Structophis Page 10

  Out of the corner of his eye, he could see she had started to select and compare blocks.

  “You definitely deserve a shot at a proper life. Frankly, hidden away with me doesn’t seem like the one you should be shooting for, and I don’t really think it’s got a chance to work. But we’ll find someone. Someone who knows what he’s doing and has all the right training. You’re starting to warm up to Gale, right? You don’t necessarily need me, right?”

  Blodgette placed down a third letter and looked expectantly to Markus.

  “Let’s see what you came up with,” he said.

  The blocks she’d selected didn’t quite spell a word. The last was a sideways 3. The second wasn’t even a letter, it was a circle from the shape blocks. The first was definitely an M.

  “M… That’s probably supposed to be an O… and a… I guess that’s supposed to be…”

  He became silent and looked to the page open before Blodgette. It was the page depicting families. On one side was a father with a daughter on his shoulder. On the other was a son holding the hand of his mother. Blodgette tapped the page, then the blocks, then Markus’s chest.

  “Mom,” Markus said, dropping the word like a bomb. “I’m Mom. Wait… wait, wait. Let’s give this one a try.”

  Markus flipped somewhat frantically through the pages until he found an old-fashioned, business-suit-wearing adult labeled “Man.” He then quickly assembled the letters on the ground.

  “See? Man. See? Right? That’s me.”

  Blodgette critiqued the word and the image, then flipped back to the family page. Again she compared and considered, then plucked the M from “man,” tossed away the 3, and replaced it. She then pointed to the page, specifically to the handholding. She then chirped and held his hand.

  “… Well… that pretty much settles it. You really know how to play hardball don’t you?”

  Blodgette raised her hand, ready for a high five. He shook his head.

  “No. That one gets a hug.”

  Chapter 7

  A private jet cut through the air over the Atlantic. Inside, Dimitrios gazed out the window in the pleasant haze of inebriation that only top-shelf booze can provide. A plane this size would normally have seating for upwards of eighty people, but Hearst Ltd. must have had different requirements for it. The “passenger” section was downright spacious, with seating for four, a full bar, and a small clerical-style desk setup. Ms. Grumman sat at the desk tapping at a keyboard and having angry, pointed conversations with people in at least three different languages.

  “Herr Senator, with all due respect, you and I both know that you would not be enjoying your third term if not for the substantial support provided by our mutual acquaintance and his associates. We so seldom ask for you to show your gratitude. It would send a terrible message to deny us so simple a request. … I appreciate that you do not have any direct authority over the local law enforcement, but a man in your position should be able to exert a certain level of influence over those with the information we require. … I see. I am sorry to hear that. I shall of course relay this information to my employer. I understand he is presently preparing his annual contribution budget. I do hope this will not influence his future generosity. … A threat? No, Herr Senator. A threat would be to suggest I might introduce your wife to Ms. Juanita K. Sanchez. I do not believe the two of them have been introduced, despite the many things they have in common. … I thank you for your consideration, Herr Senator, and our mutual acquaintance does as well.” She hung up the phone.

  “I’ve got to say, Ms. Grumman. I’d hate to get on your bad side,” Dimitrios said, walking unsteadily to the bar to top off his glass.

  “If that is so, then you should have been more mindful of your first impression,” she said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Nothing, Herr Spiros,” she said. “One moment please.”

  She dialed the phone. “Hello, sheriff’s office? Yes, this is Ms. Grumman. I believe you have just received a message from Senator McIntyre’s office on my behalf? Good. Very shortly you will be receiving an e-mail from me containing some information I would like you to run through your systems. Please respond promptly with all results you may discover. A telephone number is included in the e-mail. Any calls received from that number should be forwarded to a high-level official, and any time-critical information should be delivered to that phone number as well. Thank you for your compliance.”

  “This all seems like an awful lot of trouble to go through for an animal. Even a rare one. Are you sure Mr. Hearst would be okay with you leaning on politicians and bossing around the police?”

  “Herr Hearst trusts my judgment and has authorized any necessary actions to acquire the creature.”

  “Anything short of spilling blood, I imagine.”

  “You imagine incorrectly, Herr Spiros. The usage of force to guarantee success in this or any other endeavor is a lamentable but often unavoidable requirement of the more vigorous negotiation tactics to which I am so often called to attend.”

  “… But… you won’t hurt someone over this…” Dimitrios said.

  “Are you speculating, Herr Spiros, or instructing? Because you are ill-equipped to do either with any level of success.”

  “I…”

  “The question was rhetorical. Now if you will excuse me, I need to report back to Herr Hearst.”

  She stood without awaiting a reply. A quick code tapped into a door in the rear of the room gave her access to a hallway leading to the back half of the plane.

  As the door shut behind her, there were a dozen things that could have been floating through Dimitrios’s mind. He could have been having second thoughts about the people he’d chosen to do business with. He could have been wondering just what they had in store for the dragon once they acquired it. He could have begun planning just how he would distance himself from Hearst once the deed was done, or how far he would be willing to help the man before his morals demanded he end their partnership.

  What actually flitted through his mind, however, was a good deal less complex or impactful. He glanced around to make sure there weren’t any video cameras watching him, disregarding the fact that he didn’t know what modern surveillance looked like and thus wouldn’t be able to spot a security camera even if it was a small black dome mounted in the ceiling two feet from where he was standing. Once convinced he was free to misbehave, he subtly slipped two small bottles of scotch and one bottle of cognac into his jacket.

  If he was going to have to endure this rude young woman for an entire plane ride, he was going to make sure it was worth his while.

  #

  Ms. Grumman stepped into the cargo area of the plane, which occupied its rear third. A large, cruel-looking cage took up a significant portion of the floor, and the walls were covered with various nonlethal equipment. To look at the supplies, one would have thought they were on their way to subdue and capture a dinosaur. She picked up a handset on the wall of the plane and dialed a number.

  “Hearst,” came the answer.

  Grumman replied in German. “All is in readiness, Herr Hearst. I was able to compel the local government officials to give me access to law enforcement systems. I expect to have a definite location of the specimen within the hour.”

  He answered in German as well. “Excellent. I have had additional briefing on the target. Orders stand as they were: take all necessary actions to acquire it, but the creature is not to be harmed. Achieving this second requirement may prove more difficult than initially thought.”

  “What is the situation?”

  “To the best of our knowledge, no one has ever tranquilized one of these creatures. You’ve been equipped with the best option our pharmaceutical division could produce, but it is entirely possible that you will have to physically subdue the beast.”

  “Doing so without injury will indeed be a trying task, sir.”

  “The experts I have spoken to suggest it m
ay be possible to coax the creature into containment if we can compel an individual who’s earned the creature’s trust to command or request it to do so.”

  Her expression hardened. “And I suppose Herr Spiros is the most likely individual currently available to use who might fit that criteria?”

  “Indeed. You’ll need to keep him with you.”

  She squeezed the phone tightly enough for its plastic to creak. “How vital is it that the creature be completely unharmed…”

  “As distasteful as it may be to continue to associate with the boorish Mr. Spiros, the potential earnings of this enterprise justify it. Having the monopoly on discreetly available samples of Structophis gastrignae tissue for medical and industrial testing is itself of immeasurable value, but if the creature can be utilized for breeding, we could potentially have an inexhaustible supply of both samples and specimens for usage. Collectors, drug companies, chemical companies, genetics firms. Just imagine the breakthroughs that can be gleaned by a creature able to so efficiently convert fuel into heat. And anyone in the industry who wants to get their hands on it can wait until legislation finally opens the species for study and testing, or they can pay our prices and sign our agreements. Income from the likely patents and discoveries alone are conservatively in the billions. But the creature must be alive and healthy.”

  “Understood.”

  “One more thing. It goes without saying that to exploit this creature with any degree of success we will need to prevent the general public and particularly the relevant authorities from learning about it. News has not broken of it yet, so the current keepers may have succeeded in keeping it from public view, but before this operation is through, we shall need to guarantee their silence, through contractual or… other means.”

  “Again, Herr Hearst—understood.”

  “Splendid. Carry on and keep me informed.”

  #

  Nearly an hour of driving in search of a store that was open and could satisfy all their various needs had brought Gale all the way back to the very same rest stop where they’d fueled up on the way to the quarry. The big box store was an all-night affair, and though Gale preferred to help out the mom-and-pop stores, desperate times called for massive multinational conglomerates.

  Sure enough, every last item on her list was available for prices that seemed downright unsustainable. Since reception was an iffy thing this far into the mountains, she had taken full advantage of the visit to the nearest vestige of civilization to make some phone calls. Even as she pushed the heavily loaded shopping cart to the rear doors of the van, she had a hands-free headset in place and was wheeling and dealing.

  “Hello? Hello, is this Professor Medford? This is Gale Dekker. From class. Yeah, I’m a teacher’s assistant in your Wednesday lab. Listen, I was wondering, remember that case in Idaho where the ranch was found to have adopted a pair of endangered caribou, and because the pair had acclimated to their herd, the ranchers were permitted to keep them as long as they had the proper oversight? Yeah. So how does that happen? Is there paperwork, forms you’ve got to fill out? … No, I don’t. What time is it? … Really?” She checked her watch. “Huh. Time flies. Anyway, so this paperwork… hello?”

  She clucked her tongue and tugged the hands-free from her ear.

  “Whatever happened to a commitment to excellence, hmm? This is why we’re having a higher-education crisis right here…”

  Gale pulled open the van doors and started to load up the various things she’d purchased, checking them off a mental list.

  “Sleeping bags. Toilet paper. Basil. Grated cheese. Whole wheat flour. White flour. Flour for bread makers. Red pepper flake…”

  Her brain was, as always, darting in seven directions at once. It juggled the sort of observations she wanted to make sure she was able to make with Blodgette, the various means of legitimizing and extending her research with the beast, working out a better habitat, and dozens of other fleeting notions. Even simple things like the most efficient and secure way to store the groceries so that her unconventional driving style wouldn’t threaten them too much. This meant that it wasn’t until she was nearly finished loading the groceries—the last of which were an assortment of flowers Blodgette might like—into a carefully secured nest of sleeping bags that she noticed the vehicles across the way.

  One was an official van, painted in the bright reflective colors one normally sees on construction vehicles. The words “Animal Control” stretched prominently across the side panel. A pair of vest-wearing animal-control officers stood in the headlights in front of the garage across the street. Two police officers, one a portly woman and the other a gangling man, stood beside a rugged police SUV. The police had their arms crossed and nodded periodically. The rest of the group was engaged in an animated discussion with a very agitated older woman. Gale could only hear snippets of what they were saying, but based upon the hand gestures, the subject of their discussion was very big and lumbering.

  Gale felt a flutter of panic in her chest and made ready to slam the van doors. Something caught her eye before she could do so, and a thought came to mind. She shakily snatched a roll of duct tape and threw a few strips over the numbers on the license plate. When the doors were shut and secured, she ran around the front, obscured the front plate, then hopped into the driver’s seat.

  “It’s okay, it’s okay. Just play it cool. No one saw you. No one has any reason to suspect you,” she muttered to herself.

  It was at this point that she heard the first full sentence from the exchange across the street.

  “It was a van just like that one!” called the elderly woman.

  Gale watched as one of the animal-control officers tried to flag her down.

  “Not today, Mr. Authority Figure,” she proclaimed, revving up the engine. “Science awaits!”

  She slammed on the gas, cringed through a horrible grinding noise, then muscled it into gear and slammed on the gas again. The officer jumped out of the way as she came barreling backward out of the parking lot and squealed out onto the road. Both police hopped into their car. In moments they were on Gale’s tail, lights flashing and sirens blaring.

  “Oh no you don’t. No one gets between Gale Dekker and her thesis!” she cried, riding a wave of adrenaline.

  She gripped the steering wheel and made a hard left.

  The police had probably had a great deal of training in how to handle a high-speed pursuit. That training certainly had not been devised with Gale in mind. For instance, the hard left she took ignored the fact that there was no road to the left. She jumped a curb and slung gravel behind her as she crossed an empty lot, heading toward the pine forest in the opposite of an all-terrain vehicle. The police screeched to a halt at the side of the road, then reversed and rumbled after her.

  Branches and needles raked across the van as she skidded and slogged through the soft soil between the trees. It was difficult keeping an eye on both where she was going and what the cops were up to, but things became a good deal simpler when a stray branch tore her side-view mirror off and she could devote her full attention to driving. Another driver might have been at her wits’ end as the wildly spinning tires failed to provide anything more than a mere suggestion of control and ancient, very solid pine trees rushed by on either side. For Gale, not quite being in control of this lumbering behemoth of a vehicle was par for the course. Without Blodgette and Markus moving around in the back and making their distracting yelps of dismay, it was actually a good deal easier to handle. Thus, while the police gingerly navigated the forest, she blasted through underbrush and drifted down hills until she came to a shallow stretch of the same babbling brook Blodgette had played in earlier.

  She splashed through it and made it a few dozen yards up the other side before the muddy ground and threadbare tires proved unable to provide the sort of traction necessary to haul a catering van uphill. No matter. Downhill worked for her. She turned the wheel and splooshed back into the brook, then s
ped off in the direction of the flow as the police sputtered along on the bank.

  “Oh, jeez, I should make sure I’m heading in the right direction,” Gale said, her voice not quite achieving the terrified tone her current predicament called for. “As long as I’m in the river, I can probably afford to put one hand on the phone. I just have to steer well enough to keep splashing.”

  She thumbed her way through menus until she found the history and tapped on the quarry. The screen immediately switched to “Rerouting,” so she wedged it into the center console and turned her attention back to the “road.” A frightened waterfowl burst from the water just before getting flattened.

  “Sorry, duck!” she called, then leaned out the window to watch it take flight. “Wow! A hooded merganser!”

  “Pull over! You are in an unsafe area!” bellowed the female officer over the loudspeaker.

  “It’s not that bad. It just a little—oh my gosh!”

  Ahead, the brook took a sharper turn than the sliding van could follow. Rather than even try, Gale stood on the accelerator, hoping that all of this handy downhill momentum would give her a chance at climbing the slope. It did so and then some, with the van blasting up onto the river-stone bank and then cresting a berm with enough speed to get all four wheels in the air. She knocked some branches off a tree and flattened a sapling, then roared onward through the thickening woods.

  “Please execute a U-turn and return to the nearest road,” requested the navigation app.

  “Easy for you to say!”

  She took advantage of a precious moment, during which the path immediately in front of the van didn’t present the looming threat of collision, to look at the scrolling map on her screen. It was mostly green, but off to the northeast was a narrow gray stretch with the unmistakable easy curve of a man-made road.

  “We’ll head that way. The stupid road’s got to lead somewhere, right?”

  The van’s bumper got a good workout as she plowed through bushes, then another impromptu flight signaled her departure from the forest and her arrival on what turned out to be an old logging road. She landed hard and straightened the vehicle out.