by Dom Testa
Mostly I was curious about how the poison had found its way into those coffee cups. Had it been there for a day or more? Or had a third person been there that morning? Certainly not Parks; I doubt Haas would’ve let him in, given their bad blood. Jay Pradesh, perhaps? Under what pretense could she have wormed her way in? Seemed a long shot, and yet it made the most sense at the moment.
During one of my breaks at a truck stop I called Poole. She was out of the office but answered her cell.
“Hey, do me a favor, please,” I said. “Have the sheriff’s office in Santa Fe send you the complete list of visitors to Marquart Labs over the past month.”
“Everyone?”
“Yeah. I want to see who’s been there recently, whether just as a guest or as a visiting scientist.”
“All right,” Poole said. “But what good would it do someone to visit a month ago? The poisoning happened this week.”
“Right. But if someone poisoned the coffee that morning, it might be someone who’d already visited, so it was natural to let them back in without any security concerns.”
“Got it. Okay, I’ll have that for you by tomorrow afternoon. You’re en route to Scottsdale?”
“Roger that.”
“I know it’ll be late when you get in, but please do a backup before you go to sleep.”
I groaned. “What about first thing in the morning? We can keep our fingers crossed that I don’t die in my sleep.”
“Okay. But it’s been too long. I’m sorry to nag.”
“Just doing your job. And believe me, I don’t want to lose all the stuff I’ve learned today. Some of it was, um, personally interesting.”
“Like what?” she asked.
I’d gone too far and had to pull back. “Oh, you know I’m a science nut. All of the biology involved. It’s just interesting.” That sounded lame but almost believable. “I got your text with the hotel information, so thank you. I’ll touch base with you tomorrow.”
I went back to my playlist and drove on through the darkness of the southwest desert. The weather cooperated and I made good time, checking into my hotel near Gainey Ranch around 11. Exhaustion had set in, physically and mentally, and I was conked out by 11:45.
The sound of bird call just outside the window woke me up a few minutes before seven. It was a brisk morning in the low 40s, so I went for a quick three-mile run, then took coffee back up to the room. After showering I decided I’d put off the upload long enough and gathered up the necessary gear.
Being an agent of Q2 means you not only put your life on the line, you actually lose it on a fairly consistent basis. Only movie star secret agents cheat death; those of us working in the real world get popped. In order for the investment program to work properly, I needed to upload all of my recent experiences on a regular basis. That way, if I got killed we could download my knowledge, my memories, and this charming, witty personality into a new body and I wouldn’t have to play as much catch-up.
The only drawback was that uploading took about 90 minutes, and I couldn’t do it during sleep. In order to upload I needed decent wifi speed — which I had here at the hotel — a rather serious chemical that should never be used for anything else, and a couple of gadgets we’d disguised as ordinary travel-kit items. On one hand it’s so corny as to be painful, but on the other hand no one had ever snooped through my deodorant or shaving cream.
Now I pulled everything out, put the Do-Not-Disturb placard outside the door, made myself comfortable on the bed with my reading material of choice during the process — a good ol’ rag magazine, this time Cosmo — and popped the pill.
For what’s gained through the process, and, by extension, what’s ultimately saved, the time sacrifice isn’t that bad. But I’ve still pressed Quanta to get that genius behind the whole thing, Devya Nayar, to compress the time to less than five minutes. Or, if that was out of the question, at least figure out how to accomplish it while an agent slept.
That convenience was still out of reach. For reasons way beyond my realm of understanding, the human brain goes into a different mode while sleeping and it jacks with the upload process. So, for the time being at least, I had to carve out almost two hours and find something to entertain me while I was semi-doped. Reading about Hollywood stars and pop music idols fit right into that state of mind.
When it was finished and I’d preserved all of my memories and experiences from Santa Fe, I packed everything away, changed clothes, and set off to find Jayanti Pradesh.
Chapter Seven
I like to think of myself as a scientist wanna-be. I may not be a specialist in any particular field, but I know a little bit about a lot of things. Astronomy, physics, chemistry, biology, electronics. It’s a result of my lifelong habit of learning. I’m a curious creature. Some have said I’m also nosy, but that’s different.
Regardless, while a science conference might strike the average person as a complete yawn-fest, I thought it was pretty cool. Now, to be truthful, it didn’t stop me from thinking that many professional scientists were big dorks. As I walked toward the check-in desk I had to stifle a few chuckles when I saw major Poindexters huddled together in very animated conversations. Yes, I can be a jerk sometimes.
Through her deep connections, Quanta had reserved a conference badge for me under the name Edwin Phillips. I bristled at the name Edwin and figured that was Quanta’s little way of messing with me. I resolved to tell everyone to call me Ed.
My cover was as a recruiting specialist for the Department of Defense. That was vague enough to get me into conversations without having to go into too much detail. And the DoD credentials opened doors to speak with science-types hungry for government funding. It also kept Q2 from having to create a large online presence for this guy Edwin. I’d be able to move around easily.
After checking in and getting my goodie bag and name badge, I wandered up and down the halls, glancing at the conference program, wondering where Jayanti would turn up. I had a photo that Poole had texted, and I casually stole a glance at every female face I passed. So far no sign of her. Parks was a long shot, but I kept my eyes open for him, too.
It was the final day of the conference and they’d saved the keynote address for the farewell luncheon. Every attendee would be there, so I’d pretty much decided that’s where I’d run into her.
But then she was right in front of me.
Jayanti Pradesh stood in a cluster of five or six people, all chatting amiably, sharing ideas and anecdotes, and probably a fair amount of professional gossip. I wondered how she handled the fact that her boyfriend was being whispered about throughout the scientific community. From what I could see right now she wasn’t bothered by anything in the slightest.
As I stood off to the side I compared my photo image with Pradesh in the flesh. She was short, barely over five feet, and slight of frame. Her long, dark hair was coiled up into a knot, and she sported two sizable moles on her face, one to the side of her mouth and another between an eyebrow and her temple. She laughed easily, with dazzling-white teeth and eyes that danced with delight. I could see why Parks was attracted to her. Jay Pradesh was a natural beauty.
It was time to make a move. I strolled up wearing my own smile and greeted the group. Each of them glanced at my name tag and registered my Defense Department connection. That would at least buy me a few minutes until they decided if I had something they wanted.
“Hello,” I said. “I always seem to be late to the party. I’m Ed.”
“Hello, Ed,” said a woman whose tag identified her as Clara from the University of Texas. “You haven’t missed too much, unless you get off on fluid dynamics. Too much of that at this conference, if you ask me.”
“The last time I got off on fluid dynamics was in college. And that was in my dorm room.”
Just like that, with a slightly-naughty but completely stupid quip I’d broken the ice and let them know they could open up with this particular government dweeb.
A man from Cal Tech spoke
up. “What brings you to the conference? Looking for anything in particular?”
“Oh, only the best and the brightest,” I said. “Last year space science was all the rage in our hallways and this year it seems to be focused more on traditional ground-troop defense. I’m sure next year it’ll be something else entirely. What are you all working on these days? And what brings you to this particular conference?”
They went around the circle, each trying to sound self-assured yet humble about their specialties. I couldn’t help but notice that Jayanti hadn’t spoken a word yet, and seemed to look at me somewhat suspiciously. Granted, her boyfriend had been burned by the government. But eventually it was her turn to share.
“I’m not really here for the sessions. Mostly for the networking,” she said with a polite smile. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to catch up with old friends.”
Such a non-answer. I wouldn’t let it go. “But,” and I made sure to squint at her name tag as if I had no idea who she was. “But Ms. Pradesh, when you’re not expensing dinner and cocktails, what’s your line of work?”
She waited a full five seconds before answering. “I’ve done some work with desalination.”
“That’s a very noble cause,” I said with another smile. “Saves lives.”
“We try,” she said and turned to look at one of her companions, hoping for a bail out.
I refused to let her off the hook. “Where do you do this de-salting? Your name tag doesn’t list a school or a lab.”
For the first time she lost the smile. “I’m between jobs at the moment, Mr. Phillips.” She was irked at being pressed. Turning to one of the men in the group, she said, “I’m going back to my room for a bit. I’ll see you at lunch?”
They all said goodbye and she made her exit. I made sure to not watch her leave, instead engaging Clara from Texas in some other inane chat. But I’d at least made contact.
From the Cal Tech guy I discovered the real place to make connections. There was a big happy hour party to close the conference, and supposedly everyone went. Nothing like scientists letting their hair down, and I don’t mean that sarcastically. I told you, I was a nerd at heart. I would’ve wanted to mix and mingle even if I wasn’t on the job.
But this would give me another chance to irritate the lovely Jay Pradesh.
I left the conference center and went back to my hotel. I saw no reason to sit through the lunch keynote; my target zone was now the evening party.
In the room I reached out to Poole and let her know I’d spoken with Jayanti and expected to have more interaction in just a few hours. She’d accessed the conference attendance log and texted a file to me with each person’s name and affiliation. I wouldn’t be able to sift through all of it now, but it could come in handy if I needed to get the low-down on someone. I briefly checked out the four people Pradesh had been talking with, but nobody seemed overly interesting.
Although I recognized that I didn’t really know who or what would constitute interesting in this particular setting. Other than Steffan Parks.
Poole finished by telling me she’d gone through the records of every visitor to Marquart Labs in the past month. No names jumped out, but she’d hold onto them for later cross-referencing if necessary.
I called Christina next.
“I miss you,” I said when she answered. “Tell me how much you miss me, too.”
“Desperately,” she said.
“Why do I sound more sincere than you?”
“Because you’re a better actor?”
I laughed. “What are you doing?”
“Freezing. I don’t know what it’s like in Arizona right now but here it’s about ten degrees. I might get in the tub just to warm up. Got any bubble bath over on your side?”
“Yes. Lavender. Wish I could join you?”
Her voice turned tender. “Oh, you really are feeling lovey today, aren’t you? Sorry, I’ll turn off the snark machine.”
“No, please don’t. I’ll think an alien has taken possession of your body.”
We talked for another ten minutes, during which I could hear the tub filling. I truly was homesick for Christina; we’d had very little time together in the past few months. I’d even missed Christmas with her because of an island assignment that resulted in a bullet to the chest and a hospital stay.
Your standard pulp fiction spies always grab a little bedroom action while on their assignments, usually in the first couple chapters and then at the very end, sort of as a reward for risking their lives.
I’m devoted to my wife and I actually give my lives. Hollywood producers will never make a series about me.
After another round of sweet talk we hung up.
The nap happened without me planning it. When a sound outside the window pulled me back to consciousness I discovered I’d slept for almost two hours. The scientists’ happy hour would get underway soon so I ordered room service, caught up on a little news and sports, then grabbed my conference badge and started back over. A plan for how to move forward with Jayanti Pradesh would be very helpful, and I had none. I figured it would come to me when I needed it.
The party was underway by the time I walked into the ballroom. A DJ was playing really bad tunes and a few mobile bars were set up around the perimeter of the room. I moseyed up to one and secured a Jack and Coke, hoping it would distract me from the burned-out little ditty about Jack and Diane.
Pradesh was nowhere to be found and it dawned on me that she might ditch the party altogether. I did, however, catch sight of good ol’ Clara from Texas. She’d cornered a woman who wore the universal fake conference smile. She could use an assist, so I strolled up.
It took Clara a second and then she smiled. “Hey, it’s our Pentagon man. Ed, this is Kathleen. She’s from another of our fine institutions in the great state of Texas. I’ve tried to get her to leave Baylor and come to Austin, but she’s stubborn.”
Kathleen shook hands while her eyes thanked me for the interruption. After a quick exchange of pleasantries she made an escape. Clara leaned in and muttered, “Nice girl, but her work is shoddy. We’d never have her at UT.” Then she tipped an almost-empty glass of white wine to her lips and gave me a wink.
“Maybe I should talk to her,” I said. “With our budget at Defense we can usually only afford shoddy.” We both gave the standard conference laugh. “Where are all your friends from earlier?” I added, sipping from my own cocktail and looking around the room.
“If Rick is being Rick, he’s got someone up in his room right now. He only comes to these conferences to screw around on his wife.”
“Oh.”
She nodded knowingly. “Uh huh. And Marcus — he’s the guy from Cal Tech — doesn’t drink anymore, so I don’t know if he’ll come or not.”
“What about your other friend? What was her name? Jamie?”
“Jayanti? She’ll probably be here. Why? You’re not like Rick, are you?”
“No. I love my wife.”
Clara laughed as if I was kidding.
I said, “I was hoping to talk to her some more about that desalination program.”
“Yeah? What does that have to do with national defense?”
“Help countries who are hungry or need fresh water and they’re more likely to become allies and in turn help us with defense.”
“Ah.” She finished off the wine so I steered her toward one of the bars to top things up. She kept talking. “Jay’s an odd duck, too. Got hooked up with a guy who used to be a really good scientist but became a star. And you know what that means.”
“He can charge more for lectures?”
“That, and he can become a certified asshole. Which he did.”
This was the thread I’d been looking for. “Tell me more about the asshole.”
“Name’s Steffan Parks. Guy actually won some pretty big awards when he was young and hungry. Since then he’s not so hot. I hear he’s not easy to get along with. Except with Jay. She likes him, for so
me reason.” She lowered her voice. “Not that she’s a great science whiz either.”
It appeared that no one measured up in the eyes of the great Clara from Texas, which was all right with me. I was on the hunt for dirt anyway. “I’ve heard the name before,” I said. “He’s had a few contracts with us over the years. Not my department, though, so I don’t know any specifics.” I looked around. “Is he here, too?”
Clara scoffed. “He won’t show his face until his rep cools off. Had a bit of a tough go lately. Then he went and got on the bad side of some little group he hung out with.”
“What group is that?”
She scrunched up her face in concentration. “I can’t remember the name off the top of my head. Something foreign. Maybe Latin.”
I glanced around the room and tried to act only marginally interested. “What is it, a social group?”
Clara scoffed. “I don’t know how much they socialize. From what I gather they just bitch. Some of us have a completely different name for them. We call them the POS. Stands for Pissed Off Scientists.”
We shared a laugh, but this, I realized, could be important. I took a long drink of my whiskey just to slow down the conversation. Then: “I’m glad I came to this party. I’d love to know more about this unhappy little group.”
“Why?” she asked.
“You’d be surprised at the number of tech advances that came about because someone was pissed off. Necessity might be the mother of invention, but discontent can be ridiculously profitable.”
Clara laughed. “Lucky for you, here’s a guy who can tell you all about it.”
I followed her gaze to a man approaching with a bottle of beer wrapped in a napkin. He was tall and painfully thin with equally spare strands of hair brushed across his head. His clothes had the look of being slept in, but I guessed he simply wasn’t overly fussy about their care. Something about his face, though, particularly his eyes, told me he wasn’t a stereotypical nerd. He just gave zero shits about conventional standards.
