by Joan Francis
“What truth, Diana? That’s what I was sent here to discover. We had the rumored existence of an old study that Duffy did, God knows when. I didn’t get it. You heard Woods. They purged the entire file.”
“But haven’t you learned enough to justify a moratorium on Hyacinth until it can be fully researched?”
He looked grim. “I hope so. I’m just not sure what I will find when I get back. As he was trying to kill me, Woods said that Blue Morpho’s civilian board had lost control of the Hyacinth fuel project. We don’t have any idea what sort of environmental problem Hyacinth might have or what sort of tests Duffy did. Without the scientific report . . .”
Gill spoke up. “Evelyn had a copy. I saw it.”
“You don’t happen to know what she did with it, do you?”
“No, I assumed that whoever killed her took it.”
James shook his head. “No, that’s my one hope. If they had it, they wouldn’t still be searching so hard.”
I reached into my pack and pulled out two thick folders and handed them to James. “They might have purged the Hyacinth Red test file, but not the personnel file. I read these after you went to sleep last night. There was a young chemical engineer at the Blue Morpho facility in Paso Nuevo by the name of Todd Summers. Todd discovered Duffy’s material and ran his own tests. He confirmed Duffy’s conclusions, told his superiors, and tried to stop the development of Hyacinth Red. When they wouldn’t listen to him, he slipped his girlfriend a copy of the test results. The girlfriend was Evelyn Lilac. After her protest at the Blue Morpho gate, the in-house security accused Todd of industrial espionage. The next week he died, supposedly of exposure while hiking alone in the Sierras.”
The pen James took out of his pocket had a blue streak along the side that appeared to be a window to see how much ink was left. When he touched his thumb to the top of the pen, the blue streak lit up. He laid the pen on the top of the first page and pulled it to the bottom.
“I saw a scanner like that once, and only once. Where did you get that?”
He looked sideways at me and smiled with genuine good humor. “Probably in the same place you saw it. Sam’s house.”
“You know Sam?”
“Do you really think you would have foxed your way into Blue Morpho if Sam hadn’t vouched for you?”
For a moment I sat there stunned, then I laughed. “And I thought it was my expertise with pejibaye soup. You guys and your dumb little games. It would have been so much easier to trust you if you had just told me.”
He continued to scan the data in the file. “Would it? Sam should have taught you better than that.”
“I’m a private investigator, not one of Sam’s agents.”
“That explains it, I guess.”
I decided to ignore the taunting comment and change the subject. “What are you going to do with this information? Will it help?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know. At least it gives us one more murder we can probably add to Woods’s case. The paperwork is done and the warrants ready on four other murders, Evelyn’s and the three in the house in San Jose. With this lead, the law enforcement teams may be able to find evidence for the murders of Todd, that Costa Rican reporter, and his girlfriend.”
Gill turned his eyes from the road momentarily to look at James. “So there is more than one man working on this?”
James smiled and nodded. “Teams are ready in three countries. We will be picking up Woods and four of his men shortly. But, Diana, this file doesn’t change the fact that we don’t have the scientific tests and have no idea how they were done or what they found.”
“What if we did?”
He looked up, an almost hopeless expression on his face. “Best-case scenario, we would stop the production of Hyacinth Red and it would be forever banned from use in a peaceful and unified world. Worst-case scenario, they’ll kill us. Hell, they’ll probably kill us anyway.”
“What if every country leader and every scientist knew the truth. Couldn’t that prevent them from using Hyacinth? And wouldn’t that give us a little life insurance?”
“Did Lucille tell you about old man Duffy’s three Ps: Profit, Power, and Perpetuation. Lead was one of the oldest know poisons, but it took health activists seventy five years before they finally got the word out on leaded gas. Hell, lobbyist are still trying to put lead back in gas. It’s still sold in any Third World country too small and poor to argue. How many years did it take to get to the truth about tobacco and asbestos? How many more years will it take before people quit buying into petroleum propaganda and accept the truth about global warming? The world must have petroleum. If Hyacinth Red can replace petroleum, it is nothing short of world domination. How do you get around that to tell all these people your truth?”
Silently I wondered how much I could trust these two. Finally I said, “I believe I know where Evelyn hid the Hyacinth test report, and I believe I know what she intended to do with it. I would like to finish her work. Would you two like to help me?”
* * * * *
FORTY-SIX
Back in San Jose, our first task was to reclaim my belongings, which I had left in the Hotel Aurora Holiday Inn. It was doubtful that Woods’s people would be watching here, but we took no chances. With James and Gill hanging out in the lobby like bodyguards, I went to the desk, presented my Dolores Gomez identification, and requested my belongings. I collected my original laptop, my Walther, and the virus-like program disk that Patricia had given me the night before she was killed.
We had agreed that I would leave the hotel by myself, take a cab to the San Pedro Mall, switch cabs, and take the second cab back to the Gran Hotel. James and Gill would each follow me in separate cabs and make sure my appearance at the Aurora Hotel didn’t pick up any tail.
The exercise went almost without incident. That is, no one tried to tail me from the Aurora. However, when I jumped into the cab that was at the head of the line at the mall, I got a small shock. When the driver turned around to ask where I wanted to go, I saw it was Roberto. Surprise registered on my face before I could control it. Roberto noticed that something was wrong but didn’t recognize me, and I decided it was best to keep it that way.
“The Gran Hotel, please, driver.”
Now he looked surprised, and he studied me closer.
“I know that voice, but, Tia Tillie?”
I couldn’t help a slight smile but didn’t say anything.
“I knew you were too spry to be so old.”
“Sorry, Roberto. I promised never to bother you again and if I had known it was you I would have gotten into another taxi.”
He shoved the car in gear and laughed. “Oh, I am glad you did. It is nice to know you are all right. Have you found the killer yet?”
“Sorry. Can’t talk about that. What happened to the Green Machine sign on your taxi?”
“My wife. She was afraid and made me paint it. She say it made me stand out too much.”
“Sounds like a smart woman, but I am sorry that something I got you into made you change it. You were so proud of it.”
He gave me his characteristic shrug, and we made small talk the rest of the way to the Gran. As he dropped me at the hotel he said, “Tia Tillie, please, I know you can’t talk about the investigation, but you can tell me if my family will need to worry about danger for much longer.”
“I have a flight back to the States tomorrow afternoon. Pick me up at the Gran at 2:30. I may be able to tell you more then. OK?”
“Sure, thanks.”
Three hours later, when I emerged from my room at the Gran, I was blond, blue-eyed, fair-skinned, with full makeup, and attired in “Hollywood Safari” like an overdressed tourist. My passport now said Jillian Morgan.
I joined my two companions on the hotel patio and was gratified to receive a double-take from Gill and a long admiring smile from James. All those years of watching Richard do my makeup had taught me something. A waiter set a latte in front of me almost immediately. Jam
es explained.
“We ordered your latte to be served at 11:00 a.m. sharp and have been betting on whether you would be on time to drink it hot.”
“Ah. Who won?”
Gill shrugged. “James did, but he had an unfair advantage. He had worked with you. I had only my vast experience with women to go on. How was I to know you would be an exception?”
“Serves you right for harboring sexist stereotypes. Now, how about you? Did you get the equipment we need?”
“Yes. GPS was no problem. The satellite phone cost a bit more than anticipated, but it works in all atmospheric conditions and the dish zeros in on the satellite all by itself, so we won’t have to fool around with compasses and levels and so forth.”
“Good. James, were you able to send all the evidence you have collected on the murders?”
“Yeah. Used the secure link at the consulate to download all my information to Shanley at Blue Morpho, and he will be coordinating efforts by a number of agencies. They’ll begin making arrests here in Costa Rica and elsewhere this afternoon. One of the agencies involved will, of course, be the FBI, and so I called your friend Agent Camas personally. Told him what a fine job he and the Bureau had done on the case and how much we appreciated his efforts.”
“Somehow, I doubt that flattery will deter him from nailing my ass as soon as I get home.”
“Well, he might have somehow gotten the impression that you were working undercover with Interpol at the time he interviewed you and had not been at liberty to speak freely.”
“Did he buy that?”
“I am not sure, but I know he got the point when I said we were drafting a letter to his superior, commending him for his cooperation with you.”
“I owe you one, James.”
“No, that just makes us even for that home run you hit on Woods’s skull.”
“Speaking of Woods, do you know if I– if he’s alive?”
Surprisingly, the answer came from Gill. “Oh, he’s alive all right, very angry, and marshaling forces to have you both killed on sight.”
A slight suspicion creeping into his voice, James asked, “How do you know that?”
Gill smiled. “I have a friend who works at Blue Morpho.”
The two men stared at each other as James calculated the significance of Gill having a spy at Morpho. I didn’t want my little partnership to blow up just yet, so I called James back to the present project with a question.
“Did you get the dissertation?
From a plastic bag, James pulled an inch-thick set of papers bound in cardboard covers with brads. “Yeah, I dug it out of the library at the University of Costa Rica this morning and made you this copy, but I really don’t see anything in it about fuel. Are you sure this is the right paper? And what are the GPS and the phone for?”
I hadn’t told either of them what my hunches were or exactly what I intended to do. I wanted to check my theory first. They watched with curiosity while I opened the dissertation written by archeologist, Paul Hamerstat, the late husband of Sophia Hamerstat. I searched through the index and then turned to one of the maps showing locations in Costa Rica dotted with tiny circles. Each circle or group of circles was labeled with the name of a planet, star, or constellation followed by numerical coordinates for a position of latitude and longitude. First I verified that there was no sphere for Earth, and then I found the circle I was looking for and turned the paper for Gill to see.
“Here, Gill, do you know where this location is? Is it far from here?”
“This is in the Diquis Delta, a few hours from here by car.” He looked more closely at the writing and I saw his eyes widen. “What is this?”
“An acquaintance in the States told me that her husband had written a doctorate on the great spheres of Costa Rica. These granite balls were carved with such precision that they are perfect spheres, having the same diameter and circumference when measured from any point, a trick modern technicians would have difficulty duplicating. They range in size from a few centimeters to over nine feet in diameter and weigh as much as twenty tons. Thousands of them have been found in Costa Rica, miles from quarries, not only on the flat but up in the coastal mountains, and out on an island as well. None are found anywhere else in the world. Since none of the civilizations known to have lived in Costa Rica had ever displayed the technology to build them, much less transport them up mountains and across water, most archeologists have simply ignored them as an unsolvable enigma.
“Hamerstat believed the spheres were the archeological remains of an unknown and ancient navigational society that had created a three-dimensional map of the heavens. He believed that this great map served as a university of astronomy, mathematics, and navigation. He made calculations verifying that certain spheres were mathematically in perfect distance and ratio from other spheres to represent specific stars, planets, and constellations. Though many of the smaller spheres had been moved, Hamerstat mapped enough of the larger ones in original position to support his theory.”
Gill turned to the title page, back to the map I had shown him, and then looked up at me with far too much understanding in his expression. In almost a whisper, he asked, “These calculations can really identify specific spheres as specific planets?”
I nodded.
James expression indicated he hadn’t a clue what this meant or why it was important. I had to keep in mind, however, that this was the man who did such a good job of playing it dumb on the night I met him.
Gill’s reaction however made me realize he had to have read more of Evelyn’s documents than just the Blue Morpho file. As Gill knowingly examined the document before us, I was sure he had read the Martian Diary and had now guessed, as I had, where Evelyn had hidden the file. That should have forewarned me of what was to come.
* * * * *
FORTY-SEVEN
As soon as Gill understood where we were going and why, he said the drive over the Cordillera de Talamanca and down the Pacific side would take too long. He went off to make calls and came back with SANSA Air tickets from San Jose to Palmar Sur and a reservation in Palmar Sur for a four-wheel-drive rental car.
For such a small country, Costa Rica has amazing climatic changes in surprisingly few miles. When we stepped onto the plane in San Jose, it was seventy degrees, with scattered clouds and a pleasant light breeze. When we stepped off in Palmar Sur, the humidity and mosquito factors were way up, and a torrential downpour started before we finished renting the car.
At the Palmar airport, we loaded our equipment and rain gear into the Range Rover, and Gill drove south through banana plantations toward the river port town of Sierpe. To my dismay, we left the paved road almost immediately. We bumped down a muddy dirt road, through cattle pastures and forests and over a one-lane suspension bridge so narrow I would have sworn the Rover was too wide to cross it. Though San Jose had been perpetual spring since I arrived, rain had been falling on the Diquis Delta for days. In addition, the area is circled by rivers and mangrove swamps, washed by the Pacific, and receives runoff from the mountains to the east.
As we left the better maintained roads near the banana plantations, the mud became several inches thick, and we passed two cars that had landed in the ditch and were abandoned with mud up to the doors. Traveling under a heavy blanket of clouds, on roads that were not on the map, I guided Gill by relying on our GPS receiver. I had programmed it to guide us to the coordinates that Hamerstat’s calculations identified as a sphere representing the planet Mars.
Almost an hour later we reached a spot where the only track going in the direction we needed to go was a footpath through the forest.
“Stop here, Gill. This looks like it will be as far as we go by car, but we are within one kilometer of the site.”
Gill brought the Rover to a slushy, skidding stop. We put on our bright blue rain parkas and grabbed the folding shovels. As a precaution, I programmed the current location of our Rover into the GPS memory.
James watched me and smiled. “T
hat gadget beats the hell out of bread crumbs.”
We stepped carefully along the slippery path that ran under a claustrophobic ceiling of tangled forest and followed the GPS steering arrow toward the coordinates for our Mars sphere,
The granite globe, about five feet in diameter, was set on a slight rise on the eastern side of a small clearing. In the light of the clearing, with the rain pounding on its polished surface, the sphere seemed almost luminescent.
They both watched as I surveyed the ground around the sphere. On high ground on the north east side, I saw it. It might not have been obvious to the casual glance, but to someone looking for it, it was as plain as a doorway. There was a circle, about two feet across, where a shovel had cut into the ground. The Earth and plants had been carefully removed and carefully replaced, but roots had been cut so that dead plant material made a brown outline just beneath the green grass and vines. It was slightly sunken as it had resettled into less firmly packed soil.
I unfolded the shovel and began to dig, first removing the same section of ground that had been taken out before. Three shovels full of soil down I found the case buried partially under the sphere. As I tried to dislodge the case and pull it out, James appeared at my side to help. As the case came out of the ground, I had hold of the handle but James did not let go of the far edge.
“I’ll be damned,” said James. “How did you know?”
By his question I knew that James had never read the Martian Diary. To answer I would have to tell him the story of Antia and how she had hidden the final documents under a similar monolith on Mars. The one Antia had chosen represented Earth. Evelyn chose Mars.
Many things made sense now, like my card, still in Evelyn’s bra so long after I had given it to her. She had put it there when she knew her death was near. She knew I would be called and come to Arizona. The note to High Pockets that she had left in Jim’s house would mean nothing to anyone who hadn’t read the diary. But what a chance she took. She gambled that I would come, that Jim would give me the note and that, against all odds, that note would bring me here. All of that was a part of the story James didn’t need to know, and telling it seemed like a betrayal to Evelyn.
