Generator” to a thick paste called slurry. It is then pumped into building forms through a flexible hose to a predetermined depth. As the Thermo-Con sets, it begins to expand until, after about forty-five minutes, it reaches proper volume. Closer examination reveals the finished Thermo-Con is impregnated with tiny cells. Thus it gets its excellent insulating properties and light weight. The expansion that takes place actually increases the volume of the mass two and a half times.
She stared at the page until it was blurry, willing some bit of information to break loose.
And then it did.
One word. A word she’d read many times in the last five days but had never once considered important: patented.
Excitement blossomed. She took a shallow breath. She didn’t know if it was instinct or foolish hope that made her belly flutter. “Lee, I think I found something.”
He grunted in disinterest.
She was too excited to care about his lack of reaction. “I think I know where we can find information on Thermo-Con.”
“Hmmm?”
She stood. “Thermo-Con was patented. The patent office will have information that could answer our research questions.” A visceral déjà vu-like certainty enveloped her. She was on the right track. “Let’s go tell Janice.”
“One minute,” he said.
He probably wanted to finish his computer game. Lazy and incompetent. Lee Scott was driving her nuts.
“Now, Lee!” Her voice projected anger in a way even he couldn’t miss. She turned and hurried into the hall.
“I’m coming,” he said, sounding like a put-upon teenager. He quickly caught up to her with his long-legged stride, and together they barged into Janice’s office.
“I have a great idea!” she announced, trying to recapture the excited feeling she’d had about the patent office. She stopped short. Edward Drake was seated in Janice’s guest chair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“No problem,” Janice said. “Ed and I were just discussing the navy aircraft project.”
Her stomach lurched. Dammit, just when things were feeling…right. “I thought we decided not to bid on that.”
“We’re still considering,” Janice said. “Now, tell me this idea you’re all fired up about.”
She quickly described her plan, and Janice grinned. “Excellent. How late is the patent office open today?”
“I haven’t checked yet.”
“I’ll look.” Janice swiveled to her computer and launched the Internet browser.
Ed Drake let out a heavy sigh. “We’re not finished, Janice. Jake thinks we can raise the airplane for less than you estimated, and he’s the expert. This project is an excellent opportunity to get our foot in the door with the navy. Admiral Redmond is overseeing it personally, and no other engineering firm in the area has the right expertise.”
“We don’t have the right expertise, Ed,” Janice said. “If I had one underwater archaeologist on staff, someone I trusted, I’d feel differently. But I don’t. And frankly, I’m concerned about teaming with Jake Novak. He’s more treasure hunter than salvage expert, which may sound fine to you, but in my line of work, that’s a big, fat no.”
“His work is perfectly legal,” Drake said.
“He’s no Bob Ballard. He’s not a scientist. He’s after the loot and to hell with the context, to hell with the resource. Now, give me a minute to look up the patent office information for Erica.”
Erica prayed Janice would hold firm. If Jake managed to team with Talon & Drake, she’d quit, even though that meant giving up graduate school and leaving archaeology for good.
Janice’s fingers tapped at her keyboard. She stared at her monitor, then smiled. “The US Patent and Trademark Office Public Search Facility is open until eight.” She tapped a few more keys. “I’ve printed the address and directions. It’s in Alexandria, so you’d better get going. If you find anything new, write it up over the weekend.”
Erica was almost out the door when Janice said, “Erica, I almost forgot, here’s the reprint of the bone analysis.” She waved a piece of paper. “Have you contacted Sam Riversong about the human remains yet?”
She took the letter from Janice. “No.” Each time she’d reached for the phone, Tommy Riversong’s face had come to mind, stopping her cold. “I’ll call him after I get the carbon-14 results.” There wasn’t anything she could do before she got the carbon date anyway.
“Fine,” Janice said.
“Can we get back to this proposal now, Janice?” Drake asked. “I’m meeting with the senator in an hour, and I happen to know the admiral is meeting with Joe before me. I should have a chance to talk to him on his way out.”
Damn, damn, damn! Drake wanted the aircraft project and had used the senator to arrange a backdoor meeting. Her days at Talon & Drake were numbered unless she could expose Jake before they won the contract.
Feeling sick, she left Janice’s office with Lee in tow. She picked up the patent office information from the printer, then hurried down the hall. She was preoccupied, looking down, and didn’t see Rob Anderson until she almost crashed into him.
“Sam’s been on my case about Thermo-Con,” Rob said, an edge in his voice.
“We’re about to leave for the patent office,” she said. “We’re going to try to find the Thermo-Con patent in hopes it will tell us something about the inventor.”
He fixed her with a steady gaze. “I want to see the EA before it goes out on Monday.” Rob turned on his heel and disappeared around the corner.
“What’s his problem?” Lee asked.
Erica shrugged. “He’s usually friendly. I don’t know what it is about Thermo-Con that has him on edge.”
“Maybe Sam told him about your threat.”
She picked up her pace, part of her wishing she could lose him in the maze-like corridors. Then she could go to the patent office alone. Back in their office, she slipped the osteological report into the slowly thickening project file. How could she use the remains to her advantage? She was playing chess without a board, pieces, or rules, but still needed to predict ten moves ahead to decide her current move.
She gathered what she’d need to write the Thermo-Con EA from home over the weekend, then checked her e-mail one last time.
Her stomach churned. She had an e-mail from Jake. The subject: Don’t forget our deal.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“PATENTS AREN’T ISSUED in the name of the item being patented,” the clerk said. “They’re issued in the name of the inventor.”
Lee almost felt sorry for Erica as her excitement evaporated. She looked crestfallen. “But I don’t know the inventor’s name.”
“What about Higgins?” he said. “For all we know, that could be the inventor.”
“It’s worth a try,” she said and turned back to the clerk. “The patent was issued around 1950. Does that help?”
The man frowned. “Not all the old patents have been scanned into the database yet. Your best bet is the ca
rd catalog.” He circled the counter. “Follow me.”
Lee lagged behind Erica and the clerk as they climbed a narrow staircase. He berated himself for not getting out of this research expedition. This was a ridiculous wild-goose chase. He had more important work to do.
At the top of the stairs, they entered a storage room where excess chairs, tables, and desks were stacked together and blocked the light cast by bare bulbs. The resulting patches of darkness gave the musty room an eerie atmosphere. They walked in a narrow aisle to the back, where hundreds of card catalog drawers spanned the wall.
“These are arranged alphabetically by the inventor’s last name. If you find anything, copy the patent number, and bring it to me.” The clerk left them alone.
Erica looked around. “This room’s creepy.”
Lee smiled. At least this field trip could serve a purpose. He’d exhausted his ability to learn about her through hacking. To learn more, he needed to spend time with her. Earn her trust. This was a start. “I’ll protect you,” he said. “Unless there are spiders. I hate spiders.”
Her lips quirked. “My hero.” She turned to the rows of cabinets. “Get to work, Romeo, and find the H drawer. I’m going to look up ‘Thermo-Con’ just for jazz.” She pulled open the “Th” drawer and started flipping through cards.
A few minutes later, she returned to his side. “How’re you doing?”
“This drawer is full of patents issued to one Higgins or another. No concrete yet.”
With only one name to search for, they went through the cards together. Bent over the drawer as they were, her head was below his. He breathed in the fresh, clean smell of her glossy dark hair, which was—as usual—in a knot at the nape of her neck, and fought the urge to pluck out the hairpins.
She stopped his hand as he started to flip another card. “Wait,” she said, her voice brimming with excitement.
He reread the card. “Amphibious Vehicle Propulsion System. It’s not concrete.”
“No, but have you noticed what all the Higgins Industries patents are for?”
Lee flipped though several of the cards. “Amphibious vessels, amphibious craft, amphibious shallow draft engine.”
“Exactly. Just like Tuesday, at the archives—file after file detailed ERDL’s work on amphibious this or that—you’d think they were studying frogs.”
“So Higgins and ERDL were both working on amphibious vehicles.”
“Yes.” She held up her notebook. “Read research question number three.”
She was playing school teacher. He had to admit, he liked it. He read aloud, “‘If the engineers at the Engineer Research and Development Laboratory on Fort Belmont didn’t invent Thermo-Con, then why was the house built on the post?’” He knew where she was leading him, but she was having fun, so he let her continue. “So?”
“Assuming Higgins Industries invented Thermo-Con, maybe ERDL and Higgins Industries worked together on amphibious projects. Maybe the ERDL engineers asked Higgins to build the house because they knew about Thermo-Con from their joint research.”
“Or Higgins Industries wanted to show off their new invention to ERDL engineers.” Her excitement was infectious; he felt his own buzz as he considered the possibilities. “What better way to impress the military than to wow their engineers with a prototype self-rising house.”
She gasped and grabbed his wrist. “Lee, remember what the newspaper article said about Thermo-Con? It floats!”
“So it may have been developed by Higgins for boat building,” he said, liking her theory more and more.
“Exactly!”
Together and with deliberate slowness, they flipped through the Higgins cards, pausing on each one to carefully read the patent description before going to the next. She let out a soft squeal every time the patent described another amphibious invention. Erica excited was a definite turn-on.
Anticipation built with each flip of the cards. Finally they came to patent number 2,560,871: Method of Mixing Cement Composition. Erica sucked in a sharp breath that in a different situation would have pushed him over the edge.
“I don’t believe it,” he said. “We found the Thermo-Con patent.” In that moment, he made another connection. “Higgins…amphibious…boats…Higgins Boats. Of course. It’s so obvious—I can’t believe I missed that.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The Thermo-Con house was built by the guy who invented Higgins Boats.”
“Um, what are Higgins Boats?”
Miss Smarty-Pants didn’t know. He grinned. “Higgins boats were used in every major allied invasion in World War II. The Germans didn’t believe boats existed that could deliver our troops to Normandy, and so the Normandy beaches were less defended. Without Higgins Boats, D-Day couldn’t—wouldn’t—have happened.”
Her jaw dropped. “How do you know all this?”
He felt sufficiently mollified that after being a slacker piece of shit all week, he could show he wasn’t a complete idiot. “I like military history.” He paused, realizing he had a perfect opportunity. “Tonight we’re going to watch Saving Private Ryan.”
“That’s the movie that opens with D-Day, right? I’ve heard it’s pretty graphic.”
“You haven’t seen it?”
“Never got around to it.”
“Then you need to watch it. Tonight.” He paused. “With me.”
“I’ve got to work on Thermo-Con tonight.”
“Your Friday nights sound enthralling.”
“Some of us have to work for a living.”
He used his most cajoling smile. “So tonight you’ll watch a movie and still be working.”
She chewed on her bottom lip, then said, “Okay. But I don’t have a decent TV. We need to watch the movie at your place.”
Damn. He wanted to see her apartment. Fortunately, he was prepared. Yesterday he’d taken down all his photos and scoured each room in his condo of everything that indicated the place was his. He’d even tossed clothes into a suitcase and changed the address on the luggage tag. It was safe to invite her over. “Okay.”
“Where are you living, anyway?” she asked.
“A friend is letting me stay at his place.”
“Figures you’d have a free place to stay. Some people get all the breaks.” But she said the words with a smile. Maybe she could forgive his fake self for having opportunities she so obviously envied.
He wondered if he could make her forget the role he’d been playing. Earning her respect would be even harder than earning her trust. She worked long hours every day, each minute an exercise in efficiency and dedication. All while he cultivated a slacker façade that drove them both crazy. His ability to act like a dickhead had exceeded even his own expectations.
It was time for the intern to evolve. Tonight was the perfect opportunity.
With the tip of her finger, she caressed the file card. “We need to go through the rest of the Higgins cards first, to see if there are any others that could be Thermo-Con.”
Again, they flipped through the cards, now lacking the anticipation of before, but with a companionable silence. It felt strangely like cuddling after sex, when the actions were the often same, but it was the wind down, not the windup. A dozen or so cards later, he touched her hand, preventing her from flipping to the next one. “This mixing-machine patent could be the Thermo-Con Generator the newspaper article referred to.”
She paused and studied the card. “I think you’re right.”
After copying the information from the two cards, they returned to the information desk. The man who’d helped them earlier grinned broadly when Erica produced the patent numbers. “Let me see if we have it here.” He typed the information into his computer and frowned at the results. “These files are in our storage facility. I’ll have to order them for you. It should take a few days. Fill out this form, and I’ll call you when the patents arrive.”
Lee tucked the Thermo-Con file into his laptop case while she filled out the form;
then they headed to the Metro station. “Let’s go to your apartment first,” he said, “so you can change into something more comfortable.”
“You don’t mind? These shoes always hurt by the end of the day.”
No, he didn’t mind at all.
After a short Metro ride and walk, he stepped inside her top-floor apartment five blocks south of the Mall in the southwest part of DC, and his jaw dropped with awe at the stunning view. The west wall of the living room was entirely made up of windows, from the sloped twelve-foot ceiling to the parquet flooring. “This place is amazing,” he said.
“Thanks. I do love it here.” Her voice was filled with pride.
He opened the sliding-glass balcony door. An intense wall of heat struck him as he stepped out onto the sun-drenched white trapezoid-shaped balcony and looked out across the Potomac River. Directly west sat the Jefferson memorial and the vast hillside of Arlington National Cemetery. The Pentagon sat to the right, while planes landed at National Airport to the left. He took a deep breath of the muggy air, enjoying the scent of the thriving tomato plants that flanked the balcony.
She joined him outside and handed him a cold bottle of beer. She clinked her bottle against his and said, “Happy Friday. The end of the first week of your internship.”
As far as she knew, he’d been a lazy jerk the last few days, and here she was drinking a toast to him as though he’d reached a real milestone. He squelched his guilt with the knowledge he’d been putting in eighteen-hour days. Every waking hour and even a few of the sleeping ones had been devoted to hacking into the network and narrowing down his list of suspects.
“Thanks,” he said. The icy drink slid down his throat and revived the part of him that had been flattened on the hot walk from the Metro station. “That’s just what I needed. This heat is killing me.” He watched traffic move slowly over the I-395 bridge.
