Pitfall (14 page)

“Right.”

I gazed harder, going for broke. “Including deadly force?”

“Sure.” Albert hadn’t hesitated a second. “Mr. Cross has been good to me. A job like that, I’d do for free.” Oh, yeah. This guy was going to be trouble, sure as breakfast.

I held up the plastic device. “Well, thanks for the information, Albert, and the map. I’m sure it’s not as hard as it looks.”

“You won’t have any trouble, Mr. Fields.” Now all pretense of civility was gone, and his chuckle was unabashedly nasty. “An eight-year-old boy could make it work.”

“Good.” I raised my eyebrows in hope. “You wouldn’t happen to have one lying around, would you?”

Chapter Nineteen

O
f course I’d only been screwing around with Albert. Like I said, in the service I’d routinely used the map’s more advanced cousins. This thing was cake: no brag, just fact.

After I’d wandered away to a more secure spot behind some plants, I had the device up and running in less than a minute. Now I was looking at a vertical shot, as if I was suspended fifty feet high up in the dome’s support girders and looking down. I couldn’t tell if the picture was a real-time feed or CGI: the graphics were that good.

Picture an oval racetrack, a thousand feet long by five hundred wide, and put a huge expanse at its center. Pack that expanse completely with plants of all sizes and varieties, heights and widths, all of them sitting up on ten-foot-tall open, steel racks spaced five feet apart, and being fed and watered with green, rubber hoses dangling from black metal pipes.

That was the dome in a nutshell.

The racetrack, of course, was the hall running the inside of the perimeter. According to the map the areas coming off that hall and angling in toward the center were the staff offices and storage rooms.

I touched a button. The screen changed to an analog layout, and more information appeared. The rooms now showed as rectangles with titles: Supply, Data Entry, IT Systems, Clean Room, and so on. I even saw the universal symbols for man and woman, indicating the location of the restrooms; you know, the ones with the flaming toilets. I needed to remember to give those things a wide berth.

Around the far side of the facility I located the Security station, home to friendly Frank Vint and not so friendly Albert Trask. It was also the lair of one Boneless Chuck, he of the wheezy voice and killer disposition. As I read the map the dark realization grew that he and I were going to have a day of reckoning before this was over. I knew that as surely as I knew my name.

I also found his father’s room. The key read simply E. Cross, Director. Not to mention A. Kidnapper of gullible children.

And then I spotted the doors with the red diamonds.

There were three, all located at the dome’s far end. They were the ones Eli had been so adamant about, citing security concerns. And now I saw why he had been so exercised. If the map was right, they weren’t labs. They were elevator doors. But elevators to where?

I did know one thing for certain. Those doors would lead me to Sarah Cahill. Somewhere beneath my feet—and how far down I couldn’t even hazard a guess—she was waiting.

But I needed to see more, and I got back on the cart, heading to where the first set of elevators were. Once there and dismounting, I surreptitiously walked over and examined the first one. Above the up and down buttons was a slot, obviously for a key card.

I mentally kicked myself for having left my little machine at home that was the electronic version of a lock-release gun; it would have come in handy here. On the other hand I could easily unscrew the panel and hot wire it to make it work … but not while I was under surveillance, of course. That meant somehow I’d have to either secure an employee card to open it, or have Marsh work his magic and fix it from there.

I needed more solid intel before I made my move, and so far, other than from gabby Frank, all I’d gotten was the tourist line. There had to be someone here with what I needed, and was willing to part with it.

Climbing back on the cart, map in my left hand, I was off. I needed data, and where better to get it than Data Entry? Following the line on the map I turned right, heading down the opposite leg of the racetrack. As I did, I felt my pulse beating just a little faster. Finally, at long last, I felt I was close to the answer.

Break time or whatever must have been over because I was passing people now. The majority looked like townies, both the men and women alike dressed in business causal. Not a few of them shot me dark looks as I drove by. They’d probably heard of my tussle with Blakey and Chet at Jerry’s the previous night and figured my visit here would only cause trouble for them. If they only knew.

The remaining workers were a different bunch. There were only a handful of these, dressed in jeans and down at the heels brogans. Techies, I thought. Even disregarding their go-to-hell clothes, they didn’t have a local look about them. What look they did have was hard to pin down, but it was there all the same.

And then I got it. These had to be the ones in the know, the inner circle. The townies were just here to earn a paycheck; these others were the true believers, just like the Cross boys and Albert Trask.

The glares I got as I glided by them were different too. But then again, not that different. I’d seen that same look on people’s faces after I’d left Gibbs, and my own kind, as a boy. Their stares were cool, calculating, dispassionate, superior.

A minute later found me pulling up in front of the door that read Data Entry. Climbing off the cart, I found the door was open, so I wandered in without knocking. The office was stark and spare, much like the pale woman seated behind the low, exceedingly neat desk in front of me. She was typing something into her computer, and at first I wasn’t sure if she was aware of my presence.

Then slowly she swiveled her head up from her work, regarding me frankly with cool and distant gray eyes. “Yes?”

It was hard not to stare. I’m not saying the office’s occupant was beautiful or ugly. She was both, and neither. I suppose the word is “severe.”

Rail-thin, the woman was dressed in a beige business suit with a matching blouse that was fastened clear up to her neck, like an 1880s school marm. She wore no makeup that I could detect, nor any jewelry, and her long, jet-black hair had been plastered down with some kind of gel before being swept back and down. That glistening mane had then been pulled into a small hard gathering at the base of her skull, a walnut-sized knot so polished and tight it was a wonder her brain hadn’t imploded. In short, strictly from her appearance she made the Lilith Crane character from the old
Cheers
TV sitcom look like a screaming party girl. The nameplate listed her as Alicia Bancroft.

“Hello.” My aspect was matter-of-fact. “John Fields, EPA.”

“Mr. Fields.” Bancroft folded her hands on her desk, her expression neutral. “I rather wondered when you’d be stopping by here.”

I tried matching her neutrality. “Oh? Why’s that?”

“You’re seeking information about how we do things here at GeneSys, correct? I suppose data entry would be the place I’d start. Were I you.”

My nod was businesslike and pleasant. “That’s a fair assumption, Alicia.”

She cocked her head. Deep in those frigid eyes, a spark of something hot jumped. “During your stay you will address me as Ms. Bancroft, or ma’am, or you will not address me at all. Is that understood?”

“I understand.” Oh, good. One of those. I glanced around. No pictures, no plaques, no plants. The office was as ascetic as a monk’s cell. “You said you wondered when I’d be stopping by. Why is that?”

She motioned to the electronic map hanging off my belt. “The entire facility has already been alerted to your presence today. Mr. Cross made it quite clear everyone is to assist you in the most expedient way possible. Provided, of course, it doesn’t compromise our work.”

That was a variation on the line Eli had told me. I idly wondered if Bancroft was part of the inner circle, or just a drone.

“Of course. He made that clear to me as well.” I pressed on, “The guard at the main desk, Albert Trask, has already informed me of the generalities of your facility. If he left any gaps, I’m hoping you can complete the picture.”

Her demeanor was still wintry. “Albert is quite well-versed in our history. He’s paid to be. And I’m sure Mr. Cross has told you of our purpose. I believe you possess all the information you require. You have no gaps.”

“But—”

“I’m sorry Mr. Fields. I have nothing further to offer other than what Mr. Cross has already told you. Any further conversation will only prove counter-productive.”

“You’ve nothing more to add?” I gave her an appraising look. “At all?”

The narrowing of her eyes made them look even more like steel shot enclosed in flesh. “Appearances to the contrary, we in data entry are not the nerve center of GeneSys.”

“No? Where would I find it, then?”

“I suppose Mr. Cross himself would be considered the nerve center,” she returned, her tone remaining aloof. “Not only is he the founder of our company, he is its driving force. His vision has become ours. And as I previously stated, this department is only for data entry.”

“Fair enough. Then I need see some of that data.”

That seemed to throw her. “Sir?”

“Did I stutter? I want to see your files. Now.”

She blinked. “Surely you’re joking.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

“Not knowing you, I have no idea.” Before I could reply she said, “I’m quite familiar with the parameters of the EPA, and I know they do not include a company like ours having to provide
carte blanche
access to confidential data that has nothing to do with environmental issues.” Again she regarded me. “Is there anything else I can help you with, Mr. Fields?”

I blew out a breath. “No ma’am, thank you. You’ve been a peach.”

“Then I’ll bid you good day. I’ll inform Mr. Cross of your visit.” With that she returned to her computer, her attitude dismissing me as if I’d never been there at all.

Well. Now what? I’d thought I could get useful information from someone in this department. Maybe I could, but it was a cinch that person wasn’t going to be Alicia Bancroft. Still musing, I left her office, once more finding myself back out in the hall. I was shaking my head when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned.

Before me stood a
Waffen SS
storm trooper.

For a moment I thought I’d been transported to an alternate universe, one where Hitler’s army hadn’t been bested outside of Berlin in April, 1945. But on second glance I realized I’d made two errors. First, from the gaudy Genesis patch worn high on the man’s right shoulder, I realized he was simply another guard.

Mistake number two was that he was a she.

I blinked, momentarily stunned. The woman was gorgeous, early thirties, maybe five three, with beautiful deep, blue eyes and shimmering, pinned-back, golden hair that set off the sculpted angles and high cheek bones of her creamy complexion.

With an effort I shook off my surprise. Why
wouldn’t
they have female guards? The thing I needed to remember was this particular woman was an employee at Eli Cross’s genetics lab, under his employ, and obeying his orders. Ergo, until I learned otherwise, she was an enemy combatant.

Her appearance aside, I took in her attire, and now I saw what had thrown me. The similarities between this woman’s uniform and that of a Nazi’s were fleeting, but there. Her clothing was black, in contrast to the gray of the others’, and where those other guards wore simple, dark work shoes, she sported ebony combat boots.

That wasn’t the only difference. In his brown leather holster Frank Vint had carried a .38 caliber revolver of some type, possibly a Ruger or a Colt. And though I’d never seen Albert Trask out of his chair, I wouldn’t have been surprised to find him packing the same type of six-shooter as did Frank.

From the ocher butt-end of the piece sticking out of her rig, I could tell the woman I was looking at—who’d yet to speak a word—had strapped on some type of semi-automatic weapon, maybe a nine-millimeter, maybe heavier. Curious. Especially considering the greeting she gave.

“Mr. Fields?” she grinned, and I nodded. Her voice held a cute, June Allyson rasp.

Glancing into Bancroft’s open office door, I found her watching us closely.

The guard’s smile expanded. Oddly she didn’t meet my eyes, instead locking her gaze somewhere in the vicinity of my collar button. “This is a pleasure, sir.”

It was? Why? Not that I was knocking her. Other than Frank Vint or Rae Ann the waitress, she was the first person to treat me like something other than a social disease since I’d arrived.

“Yes sir,” she continued. “A real pleasure. I appreciate what you people in the EPA do. Keeping the air and water clean, I mean. I’d like to shake your hand.” Before I could reply she grabbed my right mitt in hers, shaking it lightly.

When she did I felt something slipped into my palm.

Releasing our grips, the guard’s eyes met mine at last. And what I saw there was totally unexpected.

Beseeching desperation.

“Well … thanks.” Palming whatever it was she’d given me, I slipped it unobtrusively into my right pants pocket. Without another word the guard spun and walked away.

My brain was flying. What had just happened here?

I was climbing back on my cart when I gave another quick glimpse into Bancroft’s office. But she wasn’t looking at me. Instead she was regarding the guard’s retreating form with the strangest expression. Only then did she turn her gaze my way.

Raising one pencil-thin, black eyebrow, Bancroft’s lips twisted into a bloodless smile.

Chapter Twenty

E
verybody knows that in mid-August the sun doesn’t really set until after nine p.m.. And one would think that at sunset the temperature would drop. One would be wrong. Not in this part of the country, and not at this time of year. I sat sweating in the car under the big oak tree, bored to tears, slowly baking in the humidity as I listened to the never-ending Insect Concerto for Locusts, Opus One. I was waiting for my unknown benefactor to show up.

The party line at the complex had been wrong: there
was
paper at GeneSys, whether Albert Trask knew it or not. Once more from my pocket I pulled the chewing gum wrapper the black-clad guard had slipped me when we shook hands. The words on it written in an obvious hasty scrawl still read the same.
Sunset—big oak west
. It was sunset. I was here. Where was she?

After having been given the note, I’d spent the rest of the day at GeneSys doing what I hoped were EPA-like things, peering here and gazing there and going “Yes, I see,” at appropriate times. Even so, I’d not uncovered one piece of evidence of wrongdoing I could take to anybody. At the end I was more convinced than ever the nefarious stuff, including whatever horrors Sarah Cahill was being subjected to, was being kept underground, safe from prying eyes.

On the plus side, the receptions I’d gotten at the other offices weren’t as arctic as the one Alicia Bancroft had given me. Still, it was plain the staff was anxious to have me gone. In my government persona, I wouldn’t be winning any popularity contests there in the future.

And I still didn’t have access to any kind of electronic device that could gain me entrance to one of those elevators with the red diamond emblazoned on the door.

After leaving GeneSys I’d grabbed some supper at the Good Enough Diner. Sadly, I was told Rae Ann wouldn’t be there for the dinner shift; something about having to tend her ailing mother. The meatloaf, peas, and mashed spuds the diner served weren’t bad, and at Rae Ann’s earlier suggestion that morning I had a great cup of coffee, along with the pie she’d recommended for dessert. Apple. The crust wasn’t quite as flaky as the deli at home served, but the abundance of tart fruit made up for it.

I paid the bill, and ambled out to the car I’d parked on the street and called Seth on my Blackberry. It was time to bring him up to speed.

My call was short and to the point. It only took me a few minutes to relate what had happened to date, and why I was in Harrisville. When I was done, his reply had been equally blunt: “When do you need me there, and how much firepower do you want me to pack?”

“I don’t know yet. Like I told you earlier, there’s a girl’s life at the center of this. And since I have no idea how many of the GeneSys guards are in on it, the last thing we need is to start a shooting war. But if I give you the word, be ready to rock.”

“Your call, John.” His grunt sounded dubious. “But you’re three kinds of an idiot if you think this is gonna go off as smooth as you want.”

“Maybe. Just get here fast if I need you.”

“I’ll be there,” he said simply.

I knew he would. Countless times Seth and I have gone to the mat for each other, providing whatever it took to come out on top. I didn’t need to cajole him, or rationalize what I was doing. The fact he was my friend was all I needed, and he agreed to stay flexible for the next day. I think we both knew the following twenty-four hours would tell the tale. I had no idea what shape she’d be in when I found her. And find her I would. Alive or dead, Sarah Cahill would be returned to her parents.

My next call was to Marsh. Two rings, and he picked up.

“Marsh? John. I need a favor.”

“Sure, if I can.” He’s another one who never needs explanations from me.

Quickly I outlined what I planned, and what I needed him to do.

“Let me get this straight,” he said. “You want me to download some topographical and geologic maps of the area onto your laptop, and then bypass elevators security, plus I’m to create some kind of diversion while you’re inside? And all this by remote control?”

“Yeah, that’s the idea.”

“Well, why don’t you ask me for something easy, like getting you access into the White House swimming pool?”

“No jokes, Marsh. Can you do it or not?”

“Maybe. Give me a minute.” It actually only took him forty seconds before he spoke again. “All right. First, downloading and sending you the maps is nothing. As for the other, let’s try this. You have a working flash drive with you, right? I hope?”

“Both it and my laptop are right here on the seat next to me in their case.”

“Good. Here’s what I want you to do. First, power up, insert the drive, and I’ll log in to your system …”

For the next three minutes he walked me through it. When he was done I couldn’t get past the simplicity of it. “Okay. You’ve just downloaded a nasty virus onto the flash drive. All I have to do when I get inside is find an unused computer and plug it in?”

“In essence, yes. I’ll use a backward tracking program to activate it to kill the power, and that may take some time. The emergency systems will come on, but with luck things will stay scrambled for a while. At least long enough for you to rescue the girl and get clear.”

“In theory.”

“In theory, yes. If you’re wanting guarantees, Johnny, I’m afraid I’m fresh out.”

True enough. It was the best I could expect. I thanked him, and then all that was left when we’d rung off was for me to head back out to GeneSys. Once there, I kept going west, looking for a big oak tree and hoping for the best.

I’d passed sycamores, pines, and maples a-plenty, but didn’t spy an oak of any great size until I’d gone another half-klick further down the road. It was then I spotted one on the left, and it was a beauty. Towering at least a hundred and fifty feet in the air, limbs piercing the cloudless sky, the scarlet oak dwarfed anything else around it. Pulling the car off the road, I drove deep under the tree’s dark green leafy canopy, shut the engine off, and waited, my shoulder holster chafing.

That had been nearly ninety minutes ago. A thought wandered by then, that of me zipping into town and bringing back some bottled water. I could sure use it, but let it go. I didn’t want to chance missing the woman.

The balmy air was oppressive, so here I sat, oily sweat tracking down my face as I watched the lightning bugs flash their “do me
now
” signs, and fervently wishing for a breeze.

I checked my watch again. Nearly nine-thirty, and the last of the sun was sliding past that far tree line like a lozenge down a throat. So where—

I heard the car pulling up before I saw it. Whoever it was needed not only a muffler job, but an engine overhaul. The lifters sounded like firecrackers going off as it drew near. A second later a rusted-out, ragtop Olds Cutlass, twenty years old if it was a day, wheeled up beside me. I stayed where I was, waiting.

For a moment after the driver shut it off the car dieseled loudly, clattering like somebody playing the spoons. The door slowly creaked open, and the guard I’d met before tentatively climbed out.

I did the same, and we approached each other.

The woman was clad in worn white sneakers, old blue jeans and a faded red tee shirt that showed off her curves. She looked good; at any rate she was a far cry from the way she’d appeared back at GeneSys. Dressed as she was in her civilian duds, she seemed more vulnerable than when I’d seen her earlier. 

“Hello,” I said, breaking the ice.

“Hello.” She sounded nervous. “I wasn’t sure if my note was too vague. About the big oak, I mean.” Oddly, she didn’t remark about my shoulder rig.

“It was fine. Because here I am.”

Still seemingly uneasy, she swallowed and brushed a damp strand of hair that had escaped its fastening away from her face. “Did you have any trouble finding it?”

“Nope.” I waited.

She looked around several times carefully before saying, “I guess I should introduce myself.”

I waited.

“Okay.” She softly cleared her throat and swallowed again before tentatively looking up into my eyes. The top of her head only came to my chest. “It’s Thornhill. Shelly Thornhill. Like in
North by
Northwest?”

I barely heard her. In spite of the situation, I found myself entranced and distracted by her beautiful blue eyes, eyes graced by dark full lashes, and by her sensuous lips and graceful neck. I shoved that away. A few more beats passed before I responded. “What?”

She gave me an odd look. “
North by Northwest.
The Hitchcock movie. I have the same last name as the leading man in that movie. Thornhill.”

“Son of a gun.”

She shook her slender fingers, still as jittery as a frightened colt. “But that’s not really important. You’d probably like to know why I asked you to meet me here.”

“Your guess would be right.”

“It’s just that I can’t stand it anymore.” The young woman’s eyes were haunted as they searched mine. “Do you know what I mean?”

“Not really.” Crossing my arms, I leaned against the Camry’s fender. “Maybe you’d better start at the beginning.” At that moment, right behind us a semi truck rumbled past, blowing black exhaust and sounding like potatoes rolling around in a galvanized drum. “Before you get started, though, let’s take these cars further off the road.”

“Why?”

We were moving into dangerous territory. “Let’s just do it.”

“Okay.” She gave me a curious look. “If you think we should.”

“Yeah. I think we should.”

Pulling both vehicles behind some late-season leafy oleander bushes that effectively shielded us, we got out. “Is this far enough?” she asked.

“I think so.” Hoped so. “You were saying …?”

Looking around, Thornhill tucked more loose golden strands of her shoulder-length hair behind her delicate ears. “It’s like this. I’ve been working at GeneSys for the last two years. The first year and a half I was a regular guard, assigned upstairs on Level One. But for the last six months I’ve been stationed below on Level Six, guarding the dorm.”

“Miss Thornhill—”

“Shelly. Please.”

“Shelly.” My voice was patient. “Cut to the chase. Just tell me what’s going on.”

She drew a deep breath. “Okay. Eli Cross heads up GeneSys, and his son Charles runs Security. But you know that much.”

I nodded, and she went on, talking fast. “Charles Cross does all the hiring and firing. Two years ago he brought me in to be a guard on the main floor. What we call Level One. My assignment was third quadrant, greenhouse.” She wiped her face with a trembling hand. “Oh, this
heat.
Just yesterday I was telling my little boy Ronnie—”

“I’d like to hear what you told Ronnie,” I interrupted. “Some other time though. Right now I need to know what prompted you to get me out here.”

The woman stared like I’d been elected idiot of the week. “Because you’re with the government. You can end this. You know people.” She frowned. “Don’t you?”

“I know lots of people. Who do you mean, specifically?”

“I was hoping you might know somebody in the FBI. Maybe you could tell them.”

“Tell them what?”

She ran the tip of her tongue over her full lips. They looked very moist. And very inviting. Rein it in, Brenner
.
“About what Eli Cross is really up to.” The expression on her tired face was that of someone who’d just stepped off a very high cliff in the middle of the night, hoping there was a strong net somewhere below.

And with that I melted and did something I rarely do this quickly. I decided to give this woman my trust. For me that’s never easy, regardless of a person’s gender, but time was running out. Taking the gamble, I hoped I was right.

“Before you continue, Shelly, you need to know something.” The words hung. If I was wrong … well, I couldn’t afford to be wrong. “My name isn’t John Fields.”

“What?” Confusion clouded her features, suddenly slipping away, to be replaced by stark terror. She backed away, babbling. “Oh God, did Eli bring you in? I should have known it. Listen, I told you, I’ve got a little boy. He’s only four. Since my husband left us, I’m all he has. Please don’t hurt him, he’s got nothing to do with this—”

Taking a step toward her, I held up a calming hand. “Wait, stop. It’s not what you’re thinking. I’m not on Cross’s payroll. My name’s John Brenner. I’m here to help.”

“What?” She quit talking, her panic-stricken eyes wide. “Say that again.”

“I’ve been asked to find a missing girl and bring her home.”

“A missing girl?”

“That’s right.” I could tell she wanted to believe me, but fear stopped her. Reaching in my back pocket, I pulled out my wallet and flipped it open. “See? There’s my driver’s license with my real, full name. Friends just call me John.” I searched her eyes. “Okay?”

I could almost sense the tension leaving her. “Okay. I guess.”

“Here’s the thing, Shelly. I think someone at GeneSys has her. Maybe you’ve seen her. She’s twenty-one, pretty, with long black hair. Her name is Sarah Cahill.”

“We don’t have anybody named Sarah Cahill.”

“She may be going by the name of Raven.”

“Raven?” Shelly’s mouth fell open. “I know her, she’s one of the ones in the women’s dorm, where I’m stationed, on Level Six. She’s been there just a few days.”

“One of the ones? How many are there now?”

“Three children, and maybe twenty-five men and women. Including this Sarah you’re looking for.”

That many? Holy shit. “Is she all right?”

“The last time I looked she was.”

“Which was when?”

“Maybe four hours ago. Right before I clocked out.”

Relief flooded me. Four hours. Maybe I still had time.

Shelly was still staring as I once again leaned on my car. I patted the area next to me. “Might as well make yourself comfortable. We’ve got some stories to swap.”

*

Swap we did. I gave her the Reader’s Digest version of why I was here, hitting the high points of the last few days. Then she told me her side.

And what a tale it was.

According to her, GeneSys had been constructed a little over two years ago, and it wasn’t too much of a stretch to say its timely arrival had pulled Harrisville from the brink of bankruptcy. The story was as sad as it was familiar: a struggling farm village, miles from the nearest interstate, slowly drying up and dying as its youth fled its confines for a living wage, and a better life.

And then Eli Cross and his traveling nightmare circus had arrived.

Eli had dazzled the mayor and town council with his charm, his money, and his sure promise of Harrisville’s rebirth as the world headquarters of his new agricultural technology. How better to say it? Like starved men, they flat ate it up.

Construction on the dome had begun almost immediately, although not without controversy. A few of the more bold townspeople wondered aloud why it was going up where it was, better than a mile out of town at the old McAllister place. It was well known the land out there was terrible, the soil acidic and rocky. They said a man could work it all season and about the best he could expect for his efforts would be a crop of blisters.