The authorities wouldn’t look at it that way, of course. To them, his actions would be considered trespassing and attempted theft. But they didn’t have to come home to a wife and infant daughter well on their way to perishing of malnutrition. So while the American looked through her microscope and pondered scientific puzzles, he—an Ecuadorian citizen, no less—was reduced to creeping through her research facilities at night in a desperate bid to keep his young family alive.
And he would do whatever it took to accomplish that objective. What was the old proverb? Desperate times call for desperate measures? Certainly, this qualified as one of those occasions.
CHAPTER 20
The following morning, Alton picked up Tuttle and joined the rest of the investigators in the police station, once again gathering around Fuentes’ desk. The police captain seemed to welcome their presence more now than he had during their first meeting at that same spot.
“Mr. Blackwell made some important discoveries last night,” said Delaney. “I want him to share his findings so we can decide on our next steps.”
Everyone turned to look at Alton.
“I stayed late last night to work on the next set of decryption codes, the ones Summit used for last Monday’s notes,” he said. “As I was leaving, I spotted the man Pavia told us about, the one with a scar across his eyebrow.”
“Where did you see this man?” asked Fuentes.
“On the sidewalk behind the facility. I figured he was coming back to search for the passwords to Summit’s computer, like we discussed before, so I waited behind the back door. He came up to just outside the door but saw something and took off. I started to chase him—”
“Wait, you chased him?” asked Cragmire with a disdainful glance at Alton’s bad leg.
“Yes. I grabbed a fire extinguisher on the way out. I managed to knock him down with a blast from it, but it wasn’t enough. He escaped into the jungle before the policeman patrolling the grounds could make it back to the building.”
“If the intruder left through the jungle near the building,” said Delaney, “he could return that same way for another try.”
“Yes,” said Fuentes, nodding, then taking a sip of coffee. “From now on, I will tighten Muro’s patrols around the research facility. That is clearly the intruder’s goal.”
“You know,” said Cragmire, studying Alton, “maybe Senator Jackson was right about getting the best person for the job. No offense, but someone without a disability probably could have chased down that guy. They wouldn’t have needed to call the local cops to do it for them.”
“I don’t recall being recruited to this mission to pursue criminals through the jungle,” said Alton, “but speaking of doing your job, I’d like to talk about a discovery I made in the research notes I decoded yesterday morning.”
Cragmire shifted his weight in his chair. “What do you mean? I already told you about the significance of those files.”
“Their scientific significance, yes. But you failed to review them for other evidence.”
“What else is there?” said Cragmire, his voice taking on a note of exasperation. “They’re just research notes. I already explained what they meant to everyone yesterday.”
Alton turned his gaze to Delaney and Fuentes. “The program Summit used to document her research contains several modules. In addition to a module designed to document scientific findings, it also contains a calendar and a section for recording upcoming tasks—a ‘to do’ list, if you will. These sections document a series of meetings Summit had with two individuals, people nobody—including Cragmire—mentioned yesterday.”
“Why don’t you share their names with the group?” said Delaney.
“The first person is named LeFlore,” said Alton. “The second person is Chin. Captain Fuentes, have you heard of either of these people?”
Fuentes hesitated a moment before answering. “No.”
“Let’s think about what the names themselves tell us,” said Alton. “I never saw a first name for either person, so we don’t know their genders. But both surnames make me think these people are probably not local citizens.”
“I agree,” said Fuentes. “I will check passenger manifests of the airlines that service our islands to see if anyone with these last names arrived here in the last few months.”
Cragmire could no longer contain the urge to defend himself. “How could I be expected to see those names yesterday? You asked me to review the research notes, and that’s exactly what I did. You didn’t say anything about checking out Summit’s personal schedule.”
“So it’s okay for you to expect Alton to step way outside his responsibilities,” said Mallory, “but it’s not okay for you to step a little outside yours?”
“What do you mean?” asked the biologist.
“Our mission is to find Jan Summit,” replied Mallory, “not become experts on her research. Her notes are a means to an end. They’re helpful only to the extent they help us track her down. And we’ve just demonstrated that her personal schedule and to-do list can be just as helpful as the research itself in accomplishing that mission.”
“Let’s step back, folks,” said Delaney, raising a calming hand. “Cragmire, we need everyone thinking outside the box, including you. On the other hand, since each day’s research notes may continue to provide important evidence, I want your first priority to be reviewing them as Mr. Blackwell decodes them.
“Agent Blackwell,” continued Delaney, turning to Mallory, “can you take on the task of reviewing the non-scientific sections of Summit’s files? Your FBI experience gives you the perfect background for this task, and we can’t afford to miss any more key information.”
“Of course,” said Mallory. “I’ve just about wrapped up the financial review anyway. I didn’t see any patterns of illicit activity.”
“Good,” said Delaney. “Now, let’s turn our attention back to these two new persons of interest, LeFlore and Chin. When Mr. Blackwell called me last night to tell me about his near encounter with the scarred man, he also mentioned how Summit managed to keep her meetings with these people a secret.” She nodded her head in Alton’s direction.
“In both cases,” said Alton, “Summit met them either far away, in the inland city of Santa Rosa, or so late at night that no one besides her would be in the research facility.”
“Wait,” said Mallory. “Dr Tuttle, didn’t you say Summit usually asked you to stay late at the facility?”
Tuttle seemed startled at being asked to speak. “Ahem, yes. As I mentioned before, she liked me to be with her, in case she had an asthmatic episode.”
“Did you ever see her meet with someone you didn’t recognize,” asked Mallory, “perhaps someone who didn’t look like a local?”
Tuttle shook his head. “No, but I do recall a few times over the last few months she practically pushed me out of the building at night. That’s quite unlike her. I wonder if those were the times these people you mentioned were coming over.”
“It could be,” said Delaney. “Okay, we know what questions need to be answered, so let’s talk about division of labor. Dr. Tuttle, are you still working on the idea of using local plants as a substitute asthma medicine?”
“Yes,” replied Tuttle, “and so is Dr. Gromov. No success yet, but we’re not giving up. I’m waiting to hear back from a colleague in Washington who’s running a more comprehensive search on Galapagos flora.”
Delaney nodded. “Captain Fuentes, you said you would have your men check the passenger manifests to see if anyone bearing these names flew into the islands recently. Would you like Agent Wilson to run those names through the FBI’s NCIC database to see if we get a hit?”
“Yes, that would be good. And now that it is daylight, I will have my men search the area where the man with the scar ran away. Maybe they will find something.”
“Would you mind if I went with them?” asked Gooch. “I’m not a bad tracker, if I say so myself.”
“I thought you were
deployed in Afghanistan,” said Cragmire. “How is desert experience going to help you track someone in the jungle?”
“I did my share of hunting back before I enlisted,” said the Gooch. His expression softened, as if pleasant memories had floated to the surface of his mind. “I grew up in the mountains of Western North Carolina, not far from Asheville. The forests there aren’t quite the same as the jungle here, but they’re probably close enough. I may be able to track this guy, at least a little ways.”
“Captain?” asked Delaney.
“Yes, you can go with my men,” said Fuentes. For the first time, he showed the first trace of a smile. “I am glad to have your help. With all of us working together, maybe we will catch these people.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” said Delaney. “I’m done at the lab, so I’ll join the search party, too.”
The Gooch turned to Alton. “Mr. Blackwell, when the perp ran off, did you see what direction he headed in?”
“Yes,” replied Alton. “If you’re facing the front of the building, it would be off to the right, headed away from the access road. Do you remember those three gargantuan palm trees growing together next to the last parking space?”
“Yes.”
“He took off into the underbrush just to the left of those trees. I couldn’t see what direction he headed in after that. The underbrush is so thick, it would have obscured him in a few seconds even in broad daylight. You’ll see when you get there.”
“That should be enough to get us started,” said Delaney. “In the meantime, you’ll continue to work on decoding Summit’s older files, right?”
Alton nodded.
“Great,” said Delaney, rising from her chair. “Gooch, since we’ll be going with Captain Fuentes’ men, you and I will wait here in the police station until they’re ready to depart.” She turned to the other investigators. “The rest of you can return to the lab and get started.”
“I will assign my two best men to track down this man with the scar,” said Fuentes. “I think he may be the key to finding Dr. Summit.”
CHAPTER 21
Alton volunteered to drive the Americans’ rented Highlander back to the research facility. Stepping out the doors of the police station, he blinked a few times as his eyes acclimated to the bright sunshine. He limped across the asphalt towards the side street where Delaney had parked the SUV.
Turning to speak to Mallory, Alton caught a glimpse of Cragmire. The man had lingered behind. A street urchin of nine or ten years, looking for all the world like a Hispanic Oliver Twist, jabbered at Cragmire with a grimy, outstretched palm, clearly looking for a handout. Why had the child picked Cragmire, of all people? Alton had a bad feeling about how this would unfold.
Cragmire glanced around in an apparent attempt to ensure his actions would go undetected. Alton’s unease grew, and he began to walk back to the man. Cragmire pulled his arm behind him, and Alton quickened his pace, even then knowing he’d never cover the remaining twenty or so yards in time.
The biologist moved his arm back to his side, now grasping a wallet he had pulled from the rear pocket of his worn Levi’s. He withdrew two or three bills and handed them over to the child, then rested his hand on the waif’s shoulder for a moment before letting it drop to his side. The child yelled “mil gracias” and scampered away.
Cragmire began to move in the direction of the SUV but cringed when he met Alton’s eye. He caught up within moments and strode by without speaking. Alton glanced at Mallory, who shrugged. She seemed just as puzzled as he.
They piled into the SUV. Alton considered complimenting Cragmire on his generosity, but the man’s glare silenced his tongue. Driving along the coastal road, Alton glanced at the sparkling water and pondered the enigmatic biologist. Cragmire scoffed at many things but seemed to reserve an especially potent venom for the trappings of wealth. To what extent had the man’s childhood resembled that of the urchin he had just assisted? Alton glanced in the rearview mirror. Cragmire’s recalcitrant scowl dissuaded him from raising the question.
* * *
Delaney paced the police station’s small lobby, hoping Fuentes’ officers would soon arrive so they could begin their search for the man with the scar before all evidence of him disappeared.
Within minutes, a pair of Ecuadorian policemen entered the room. Captain Fuentes introduced Lieutenant Jeremias Torres—a man of medium height whose sleeves strained to contain his muscular frame—and Lieutenant Jose Rios, a thin, wiry man whose steel-rimmed glasses lent him an academic air. After the introductions, the four law officers exited the building and piled into a police Rav4.
“Do you all have a dog that can help with tracking?” asked the Gooch.
Torres shook his head. “We have one at the airport who checks for the drugs, but we haven’t trained her to track down people.”
“Dang,” said the Gooch. “That would’ve been a big help. We’ll just have to do our best on our own.”
They arrived at the research facility’s parking lot and pulled their SUV into the last spot, adjacent to the gap in the underbrush the scarred man had used to flee the scene.
“We will need to bring water,” said Rios. “It will make the heat soon.”
Torres shouldered a backpack. “I have it in here already. Let’s go.”
They plunged into the underbrush. The shade cast by a canopy of palm trees and lower layers of shorter tropical plants provided a respite from the heat but also made tracking more problematic as it rendered ground-level details a bit more obscure. From the frequency with which the Ecuadorians stopped and examined the dimly lit ground, Delaney deduced this activity wasn’t a typical part of their repertoire.
On the six or seventh stop, the Gooch shifted his feet. He kicked a rotten piece of log into a patch of sunlight. He moved to kick it again, then paused. “Say…Look, guys—next to the puddle underneath this fern. Isn’t that a shoeprint?”
The others crowded around and leaned over the indicated spot.
“Yes, is a footprint,” said Rios. “And this time of year, it rains just about every afternoon. So this footprint, it must be from last night, or yesterday’s rains would have washed it away.”
“We better get moving, then,” said Gooch with a frown, “before this afternoon’s rains start to fall.” He measured the footprint with a pocket tape measure. “Just under ten inches. And it’s headed in that direction,” he said, pointing. He checked a compass app on his phone. “That’s the northwest. Want to head in that direction and see if we find any more?”
They all agreed. The Gooch seemed to stumble upon a recently broken branch, then another half-footprint in the mud. It was only when he encountered his fourth random piece of evidence that Delaney narrowed her eyes. Her team member had underplayed his abilities as a tracker.
She moved closer to the former Marine and spoke in a murmur. “I applaud your sensitivity to our friends’ pride, but you can’t worry about showing them up. This isn’t a competition. We’re a team, and we need to find the man with the scar as quickly as possible, especially considering that.” She looked towards a bank of ominous thunderclouds that had rolled in within the last five minutes.
“Got it, boss,” said Gooch. He wandered down the trail a little further, then pointed down to the sodden ground. “Here’s another footprint—looks like the insole of his left shoe.” As the others gathered around, he continued. “You know, this is just like tracking down a deer back home. I don’t imagine you have any deer here, do you?”
“Ciervos,” added Delaney, translating the word to Spanish.
“No,” replied Torres. “Some of the other islands do, but we don’t have them here on Santa Cruz.”
“Well, then, this search may be more up my alley than yours,” said the Gooch. “I mean, how could you get experience tracking an animal that doesn’t live here, right? And since I have some experience with this kind of tracking, why don’t I just keep heading northwest and I’ll holler if I see anything new?”
“Is okay with me,” said Torres. His companion agreed.
The Gooch started off, winding around a clump of bright-yellow flowers and past a palm tree illuminated with intermittent sunlight. He tried to maintain a nonchalant demeanor, but Delaney could tell from the focused glint in the man’s eye that he was in the zone. The former Marine picked up the pace and seemed to spot new evidence of the perp’s passage almost every minute.
“The rain, it comes soon,” said Rios, pointing to an approaching cloud bank.
As if on cue, a long rumble of thunder rolled across the landscape, and a breeze pushed across their faces.
“Good point,” said Delaney. “Gooch, better make this quick, or we’re going to lose the trail.”
The Gooch walked in full stride, noting new evidence with a nod or flick of his wrist but no longer bothering to stop. They crested a small hill and had just begun to nose down the other side when they all drew to a stop at the edge of a bubbling creek.
“Now what?” said Delaney.
“The tracks lead right into the water,” said the Gooch. “Now we just need to find where they lead out.” He waded across the stream and shook his head. “There’s nothing on the other side. It’s not surprising, really. If I were trying to lose my trail, I’d go a ways upriver before coming out. And I’d look for rock or dry ground so I wouldn’t leave any outgoing tracks.” He turned and began to splash up the creek in a northerly direction.
“How do you know he went that way?” asked Delaney.
“It’s more in the direction he was already headed. Plus, look downstream. The more you go that direction, the thicker the jungle gets. It’d be hard to exit the water without leaving evidence of where you went. Going upstream is what I would do, and I’m betting he’d do that, too.”
They splashed along the creek. The Gooch scampered from one bank to the other, eyeing the mud and grass for tell-tale signs of the perp.
The Evolution of Evil (The Blackwell Files Book 6) Page 10
