The Colony: A Novel (6 page)

“Where are we going?” Paul asked.

“The one place
they
don’t know about.”

Paul passed the exterminator and said, “You know, that’s a total waste of time.”

Russo laughed and headed for his limo in the underground parking garage.

CHAPTER 9

THE CABIN OF THE
Cessna was exceedingly small. The luxurious interior couldn’t hide the fact that there was zero headroom, half a dozen seats and an aisle as wide as a squirrel. For three hours Kendra was in a sweat, trapped in a coffin two-thousand feet in the air.

She hated flying.
Really
hated it.

On her tray was a Thai chicken wrap, which definitely trumped the granola she’d been living on for months. But she felt nauseous from the flight—and besides, it almost certainly contained peanut oil. Despite the EpiPens packed in her duffel bag, it wasn’t worth taking a chance. That left ginger ale and a tiny bag of pretzels. She took tiny bites and little sips.

Agent Cameron was busy at a laptop across from Kendra. He didn’t seem to mind the cramped quarters, even though his legs protruded halfway down the aisle and the top of his head grazed the ceiling.

As soon as they boarded, the agent had given Kendra a stack of forms, nondiscloser statements and questionnaires, having to do with top-secret clearance. Reluctantly, she signed a document that stated, “Failure to comply with this agreement may result in criminal prosecution and up to 25 years in federal prison.”

The agent paid no attention to Kendra’s barrage of questions, offering only a silencing finger as he continued typing. It was infuriating being ignored.

She strained her neck, trying to read the folder by his side. It was labeled
Kendra Hart.
She let out a huff and slumped in her seat, unable to shake the feeling of being kidnapped, hunted down like a criminal. She turned to the billowing white clouds in the window, a constant reminder that the coffin was flying, and it sent a chill down her spine. Maybe the government wanted her for some kind of secret experiment. If she were to disappear, who would really notice? The university faculty perhaps, but they could be silenced. There was no family or friends checking in on her whereabouts. She was the perfect specimen.

Kendra tried to reel in her paranoia, attempting to focus on something positive, like her work, but even that made her fidgety and restless.

“How much gas does this thing hold?” she grumbled. “Maybe we should stop for a fill-up.”

Cameron’s eyes didn’t wander from the screen.

“Hey,” she shouted. “They teach you how to ignore people at the Bureau? Some kind of course—FBI’m a Dickhead 101?”

“Pretty trashy mouth for a dainty desert flower,” he said.

Kendra was encouraged that at least he’d finally spoken. “I’m more of a cactus,” she replied sharply.

The agent chuckled.

“What’s your problem? You have something against entomologists?”

Cameron shrugged. “It’s hard to believe there are that many
adults
looking at bugs all day. How can you possibly make a living?”

“Amazingly, the world of insects is quite profitable. Pesticides, royal jelly, silks, soaps.”

“That’s right. You owned some big company. What’s it called? Invicta.” He furrowed his brow, thinking. “That’s a species of ant. Latin for ‘invincible.’”

“You’re smarter than you look,” she muttered.

“So what’s your racket?”

“Pheromone manipulation.”

“Oh yeah. Insect birth control—what will they think of next?”

Kendra rolled her eyes, fairly used to snide comments. The work she was conducting in the desert stemmed from a relatively newer branch of entomology. Integrated pest management, or IPM, involved more sophisticated, biologically based methods of controlling insect populations in agriculture. Often this included the manipulation of insect pheromones. By saturating crops with a synthetic version of a female insect’s mating odor, scientists could jam the mating communication system of males so they could never locate a female. They would eventually die, single and confused.

Despite studies showing that pheromone manipulation was ecofriendly, highly effective and could potentially yield up to a 1,000 percent return on its investment in one year, it remained grossly underutilized, a tiny fraction of pest management. Not only was the process of isolating, identifying and synthesizing pheromones extremely difficult and expensive, the biggest problem by far was the world’s pesticide-dependent mentality. The six agrochemical giants were multibillion-dollar gods of the farming industry that were only too happy to unveil the next generation of toxic chemicals, as insects became resistant to the old ones. Poison was the solution of choice, despite the fact that only 2 percent of pesticides usually hit the intended targets, and 98 percent ended up in the air, soil and drinking water, while killing off beneficial, indigenous insects. IPM was meant to break the cycle of chemical dependence and Kendra was slowly making a name for herself in the small circle of IPM researchers.

“You people like to complain about bug spray,” Cameron said, “but God forbid there’s a worm in your apple.” He laughed at himself.

Kendra turned up her lip. “There are some creatures in the world more annoying than insects.”

Cameron nodded, seeming to have missed the joke, and then asked, “You mean like members of COP?”

Kendra knew he was referring to Citizens Overseeing Pesticides, a somewhat radical group of entomology students at Harvard. Kendra had been a member in graduate school and written a number of journal articles for the organization. COP had become notorious by uncovering secret memos and documents inside the EPA and various chemical companies, finding links between pesticides and such phenomena as colony collapse in honeybees, the rise of ADHD in children, and elevated hormones in girls. They made national headlines with claims that the average American is exposed to more than ten different pesticide residues on their food each day, and the fact that more than 50 percent of the insecticides used in poor countries was neither monitored nor approved.

“Bunch of communists,” the agent said under his breath.

Kendra’s ears popped as the plane seemed to drop, and she threw her attention toward the window. They had reached the coast. New York Harbor was shimmering gold in the late afternoon sun. The Statue of Liberty looked smaller than she remembered, with a melancholy face.

Kendra blew out a disgruntled breath. “So what’s in New York?”

“Christ, where’ve you been for two weeks?”

“Why don’t you check your folder?”

“All right,” Cameron said with a leer that rattled her. He settled back comfortably in the seat and leafed through the folder. “Parents were both entomologists. That explains a lot … died when you were seven years old … murdered in South America.” He looked at Kendra straight-faced. “How very sad.”

Kendra stiffened.

“Well, well. The cactus has a brain. Six years at Harvard … married your professor … Dr. Paul O’Keefe.” He flipped the last page. “Then the promising star of the bug world disappeared into the desert.”

For a moment, all she could manage was a cold stare, but then the muscles of her jaw relaxed into a grin. “You’re funny, you know? Clean-cut. Slick suit. Probably specialize in waterboarding, right?” Kendra didn’t flinch when the agent scowled. “Know what? I didn’t break any laws. I’m not your prisoner. The second we land—I’m gone.”

Cameron turned away with a slow nod and appeared calm. Kendra felt victorious but then he stood up tall, casually brushing away crumbs from his suit, and sidestepped across the aisle. A chill hit Kendra in the marrow of her bones when he fell into the seat next to her, smelling of fresh linen and testosterone and fixing his pale blue eyes upon her. He lifted an arm over her chair and pulled back his jacket to reveal a gun holstered to his chest. For some reason Kendra found it alarming that this particular federal agent was carrying a weapon.

In his most sarcastic tone he said, “You know, Professor, that’s really brave of you, standing up to the government like that. I really admire that kind of
spunk.
”

She turned toward the window.

“Just one thing,” he whispered. “Now look at me, dear.” His thumb reached out and drew her face back toward him. Kendra was jolted by his touch. “This is a very serious matter of national security,” he explained softly. “You could call it a matter of life and death.”

Kendra tried to be cool, forced a sarcastic chuckle.

“Yes, I know it sounds cliché,” he continued. “But I want to make sure you understand the gravity of the situation and possible consequences of your actions. I
am
authorized to use force to get you to New York.” His fingers casually rubbed the edge of his lapel so that his jacket opened wider and the gun was completely exposed. “Do you understand what I’m saying? Nod your head so I know that you do.”

Kendra stayed perfectly still, except for a slight tremble of her bottom lip.

Cameron searched her face and found what he expected. “Good. Now we understand each other.”

Kendra didn’t move until Cameron returned to his seat, and then she shut her eyes and exhaled.

The agent closed his laptop and straightened his tie. “Better fasten your seat belt.”

The Cessna seemed to take a dive and Kendra grabbed the armrests to steady herself. They were descending somewhere over Long Island. The plane eased down on the runway at LaGuardia, then taxied to a restricted area for government aircraft. The pilot parked next to a row of matching Cessnas and when the engine fell silent, he released the door and it unfolded into a staircase.

Agent Cameron put away his folders and laptop and motioned Kendra toward the exit. She stopped at the doorway, staring up at the blue sky over Queens and a hazy, far-off view of the Manhattan skyline. She breathed in air that wasn’t anything like that of the desert and wiped her watery eyes.

The pilot took Kendra’s hand as she came down the stairs.
LT. COLONEL DALE HASKIN
was printed on the gold wings pinned to the lapel of his uniform. He hadn’t said a word during the flight but now he was friendly, smiling, and picked up her duffel bag.

“Trip okay?”

“Terrific.”

A black-windowed sedan was idling on the tarmac. Cameron waited by the open door and slipped into the backseat after Kendra, but this time she wasn’t afraid. Anger blunted fear. And besides, her curiosity was piqued. She found it intriguing to be back in this particular city and wondered if it had anything to do with the one person she knew in New York: her ex-husband.

CHAPTER 10

KENDRA GAZED AT THE
overlapping skyscrapers through the tinted windows of the car. She had grown accustomed to the vastness of the desert landscape, layered in earth tones and unbroken sky. New York City seemed like another planet with its gray sooty streets and towering granite buildings, throngs of pedestrians, steaming metal carts of food, vendors hawking knockoff designer watches and handbags. Angular women in bright-colored suits and white sneakers walked briskly by and swarthy men in hard hats relaxed along a chain-link fence.

It was close to rush hour and the car moved slowly. Kendra tried to figure out which direction they were headed. The street numbers were getting smaller, so it was definitely downtown, away from the Museum of Natural History and Paul. That was some relief. Besides, she thought, with all the traveling Paul did it was unlikely he was even in New York. He was probably in some exotic country or lecture hall or picking up an award for being so damn perfect. It was Kendra, after all, being summoned by the FBI as a scientist for her expertise and knowledge. Something her former husband never seemed to notice.

Still, she could almost
feel
Paul somewhere in the city and suddenly found herself reeling back in time, to the first moment she’d set eyes on him. It was her junior year at Harvard. Paul was teaching insect ecology and Kendra fell head over heels on the first day of class. His velvety brown eyes seemed to look into her soul and he had the hands of an artist, long and graceful with large bony knuckles. They moved slowly and sensually. She remembered one particular day when Paul was tracing the exoskeleton of an enlarged plastic termite, his fingers gliding across its body, his soothing voice in a whisper that transfixed her. A delicious feeling of excitement was building inside her and when he placed his hand down on the figurine, cupping its enormous petiole, she actually moaned out loud. Fortunately, hers blended in with a dozen other moans. Unbeknownst to him, there was a fairly large consensus among the female student body that Dr. Paul O’Keefe had some kind of mystical power over women’s libidos and they began to refer to his lectures as “quickies.”

Kendra grew warm in the back of the sedan, thinking about their sizzling romance in the early years, but her skin cooled as she recalled five trying years of marriage. Paul insisted she play the part of the doting wife. She moved to New York and gave up her research while he flew around the world. Paul was on retainer for a chemical company and they had endless fights over everything from pesticide use to corporate control of the world’s food supply. Finally, she had enough and started a research company in California. They excelled in their careers but on opposite coasts, and while their passion for each other never waned, work seemed to overtake their lives, especially for Paul, whose visits and phone calls became more infrequent.

In the end, though, it was Kendra who had an affair and severed their marriage. It was stupid; she’d been angry and she never told Paul about the other man.

Kendra gazed out the window, to the United Nations complex and its majestic array of colorful flags slapping against the wind. The car slowed as it approached the General Assembly building. They rounded a corner to a massive windowless fortress of concrete and steel. A metal bar was raised and they parked in a garage with ten other black sedans.

Agent Cameron led Kendra to the back of the garage, checked his watch and muttered that they were running late. He traveled through a series of hallways and doors that required the swipe of an ID tag, a thumbprint match or iris scan. A rather odd-looking elevator was waiting at the end of the journey. It was circular and made of polycarbonate glass. Cameron touched the small of Kendra’s back to hurry her inside. There were no buttons on the wall but the curved transparent doors shut quietly. As they descended, a burst of air shot down from the ceiling as if from an exhausted locomotive, startling Kendra.