Oath of Office

by Michael Palmer

  Lou felt embarrassed about his near obsession with the woman, but decided that so long as he could keep his fantasies and projections from getting the best of him, he could only do what he could do.

  Another useful saying.

  Eventually, he and Joey emerged onto a narrow dirt road. Lou paused and scanned the track and the surrounding fields. “I know this place,” he said.

  “Well, the mound I found is in the woods off the end of this road. Not far now.”

  “This is near where I was attacked.”

  “Attacked?”

  “Never mind,” Lou said quickly.

  He remained on high alert the rest of the way. If Chester’s corn was the source of all the troubles in Kings Ridge, it was likely that the mogul’s henchmen would be stationed someplace close by. The afternoon was virtually windless, and he kept a cautious lookout for any movement of the stalks, while at the same time scanning the dense rows in a futile attempt to spot Anthony Brite’s body.

  At the end of the dirt road, Joey veered into the woods to their left, and Lou followed several paces behind. The cart’s bicycle-like tires were designed to traverse difficult terrain, making it fairly easy for him to maneuver over the ground’s exposed roots and rocks. The two of them bushwhacked their way another quarter mile or so. Although Joey seemed confident, Lou, now grimy and soaked in sweat, was beginning to have doubts. Gratefully, his ankle was not aching badly.

  “Bingo!” the young chef cried out from some distance ahead.

  Lou took a moment to settle down the burning in his chest, then headed toward Joey’s voice. The packed-mud bellicosus castle rose from the forest floor like a rocket on its launching pad. There were hundreds of large termites scattered along its length, and dozens more of them flying around like an air force fighter squadron.

  “Whoa!” he whispered, marveling at the staggering height and geometry of the thing. “It’s awesome.”

  “Don’t I know it!” Joey said. “Awesome is the word.”

  The jagged, conical tower, two or three feet taller than Lou, was peppered with impressively large termites. It looked like a decaying tree trunk, sculpted with spires and crevices.

  From about two feet away, Lou cautiously circumvented the spectacular construction. “Amazing,” was all he could say. “Absolutely amazing.”

  “Well, I’ve got to go,” Joey said with singsong nonchalance.

  “Go? What are you talking about? Where are you going?” Concern crept into Lou’s voice.

  “Why, back to work, of course,” Joey said. “I did tell you I had to work a double, didn’t I?”

  “Actually, no, you didn’t,” Lou replied, laughing nervously. “Joey, what if I can’t find my way out of here?”

  “Oh, the trail behind us is pretty well marked now. You can follow the dirt road back there, and skip the cornfields entirely. It’ll only add two or three miles to your return trip.”

  “Two or three miles? Joey, I don’t even know where this gizmo is going to take me, let alone how to get back from there.” The notion of being back in these fields in the dark of night was not the least bit appealing.

  One look at Joey, and Lou’s distress quickly began to ebb. The kid had done his best.

  Lou had read two historical accounts of the Louis and Clark expedition. If they could accomplish their remarkable, uncharted journey, he could find his way back to the restaurant. Still somewhat apprehensive, he thanked his young guide.

  “If you find a queen, let me know,” Joey said. “Even though they can make a new one, the colony is struggling without a leader. They need a purpose.”

  “Will do,” Lou said, holding up one of the specimen jars he had brought. “And thanks for sacrificing your lady to the greater good.”

  “I was just kidding, Doc. Don’t try to find one. She’d be deep within the colony. Before you got to her, you’d be hamburger.”

  Joey tipped his hat, waved good-bye with his heavily bandaged hand, and was gone. Lou listened until Joey’s footfalls had disappeared into the dense woods. Finally, when the only sound in the still afternoon was the continuous scraping and scratching from the bellicosus termites, he powered up the radar machine.

  Despite the bug repellent he had swathed on himself, he wondered at what distance the insects would sense the presence of live flesh, and organize themselves for an attack.

  The ground radar system whirred softly as it came to life. The cart’s handlebars vibrated, causing Lou’s forearms to tingle. The display screen went from deep gray to varying lighter shades. The background colors were of no interest to him. They represented natural soils, not the organized, hyperbolic reflections of air tunnels within the ground, which were black.

  Lou maneuvered the radar closer to the tower, fearing that the ground beneath him might cave in. The first subsurface ventilation shaft came into clear focus a foot from the conical structure. The markings on the radar’s display screen looked like flickering, serpentine shapes—black, projected onto a gray background. As Lou moved the antenna away from the ventilation shaft, the change in reception altered the subsurface reflection, causing the curved shape to disappear from the screen. By trial and error, he learned that so long as he had the black patterns on his radar display, he was standing over one of the ventilation shafts.

  Using a pad and pencil, Lou mapped a number of the largest shafts, keeping a careful log of the orientation and length of each on graph paper Humphries had provided. Each of the tunnels led to a small hole in the surface topography along with a baseball-sized depression in the soil that contributed ventilation to the remarkably constructed tower.

  Sweaty and aching, Lou mapped the entire area until one quadrant, which he had labeled SE—southeast—caught his attention. It contained a thicker, curved black shadow than the others—a dark snake that went to the edge of the screen and did not seem to have an end. Lou wheeled his apparatus ahead and followed the winding shape on his display as it led him away from the huge structure and deeper into the forest.

  One hundred yards … two hundred … three …

  The shaft was still beneath his feet, running parallel to the surface, about two feet deep.

  Eventually, Lou emerged into a broad clearing about the size of a football field, with a single-story, windowless brick structure at the far west end. There was a narrow unpaved access road just opposite from where he stood, which opened into a small dirt parking area. There was a single empty car standing in the lot—a large black Mercedes four-door with Virginia plates.

  The ventilation shaft remained at the center of the screen, although the depth seemed to have increased—perhaps three feet now, maybe even a bit more. Lou followed the shadow until it came to an abrupt end at the south-facing side of the building. At that point, the depth of the serpentine ventilation tunnel increased sharply, and moments later, the radar display screen turned totally gray.

  Lou checked his machine, which seemed to be functioning all right. The shaft appeared to have disappeared into something much larger—a subterranean chamber of some sort.

  Lou sensed there might be something underneath him. He flipped through the instruction manual, but it was quite technical, and there was no explanation for something like the phenomenon he was observing. The one thing he felt fairly certain of was that the fearsome bellicosus termites in the forest and subsequently in Joey’s Lucite terrarium were originating here.

  Scanning the surroundings for cameras, he walked the radar around the building. There was a slight crack in the foundation, and he wondered if farther down, the bugs had escaped that way. There was a green metal door by the east corner. Lou carefully tried to open it, but it was locked. He backed away and wheeled the radar machine into the woods.

  Given his experience with the gunmen, the deserted Mercedes was unnerving.

  Still, Lou felt desperate to get inside the blockhouselike building. A possible solution, he decided, was among the contacts in his cell phone—Chief Gilbert Stone.

  T
hree rings and Stone answered. “Stone here.”

  “Chief Stone, it’s Lou Welcome.”

  “Welcome. Everything okay? What can I do for you?”

  “Do you know anything about a windowless brick building in a clearing not too far from where we got attacked?”

  “Allegedly got attacked,” Stone corrected. “Sounds like the old power and water transfer station. Why? What’s up?”

  “I’m in the woods outside of it right now. Do you think you could get over here? I may have found the source of the Kings Ridge problem.”

  “You stay put, Welcome, and keep out of sight,” Stone said. “I’ll be right there.”

  “The door’s locked.”

  “No problem,” Stone replied. “I have a key.”

  Soon, Lou thought excitedly. Soon it’s going to be over.

  Starting to chill from the evaporation of his own sweat, he slid down to the base of a white ash, clasped his arms around his knees, and waited.

  Soon …

  CHAPTER 43

  The crunch of Gilbert Stone’s cruiser on gravel startled Lou from an exhausted, dreamless sleep. He wiped salt and perspiration from his eyes, rose blearily to his feet, and reentered the clearing, wheeling the ground radar system ahead of him. Stone parked near the Mercedes, emerged from the cruiser, hoisted his heavy utility belt above his ample belly, and then settled a campaign hat over his mop of graying hair. Lou met him at the blockhouse, outside the green door.

  “Anybody else coming?” Lou asked, glancing down the road.

  “I’ve got two teams on standby,” Stone answered. “Tell me everything. What’s that contraption you’ve got there?”

  “It’s portable radar. I think the corn Chester is growing is poisonous.”

  “Poisonous?”

  “I know it may be hard for you to believe, but I think William Chester is producing vast amounts of corn, genetically modified to grow larger and faster by combining it with the genes of a large African termite called Macrotermes bellicosus—perhaps the most reproductively proficient animal on the planet.”

  “And you think this corn is somehow poisoning the citizens of my town.”

  “I do.”

  Stone made the same high-pitch whistle that Lou remembered from the first night they met. “So what on earth brought you way out here?” Stone asked, gesturing to the woods surrounding them.

  “You remember Joey, the cook at Millie’s who nearly got his thumb sliced off?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, a couple of years ago, Joey found these huge mutated termites in the woods and made them his pets.”

  “Mutated?”

  “Termites,” Lou repeated.

  “How are they mutated?”

  “Well, first of all, they’re bigger than other termites of the species, and secondly, they eat flesh in addition to their usual diet.”

  “Holy gravy,” Stone said, making that whistle again. “So what do these bugs have to do with corn?”

  “Well, initially I thought it was airborne contagion—inhaling pollen from Chester’s modified corn—that caused the odd behaviors taking place around town. I went to see a bug expert in Philadelphia to see if that was even possible. Turns out that the termites Joey found are an African species, clearly imported here by someone. This piece of equipment—” Lou tapped the cart’s handlebars. “—can be used to track their underground ventilation shafts.”

  “And you tracked one of these shafts all the way to this building?”

  “That’s right,” Lou said proudly. “The bugs must have flown out and started another colony, or else they escaped through a crack in the foundation. The expert and I aren’t sure, but we don’t think it’s an airborne contagion anymore. We think the termites are being intentionally mutated—radiated, most likely—and then their DNA is being combined with the corn to get this huge, rapidly growing, genetically modified, monster vegetable. Frankencorn, I’ve been calling it.”

  Stone looked at Lou queerly. “But if it’s not airborne, how’s it making the people sick?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, we’ve got to find out. I got some more troublin’ news to share with you. More proof, I guess, that something really wrong is happening here in Kings Ridge.” Stone pulled a kerchief from his pocket and used it to mop his brow. “Roberta Jennings accidentally killed herself yesterday.”

  “What?”

  “Poor dear took some painkillers and alcohol, then sliced open her belly with a kitchen knife. Apparently, she was trying to lose some weight the quick way. The ME says she cut a couple of arteries and bled to death.”

  “Oh, God,” Lou muttered.

  He swallowed hard. Roberta Jennings had completed the pathetic circle John Meacham had begun. Another terrible decision. Another violent death. Lou considered disclosing then and there what he knew of Darlene Mallory, Double M, and a huge shipment of corn, maybe Chester’s corn, headed someplace by train, but he needed to clear things with her first.

  “Can we get inside?” he asked, pointing to the green door. “Do we need a warrant or anything? I’m fairly certain that the source of whatever is going on here is behind that door.”

  Stone’s eyes flashed. “Of course we can get in. I’m the damn chief of police.”

  “Do you know what this building is used for?”

  Stone nodded dully, then said, “Sure I do. Heck, I authorized it.”

  Lou looked up at the man, bewildered. “Well, what is it?” he asked. “It doesn’t look like much.”

  Stone snorted a mirthless laugh and pointed down. “That’s because it’s all belowground,” he said.

  “What is?”

  “William Chester’s research laboratory,” Stone said, a note of impatience creeping into his voice. “We excavated it years ago. He already owned the land and wanted a place where he could conduct research without attracting much attention. Hardly anybody even knows about this access road.” Stone pointed to the dirt road behind them. “The seed business is very competitive, you see. Chester was worried about trade secrets being stolen—industrial espionage and such. We gave him the permits to build an underground lab because, well, Chester Seed Company is what makes Kings Ridge a viable community.”

  “So do you know what they do down there?”

  “Not really. The security system feeds to a room in the basement of the Chester mansion—the place you and your friends visited. As far as I know, these people have been complying with all our permits and regulations. We never gave them permission to radiate bugs, though, and turn ’em into mutants, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  “Do you know whose car that is?”

  “Actually, I think it’s one of Bill Chester’s.”

  “He’s here,” Lou said. “Maybe he can finally provide some answers. How do we get in?”

  “Well, we can pound all night on this door, or we can use this.” Looking somewhat puffed, Stone held up a key. “Like I said, I’m the chief of police.”

  With a turn of Stone’s key, the green metal door swung open on well-oiled hinges. Brushed steel wall scones illuminated the cinder block entrance and a staircase with a metal handrail. Stone removed his gun from its holster and started down, with Lou following.

  “Should we send for backup?” Lou asked.

  Stone turned. For the first time, his expression had darkened. “I saw what Roberta did to herself,” he said. “If the cause of what happened to her is down these stairs, I intend to uncover it here and now.”

  Lou nodded as Stone cautiously resumed his descent. They came to another locked steel door at the bottom of the stairwell. A keypad secured access to whatever was behind it. Without hesitating, Stone punched in a short series of numbers. Then after a soft click, the red LED light on the pad turned green and the lock responded.

  “What now?” Lou asked, somewhat surprised by Stone’s familiarity with the place.

  “Now we go in,” the cop said simply.

&nb
sp; Remembering Chester’s thugs, Lou glanced up the stairwell behind them, wishing at least that reinforcements were on the way. At the same time, he wondered again about precisely how tight Stone was with the mogul at the center of Kings Ridge’s prosperity.

  The cop pulled open the door without first peering inside. Either he had no reason to believe any threat existed, or in his zeal to get to the bottom of Roberta’s death and the rest of the troubles in his town, he had become reckless.

  Or maybe, Lou found himself wondering, it’s the corn at work.…

  He fell into step behind Stone and followed him down a short corridor that dead-ended at another windowless metal door with another keypad.

  “Better stay back,” Stone said. “Not sure what we’re going to find behind this door.”

  At least he’s finally being cautious, Lou thought.

  Again Stone keyed a number sequence, and again the access panel’s red light gave way to green.

  “I hope you’re right about forging ahead like this, Gilbert,” Lou said.

  “I’ve had just about enough strange things happening in my town.”

  Pistol at the ready, Stone went in with Lou following. The space ahead of them was brightly lit.

  Just inside the threshold, Lou stopped abruptly, his mouth agape at what he was seeing. A series of conveyor belts snaked throughout a large area. Corn seed, lit by banks of powerful overhead lights, covered every inch of the conveyor belts in a golden river that seemed to have no beginning or end.

  Suspended above the conveyor belt was a thick metal tube, four feet long, with gauges, control knobs along the side, and smaller tubes running down its length. It appeared to be a ray gun of sorts with a short, six-inch muzzle, half the diameter of the main tube. The rest of the space reminded Lou of Oliver Humphries’s lab on steroids—stainless steel tables, centrifuges, multiple microscopes, glass cabinets stocked with flasks, beakers, plastic tubing, pipettes, and other scientific materials.

  Lou composed himself and quickly covered the gap between him and Stone. “My radar machine picked up some sort of expanse down here,” he said. “I suppose this is it. Do you have any idea what’s going on?”