Breathless (23 page)

Unable easily to put into words the ineffable quality of Puzzle and Riddle, which suggested that they were something different from any of the easy explanations that came to mind, Cammy merely said, “We’ve been avoiding theories.”

“They’re engineered,” Eleanor declared. “Multiple-species DNA.”

“It crossed my mind.” Cammy tossed back the covers and sat on the edge of the bed. “But creatures this complex? Nobody’s that far along yet.”

“These days, it’s not just engineering new bacteria to make them into little factories producing insulin and interferon. It’s not just modifying
Thiobacillus ferrooxidans
so it’ll be a better uranium-mining bacterium. We’re way beyond that.”

“Sure, I know. Some Chinese scientist imported a gene into pigs that makes them glow green in the dark. All kinds of crazy things are happening out there. But if Puzzle and Riddle were engineered, the science that made them would be magnitudes beyond the glowing-green-pig stunt.”

“Let me bring you up to date,” Eleanor said. “Let’s stay on pigs for a minute. Did you know pigs are being radically engineered to have organs suitable for transplantation into people?”

“I’ve heard something about it.”

“Pig organs that will be structurally, chemically, genetically so human that the recipient’s body won’t reject them. It’s coming fast.”

Getting to her feet, Cammy said, “But still—”

Eleanor interrupted once more: “Pigs again. At universities here and in other countries, there’s a race on to be the first to engineer a pig with a human brain.”

The cordless phone allowed Cammy to move to the nearest window. “For God’s sake, why?”

“Arrogance. Because it negates the idea of a soul. There’s no practical application. The creature will be tortured by loneliness, by the incongruous nature of its body-brain relationship. It’ll have no refuge but insanity. It’s Frankenstein to the tenth power.”

Hard flat morning light. The sky a pale, pale blue.

Cammy said, “You’re talking about monsters. These animals aren’t like that. They’re … quite wonderful.”

“They might be as peachy keen as Mickey Mouse, but if they were engineered, there’s no way of knowing what havoc they might wreak on the environment. Like … if they give birth to large litters and they make good use of those incredible hands, they could displace one or more indigenous species.”

The window glass felt cold. The air temperature had fallen at least fifteen degrees after midnight.

“If they were born in a lab,” Cammy said, “how did they get here? There’s no university in this county, no companies in the bio-engineering business.”

“They probably wouldn’t have gotten out of the lab on their own. Maybe some animal activists did it. That bunch is causing havoc these days. Vandalizing scientists’ homes, raiding laboratories in the night. Some of them—they’re fanatical enough and ignorant enough to turn an experimental species loose in the wild. They could’ve brought them from anywhere.”

“An experimental species,” Cammy said dubiously. “This is just gut instinct, Eleanor, but that isn’t what they are.”

“Then what are they, Dr. Rivers? They’re not in the encyclopedia of known species. Their eyes alone qualify them as an astonishing singularity.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what they are.”

“Previously undiscovered species of insects, various aquatic forms, even mice are turned up from time to time. But we haven’t overlooked any large mammals, not in an area as fully explored as the Colorado Rockies, not anywhere. The moment I hang up, call this Grady and tell him to secure those animals. Insist on it. Then wait by your phone.”

“Wait for what?”

“You’ll be getting a call. I had to report this.”

Misgiving honed an edge on Cammy’s voice: “Report? To whom?”

“To a man I know at the National Science Foundation. He gave me the name of someone at the Environmental Protection Agency, and it’s snowballed from there.”

“But I contacted you as a friend. I expected discretion.”

“Cammy, even as much as I like you, I can’t possibly conspire with you regarding something like this. I have professional and legal obligations to report it.”

“Yeah. Okay. I guess I understand. I just didn’t realize …”

Eleanor said, “Sidney Shinseki called me from Texas this morning, as soon as he read your e-mail. We reported this together. Anyone in our positions would have done the same.”

“I see. Of course.”

“Now call Grady and make sure those animals are secured. Then wait by your phone. I think the name of the man calling you will be Paul Jardine. He works out of Denver, I believe.”

“What’re they going to do?” Cammy asked.

“The authorities? They’ll take custody of the animals.”

“And then what?”

“Then you’re out of it. You didn’t steal the animals. You’re cooperating, doing the right thing.”

“No, I mean then what happens to Puzzle and Riddle?”

“Research animals have embedded microchips under the skin of their necks. Or at least ear tattoos. They’ll be easy to trace.”

“Then … they’ll be sent back where they came from, to the lab.”

Evidently hearing a note of dismay in Cammy’s voice, Eleanor said, “You know that’s where they belong. They don’t belong in the wild.”

“I wish you could see them.”

“Get straight about this, Cammy. If you turn the animals loose, you could be criminally prosecuted.”

“Okay. I get it.”

“
Do
you get it?”

“I totally get it.”

“Good.”

“I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m embarrassed. I was caught up in the … the magic of it. I should have realized.”

“Make Grady secure the animals. Then wait by your phone.”

“All right.”

“I’m sorry, Cammy. If I snapped at you, I mean.”

“I was a little obtuse. I needed a snap.”

“We’ll talk later,” Eleanor said, and hung up.

Cammy pushed the end button on her cordless phone.

She did not at once call Grady.

She touched the cold windowpane again. The day would quickly grow warmer, though not as warm as Sunday. A change in the weather was coming.

Deciding against taking the time to shower, Cammy quickly dressed in a sweater, jeans, and boots.

Using her cell phone, she called Cory Hern, her senior vet tech, and put him in charge of the office for the day. Any cases he and Ben Aikens couldn’t deal with should be referred to the usual competitors whom she backed up when they were on vacation.

The house phone rang as she returned to the bedroom. The caller was Paul Jardine.

“Some of us are en route, and I’ll be airborne in half an hour.” He had the demeanor and the melodic voice of a game-show host. “As I understand it, the two individuals are with Mr. Grady Adams.”

“That’s right.” Jardine recited an address, and Cammy said, “Yes. The last house on the county road. If you need directions—”

“We’re fine, don’t worry about us, we’re all coming in with satellite navigation. Doctor, we’ll be doing an extensive debriefing, an interview.”

“I’ve cleared my schedule for today.”

“That’s great. Thank you so much. But I’ll need you to clear it for tomorrow, as well. Just in case.”

“In case of what?”

“You never know. Doctor, not to spook you, but this matter may fall under the National Security Secrets Act, which provides for a spectrum of penalties that range all the way to life imprisonment. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I guess, but—”

“You must not speak to anyone further about the two individuals in your photographs. I need the names now of everyone you’ve told about them, in addition to Eleanor Fortney and Sidney Shinseki.”

She found herself pacing back and forth at the foot of the bed as she assured him, “There’s no one else.”

“Ah. Good. That’s excellent. Simplifies the situation. Later, I will need you to repeat that statement under oath.”

In spite of Jardine’s cheerful manner and appealing voice, every sentence he spoke intensified Cammy’s sense of foreboding.

She said, “Mr. Jardine, am I going to need an attorney?”

“Good question. I don’t think so. But we’ll make a determination about that when we’re on scene. I am hoping that you can go now to Mr. Adams’s residence and wait there with him until we arrive.”

“Yes, all right.”

“If you would be so good as to bring with you the memory stick from Mr. Adams’s camera and any copies you might have made of the photos he took, that would be terribly helpful.”

“Of course. No problem.”

“Finally, please pack clothes and toiletries for a two-night stay at the site.”

“Site?”

“The Grady Adams residence.”

“Why would that be necessary?”

“We never know. Things happen. Questions arise. I know it’s an inconvenience, but it’s just better if the principals are all in the same place for the preliminary investigation.”

“We can all gather in the drawing room for a reenactment,” she said, “but there’s no butler, suspicious or otherwise.”

“That’s funny,” Jardine said with delight but without a laugh. “That really is clever. I’m looking forward to meeting you, Doctor. Please be at the site sooner than later.”

“I will. Oh, Mr. Jardine. Are you with the National Science Foundation or the Environmental Protection Agency?”

“Neither, Doctor. This investigation is being run by the Department of Homeland Security.”

Forty-three

W
hen Grady woke in the Stickley-style reclining chair shortly before 7:30 A.M., he switched on the nearby lamp and discovered that the three chums and co-conspirators were not on the bed where he had last seen them. They were nowhere in the bedroom, and when he called Merlin, the dog didn’t appear from either the adjoining bathroom or the closet.

The door to the hall stood ajar. He was certain that he had closed it before retiring.

Yawning, scratching his head, he got out of the chair and padded barefoot into the hallway. The doors to the other upstairs rooms were closed.

Downstairs, in the living room, morning light flooded in through the windows and drew his attention to the items arrayed on the carpet in front of the walnut desk with the hammered-copper hardware and the decorative pewter inlays. The contents of every drawer and shelf in the desk lay in neatly aligned rows: a stapler, a staple remover, a ruler, pencils, pens, a box of rubber bands, a box
of paper clips, a small container of Sortkwik fingertip moistener, a packet of plain white envelopes.…

The tableau suggested that someone might be conducting a meticulous inventory of his business supplies. Maybe Merlin planned to drive over to the Costco in the next county and needed to compose a shopping list.

In the hallway, the end door to the kitchen was closed, as was the door to his study on the right. To the left, the library door stood open, and lights were on in that room.

On the floor were approximately twenty books in three stacks. Grady had not left them there.

Curious, he knelt to examine the volumes. They were a mix of nonfiction and fiction in various genres. At first he could see no connection between them—and then he realized that all of the dust jackets of all the chosen books had exceptionally colorful spines: red, yellow, hot pink, orange.…

Because his books were arranged alphabetically, Grady knew that the selection had been taken from both low and high shelves and from half a dozen points around the room. Cold reason suggested he could dismiss from consideration the possibility that Merlin had learned to climb.

The suspicion arose that he had been prudent to go barefoot and not to announce himself in any fashion since coming downstairs. In the hallway, he listened attentively and heard furtive noises behind the end door.

Stepping into the kitchen, he found the wolfhound sitting at the open pantry. At first there was no sign of Puzzle and Riddle, but then from the pantry appeared a white furry arm ending in a coal-black hand that offered a Ritz cracker slathered with peanut butter.

For a dog his size, Merlin routinely accepted any treat with a gentleness that was surprising, taking it with soft lips and quick tongue, never with a rudeness of teeth, finessing it from fingers instead of snatching. He accepted the Ritz cracker with his usual good manners.

As the dog munched the cracker and lavishly licked his chops, he turned his head to Grady. His expression suggested that henceforth his dad could sleep late every morning while his new best friends whipped up breakfast.

When Grady peered into the pantry, he discovered Puzzle and Riddle sitting on the floor as they had sat on the sofa the previous evening, not like dogs or even like prairie dogs, but as if they were human children. Their legs were straight in front of them.

Between her thighs, Puzzle held an open family-size jar of Skippy peanut butter. Riddle took a cracker from the Ritz box and passed it to her.

Reaching into the jar with her right hand, Puzzle scooped out a gob of Skippy’s finest. She smeared it on the cracker that she held in her left hand.

She returned the cracker to Riddle. He fed it to himself with his left hand while he plucked another cracker from the box with his right.