Sector C (16 page)

“We’re simply doing our due diligence in investigating.”

“That still doesn’t tell me why you’re here rather than at County Gener al.”

“We’re following up a lead that the disease may have started with cows or other animals. We want to know if any of your stock
are
showing symptoms.”

“I can assure you, Mr. Shafer, we have no cows or other farm animals on our property.”

“What exactly
do
you have?”

“Exactly what our permits allow us to have.”

“Which is?” If the stakes weren’t so serious, Mike would have actually been enjoying sparring with Helen.

“We have breeding specimens of a number of exotic and endangered animals here. In fact, that’s where part of the Triple E company name comes from: Exotic and Endangered. We have geneticists on
staff who are
actively engaged in preserving a healthy pool of DNA to produce vigorous offspring. We have a patented
in vitro
process that produces 90 percent viable zygotes that are either implanted into suitable surrogate mothers or frozen for later implantation.”

“Ninety percent?”
Donna said. “That’s fantastic.”

Helen smiled.
“One of the reasons for all the corporate secrecy.
Genetics is a hot, up-and-coming business and we want to be sure we stay a step or two ahead of the competition.”

“So,” Mike tried to keep up, “you clone endangered species —”

“Not clone,” Helen was quick to correct. “Cloning doesn’t give you the diversified gene pool really needed to produce strong, healthy offspring consistently. We do it the old-fashioned way by taking the genetic material from an egg and mixing it with the DNA from a sperm. Once that union takes, the resulting cell is called a zygote. We let it divide a few times in our own special nutrient broth, then take the developing zygote and implant it in the uterus of a surrogate mother.”

“Like a tiger?”

Helen looked sharply at Donna.
“Into anything genetically similar to what the fetus will become.
Using tigers as an example, you could implant a Bengal zygote into a Siberian surrogate and, 100 days later, have a healthy Bengal cub. Or, in our case, we encourage multiple births. That’s one reason we freeze most of the zygotes first — so we can implant the most vigorous specimens at the same time; get the most return for our investment resources. We can also implant multiple varieties of a species into one surrogate. Keeping with the tiger example, a Siberian surrogate could birth a Sumatran, Black, White and Bengal cub all in one litter.”

“What’s your game?” Helen cocked an eyebrow at Mike’s question. “R&D’s expensive. How do you guys make money?”

“That, Mr. Shafer, is quite literally our business. Suffice it to say we have the necessary permits to run that business, together with the necessary and qualified staff to look after the animals.”

“I don’t understand. You say it’s a business, that you have competitors. I get you may have advanced biology techniques, but what’s so secret about the operation that you can’t even say how you earn a living?”

“Two reasons, Mr. Shafer. The first, for your ears alone, is that there are some misguided organizations that would not approve of what we do. The second is that our clientele is very exclusive and our product limited. We simply don’t want to be badgered by those we don’t approach ourselves — and that especially includes the media. Our mystery and exclusivity is a big part of what we sell. As Marketing Director, my salary is based on how well I can maintain that brand.

“I’m happy to answer your questions on a need-to-know basis.
That
, however, is one piece of information you do not need to know.”

“If it’s related in any way to the investigation, then it’s our business to know.”

“I believe the burden of proof is on you to tell me how our isolated compound, as remote as we are, can possibly be a part of your investigation.
Especially as we do not engage in any trade that leads to the consumption of our exotic animals.”

“One of my clients recently found the remains of a tiger on his land,” Donna said. “That was strange enough out here. What was stranger still was that it was a white tiger.
A rarity.
The kind you say Triple E breeds. Are you going to tell us it wasn’t your tiger?”

Helen sighed. “Unfortunately, we did have an escape.
The first in nearly ten years.
A purely accidental set of circumstances.
I think I’ve laid out why we didn’t want the publicity associated. If it’s a legal matter, you’ll need to speak with our lawyers — we have two on retainer. Otherwise, we’ve taken the proper extra precautions — double lockdown, if you will. There will be no such escapes again.” 

Something important about the tiger escaping niggled at the edge of Donna’s brain. Something that maybe could be a link if she could just dredge the idea up and shape it logically. She floundered, trying to keep the conversation going while her internal thought processes kept working on the seed of the idea that flickered, barely alive on the rim of her subconscious. “But it wasn’t out here isolated from everything else. It had traveled to the ranches and was killing livestock.” 

“As I said,” Helen’s tone had turned from marketing-friendly to corporate-cool, “your clients will need to take that up privately with our lawyers. Otherwise, I don’t see how the incident is linked to your current investigation. So if you have no further questions …” She pressed a button on the reception desk.

“Can we see the animals?” Mike asked.

“With the sheriff and a warrant, yes.
They’re classified as private corporate assets. Anything further I can help you with?”

“No, I suppose not.
For now.
Doctor, do you have anything?”

Donna shook her head, frustrated that her brain wasn’t working fast enough.
If the idea — more hunch, really — even had any bearing on the issue at hand.

Their previous escort slipped in unobtrusively through the French doors.

“Then Ms. March,” Mike said, “thank you for your time. If the investigation does develop further, we may be back with additional questions. And the appropriate warrants.”

“My pleasure, Mr. Shafer.
Cherie will see you out. Just follow the drive back the way you came. I’ll notify the guard so you won’t have to stop.”

“Please.” Cherie extended her hand, palm up, toward the exit, and Helen took the opportunity to politely disappear through the French doors.

“Think our conversation was taped?” Donna whispered as they walked back to their vehicles.

“Think it? Know it. I also think we’ll be back. She was just too … slick. And I so don’t like slick. Let’s regroup and get some late lunch. Any place to eat around here?”

THE LITTLE DINER OFF OF 85 with the pig on its sign was a hospitable enough place. Only once they were inside and Mike was looking at the chalkboard menu did he realize he wasn’t prepared to order any of the entrees off of it. Not the open-faced burger or the barbecue ribs or the northern-fried steak that was
just like its cousin only beefier
. He settled for twice-baked mashed potatoes and black beans with jalapenos.

“Not one of those vegetarians, are you?” the waitress asked. Mike thought she meant it snidely until she continued.
“Because we have a vegetable sampler plate on the lunch specials.
Order another veggie and
a bread
for just two dollars more.”

He didn’t correct her, but he did take her up on the offer and added an ear of corn and a seeded rye roll. He noted Donna had taken the safe route, too: summer salad and beer-battered onion rings.

They sat across a rough-hewn plank table from one another, two of only six clients in the rustic diner. After the day’s events, the unhurried atmosphere here was just what they each needed. Not to unwind but to catch up on other work that couldn’t be neglected. Mike followed the progress of the CDIC team investigating the ERs and logged his own report of his visits to the Spalding Ranch and to Triple E. Donna texted with Mrs. Rourke, who was keeping an eye on the patients at the clinic since Chad was out and referring any new patients to her colleague in Arnegard for the next few days.

Must’ve gottn dzn calls — dogs, cats sudnly having seizures,
Mrs. Rourke had sent.
Ref’d to Abroudi.
Ur leaving $$$ on table not being here
.

The message chilled Donna. She thought of Alfie, alone in the house, and wondered if Alfie would start having seizures. And if she did, what would she think if Donna weren’t there with her? Would she be scared or would she be too confused to know something different was happening to her?

It wasn’t fair, Donna thought. If you had a terminally ill relative — even one you weren’t especially close to — people understood if you grieved. Companies even had to grant you Family Leave if you needed time to care for them. Acquaintances forgave your lapses. Support was offered from every corner. But for a companion animal — even one who’d never missed a day of work with you, who slept beside you at night, ate with you, played with you, listened to you and who was closer to you than blood — most people couldn’t understand the grief, offering at most a sympathetic frown yet still expecting 100 percent from you. How
was it
anyone had the capacity to tone down the grief and continue to function?

“Something wrong?”
Mike asked.

There was a genuine look of concern in the man’s kind eyes, Donna thought. But there was nothing he could do. Not with an impending crisis at his door. He, too, would expect 100 percent. That’s what being strong, responsible and adult meant. But more than anything she just wanted to be home with Alfie, to spend whatever was left of their allotted time together with her — and to hell with the rest of the world.

“That tiger,” she lied, pretending once again that Alfie simply didn’t exist and that her heart wasn’t being eaten through with a regret she knew would only sharpen once her sweet, intrepid collie no longer waited patiently for her to come home. “I keep thinking there’s a dot there we’re not connecting. I thought I almost had it talking to Helen, but whatever the idea was, it’s gone now ...”

“Gah, I hate that corporate doublespeak shit she was feeding us, don’t you? I felt like she was reading us a brochure or press release. I don’t believe all that competitor confidentiality stuff for a second. They’re hiding something. And what was that line about some organizations out there that wouldn’t approve of what they’re doing? I couldn’t tell if she meant left- or right-wing activists. The don’t-mess-with-God, gene-manipulation-is-a-bad-thing camp or
the we
-don’t-need-more-wild-animals-kept-behind-bars-let’s-break-them-out-of-prison extremists?

“Still, what we saw was clean and secure and, I must say, pretty impressive. They spent some bucks putting that facility together. There’s nothing right now I can go to the sheriff on to get a warrant. So if that idea comes to you and it helps, let me know.”

“Sure, I’ll do that.”

“You sure you’re OK? You seem distracted.
Bad news from the clinic?”

“Just that whatever it is seems to have jumped to more species. My receptionist started getting tons of calls about dogs and cats. It’s crazy. There’s nothing —
nothing
— that affects everything the way this thing does.”

“Maybe it’s some alien virus from outer space.
The Polaris Strain.
The Betelgeuse Bug.
Maybe it’s carried by fleas on prairie dogs or maybe
it’s
coyotes peeing it wherever they mark. One thing’s certain: we’ll be setting up quarantines for shipping any live animals out of the affected states for a while.” He held up his phone, which blinked incessantly with data feeds. “People are panicking after the newscasts this morning. We expected maybe double the number of people in ERs, but in the last few hours, it’s been more like triple. The CDIC
field
doctors are reporting up to 75 percent of the admissions are legitimate, too. That, or mass hysteria already has people faking the symptoms pretty well.”

“Oh, are you talking about that weird disease that’s going around?” The waitress set down her tray and began arranging plates of food on the table. “I heard about that.
Babies dying — could anything be worse?
But, hey, we’re so far out here in the country, I doubt anything could find us.” With a wink and a smile she headed to the next table to deliver the open-faced burger left on her serving tray.