by Jay Falconer
“I’ll ask him later,” Lucas said, grabbing hold of Drew’s wheelchair and pushing him through the science lab’s revolving door.
The brothers were waiting in line to check in through the lab’s front desk security, when Kleezebee approached them from behind, gently grabbing Lucas by the shoulders. “How’re my two favorite scientists doing today?” he asked, massaging Lucas’ neck with finger squeezes.
“We’re good, boss,” Lucas replied, sliding out of Kleezebee’s hands and turning around. The cloud of cigar smoke on Kleezebee’s wrinkled clothes nearly knocked Lucas off his feet. It smelled as though the professor just walked through a rubber fire. “What’s the latest on the new lab tech?”
“She starts tonight. I think you’ll like her—she’s brilliant. I just have to arrange her security pass, and then I’ll send her down with Trevor. Do your best to bring her up to speed quickly, all right?”
“Will do,” Lucas replied, praying the new chick was not a handful.
“How’s your mom doing after her surgery?”
“She’s getting around okay. The neighbor lady’s keeping an eye on her.”
“Are you guys planning to go home for the holiday?”
“No, we’ve got way too much work to do here.”
“You know, if you like, I can send Bruno to Phoenix to pick her up for you. I’d be more than happy to let her stay in one of my vacant apartments. I hate to think she’ll be spending Christmas alone.”
“Thanks, Professor. I’ll ask her but I doubt she’ll take you up on your offer. She hates to be a bother to anyone.”
“It’s no bother. It’s the least I can do since she always takes care of me with her delicious care packages,” Kleezebee said, smiling. “Dorothy should really open a bakery. She’d make a killing.”
“Everyone tells her that, but she likes teaching at the college too much. I don’t think she’ll ever leave that place.”
“I know how she feels. I don’t know what I would do if I couldn’t work here every day,” Kleezebee said, patting Drew on the back. “I’m having Bruno and his guys over for a poker party at my apartment on Christmas Eve, if you’re interested.”
Lucas wasn’t sure how to respond. He didn’t want to disappoint his boss by saying no, but he and Drew didn’t play poker. He knew they’d be the suckers at the table. “We appreciate the invite, but we really don’t know much about poker.”
“I think it sounds like fun,” Drew said to Lucas. “Come on, let’s try it.”
“I’ll make sure there’s plenty of grape soda and nachos for you two,” Kleezebee said.
“How much money would we need to bring?” Lucas asked.
“We don’t play for money. We play for vacation days off.”
That’s what Lucas needed to hear. “Okay, then, what time should we show up?”
“The game starts promptly at eight, don’t be late.”
“Anything else you need, Professor?” Lucas asked, remembering Kleezebee’s heated phone call outside the building, wondering what bombshell was about to explode. He pushed Drew’s wheelchair to the front of the screening line.
“Yeah, there’s one more thing I need to talk to you about. One of those goddamn suits from the Advisory Committee is on his way over here. It’s that fricken a-hole of a prick, Larson. God, I hate that pompous bastard. He says he wants to see firsthand what you two are working on. I hope you don’t mind the intrusion, but I need to give him the nickel tour.”
Lucas didn’t want the scrutiny. The last thing he needed was some bureaucrat poking his nose around their lab. He assumed the magazine editor’s Internet assault sparked the inspection and wondered if Kleezebee had heard about it. “Sure. What does he want?”
“I have no idea what his true agenda is. You would think that even a suck-ass weasel like him would have something else better to do on a Friday night, but apparently not. I think he really gets off on being a total pain in my ass. You’d never know he used to be a gunnery sergeant in the Marines.”
“When are you coming by?”
“In about thirty minutes. Don’t worry, I’ll run interference and handle the prick.”
“Okay, no problem. Just let us know if we can help,” Lucas said.
Kleezebee turned to walk toward the building’s entrance door. Then he stopped and said, “Hey, I almost forgot to tell you . . . your material finally arrived.”
“Sweet,” Lucas said, celebrating with a huge grin.
“I’ll see you in a bit,” Kleezebee said before walking back outside the building.
The security checkpoint was monitored by three armed security officers. The brothers were required to empty their pockets, remove their shoes, and have their possessions checked before walking through an x-ray scanner and a weapons detector.
Lucas leaned in close to his brother’s ear. “Here comes Bruno. Remember, don’t mention Mom, okay?”
Drew nodded. “Yeah, got it.”
Drew’s disability required that he be carried through the scanners by a member of the security staff. Usually the task was handled by Bruno Benner, a twenty-year veteran of the campus security force. Bruno was easy to recognize, even from a distance, given his hefty size, shaved, bald head, and neatly groomed goatee.
Bruno removed his duty belt and other metal objects before asking Drew, “Hey, Chief, you ready for a lift?”
Drew smiled and nodded.
Bruno lifted Drew from his wheelchair and used his keg-sized gut to prop up and carry Drew to the security equipment. The guard’s powerful forearms were covered with orange-colored tattoos of ferocious-looking creatures, which came alive whenever Bruno’s muscles were active. The body art was partially obscured by an expensive-looking digital watch on his right wrist. The unique timepiece was black and shaped like the Pentagon Building with five equal-length sides, and a series of tiny orange push buttons around its perimeter, which Bruno used for reasons unknown to Lucas.
Just before entering the first device, Bruno told one of his colleagues to fetch the backpack from the back of Drew’s wheelchair and bring it through the inspection station. A second wheelchair was waiting for Drew on the other side of security.
“How’s that project of yours coming along, Dr. Lucas? Did you hear Dr. Kleezebee found a replacement for Ms. Gracie?” Bruno asked.
“Yes, DL just told us. Trevor should be bringing her by shortly.”
Lucas thought about remaining behind for a moment and watching the new lab tech’s first encounter with Bruno. The guard’s ability to befriend a new acquaintance was truly remarkable, requiring only a few minutes to probe her background and gather details about her life and family. The same thing had happened to Lucas the first time he’d met Bruno. Lucas began sharing private information he never thought he’d tell anyone, at least not outside his immediate family. Whenever he needed the inside scoop on something, he’d ask Bruno. The man was an information station and seemed to have the lowdown on everyone.
Once through screening, Bruno deposited the younger Ramsay into the waiting wheelchair. “There you go, Chief, safe and sound.”
Drew thanked him for the ride with his customary knuckle-bump hand gesture. He turned around in his seat and checked that his backpack was properly hung over the handles.
Bruno realigned his belt’s position, raising it up along his waistline, before leaning back and rubbing his oversized belly. “Now that I’ve had my exercise for the day, I think I might take a break to get my chocolate fix. Obviously, I need it to maintain my girlish figure.”
Lucas laughed at the man’s worn-out gag even though he had heard it a dozen times.
The security team’s break room, which also doubled as a locker room during shift changes, was only fifteen feet inside the checkpoint, along the right side of the lab’s main hallway. Lucas had seen the room’s vending machines, which were stocked with candy bars and other junk food.
“Dr. Lucas, how’s your dear sweet mother doing these days?” Bruno asked.
/> Lucas fought the urge to release too much personal information. “Pretty good. The doc says she can go back to work in January.”
“That’s great news. I’ll bet she’s tired of being cooped up in that house. Be sure to tell her I said hello and I’m looking forward to more of her delicious fudge bars.”
Lucas responded with a quick nod, hoping not to be caught in yet another long-winded conversation with the guard. They left Bruno behind and headed for their lab.
Their assigned workspace was located at the far end of the science lab, through a maze of interconnecting corridors five hundred feet away. They would have to pass two dozen lab doors—many without windows—plus a sprinkling of restrooms, storage rooms, and utility closets.
Security was tight to protect the sensitive research being conducted throughout the building. A security card-reader controlled access to each lab and was installed a few inches above the project number.
When they rounded the final corner, they saw that there were three silver-colored boxes sitting just outside the double automatic swing doors that led into their lab. The containers were about the size of a microwave oven and labeled with blue print that said U.S. DEPARTMENT OF DEFENSE. Each box was wrapped with three evenly spaced strips of yellow security tape.
Two imposing Marine guards armed with shoulder-slung rifles and unyielding attitudes stood next to the boxes. The taller soldier, a first lieutenant by his insignia, was holding a red briefcase and fussing with the handcuff fastened around his left wrist.
Chapter 4
Relegation
Lucas wondered how the soldiers had been able to pass through security with their weapons in hand. Bruno’s scanning equipment must have lit up like a child’s face on Christmas morning.
“Which of you is Dr. Ramsay?” the lieutenant asked.
Lucas raised his hand and held up his ID. The lieutenant nodded once and then removed a written manifest from the briefcase. He handed it to Lucas.
“Project AG-356-12. Yes, that’s correct. Looks like it’s all here. Do I need to sign for it?”
“Yes, sir. Just sign the form on the line at the bottom.”
Lucas pulled a pen out of his shirt pocket and signed it. The Marine took the document, put it in his briefcase, and the two marched in unison the opposite way down the hall toward the newly completed NASA annex. Not a single misstep the entire way.
“Drew, did you see where they went?”
“Yeah. Kleezebee didn’t say this stuff was from NASA, did he?”
“Not that I remember. But it doesn’t matter to me; I’m just glad it’s here.”
Drew snatched the manifest from his brother and looked at it. “Me, too. I’m tired of running simulations; we needed this stuff months ago.”
Lucas bent over and tested the weight of the closest box. “It’s heavier than it looks.” He wondered how the two Marines had carried the containers. They were both taller and stronger than he was, but still, they must have had help. “Hang on a minute while I find a dolly. There has to be one around here somewhere.”
“I think there’s one in Griffith’s lab. He usually works all night on Fridays and should still be there.”
Dr. Griffith Davies, a renowned astrobiologist, specialized in the origin and evolution of life in the universe. He held PhDs in chemistry, molecular biology, physics, and astronomy.
“Jesus, that guy drives me crazy. He never shuts up and is always trying to ingratiate himself,” Lucas said.
“That’s because he has a little man-crush on you.”
Lucas ignored the imagery swirling around his head. “Thanks, just what I needed.”
“I think he wants you as his boy-toy.”
“Knock it off. That’s not even funny. The guy’s not gay. You’ve seen his wife—she’s a total knockout.”
“Yes, she is.”
“It makes you wonder why she’s with such a troll.”
Lucas wasn’t sure how Griffith managed to land such a gorgeous trophy wife, but the man was one lucky fellow. She was ten years younger than Griffith and had a stellar, homegrown body that supermodels would envy. To keep her satisfied, he assumed Griffith was packing a 10-pound wonder dog or a plentiful balance sheet. Either way, Lucas was jealous.
Lucas stood in front of Griffith’s lab door and planned his actions carefully. Griffith had several close friends on the Advisory Committee, any one of which could shut his experiment down with a single phone call. He knocked twice and took a deep breath to steady his nerves.
Griffith answered the door, wearing a white lab coat and cheater glasses. The toupee-wearing 40-year-old was holding a cordless soldering gun and resin in his hands. On his left cheek was a streak of red marker ink. Just like last time, it stretched from just under his eye clear down to his chin. Lucas coughed to cover up his laugh. It seemed to work.
“Hey, Lucas!” Griffith said heartily. “It’s wonderful to see you. Do you need my help with something? Wow, you look especially handsome today. How is your project coming along? I hear you’re getting a new lab tech tonight. How’s your mother feeling? What were those Marines delivering? They sure looked impressive in their uniforms, didn’t—”
Lucas was in a rush, but couldn’t afford to be rude. Keep it simple, he decided. “I’m fine, the project’s fine, Drew’s fine, we’re all fine. If you’re not using it, can I borrow your hand truck?”
“Sure, go right ahead. It’s right by my desk.”
He kept a safe distance away from Griffith to avoid his constant hand touches. The man smelled of cleaning chemicals; some of them were probably toxic, even fatal. Lucas was barely inside the door, and already his nasal passages were flooded with the smell. He minimized his breathing.
“Do you need me to help? Did you know I work out regularly and can lift heavy objects? You should be careful with your back. Be sure to lift with your legs; hernias can happen easily.”
Lucas stopped listening as Griffith continued to ramble, talking aimlessly about something, anything, everything. Lucas really didn’t care. He just needed to find the hand truck and get back to Drew. Nothing else mattered. He found it right where Griffith said it would be, spun it around with one hand to face the door, and pushed it ahead of him. Focus on the door, nothing else, he told himself. Just get back to Drew. He kept his head down to avoid eye contact in fear it might extend the conversation unnecessarily.
The hallway wasn’t far now but Griffith was still right on his heels yapping about something. It was clear Griffith was going to follow him into the hallway and possibly into their lab. He needed an excuse. He turned around and held out his hands while standing near the exit. “Sorry, but this delivery belongs to Dr. Kleezebee and contains classified material. Nobody else is allowed within twenty feet of it.”
“Okay, I understand. Take your time. Just return the dolly when you’re done. I won’t need it for at least a week. When you stop by again, we should go to lunch—”
Lucas rolled his eyes in relief when he heard Griffith’s lab door close behind him.
Drew was waiting for him in the hallway, laughing quietly with the back of his hand covering his mouth.
Lucas scowled. “Glad you’re enjoying yourself. Now let’s get this shit inside already.”
Drew slid his access card through the security scanner. After a loud buzz and a hollow click, the double doors swung open automatically. He used his wheelchair as a stop block to keep them from closing.
It took all of Lucas’ strength to load and center the three containers onto the hand-truck. He hauled them into the center of the lab, being careful not to lose the heavy load along the way. He slid the stack off and left the boxes sitting on the floor next to a rectangular worktable.
The security scanner buzzed again. “Jesus, what now?” he muttered, wondering if Griffith might be popping in for an unscheduled visit. But it was Randol Larson of the Advisory Committee. The pencil-thin attorney was carrying a clipboard and gold-colored pen as he walked into the lab, his
head tilted slightly back.
“I guess it’s up to me to deal with this guy,” Lucas mumbled when he did not see Kleezebee tagging along. He waved a quick hello to Bruno, who was standing just outside their door with his Master Security Card in hand. Apparently, Bruno had used it to let Larson into their lab.
Larson, who appeared to be about ten years younger than Kleezebee, was dressed in a blue, form-fitting pinstripe suit. His medium-length blond hair was neatly feathered front-to-back on the left side. It adhered to the side of his head, defying both gravity and air pressure as he moved.
Lucas assumed Larson’s spotless presentation was purposely done to distract people from noticing his acne scars, which made his cheeks look like the surface of an asteroid after a yearlong meteor shower. He agreed with Kleezebee’s earlier assessment about the attorney: It was hard to believe this frail-looking man was a former gunnery sergeant in the Marines.
Larson said to Lucas, “Dr. Lucas Ramsay, I presume? I am Randol Harrison Larson the Third, lead council for the University’s Advisory Committee for Theoretical Research.”
“Yes, sir, I’m Dr. Ramsay, and this is my brother Drew. What can we—?”
“Where’s Kleezebee? He was to meet me here thirty seconds ago.”
Lucas looked at his brother. Drew shrugged. “I don’t know, sir. Last I heard he intended to be here to show you around.”
Larson clicked his pen frequently as he walked slowly around the room, stopping periodically to transcribe something onto his clipboard. Lucas figured Larson needed to document the contents of their lab, possibly for insurance purposes, but he wasn’t sure. He considered asking the man, but decided to let Kleezebee handle it when he arrived.
Larson stopped in his tracks and stared through the ten-foot-wide window that led into the adjoining chamber. He scribbled a long series of notes before clicking his pen one final time and sticking it back in his shirt pocket. He leaned in close to Drew’s face. “All right, then, let’s get on with it.”
