by Dom Testa
“Jonas,” Clara said. “Come meet Ed. He’s here to woo some of us to Washington to help the government get right with science. Ed, this is Jonas Aiken.”
I shook his bony hand, which was damp from having carried around his beer. His badge said Aiken Inc., which told me nothing. He nodded a greeting.
“Ed’s curious about that group I’ve heard you mention,” Clara said. “You know, the angry scientists society, or whatever it is. I’m going to the ladies room so you can tell him all about your little fun club.”
As she walked away Jonas took a long pull from his beer and tried to size me up.
I said, “I think Clara was kidding when she told me it’s sometimes called Pissed Off Scientists.”
He gave a polite chuckle, which came out deeper than I’d expected from such a thin frame. His voice was the same. “Oh, Clara’s an interesting character. Yeah, I’ve heard that some people use that phrase, but that’s not the name the group itself uses.”
“And what name do they use?”
He hesitated by taking a sip of beer. “Why are you interested in them? It’s just an informal group of people. Nothing really organized.”
“Just sounds like the kind of people who might be motivated to look for something new to inspire them.”
He shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. It started out as a monthly bitch session. Sort of the old We don’t get no respect kinda stuff. Fortunately, as time has gone by, it’s been a bit more productive than that.”
I was getting a good read on Jonas Aiken. He walked around in his nerd uniform, but he was nobody’s fool. I liked him.
“Well,” I said, “when my buddies and I get together we sometimes have a quick session we call shop bitch. Gets it out of the system. Why should scientists be any different?”
“Is there a specific reason why you’re curious?” he asked.
“Clara just mentioned a guy who I guess used to be in this little band of bitchers, and then became a pain.”
He smiled again. “That could be an extensive list. Who were you talking about?”
“Steffan Parks.”
The smile faded, and Jonas took yet another drink of his beer in an obvious attempt to cover the change of temperature. He looked around the room and said, “Yeah, well, Steffan is not the most popular member of the community these days. Any scientific community, for that matter.”
I was going to have to pull information out of him. But my gut told me I stood a better chance of picking up a nugget from this guy than anything Jayanti might divulge. In fact, unless it was under duress I had the feeling Ms. Pradesh would divulge nada. Time for a spontaneous change in tactics.
“Look,” I said. “I’m not much of a party animal, and on top of that I’m starving. How would you feel about grabbing a steak? We can put it all on Uncle Sam’s tab.”
He gave a slight smile. “Even though it may not look like it, I never turn down free meals.”
Then he set his beer down on a table and added, “Besides, I think you’re really just poking around to see if Steffan Parks is going to kill a lot of people.”
Chapter Eight
In high school I had a buddy named Ron who was notorious for eating everything in sight and still looking like one of those stick bugs.
Jonas Aiken was the second coming of Ron. I watched him demolish a large house salad, a 16-ounce ribeye, and multiple helpings of au gratin potatoes. The server refilled the bread basket twice and looked at me like I was the guilty party. Who would suspect Poindexter sitting in the other chair?
By the time the entrees arrived we’d maneuvered past my fake identity. I’d satisfied his curiosity by simply explaining that I worked with a government agency tasked with protecting citizens from bloodthirsty assholes.
“I’m not surprised you’re poking around about Steffan,” Aiken said.
“If he was that bad why didn’t you report him to someone?” I asked.
“What would I report? That a guy was exceptionally angry at being humiliated and talked a lot of trash about people?”
“Never any specifics?”
“No, not really. I mean, we all knew he’d worked on some pretty dangerous stuff, but so do a lot of us.”
“That’s a pretty explosive combination,” I said. “Pissed off scientists with deadly chemicals.”
He waved that away with a handful of buttered roll. “You’ve probably been pissed a lot. And I’m guessing you carry a gun. How’s that for a combination?”
I started to open my mouth and make some smart remark about how it was different because I didn’t walk around with a huge chip on my shoulder. Then I thought about my personal grudge with Beadle. I stayed silent and let Aiken keep going.
“This group you’re asking about; they’re not an official society or anything like that. But when you’ve had funding eliminated, or you’ve had your conclusions proved wrong after years of hard work — years — it doesn’t just sting. It cuts deep. And there’s no one in the general public who’ll feel sorry for you. Hell, they never pay attention of any kind, even if your studies eventually save their life.”
Aiken poured a refill from the bottle of red on the table. “So commiserating is part of it; you mingle with people who understand. And for some, like Clara, that’s where it begins and ends. But Clara would never understand. She’s so cloistered in her safe little UT laboratory, not really doing much. And that’s why she doesn’t get it. Clara would never stick her neck out on the kind of project that lends itself to heavy review and, consequently, potentially heavy criticism. She plays it safe. Not every scientist does that.”
“Like Steffan,” I prompted.
“Yeah. But Steffan began to make noise that went beyond bitching. He never came out and directly threatened anyone. At least not that I knew of. But once I heard him say something along the lines of, ‘They’d be better off having me on their side than fighting against them.’ I’m sure he was referring to the Pentagon, because you guys shunned him.”
He set down his wine glass and looked at me. “Has Steffan hurt someone?”
“What’s the term the police use? He’s a person of interest.”
Wiping at his mouth with the fancy cloth napkin, Aiken nodded. “I liked him the first time we met, long before he became a fancy prize winner. That rewired him somehow. Made him think he was not only brilliant but perfect. It’s hard for someone with that attitude to accept defeat. Or to handle criticism.”
I’d heard plenty about Parks and his temper. The time had come for someone to give me tangible information to catch up with him. “I appreciate your insight into Steffan Parks,” I said. “When’s the last time you saw him?”
He considered the question. “About four months ago? Yeah, that’s right. He showed up at a talk on fluid mechanics not far from my office. Asked if he could drop in for a few minutes. I was already turned off by him at that point, but for whatever reason I said okay.” He paused. “That was a meeting that did not go particularly well. I had to ask him to leave.”
“Why?”
Aiken picked up the menu and flipped to the dessert page. I’m telling you, the guy was a bottomless pit with the metabolism of 200 hummingbirds. Anyone else with this appetite would weigh 450 pounds.
Finally he said, “I got the feeling he was recruiting me for some project that would involve his work on poisons. When I pressed him for details he shouted at me — actually yelled — that he needed to know who his friends were. Which makes no sense. Why can’t you be a friend and still want information?” He shrugged. “I think he wanted blind devotion, and why the hell would I offer that to anyone, let alone a borderline nut case. I don’t know anyone who’d agree to work with him these days.”
I poured a refill on my own glass of wine. “Is there anyone who might know where he’s doing his work?”
“I know. Well, not specifically. But he’s definitely doing something in Arizona, probably around the Phoenix area. There’s a lot of the tech support he’d need.”
“How do you know this? He told you?”
Aiken shook his head. “Not directly. But while he was trying to convince me to join his work he mentioned that it would be convenient for me. That I wouldn’t spend much time away from my family.” He took another bite, then under his breath added, “Not that that’s an issue these days.”
I understood the subtext perfectly. Jonas Aiken was on the outs with his wife. I wondered if that played into his decision to either work — or not — with Parks.
I downed my wine in one gulp. Then I excused myself from the table under the guise of a bathroom break, but instead went out the restaurant’s door. Walking past the valet stand I called Poole. She answered on the second ring.
“He’s around here,” I said. “Probably Phoenix or one of the ‘burbs. I’ll try to get more details, but according to another of the eggheads, Parks is probably based within a few miles from where I’m eating an overpriced steak.”
“That’s odd,” Poole said. “Nothing shows up on any records. Not in Arizona, at least.”
“I can’t explain that. And maybe it’s an intentional dodge on his part to throw people off. He might hint to people that he’s nearby just to create a web of confusion. He may be in Minneapolis for all we know, but for now it’s the best intel we have. Let Quanta know.”
“Upload tonight, please.”
“Will do,” I said. “Also, while you’re at it, get some background on this source of mine. Name is Jonas Aiken.” I spelled it for her and also mentioned Aiken, Inc.
We ended the call and I stood for a moment, looking up at the winter night sky of the American Southwest. I caught sight of Orion and it’s famous belt breaking through the glow of city lights. I knew I was on the verge of something breaking big, and just another hour with Aiken could do it.
I made a real bathroom stop on the way back to the table, where Jonas had just taken the first bite of some sort of chocolate cake.
“I didn’t think you’d mind,” he said through a full mouth.
I stared down at my half-eaten steak and asparagus and chuckled. “Knock yourself out.” I picked up my glass of wine. “Let’s go back to something you said at the party. About Parks killing a lot of people. Tell me how he would do that.”
Aiken dabbed away a smear of frosting below his lower lip. “I couldn’t say for sure what delivery system he might use. But I know enough about tabun to realize how dangerous he could be. Assuming he’s crazy enough.”
“For the moment let’s assume that. What would be your best guess for distribution?”
He pondered this. “Steffan created an off-shoot of traditional tabun. Now, in its original form it could be transmitted through direct contact with the skin, or through mixing in a liquid. But it’s also deadly in a gaseous state. So someone could breathe it in, like the old-style mustard gas used in World War I.
“If I understand Steffan’s work,” he continued, “he tried to develop a toxin similar to tabun but one that was much more difficult to detect. And that meant some trade-offs. His invention was most effective when camouflaged within another agent, like a liquid. He gave up the airborne element to create a more potent poison.”
“He told you all of this?”
“Not all of it. Some of us were able to piece together the rest after he was rejected by the government. I mean, when the Pentagon says your way of killing people is too ghastly, you know it’s pretty bad.”
I chewed on this for a minute. “If he wanted to poison a water supply — hypothetically, of course — how would he go about it?”
Aiken finished off the last crumbs of his cake. “A city’s water supply is highly contained and regulated. You can’t just walk in and dump a bunch of arsenic into a vat and presto, death and mayhem. So — as you say, hypothetically — if Steffan really wanted to use his invention, he’d look for a way to contaminate the supply after it had been through most of the quality checkpoints.” He thought about that for a second. “Which would also eliminate the diffusion issue.”
“Explain that,” I said.
“No matter how much work he does on it, Steffan won’t have thousands of gallons of this toxin. He’ll have a pretty good supply, but not enough to poison an entire system. It’s a question of dilution at some point. Pour a thimble-full of poison into the ocean and it does nothing. But mix that same amount into a pint of beer . . .”
“Right,” I said.
“So if you’re thinking he’d try to wipe out the whole country or even an entire city, that’s just not practical. It would take an incredible amount of toxin, tons of planning, and lots of cooperation from people on the inside.”
“What about a subdivision? Or a few subdivisions?”
“Sure, he could do that,” Aiken said. “Maybe even a little larger. But you get the picture.”
It was a grisly picture. Three or four subdivisions may not be the same as a city, but you’re still talking thousands of dead, perhaps tens of thousands. And my mind leapt ahead; unless he was caught, Parks could repeat the procedure down the road. Ten thousand now, another ten thousand in a year, and so forth.
Now I saw proof of why this had become a Q2 special. The FBI would definitely be involved, but this was a case where the knave needed to be taken out immediately.
Aiken said, “Of course, this is all conjecture. It’s just something I’ve thought about since Steffan went off on his rants about the government.”
“No, I appreciate your insight into this,” I said. “Our job is to be prepared. You’ve helped us become better informed. So thank you.”
He pushed his dessert plate away. “This was thanks enough. I don’t get to eat like this very often.”
I doubted that.
We parted ways in front of the steakhouse after I collected his contact information. Checking the time, it was still relatively early. I could head back to the party and hope to make contact with Jayanti Pradesh. Word had it the conference attendees would keep things going until midnight.
But I couldn’t afford to lose the data I’d picked up since my last upload, either. I’d promised Poole another backup, and decided to fit one in. I’d have to trust that Pradesh, who’d made it clear she was only there for the social aspect, would stay late.
On the way to my room I made another quick call to Poole and explained this to her.
She sighed. “All right, but still tell me everything you found out from Jonas Aiken. I can start doing some checking. And when you get back to the party activate a Series-8 for the rest of the evening, please.”
I agreed, and proceeded to detail everything from my talk with Aiken, finishing just as I got to my hotel.
The upload took 78 minutes. Not bad.
I pulled into the conference center parking lot at a quarter past ten. Reaching into my coat pocket I fished out one of the business cards I’d picked up at the safe house in Albuquerque. The Series-8 was heavier than a normal card, but not enough to create suspicion. It was a technical marvel, acting as a voice transmitter once activated. Through the years I’d used them plenty of times; sometimes they worked like a charm, other times they ended up in a trash can.
Tonight it would be in my outer coat pocket, eavesdropping on every conversation I had, and sending a recording back to Q2 headquarters at the same time. Real secret agent stuff. Made me wish I had a pen that shot tranquilizer darts.
As I’d hoped, the party was still in full effect. On the right I saw Clara engaged with three cornered listeners; I made sure to turn left. After picking up a cocktail I gazed around the room, cringing at the sound of Whitney Houston’s I Wanna Dance With Somebody. The DJ vigorously nodded along with the beat, looking like a strutting Mick Jagger.
“So even government people can let their hair down.”
I turned to see where the cheesy line had come from. It was Jayanti Pradesh.
She sipped from a glass of white wine and studied my face. “Of course, you’re not dancing. Maybe you only let it down so far.”
I he
ld up my cocktail. “Depends on how many of these I’ve had. So far not enough.”
This brought a smile and she indicated her own drink. “I’ve had far too many of these tonight. But that’s the problem; I’d rather drink than dance. Of course, I’d rather do anything than dance.”
Was she flirting with me? I couldn’t tell for sure. Either way, I put on a great performance to mask my absolute shock at the conversation itself. Glancing down at the name badge which was slightly askew I made a show of trying to make out her name in the strobe-infused lighting. Of course, in her state she may have thought I was just staring at her breasts.
She stuck her hand out. “We almost met earlier. I’m Jayanti. What’s your name again?”
“Ed. Ed Phillips.”
“Hello, Ed Ed Phillips.”
“I see you’re almost empty. Need another?”
“Plying me with alcohol won’t work.”
I took a small drink from my whiskey. “What won’t work?”
“I won’t sleep with you.”
“That’s okay. I love my wife.”
She laughed. “And I can’t work for the government, either.”
“Why not?”
“Bad record.”
“Really?”
“Uh huh. Too many speeding tickets.”
She was clearly enjoying the situation. I started to toss in one of my own smart-ass comments when we were interrupted by a couple of very intoxicated men, asking Jayanti to join them on the dance floor. She declined and graciously accepted their quick pecks on the cheek. They jostled their way toward another woman.
“This is getting old,” Jay said. “I’m staying here at the conference center. Let’s take our drinks up to my room and talk about our nation’s defense.”
I smiled at her. “Ms. Pradesh, I told you. I—”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Ed Ed. I just want a quiet place to talk.”
She seemed pretty drunk, and none of this made sense. But as random and as curious as it was, how in the hell could I turn down this opportunity?
I could only imagine what Poole was thinking as she listened to this exchange two thousand miles away.
