Don't Order Dog (21 page)

Tatyana shook her head. She had no idea what the American was talking about, but apparently he knew something about her research. She had indeed published most of the findings of her twelve-month study on thermal resonance in the European Energy Review, but hardly a word had been spoken in response by the scientific community. Certainly nothing shocking, and certainly nothing to be killed for. Or was there? Tatyana vaguely recalled the highly irregular outcome of the final two experiments she had conducted using depleted uranium, but she had disregarded them as anomalies stemming from a faulty thermographic imager. Her scientific comrades had generally agreed. The outcomes could be found in exacting detail in her notebooks in the archive room next to her laboratory. She could even show him–
Tatyana’s mind suddenly seized on an idea.
The archive room.

Built of thick, lead-lined walls, the archive room was essentially a large fire-proof safe designed to protect the lab’s paper-based research. A relic of the past, the room’s once massive library of information had long ago been digitalized, leaving it to now serve as little more than a glorified storage closet for outdated or broken lab equipment. Nevertheless, the room was still accessible only through a single, vault-like door armed with a sophisticated electronic keypad.
And I know the code
Tatyana thought excitedly as she stood there staring at the American. Of course, the hardest part of the plan would be finding a way to get a head start on her assailant. But if she could somehow get to the room and lock herself inside, Tatyana calculated she would have enough oxygen to survive until her colleagues arrived the next morning. Her legs quivered with anxiety as she considered her next move.

“Dr Aleksandrov, on the day your research was published, a chain of events was set in motion that you couldn’t begin to imagine, nor would you want to.” The American’s voice trailed off as his fingers stroked the dark steel barrel of the gun. “As I’m sure you’ve learned in your professional career, business and science make for strange bedfellows. They both see the world very differently. Like any doomed relationship, the only thing they seem to agree on is that they can’t live without each other.”

Tatyana tensed as the American casually cupped the pistol in his hand as he continued talking. She had to make her move soon.

“Whereas the mind of science is focused purely on the joy of discovery, the mind of business is focused purely on the exploitation of that discovery.” The man paus
ed and looked her in the eyes. “Tonight, Tatyana, you’re unfortunately experiencing the business side of your discovery.”

Tatyana sprang forward and grabbed the edge of the table just as the American raised the gun. She screamed out in terror, feeling a torrent of strength-giving adrenalin course through her arms as she pulled the heavy table into the air and tossed it forward on top of the man. She turned and sprinted from the cafeteria as the muffled sound of surprised laughter echoed behind her. As she bolted through the door and began running down the long corridor, her heart felt as if it was going to explode from her chest.

Faster… faster!
she told herself.  

A hundred meters ahead, the door to the archive room stood quietly next to her research laboratory. The distance appeared maddeningly far, and Tatyana felt like she was in the middle of a slow-moving nightmare as she rushed towards it.

“Dr. Aleksandrov!” the American’s voice suddenly cried out in the corridor behind her.

Tatyana ran even faster. She knew stopping or even looking back would only make her an easier target.

“Tatyana!”

The door to the archive room was tantalizingly close when something sharp stabbed forcefully into the right side of Tatyana’s back. She cried out in alarm when a second, more intense sting pierced the back of her neck. To her horror, her limbs immediately began to feel sluggish, forcing her to slow to a stumbling walk. Tatyana reached back frantically to find the source of the pain. Her fingers touched something hard protruding from the base of her neck. She pulled it free and glanced terrified at the object in her hand. It looked like a child’s toy
, a tiny rocket comprised of a long metallic tube and four miniature, wing-like fins at its base. Only the short needle at its tip revealed the object’s true purpose.

“Move!” Tatyana screamed, pleading with her body as she tossed the tranquilizer dart to the ground. But it was no use. Just a few short steps from the door to the archive room, her legs went numb and she fell heavily to the floor.

Seconds later, Tatyana realized she was completely paralyzed.

She laid motionless, sprawled out on the cold linoleum floor staring at the door to the archive room as the sound of the American’s footsteps echoed behind her. Moments later, a pair of black leather shoes stepped into view just inches from
her face.

“Vecuronium bromide,” the man said quietly as he dropped his backpack on the floor next to her. He then kneeled down and quickly took her pulse. “A very effective paralyzing agent, as you would no doubt agree if you could speak.” He gently removed the other tranquilizer dart before turning Tatyana onto her back and carefully straightening her arms and legs. She watched expressionlessly as he examined her, his hands deftly checking her arms and legs. Satisfied, he then reached into his backpack for something. Tatyana felt her pulse rise as a large needle and syringe came into view.

“Don’t worry, Dr. Aleksandrov, no more vecuronium. I just need some blood samples if you don’t mind.”

Tatyana distantly felt the needle as it penetrated deep into her
vein, as if her body had become a strange inanimate object uselessly attached at the neck. A moment later she watched as the American quickly shoved three large vials of blood into the backpack next to him.

“All done.”

She stared unblinking back at him, consumed by a mixture of terror and rage. She tried to command her hands to reach out and grab the man by the throat and kill him, but she couldn’t summon so much as a twitch. Even her eyelids, succumbing to the effects of the paralyzing drug, were unable to close, and a steady stream of tears began rolling down her temples into her dark brown hair. 

His smiling face hovered over her.
“Okay, Dr Aleksandrov, it’s about that time. I want you to know that, having now personally suffered through a few weeks in Kaliningrad, I can say with absolute certainty that you are, as they say, going to a better place.”

Tatyana steeled herself as the American lightly touched her shoulder.
I’m going to die now
she thought as she watched him reach into his backpack. He pulled out a small phone and punched a single button. “Be ready in five,” he said curtly before tossing the phone back into the bag. He then pulled out a long coil of nylon rope and began tying some form of knot, pausing when he caught Tatyana staring at him.

“I’m sorry Tatyana, just one more little prick,” he said, pulling a small syringe from his pocket. Tatyana didn’t feel the needle this time as she watched his finger push the contents of the syringe into her neck. A soothing warmth began to cascade through her body, replacing the fear and rage in her chest with a calming sense of peace. She watched as he went back to forming a knot with the cord, his fingers deftly moving at what seemed an impossible speed. He then stopped and looked at her again.

“By the way, your plan to escape to the archive room was a very good one. Unfortunately, I know the combination as well.” The American then reached out and gently closed Tatyana’s eyelids. She distantly felt the tightening of a rope around her ankles and exhaled with a long, submissive sigh.

The sound of her heartbeat faded as the warmth overtook her.
She was ready for the darkness. 

“Christ, you’re starting to become a regular around here.”

Tom Coleman smiled at Chip as he sat down next to the older man at his usual spot at the bar. “Funny, I was beginning to think the same thing,” he replied as the two men exchanged a quick handshake. “How’s it going Chip?” Tom asked as he glanced around for the bartender.

“Can’t say it’s going too badly,” Chip replied cheerfully. “At least it’s getting quiet around here again.”

Tom nodded and glanced around the room. The attention generated by the article in the college paper seemed to have receded in the last few days, leaving the usual mix of dejected students and alcoholic professors scattered around the room.

“This must be the third time I’ve seen you in here this week,” Chip said, giving Tom a quizzical look. “Any particular reason why?”

“Well, it is the holiday season,” Tom replied cynically. “As far as I see it, drinking’s as much a part of the holidays as turkey and dressing.”

“Well said,” Chip raised his glass of beer and toasted the room.

“Jeri working tonight?” Tom asked nonchalantly.

“Yeah, she’s around here somewhere.”

Tom pulled out a sanitary wipe and quickly wiped down the counter before taking off his gloves and carefully placing them in front of him. As with past nights, he used them as armrests to avoid direct contact with the bar top. He then reached into his jacket pocket and quickly checked that his notepad and pen were in their usual spot. Satisfied that everything was in order, he removed his coat and laid it across his lap.

“If you’re planning on being a regular, you need to start acting like one,” Chip muttered as he pointed with his thumb. “There’s a hook under the bar for your coat.”

“It’s fine on my lap,” Tom replied.

Chip stared at Tom for a moment, then grunted loudly. “Suit yourself.”

Tom gave him a friendly nudge with his elbow. “So what’s new, old man?” he asked sarcastically.

“Nothing worth telling,” Chip shrugged. “The world and the beer
are still ice cold.”

“Gotcha. And is that a good thing?”

Chip gave Tom a sidelong glance. “Depends on how you like your beer.”

“Well, I suppose that’s m
y cue,” a female voice replied. Both men looked up to find Jeri leaning against the opposite side of the counter, staring at them with her arms folded. Tom immediately sat up straight.

“Jesus Jeri, you’ve got to stop sneaking up on people like this,” Chip chided mockingly.

“It’s an old, loud bar, Chip,” Jeri fired back. “Almost as old and loud as something else in this room. An epileptic elephant could sneak up on you.”

Tom watched Jeri as she spoke to the older man, her face soft with affection.  Her jaw suddenly tightened when she caught Tom’s stare, the softness vaporizing as she turned to look at him.

“Something to drink?” she asked.

Tom ordered a beer and then silently stared in admiration as Jeri turned and walked away. His eyes followed her body as it moved beneath her worn jeans and faded blue
Joe’s Last Stand t-shirt. He watched as she reached up to grab a glass, exposing a thin strip of pale unblemished skin along her lower back that forced him to imagine the smooth, warm texture he would undoubtedly feel if his hands were pressed against her. After a moment of enjoying the fantasy, Tom realized he was staring. He turned and looked at Chip.

“Anything new from her mysterious admirer?”

Chip shook his head as he drained his beer and rested the empty glass on the bar. “Nope… not that I’ve seen. But then, he’s not a once-a-week kind of writer.” He glanced at Jeri pouring beer on the other side of the bar. His expression softened with affection as he watched her, like a proud father finding perfection in the simple act of a daughter. “If the past is any indication, she’ll be getting another letter from him in the next few days or so.”

“From another new town, I’d guess.” Tom muttered.

“I’d say that’s a safe bet.”

Both men fell silent as Jeri returned with their drinks. She smiled curiously at Chip as she handed him his beer, then glanced suspiciously at Tom. “Everything okay over here?” she asked flatly, placing his beer on the counter. Tom shook his head slowly, unable to remove his eyes from her.

“Everything’s great,” Chip replied. “Just discussing the consistency of my bowel movements with my friend Tom. Tom here thinks my once-a-week schedule is grossly inadequate. Fortunately, my enlarged liver is keeping all other bodily functions flowing like a fresh beer tap.” He gave Jeri a wide grin. “Speaking of my liver, I think I’ll excuse myself for a moment.” The older man slid from his stool and slowly made his way to the restroom.

Tom glanced over at Jeri and smiled awkwardly. “I owe you for my beer,” he said, reaching into his pocket.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jeri replied. “Anyone that keeps Chip entertained is entitled to one on the house.” She picked up a thick hardback book lying on the counter and slipped back onto her barstool in the corner.

“Thanks,” he replied, giving her a
thin smile. “But Chip probably considers me to be more annoying than entertaining.”

“If he lets you sit by him for more than five minutes, he must find something useful about you.”

“Then I suppose I’ll consider myself lucky.”

Tom sipped his beer and watched Jeri as she quietly read her book. He was feeling lucky. For the last week he’d spent half of his evenings occupying the corner stool of
Joe’s in the hopes of getting to know Jeri and the people at the saloon she associated with, only to come up with almost nothing of substance. Most of that time had been utterly unrevealing, and Tom had finally given up on the idea that Jeri was anything other than a reclusive, reticent young woman who preferred books to men and had the rare quality of being as beautiful as she was aloof. In fact, the only men she’d had more than a passing word with were Joe the owner and Chip the old regular. The few sentences Tom had just exchanged with her were the closest he’d come to a conversation, and he now felt oddly privileged.

He decided it was time to press his luck.

“Mind if I ask you a question?” he said, glancing at her with a keen expression.

“Shoot,” she replied, her eyes still fixed on the page in front of her.

“What’s Chip’s story?”

Jeri appeared to ignore the questions and continue reading. Tom was about to ask the question again when she suddenly flipped the book closed and turned to face him. “What makes you think I know anything more about Chip than you do?” she asked defensively. “You’re the one who’s been sitting next to him for the better part of a week.”

“True,” Tom replied, “but he seems more interested in talking about you than himself.” He noticed Jeri’s eyes narrow slightly at his remark. “Anyway, he just seems like a nice guy, and I was curious to know what brings a guy like Chip to the saloon
every night. Given the way you two talk to each other, I figured you knew him well enough know the answer. But hey, it’s no big deal,” he said, shrugging dismissively. “Forget I even asked.”

“He was a professor at the University,” Jeri said quietly. “Archeology.”

Tom looked over at her slowly, masking his surprise at the fact that she was finally speaking candidly.

“He walked in one summer afternoon not long after I started working here,” she continued, absently tucking a lock of hair behind her ear as she spoke. “Strolled up to the bar wearing some ridiculous cowboy hat and those intense blue eyes and sat down on that same barstool he’s sitting on now. Before long he was a few beers down and explaining how he’d just wrapped up his last archeological dig with a group of grad students. Apparently the University had forced early retirement on several of the tenured professors in the department to make room for ‘fresh blood’ as he put it. Chip was one of the professors forced out. Not that
he seemed that upset about it. A few hours after walking into the saloon he was toasting his freedom and talking to me like I was his long-lost daughter.”

Jeri suddenly paused and glanced around the room. “God, that was over a year ago. I can’t believe it’s been that long.”

“And he’s been coming in ever since, huh?” Tom asked.

“More or less. He’s been around more tha
n usual lately… ever since the letters started arriving. But that’s probably because he’s convinced himself this mystery writer is out to kill me.” Jeri rolled her eyes and gave Tom the slightest hint of a smile.

Tom nodded his head.
If only you knew the half of it
he thought as he smiled back.

“Anyway, Chip’s a good guy,” she continued, glancing out the window at the snow that tumbled and collided before melting into the mirror-black pavement of the old highway. “He’s one of the last of the ‘old-school’ guys. One of those men who still sees everything in black and white and isn’t afraid to tell you what he thinks. And in case you haven’t noticed, he’s still pretty damn quick for his age.”

“I’ve never seen a man his age drink a beer faster,” Tom said with a wry smile.

Jeri nodded her head absently and opened her book. “So there you have it. Now you know as much about Chip as I do.”   

“I doubt it, but thanks for the history lesson.” 

“You’re welcome.”

“Can I ask you another question?”

“Only if it has nothing to do with the next obvious topic of discussion.”

“And what would that be?” Tom asked, feigning ignorance.
Jeri shot him a threatening look.

“Right,
never mind.”

Tom took a defeated drink of his beer and glanced around the saloon. A few patrons stood in the far corner studying the letters and photos – the “shrine” as Joe the owner foolishly called it – pinned to the wall. He watched as they read and laughed, one of them even raising a hand to gently touch a Polaroid photo as if in some strange gesture of affection. Tom himself knew the letter
s and Polaroid images by heart. He had discreetly taken digital photos of each a few nights earlier and spent the last two days pouring over them in his office. Unfortunately, they had given him nothing more to go on, other than the frustrating realization that their author was a master of revealing just enough information to taunt him. The Polaroid photos were particularly maddening. Anyone passing by Tom’s cramped office as he studied the reproduced images on his laptop would have heard a chorus of expletives and frustrated sighs. This, followed by yet another failed attempt to talk to Jeri, was now turning Tom’s mood as dark as the late autumn sky outside.

Perhaps even worse, the e-mail he had sent to Alex three days ago had still gone unanswered.

Maybe I am going off the deep end
Tom thought bitterly before quickly dismissing the thought with a shrug. “No, no… I’m right, and I know it,” he muttered under his breath before emptying his beer glass.

“Right about what?” Chip said, suddenly next to Tom as he slid back onto his stool.

“What? Oh, nothing… just thinking out loud.” Tom fell into silence, visibly brooding as he stared at the empty beer glass in front of him.

Chip watched him curiously for a moment before looking over at Jeri nestled in her corner behind the bar with her book. “Good lord
… I leave for two minutes and the mood in the whole bar goes to hell.” He leaned towards Tom. “Wait, let me guess,” he whispered, nudging him on the shoulder. “You asked Jeri about the letters, didn’t you?”

Tom shook his head. “I didn’t even get that far.”

“Yeah, well, I could have warned you about that.”

Tom suddenly reached over and grabbed Chip’s arm. He was once again surprised by the firmness of Chip’s muscles as the older man tensed in alarm.

“Look Chip, I need to know something. Are you
really
worried about this guy Jeri’s getting letters from?”

Chip’s eyes quickly lost their glint of humor as he gazed at Tom.
“Of course I am. Why are you asking?”

“Because I’m worried about him too. But the difference between you and me is that I’m in a position to do something about it.”

Chip looked at him curiously. “What do you mean?”

“Let me show you,” Tom said, releasing Chip’s arm. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a business card, holding it out for the older man to see.

Chip stared at the Federal crest emblazoned on the card and raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You’re with the Department of Homeland Security?”

“Keep your voice down,” Tom hissed as
he glanced over his shoulder. “Yes, I’m an investigator with the ICE division of Homeland Security, and before I say anything else, I need your word that everything discussed here stays strictly between the two of us.”

Chip furrowed his brow. “Do I strike you as the kind of guy that handles confidential information loosely?”

Tom stared at Chip.

“Yes, you have my word.”

“Good,” Tom replied. He looked around again to make sure no one else was within earshot before glancing down the bar. Jeri was still coiled up in her corner absorbed in the thick book on her lap. “What I’m about to tell you is highly confidential,” he said quietly, still weighing his next words. Ethically speaking, Tom knew he was about to tread on shaky ground, but he didn’t have a choice. He needed the older man’s help. It was clear that Chip was the only man that Jeri appeared to trust – let alone like – which meant he was also Tom’s only hope of being an informant. Of course, the best way to control a potential informant was to “amp-up” the scale and seriousness of the situation. And as Tom now saw it, exaggerating the level of Federal Agency involvement was the most convincing way to do this.