A Treasure Deep (7 page)

A Canadian company had, about the same time,
announced that it had achieved the unbelievable pairing of spiders
and goats. Spider genes were crossed with genetic material in goats
so that the much sought-after spider silk could be produced in the
goat’s milk. It was heralded as a source for everything from
artificial tendons to lightweight body armor to biodegradable
fishing line. The world barely blinked.

As early as 2000, China’s Office of Genetic
Engineering Safety Administration approved over 250 biotech plants,
microorganisms, and animals. And Rutherford knew they were at least
three years behind the curve.

The industrial wave had crashed to shore
three hundred years ago; the information age less than
seventy-five. Each changed the world remarkably and with unexpected
suddenness. The biotech wave was no wave at all. Instead of
crashing to shore with tsunami-like intensity, it rolled in like an
unusually high tide. People remarked about some of the “Hollywood”
issues like cloning, but were blissfully unaware of other
developments. The waters of change would be over their heads before
people knew their feet were wet. That was just the way Rutherford
Straight liked it.

He refocused his attention on one of the
screens. Money was being made by the truckload. The era of
scientists seeking knowledge for its own sake was gone. Words like
“insight,” “discovery,” “world knowledge” were replaced by other
terms: “patents,” “IPOs,” and “secrecy.” Where once scientists
freely shared information, they now hoarded it until they could
realize the full financial benefit. Despite science journalists and
ethicists who decried the practice as selfish, it made perfect
sense to Rutherford.

The image on the monitor showed a shaggy,
blond-haired man in the traditional lab coat seated at a metal desk
next to a wall. His hair hung to his shoulders. Before him was a
computer terminal, and he was hunched over the keyboard. Dr. Benton
Carmack, MD, PhD.

He was a rail-thin man who seldom spoke.
Rutherford had never known him to initiate a conversation other
than when the scientist talked to himself, which he did frequently.
The man was a poster boy geek with no life outside the lab.
Rutherford understood and admired that. Few things mattered more
than what went on inside these walls. Marriage, family,
entertainment—they were all things that got in the way of work and
slowed progress. Carmack went home only to sleep, and Rutherford
had seen him work two or three days with only an occasional nap.
Carmack’s focus and genius came close to that of his own.
Rutherford had assigned him several assistants, each one trained to
do more than science; they made sure the scientist ate and rested.
It was a difficult task.

Rutherford pressed another button on his
portable console. The action was carried to the computer by an
infrared beam. A slight sound came from the computer’s speakers,
letting Rutherford know that the communication link was open.

“Good afternoon, Dr. Carmack,” Rutherford
said.

There was no response, but he knew the system
was working. He could hear the keys clacking and clicking as
Carmack typed on the keyboard.

He tried again. “Hello, Dr. Carmack.”

“Go away. I’m working,” Carmack snapped with
a wave of his hand. His eyes never left the computer monitor.

“It’s Dr. Straight; I’m sorry to
interrupt.”

“I said . . . who? Dr. Straight?” His voice
was thin and sharp. Rutherford watched as his employee raised his
head and looked around. He had never adjusted to talking to an
empty room.

“Press F12 on the keyboard, Doctor.”

“What . . . ? Oh, of course.”

Carmack did. Rutherford zoomed the camera in
for a tighter shot and had the odd experience of seeing his own
face on Carmack’s computer. “I’m sorry to disturb your work,
Doctor, but I wanted to make you aware that our little project may
be moving ahead soon.”

“Project?” Carmack said to the computer. “Oh,
yes. Yes, I remember. Soon, you say?”

Rutherford let slip a crooked smile. He
seldom smiled now, but when he did it was always crooked. One more
thing he could no longer do well. He smiled because Carmack spoke
like an elderly man although he was only thirty-two. It was the
result of too great a focus and too little time in social
environments. None of that mattered to Rutherford. “Yes, perhaps in
the next few days. Will you be ready?”

“Of course. I’ve been ready. I’m ready
now.”

“Very good, Doctor. I’ll let you know more
soon.”

“I’m ready. The equipment is ready. The lab
is ready.”

“I will have a new assistant to aid you. The
others should not be told of this.”

“I can do it myself. I don’t need help. I
don’t need an assistant.”

“Nonetheless, Doctor, I prefer to do it this
way. It will help me feel more involved. You can understand that,
can’t you?”

Carmack nodded repeatedly. “Involved. Yes, of
course. You should be involved.”

“You know, only the two of us can make this a
success,

don’t you?”

“Yes. I know. I know. I’ll make it work.”

“I trust you will, Dr. Carmack. I trust you
will.”

PERRY TOOK THE drive from the Trujillo residence
slowly. The narrow dirt road had taken a downhill turn. That was no
problem for the Explorer, which was designed for much more
challenging terrain. The road, however, was serpentine with several
blind turns. Perry was more worried about an unexpected meeting
with another car than losing traction.

He was also tired. The fatigue of travel with
little rest over two days weighed upon him like lead clothing. His
eyes were burning from weariness, and his stomach was a churning
cauldron of acid, the result of too much coffee and too little
food.

His plan was simple. Drive straight to the
motel and surrender to a few hours of much-needed nap time.

He’d already checked in with Jack using the
truck’s CB radio and received a report of the last hour’s activity.
The various surveys were being reviewed again and a few small
surveys done. “Measure twice, drill once,” Jack had said.

Jack had then told Perry to get some rest,
threatening to kick his fanny all the way down the hill if he
showed up anytime in the next few hours. Perry needed no
coaxing.

Staying awake long enough to find the motel
was his most pressing challenge. Steering the big SUV around
another turn, Perry tried to bridle his excitement, but it was a
wrestling match he was doomed to lose. He just hoped that he’d be
able—

There was a loud and sustained horn
blast.

Perry hit the brakes and turned the steering
wheel sharply to the right, running the big vehicle up a small
embankment. He felt the front fender dig into the soft soil. Next
to him a white Dodge pickup shot past, missing the Explorer by
inches. Perry stopped the car and looked at his side mirror just in
time to see the driver offer an apologetic wave as he drove
off.

“No, really, I’m fine,” Perry said
sarcastically as he eased the Ford back on the road and started
downhill again. “And they say city folk are crazy drivers.”

The near collision removed the shroud of
sleepiness that had been descending upon him. Adrenaline laced his
blood, and his heart was running a few beats faster. He shook his
head and continued toward town. The time slogged by, but Perry
finally arrived at the two-story building. An oval green sign read:
Oak Glen Lodge. The structure looked to be twenty years old but
well taken care of. Air-conditioning units hung from the beige wall
just below each window.

Perry had hoped for better, but he knew Jack
had worked to arrange rooms for the entire crew in the same
building. Communication was more efficient when everyone was
nearby.

Jack had told him that the place was clean
and had two conference rooms. A restaurant shared a parking lot
with the motel. Just as important, it had a recently updated phone
and Internet system. That’ll make things easier, Perry thought.

The manager greeted Perry as if he were a
long lost uncle, something Perry attributed to his firm having
filled three-quarters of the total rooms—and paying in advance.
After a handshake and short conversation, Perry walked into room
110.

He was pleasantly surprised. He’d assumed
that the building would have displayed its age in old furniture and
scarred walls. Instead, he found a queen-size bed, a large
table/desk, and a fully refurbished bathroom. This’ll do, he
thought.

Closing the door behind him, Perry finished
his survey. A fireplace was tucked away in a corner. His practiced
eye could see that it was a recent addition. His luggage was
situated on his bed. As usual, Jack had arranged for everything. On
the table was his Hewlett-Packard laptop computer, already plugged
into the wall, as was the modem cable. Jack had seen to
everything.

Ten minutes later, Perry had stripped off his
suit, washed his face, unpacked his clothing, and settled down on
the bed.

“I’M DRIVING US back,” Anne Fitzgerald said sharply.
“Assuming we arrive at our destination safely.”

“Come on, Mayor,” Bob replied with a wide
grin. “It wasn’t that close. Consider it just another little
adventure in your life.”

“Some adventure. Do you know how much work it
is to keep the gray out of my hair? You set the process back at
least a year.”

“You know what driving these back roads is
like. They’re narrow and winding. That’s why we drive slowly. Do
you know who that was?” Bob steered around the next corner, and
Anne held her breath.

“No, but I think it was one of the workmen
from Sachs Engineering. The truck was the same yellow as the ones I
saw in the caravan.”

“Too bad we didn’t bump fenders. It would
have saved us the drive to the site. Assuming we can find the site
in the first place.”

“I don’t want to talk to some employee. I
want a face-to-face with the head honcho.” Anne shifted in her
seat.

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Bob said.

“Especially if the cat was in the car with
you.”

Bob replied with a laugh. “Has anyone ever
told you that you have a tendency to make mountains out of
molehills?”

“A few people.”

“Like who?”

“Like every one of my friends and family.
It’s what endears me to them—Wait! Stop!”

Bob brought the pickup to a halt. “What? What
is it?”

“Back up, Bob. I think I saw something down
that side road we just passed.”

Putting the truck in reverse, Bob backed up
slowly until he was at the narrow intersection of dirt roads.
Another dirt path veered east from the road they were on.

“There,” Anne said, pointing at a black puff
rising from beyond a hill. “Is that diesel smoke?”

Bob nodded. “It sure looks like it. There are
tracks on the path, big tracks. They look fresh too.”

Anne strained against her seat belt and
peered out Bob’s window. “Tire tracks and they’re close together,
like those big trucks with two tires on the back.”

“Maybe you should be a detective, Mayor.
That’s a pretty keen insight.”

“That’s the road we want. Drive on,
Jeeves.”

“Jeeves? Great, I’ve been demoted to
chauffeur.”

“Not yet,” Anne said, “but the day’s not
over.”

Anne kept her eyes fixed forward as the truck
pulled up the rise. Oak trees dotted the hills, rising from the
gentle green slope of the mountains. Warmth swelled in her, and she
almost felt guilty for living in such a beautiful place. She felt
as if they were driving through a post card. It was this unspoiled
beauty she wished to maintain from wanton development. It was bad
enough to have hundreds of giant windmills spinning their
propellers in the ever-present wind. She lost more battles than she
won when it came to preserving the paradise of the Tehachapi
Mountains. But she did win enough to keep fighting.

The crest of the hill gave way to a slope
sharper than the one they’d just ascended. At the bottom and just
to the south of the road were a string of parked vehicles, the same
ones she’d seen pass through town.

“Bingo,” Bob said. “You got a nose for this
kind of thing.”

“Pull behind the bus. We found the caravan;
now let’s see if we can find the people who go with it.”

Anne was out of the truck before Bob had set
the parking brake. She walked along the line of parked vehicles.
Some were painted yellow and had the words Sachs Engineering
printed on the side. The sound of a diesel engine rolled down the
hill. Anne turned and saw truck tracks leading up the hill to a
grove of oaks a quarter mile up the grade.

“Walk or drive?” Bob asked. He had come up
behind her.

“Drive,” Anne decided. “I’m not wearing my
hiking boots. Besides, the city paid for a four-wheel-drive truck;
it’s time we got our money’s worth out of that investment.”

Once back in the truck, Bob dropped it into
gear and pointed it up the hill. From a distance, the surface
looked smooth and even. In the cab of a truck with stiff
suspension, Anne learned that there were more bumps than she could
have imagined. Her small frame was bounced against the door, and at
times her head hit the ceiling.

“Could you make this a little rougher?” she
snipped. “I’m starting to doze off.”

“That sounds like sarcasm,” Bob replied.

“You are perceptive.”

The hill gave way to an open expanse of
pasture outlined by several groves of trees. To Anne’s right and
ahead about a quarter mile was a large truck with thick metal
tubing swaying in the back. The truck was headed to the oak grove.
“What is that?” Anne asked.

“It’s a drilling rig,” Bob said.

“You mean like for oil?”

“More like water,” he explained. “I’ve seen
them before. Farmers and ranchers often hire companies to come out
and drill wells. All that metal you see at the back of the truck is
the drilling rig. The truck backs up to the right spot, erects the
rig, and starts drilling right from the back of the truck. Pretty
neat really.”