Chapter 37
I walk into Eduardo’s study: dark wooden floor, oriental carpet in the center, and all three walls, including the one we just came through, covered with books from floor to ceiling. The fourth wall has a large window, the weak light of the table lamp reflecting on its surface, the rest of the room engulfed in dark, giving it a soft and cozy feel. On the wooden desk—oiled but clearly old, with several scratches showing the raw wood underneath—stands a desktop computer. Behind is a dark brown leather chair, and in the front, with their backs toward us are two armchairs with high backs and shiny wooden armrests. I sit in the one to the right, falling deeply into the cushion.
Sam sits in the other armchair, pulls it closer to me, and turns it so that he faces me completely. He leans forward, propping his elbows on his knees.
“I’m all ears. Tell me.”
“This is confidential. You know that, right?” It’s a ridiculous thing to say, considering the circumstances, but I just have to. I want to be sure that he knows he’s in on a secret and he’s going to keep it that way.
He smiles reassuringly. “Yes, Jane. I know. That’s why I’m here.”
I take a deep breath and sigh. “Okay. So . . . a week and a half ago, David, my boss, gathered people from his lab for a new project. He said that . . . that it’s confidential, and that Dr. Rosenberg worked on it before. But after she died, he was asked to continue on, since it wasn’t finished yet.”
“Did he tell you who funded the project?”
I shake my head. “He said it had to be kept a secret, that he couldn’t. He also said the funding was very generous and that we could fund many of our future projects with that money, too.”
Sam nods, looking at the floor. Then he looks back at me. “Do you know what happened to Dr. Rosenberg?”
I frown. “Well . . . I think she had a—what’s it called—a brain aneurysm, and she had a hemorrhage.”
“She died of a brain hemorrhage all right, but it wasn’t an aneurysm. The hemorrhage was drug induced.”
I open my eyes wide. “What?”
“She was killed, Jane.”
My heart starts pumping wildly. The room starts spinning and I can’t seem to take another breath. My hands start shaking.
“Jane!” Sam shouts and takes both of my hands in his. “Calm down. Breathe. Breathe . . .”
One breath, and then another. And another.
They . . . killed her?
He holds my hands tightly but gently. “I’m sorry, Jane. I didn’t wanna . . .” He looks down. “I’m sorry.”
These things don’t happen. Not in my life. They—can’t.
I look up. “David!”
“What about him?”
“Frank said that—that he had a car accident. Do you think . . . ?” I can’t even say it.
Sam takes a deep breath. “I don’t know, Jane. I haven’t heard anything.”
I look down at the old wooden floor, shaking my head. “What if they did it?”
“We don’t know that yet. It could have been just an accident.”
I look up at him. “But you don’t believe that, do you?”
He takes a breath and holds it for a second. Then he exhales. “No.”
I swallow and look down at my hands, trapped inside his, hidden between his large palms.
I try hard not to think of Frank and what they could do to him. “Too many . . . bad things . . . have happened,” I whisper. “It shouldn’t be like this.”
“I know, Jane. It shouldn’t. But someone wants this project finished. Someone wants results, and they’ll continue until they reach that goal. Let’s try and stop them, all right? So—tell me about your project.”
I keep looking at him, but I just can’t think clearly.
He lowers his head slightly, still looking at me, and narrows his eyes. “Tell me about the bacteria, Jane.”
“Bacteria . . . yes. Okay . . .” I look at the floor and try to focus. Okay, okay—let’s try and stop them. Though I still don’t know how.
I look up and start, “David showed us these new bacteria. He said they belong to the Thermus strain and that they grow at a hundred and fifty-eight degrees Fahrenheit, which is why all the physical work was automated by robotic liquid handlers in a sealed laboratory.
“The amazing thing—and I tell you, I’ve never seen anything like it before—was their incredible growth rate.” I look up into Sam’s eyes. “I saw them growing, Sam, with my own eyes. They covered an empty Petri dish within a minute. Full. It was fascinating and scary at the same time.”
Sam nods. “That’s what drew our attention to the project in the first place. Do you know how they duplicate so fast?”
“I don’t. Apparently, they have a very specific mutation. But”—I lower my gaze to the floor—“I never looked at the data.”
“I see. These were the genomics data that came in on Tuesday evening, right?”
I nod. The data I didn’t look at. The data that I didn’t copy onto my memory stick. The data that—
“What else do you know about these bacteria?” he asks, not letting me dwell too much on my own failings.
“I am pretty sure they don’t grow at a hundred and fifty-eight degrees Fahrenheit.”
“Why do you think that?”
“There was an experiment we did, where a sample came out of the sealed room, and it was not hot at all. Miyako thought it might have been cooled down during the transfer from the hot lab to us—but then, a few days ago, a proteomics results came in and—”
“Which proteomics results?”
I wave my hand. “Sorry, I keep jumping. So, the bacteria feeds and grows on a growth medium—”
“The gel agar, right?”
“That’s right. One of the guys in our lab—Chris—he figured out the food gel of Crazy Gro wasn’t what we thought it was, so we sent it to the proteomics department. There, they can figure out what the food is made of. And that was—let me think—Wednesday morning—”
“Yesterday.”
I look up quickly. Yesterday? “Right, yesterday.” It feels like days ago . . . “So, yes, yesterday morning, Siddhartha, from the proteomics lab, called to tell me the results. The food gel—it’s blood agar.” The last sentence comes an octave higher.
Sam furrows his eyebrows. “That doesn’t sound good at all.”
“No, it isn’t. It means the bacterial cells thrive in blood.”
Sam takes a deep breath. Then he stands up and pulls his silver flip phone from his pocket. “I need to report this. Is there anything else?”
“Yes.”
“Okay . . .” Sam sits down again.
“Frank called me yesterday morning too. I . . . I was asleep, but he left a message on my phone. He said that Crazy Gro are not Thermus.”
“What are they?”
“He wouldn’t say. He said I needed to see it with my own eyes, and that I should come right away.”
Sam nods. “And the genomics results that came in on Tuesday—they would tell you what these cells really are, right?”
“Yes.”
He stands up again. “We need to find out what’s in that file.” He heads for the door, opening his phone and speed-dialing. Before the person on the other side answers, he disappears into the corridor.
I keep looking at the empty doorway for a moment. Then I stand and walk to the window. It faces the same side as my guestroom, so I know I’m looking into a valley of grapevines, but this far away from the bright lights of civilization, all I see is dark.
Then I look up and see the stars.
Thousands and thousands of them. And they look familiar. And calming.
Just like they did on Aunt Sue’s farm at Pine Creek.
The next moment, Eduardo runs into the room. “Jane! Where is Sam?”
I turn. “He just walked out. He was about to call someone.”
“Mierda!” He turns and strides down the corridor.
I run to the door too, following him.
“Sam!” Eduardo shouts, looking into the other rooms.
Then the front door opens and Sam walks in, just closing his cell phone.
“Sam!” Eduardo walks toward him. “We’ve got company!”
“Who?”
“Don’t know. Two vehicles turned down the road. Crashed the gate.”
Sam and Eduardo pace toward the last door on the right. Eduardo puts a hand on the door and waits for a fraction of a second, and the door unlocks.
He pushes the door open and continues, Sam following him in. “How many men?”
“I don’t know,” I hear Eduardo say, “Could be eight. Or more.”
I stop at the door and look in. The room is dimly lit. There is a computer standing on the small table and next to it are three tall metal racks, stacked with green-blinking servers. Sam and Eduardo stand at the small table, their backs to me.
“All you need for the transfer is here,” Eduardo says as he’s putting items into a backpack on the table. “It will get you to the next station.”
He closes the backpack, and Sam smoothly picks it up and starts walking back toward me. “Thanks!”
“De nada. As always.”
I move away from the door, then Eduardo closes it and the door locks again.
Lucretia has appeared out of nowhere as well. She is fully dressed, a backpack on her shoulder, Beast under her arm.
“Here,” says Eduardo, giving Sam a car key. “Take the Audi. It’s faster than your rental and matte gray is hard to see at night. Go!”
“Thanks, Eduardo,” Sam says. “I owe you, as always.” Then he leans in and hugs both of them at the same time for two seconds, then lets go. “I’m sorry I got you into this mess.”
“Don’t worry, Sam. You saved my skin more times than I can remember.” Eduardo pats his shoulder.
“Will you two be okay?”
“If they try to follow us, they will get lost in the labyrinth of the vineyard.” Eduardo turns to me. I offer my hand for a handshake and I’m about to tell him how nice it was to meet them, but instead of taking my hand, he hugs me, catching me off guard, and I stay speechless.
“Take care of yourself,” he whispers. “And of him.” Then he lets me go.
“I will.”
Lucretia hugs me as well and gives me a kiss on the cheek.
“Thank you,” I say, hoping it will convey everything else I want to say but don’t have the time to express.
“Come, we need to go!” says Sam and takes my hand. “Until next time, amigo!”
“Next time. Be safe.”
I hurry behind him, then turn one more time to say goodbye, but the two are already gone.
We step into the cool night and walk down to the Audi, almost invisible in the dark. Sam throws our bags into the trunk of the car and closes it with a soft thud. Then we both get in the car and Sam turns on the engine, the car silently purring to life.
All the lights are off, but it doesn’t seem to bother Sam. He reverses, then continues down the gravel stone road between the vineyards, opposite the direction we came from.
“Can you see where you’re going?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure those people are after us?”
“Yes.”
I turn one more time to see the house, already fading in the dark countryside. “But how did they know where to find—oh, crap!” I duck instinctively. Sam quickly glances into the rearview mirror but continues driving, calm and steady. Two cars just stopped next to the house, their black shiny metal sides reflecting the warm light coming from the windows.
Just before the trail takes us behind a bend, I see men coming out of the cars. Oh, no—they’ll see us!
Then, a moment later, Sam makes a curve around a small ridge and we are out of sight.
I turn back to the front, my heart pounding. We are quiet for several minutes. Sam still has all the lights turned off, but he is driving faster now.
“What about Eduardo and Lucretia?” I ask quietly.
“They’ll be fine. You don’t need to worry.”
“But they had less time to—”
“I know,” he says and looks at me quickly. “Lucretia and Eduardo are safer than we are now, trust me.”
I look at the dark road ahead, not quite convinced.
We shouldn’t have come! It was us who brought all of this on them. We shouldn’t have—
Then, all of a sudden, something catches my attention: an orange light on the windshield. I frown and lean in to look closer. Then it dawns on me—it’s a reflection from behind us—and I turn around.
Over the ridge, the night lights up, an orange bowl of twisting, flickering tongues, slithering through the many windows of the mansion, reaching up to the sky, spitting sparks, and braiding smoke into the dark. The quiet fields of hibernating grapevines surrounding Lucretia and Eduardo’s home are now illuminated by the golden light.
“Oh, my God!” I put both hands over my mouth. No! No, they didn’t. They couldn’t have! “Sam . . .” I whimper, looking at him.
Sam’s face seems calm, but his jaw muscles are tight, his arms straight and his fists clenched on the steering wheel, knuckles white.
I turn around again. Eduardo? Lucretia? Oh, they have to be all right!
I want to voice it but my throat is shut.
This is horrible!
Then Sam’s expression changes and he puts his hand inside his pocket. He takes out the cell phone, leans it on the wheel, and flips it open. He glances at it, then sighs in relief, leaning his head backward a bit.
“What, Sam? What was that?”
“Swearing,” he says, as he closes the phone and puts it away. “Lots of Spanish swearing. But they’re fine. They are all right.”
I close my eyes and put a hand on my chest, almost physically feeling the weight lifting from me.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “Thank you . . .”
Sam looks at me and then laughs.
I laugh too, finally letting go of the trapped tension. “That was a close one!” I say.
“I’ve had closer.”
I look at him, my laughter quickly dying out.
Closer? Really? Huh… I never imagined collecting information might be so dangerous . . .