Boris and Adele alerted as the truck slowed and turned into her driveway, but they were trained well enough to wait for her command.
“It’s okay,” she told them once the Jeep had safely come to a halt. “That’s Eli. Friend. Say hi.”
Thus given permission, the two dogs bounded joyously forward, barking their greeting, tails beating the air as if it were a soufflé. Eli, who’d slung a gym bag over his shoulder, bent to respond to each in turn. He looked up at Marina even as he continued to pet the younger dog. “This must be Adele. She looks very capable. And you—Marina, you look good.”
So did Eli. He was wearing a white t-shirt emblazoned with the words SEX, BUGS, AND ROCK & ROLL, along with his normal garb of well-worn, slung-at-the-hips cargo shorts. He was missing his lab coat, but was wearing his favorite footwear: dark brown Birkenstocks.
Marina stepped into a more-than-just-friends embrace against his hard, lanky body, and smiled when he pulled back to kiss her on the mouth with a prickle of his mustache. She liked the way he tasted.
“Nice to see you, Dr. Sanchez,” she said after a moment of enjoying him. “What brings you to my neck of the woods?”
“Did someone say necking?” he teased, then drew her back close for another kiss, and a quick, enticing nibble on the side of her neck.
Chuckling, she extricated herself, then slid her hand down to hold his. There was still a lot of boyishness left inside Dr. Eli Sanchez. That was one of the things she liked about him. “Come on inside and we’ll talk.” She gave him a promising look that had him grinning in return.
She called the dogs, and they were just about to follow her inside when a car cruised down the street. Always on alert, Boris and Adele stopped to watch as the dark blue Focus eased closer, then meandered past.
Marina brought the dogs inside, and when she turned back to Eli, she saw that he was watching after the sedan with an arrested expression.
“Everything all right?” she asked.
“Probably. For now, anyway.” He followed her inside, setting his bag down in the living room.
“It’s so…I don’t know, synchronistic that you’re in town today,” she said, walking into the kitchen. “I had the weirdest sort of dream about a bee just before I got your text—maybe my subconscious knew my insect guy was in the vicinity.”
“Your insect guy?” He leaned his elbow comfortably on the bar counter that opened from the living room into the small kitchen and gave her a smoldering look. “Hmm. Not sure how I feel about being a possession. We might have to negotiate terms.”
She laughed, leaning in on the counter across from him. She’d missed his easy sense of humor, intelligence…and other attributes as well. “I have beer, iced tea, an open bottle of Chardonnay, water, and coffee. What’s your pleasure, insect guy?”
The smolder got a little warmer, then faded away as he gave a sort of grimace. “Probably just water for now. Best to keep heads clear. I’ve got something I need your help with.”
“All right. Let’s sit in there.”
Eli looked around the small, cozy living room, which boasted a real wood-burning fireplace and worn oak flooring. There were two dog beds and several rope and chew toys in one corner, and a four-shelf unit filled with books. As he watched, Adele picked up one of the ropes and settled in her bed to gnaw on it. Boris, who was a little more suspicious, curled up in his bed and watched over his mistress and her guest.
On the white plastered walls were a collection of framed vintage Hitchcock movie posters—The Man Who Knew Too Much and Rope were two of his favorites (gotta love Jimmy Stewart). Two shadow boxes hung on the wall displaying artifacts: a fragment of woven material that looked really old and was probably Asian, and a piece of parchment that was likely Middle Eastern or maybe Asian too—Eli really had no idea.
A dark red throw rug that looked Nepalese delineated a conversation area in front of the fireplace with a sofa and two chairs. The glass-topped table in the center reminded him of a low museum case, displaying other interesting objects Marina had obviously found on some of her travels. A squat, cracked vase that had once been blue and he guessed was Pan-American, another piece of parchment (this time with a different kind of marking on it that might have been Thai), a bowl holding a collection of rough stones that glittered blue, black, and violet, and—to his delight—a familiar mounted and framed Coleop.
“Nice,” he said, gesturing to the insect, which was a perfect specimen of the coppery cuprobeus beetle. He’d written and published several papers on that deadly little beast, and done many more media interviews.
They had settled on opposite ends of the broken-in leather sofa, facing each other companionably. When Marina curled up her bare feet onto the sofa, Eli saw the tattooed mark of the Skaladeskas on the heel of her foot. Few people were aware of her undeniable connection to the mysterious tribe.
“I thought it was the perfect memento of everything,” she replied with a smile that reminded him of the dinner—and afterglow—they’d shared in a small town in Ecuador after their harrowing airborne escape from the jungle.
He smiled back, wishing he had no ulterior motive for being here other than wanting to see Marina. The blue Focus that had cruised down the street a moment ago looked a lot like one he’d seen on the highway during his journey here.
But then again…there were a lot of blue Focuses. And there was no way anyone could have followed him here. He’d been very careful, and had told his plan to come here to no one except Helen Darrow. He hadn’t even been in contact with Marina until fifteen minutes ago. He forced himself to relax. “Yeah. So…you had a dream about a bee?”
Her smile faded. “Not really a dream. I don’t think. It was…” She lifted her hands in a “whatever” gesture. “I was with my grandfather.”
Eli nodded, and for the moment put aside his own agenda. He’d briefly met Lev, the elderly shaman of the Skaladeskas. There was something about that man—hell, there’d been something about that entire experience—that made him look at things differently. “Go on.”
But Marina shook her head. “That’s all right. I think I need to just sit with it for a while first.” She smiled warmly. “Tell me what brings you to Ann Arbor.”
“What…you being here isn’t enough of a reason?”
“Considering the fact that you didn’t text me until you were already here, Dr. Sanchez, I’m fairly confident it wasn’t my sparkling personality and rapier wit—not to mention the fact that I have several pizzas in the freezer—that brought you here.”
He smiled, then allowed the levity to fade away. “A bee brought me here.”
Her easy expression faltered, then cleared again. “Shocking that an entomologist should be in pursuit of a bee. Tell me more.”
“Believe it or not, someone seems to be trying to kill me—and has already killed others—over a bee.”
“Okay. Wow.” She squeezed her eyes closed, clasped her hands together, then looked at him with an odd expression. She heaved a breath. “The bee…it’s not pinkish-goldish-magenta is it?”
“Got it in one. Mine has chocolate stripes along with the pink-gold.”
She swore under her breath and shook her head.
“So, I’m guessing the bee in your dream with Lev is an unusual rosy gold.”
She nodded then narrowed her eyes. “What made you come here? To me?”
“I’m not trying to get you killed, Marina,” he said quickly, suddenly horrified at the unintended implication. “I wasn’t—”
“Considering the fact that I nearly got you killed back in the Amazon, I’m not one to point any fingers. I’ve gotten used to dodging murderers,” she said dryly. “That’s not at all what I meant by the question. What I should have said is, how can I help you?”
“I came here because I need access to a lab where I can examine the specimen in detail, and UIUC and U of C aren’t safe. Plus there was the added benefit of your frozen pizzas. And,” he added as she began to chuckle while shaking
her head in exasperation, “I need your expertise in looking at some markings—writing, I think—on a small clay pot.”
She nodded. “All right. Pizza now or later?”
“I could eat—then I hope you can get me to a lab. I’m dying to get my hands on this specimen under a real microscope. Why don’t you put a pizza in the oven and I’ll tell you what’s been going on? Or…we could order in from that local place with the really good crust.” He waggled his eyebrows. He had fond memories about eating that particular pizza—laden with pepperoni and feta cheese—in Marina’s bed one evening after a particularly energetic afternoon. “It’s almost as good as Chicago style.”
“Cottage Inn? I won’t argue with that. I’ve only got Red Baron in the freezer.”
“Now you’re talking.” His voice was easy and so was his smile, but inside, Eli was struggling. He had, after all, brought his own problem and danger directly to Marina’s doorstep.
The last thing he wanted to do was endanger her.
Thirty
Cleveland, Ohio
July 10, early afternoon
Helen rose as Gabe MacNeil strode into the conference room. He looked pretty much the same as he had the last time she’d seen him, although there was a little more threading of gray beginning at the temples in his dark brown hair.
At thirty-seven, the CIA agent was about six feet tall, with an average build and blue eyes. He was clean-shaven and clean-cut, with charming crinkles at the corners of his eyes and a square chin, and was the kind of man that got appreciative looks from straight women whenever he walked into the room. And when he spoke, his voice was flavored with just a sugary hint of West Virginia—which sent many of the straight women into even deeper mental swoons. As one would expect, he wore a dark suit and tie and carried a leather briefcase.
But he wasn’t alone. Helen hadn’t expected him to be accompanied by his boss, Colin Bergstrom.
Helen and Gabe had been identified by their respective agencies as lead liaisons on anything related to the Skaladeskas, and the two of them created a sort of special task force team for any intelligence about the ecoterrorist group. Bergstrom had not been identified as being a member of the special task force, but as Gabe’s superior, he certainly could include himself in any meeting he chose.
She greeted them both familiarly, but flashed a meaningful look at Gabe behind his boss’s head. Her former lover grimaced slightly, but smoothed out his features as soon as the trio settled around the small table.
“It’s nice to see you again as well, Agent Darrow,” said Bergstrom. He was a man well past sixty, probably even over seventy by now. His comfortable little paunch had decreased a little since Helen had seen him last, but the thick eyeglasses he wore still sat heavily on his soft cheeks, making shallow indentations on them. Nonetheless, his eyes remained sharp and careful as he swept the small room with his gaze. “Not bad for a smaller field office.”
“Please call me Helen, as before. And—I wanted to meet here in Cleveland so we could be near the site in question,” she replied. “So let me fill you in on what we know.”
“Mind if I get some coffee first?” Bergstrom asked. “Been up since four and still need the fuel. I’m not as young as I was.”
“Oh, I’m sorry—of course. I can have some brought in—”
“No, no, I saw the breakroom. I’ll get it myself. I see you’re all set, Helen, but Gabe, do you want anything?” Bergstrom paused with his hand on the doorknob.
“I’m fine, thanks, Colin.” The minute the door closed behind his boss, Gabe said in a low voice, “Sorry. He insisted on coming.”
“Does he know you know?” she replied.
“I’ve not said anything to him. I hoped he’d retire before anything else came up with the Skalas. I thought he was going to go last year, but not yet.”
Helen eased back in her seat and looked at him as she toyed with the stylus from her tablet. “Maybe we should tell him that we know. Or—I could tell him.”
“That might just upset the balance even more.” He sighed, rubbing the space between his brows with a thumb and forefinger. “I like and respect Colin very much. He’s a good man, an excellent mentor, and he’s been fair and supportive of me for my entire career—”
“So you’d want to protect him from doing anything that might upset his own career. Especially if he’s near retirement.”
The door opened and Bergstrom strode in, tie fluttering and two cups of coffee in his hands. “They were small cups,” he said with a fleeting smile. “Sorry about the delay. What’s wrong?” His attention sharpened as he set the coffee on the table. “How bad is it?”
Helen didn’t look at Gabe. She didn’t want to take any chances that Bergstrom—who hadn’t had a distinguished career in counterintelligence because he was a fool—might read between the lines. “It’s not great, Colin. I’ll be honest with you. But before we get started, I feel the need to be up front with you about a piece of intelligence relative to your ex-wife.” She met his eyes calmly. “If you’d like to ask Gabe to leave, I’d understand.”
The older man’s expression gave no indication of surprise or fear. Instead, he gave a small, contrite smile. “No, that’s not necessary. If Gabe isn’t already aware—and I’d be surprised if he weren’t—he should be advised as well.”
Helen felt a shudder of relief deep inside, but she didn’t even flicker a glance at Gabe. “All right, then, Colin—clearly, you aren’t going to deny or try to subvert the fact that your ex-wife Nora is the—uh—partner of Roman Aleksandrov, who is the de facto leader of the Skaladeskas.”
“To my knowledge, that’s correct,” Bergstrom replied. “Since I haven’t had any communication with Nora since our divorce, I can only surmise based on intelligence and incident reports. But since she left me for Roman,” he said, his voice going cold, “and since she’s still with the Skaladeskas, that would be my assumption as well.”
Silence hung in the small room for a moment and was only broken when Gabe shifted in his seat and said, “I suspected there was a personal connection when you first put me on to the Skaladeskas, Colin. But I didn’t confirm my suspicions until a few years ago.”
“That’s why you’re one of my best people,” Bergstrom replied. “I would have expected nothing less.”
“I could ask you to recuse yourself from this investigation,” Helen went on. “However, at this time I’ll refrain from doing that—with the understanding that both Gabe and I reserve the right to make that decision if at any time your personal connection appears to conflict with our investigation.”
Bergstrom pursed his lips and nodded once. “I wouldn’t expect anything different from you. I can assure you, I won’t—as I’ve not in the past—interfere. I simply want—need—to…know.” His voice was a little unsteady at the end, and Helen felt a tiny stab of sympathy for the man.
“All right,” she said briskly. “Let me tell you what we know. You’ve probably heard about the three trucking accidents that occurred two days ago. All single-vehicle incidents, all the same sort of event. All of them, as it turns out, were rigs that came from Cargath Steel here in Cleveland.”
“Yes, I heard about them. They were horrific from what I know. It sounded as if the bottom dropped out of the driver’s seats,” Colin said.
“That seems to be exactly what happened. And because each of the rigs—or tractors, as I understand they call the parts that tow the semitrailers—were independently owned and operated, there didn’t seem to be any sort of safety issue with the logistics company.
“Until the safety manager—one Filbert Strung—brought to the attention of the investigating authorities that he noticed someone cleaning the trucks just before they left. It happened to be raining, and one of the drivers who died—Randy Ritter—was complaining about why someone would be out hosing down the trucks when it was pouring rain.
“Mr. Strung realized belatedly that perhaps whatever was being sprayed on the trucks as a cleaning agent h
ad something to do with the accidents, and so he—or rather, one of his associates—dug out the canister that the cleaning agent had been using. What was in the canister wasn’t a cleaning solution. It wasn’t even water—or only water. What it appears to be is some sort of— Let me get the actual scientific description.” She flipped through her notes and grimaced. “I can’t find the science-y words right now, but basically the cause of these accidents was a bacteria that feeds on metal.”
“A metal-eating bacteria?” said Gabe, looking as skeptical as she’d been when the news hit her desk. “Is there such a thing?”
“Apparently there is—I’ve done a little research to corroborate the findings. Back in 2019, a pair of microbiologists at Caltech accidentally discovered a bacteria that uses manganese for resources—basically, as its food. There’s a whole article in Nature about it from 2020, but I didn’t read anything other than the abstract to get the gist. They named the bacteria, uh…let’s see if I can get this right…Candidatus Manganitrophus noduliformans.” She looked up at Gabe. “To be clear, the bacteria we’re concerned about is not this particular one. I only cited it as proof that such a thing exists.”
“And so it seems we have something like that here?” said Bergstrom. “How do we know the Skaladeskas are involved? Presumably that’s where you’re headed with this.”
“Mr. Strung claims that when he first found the canister, which the perp—we can call him that at this point—carelessly left sitting in the middle of the warehouse dock, he accidentally sprayed some of its contents on his person. Later that evening, his large metal belt buckle and the metal grommets on his shoes—both of which would have been sprayed by the contents of the canister—were gone. As if they’d disintegrated.” She looked at the two men across from her. “He hasn’t been able to find the metal belt buckle or the grommets anywhere. It’s like they literally disappeared.”
Sanskrit Cipher: A Marina Alexander Adventure Page 20
