The Enclave (34 page)

She’d listened to Jade’s recounting of the tale with mounting horror. For Lacey had seen Frogeater, seen the mutilated frogs, the overturned tank, the weird words scrawled across the wall.
His eyes are over all
his creation.
She had heard from his own mouth that he had done it all for her, and knew he would be very unhappy she’ d been replaced by Manny.

Of course, right now the tales were just tales. The only real fact was that Manny was missing. It would be just like Espinosa to walk off in a snit and refuse to send word of his whereabouts or intent. It was also possible he’ d been injured or, like Lacey herself, merely been in the wrong place at the wrong time and seen what K-J officials didn’t want him to see. Maybe they were holding him somewhere under sedation until such time as they could work out an appropriate story.

She hated the ease with which the last notion had come to her, and tried to put it aside. Better to believe that Espinosa had quit like a spoiled child and the rumor mill had eagerly seized on Reinhardt as a target for scandal. Jade had confided that many didn’t like K-J’s only Christian researcher and would be delighted to see him fall.

Lacey believed it. She well recalled them last weekend after Friday’s unity meeting, pecking away at Reinhardt’s lack of response to Gen’s question regarding his problems with PTSD. Jade said that once Manny disappeared, rumors erupted about Reinhardt’s “checkered past,” which included not only his divorce and failure in the military, but drug addiction, black market ties, and even doing jail time for assault. When Lacey expressed strong doubt that he was guilty of any of those crimes, Jade assured her they were quite reasonable.

But then, Jade knew nothing of what had been going on in the AnFac recently, nor of the eagerness of Institute authorities to cover up things they didn’t want others to know about at the expense of their employees’ reputations.

Lacey was particularly troubled by the realization that at the same time Reinhardt’s reputation was being ground into dust, she’ d been pulled out of circulation, held captive in her little office by her deadline, and sedated by visions of earning her doctorate. Visions whose potential still exerted their influence—even now it was nearly unbearable to consider the possibility her grand opportunity was nothing but a ploy to ensure her silence about what might truly be going on with Espinosa and Reinhardt.

Her uncertainty had disturbed her sleep last night, and she’d awakened early, tossed, turned, fretted, and finally arose to meet the day. It put her out for her walk a little earlier than usual, and thus introduced the possibility of waylaying Reinhardt at the end of his morning run. If Manny
had
walked off in a snit, and the rest was all rumor, Reinhardt would have nothing to say and she could put her doubts to rest.

By the time she’d completed her three circuits of the path, a passel of workers had arrived and begun setting up booths for the open house around the park, the erratic pounding of hammers and the whine and growl of various drills and screwdrivers having shattered the morning’s quiet. With so many people around, she was seriously considering abandoning her plan of meeting with Reinhardt when she spied a runner in a red baseball cap, black shorts, and white muscle T-shirt jog up over the crest of the south berm and head down into the basin following a service road.

Though she lost sight of him behind the service buildings and trees, by her estimate of his rate of speed and her own, she figured she’ d reach his point of emergence onto the outer walking path about the same time he did. Torn between continuing on, and turning around to avoid him—what if he didn’t tell her what she wanted to hear?—she compromised by slowing her pace. Eventually he emerged from the oaks onto the asphalt path just about where and when she’ d thought he would. He turned to jog toward her, white iPod earphone cords dangling from his ears, and even though Lacey knew it was Reinhardt, it took her a moment to recognize him.

He was in considerably better physical condition—and far more muscled in the arms and chest—than she’ d have guessed. Even more out of character, he sported a tattoo on his left shoulder: A scimitar above a word in . . . Arabic? Hebrew? She wasn’t used to seeing him without his glasses, either, nor sheened with sweat, which inexplicably added to his appeal.

Seeing her, he moved to the side of the asphalt, nodding as he approached.
I can let him go by and keep myself in ignorance. . . .
She almost did. Then, at the last second, she stepped into his path and asked if he had a minute.

He stopped in surprise, looking down at her with an expression that did not make her eager to continue.

“I, um . . .” She trailed off, heart suddenly pounding. With a gulp she tried again. “I wanted to talk to you about . . . last weekend.”

His stony look turned scowly.

“You said the walls have ears,” she added, “so I thought . . .”

“Yes. And the windows have eyes. Very long, keen eyes which are no doubt fixed upon us right now.” He glanced up at the ziggurat behind her. She resisted the impulse to turn and look, as well. “And if you don’t mind,” he added, “I’ve had quite enough talk of last weekend.”

He started around her.

“I know you didn’t kill Manny,” she said softly, stopping his motion. “I think what they’re doing to you is unconscionable.”

He glanced at her sidelong. “Well, if the payout is at all proportionate to what you’re experiencing, it might turn out to be worth it,” he said.

That stung. For a moment she could hardly believe he’ d said it. Then her face flamed, and she had to look away. It was only as he started to move on that she recalled her objective and blurted, “I was also wondering if Manny is really dead.”

He froze. “Perhaps you should ask your mentor.”

“I may. But right now I’m asking you.” She stepped closer to him and lowered her voice. “
You
might actually tell me the truth.”

He cocked a brow at her, and again turned his gaze down the path at her back. She recalled the guards who had been following her, who should have caught up by now and hadn’t.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” he said.

“Even with my entourage back there?”

“They’re probably hoping you’ll bait him out.”

Him.
Frogeater,
she realized
.

Reinhardt turned to face her and pulled the iPod cords from his ears. His expression was deadly serious, his voice low but intense. “I know everything looks bright for you right now, Ms. McHenry, but . . . believe me, it’s not as bright as it seems.”

His words knocked the wind out of her. She wanted to call him a liar and run away, but something made her stand her ground and say, “That’s why I stopped you.” She gestured up the path. “Will you walk with me a bit?”

He frowned, glanced up at the ziggurat behind her yet again, then at the guards. Finally he shrugged and turned to walk at her side.

“So you think this graduate degree arrangement I’ve been offered is just a distraction, then,” Lacey said, startled at how hard it was to say that in an even tone, and how violently she’d begun trembling. “A way of buying my silence.”

“In part, yes.” He paused. “I put in a call to the Genetics department head at U of A when I first heard of it on Monday. Finally heard back from his secretary yesterday. She knew nothing about it, and could neither confirm nor deny because Dr. Essex and the whole department’s on vacation while a new ceiling is being put in. No one will be back for two weeks, at least. Which I find just a bit too convenient given what’s going on.”

“She didn’t give you a contact number?”

“Essex is backpacking in the Sierra Nevada. His phone sent me straight to voice mail, and so far, he’s not responded.” Again he hesitated. “I’m sorry to say I also find it extremely doubtful anyone at the U of A would risk their reputation by entering into any kind of arrangement with Parker Swain.”

“But we’ll learn the truth in two weeks, so what would be the point?”

“I’m not sure. But Swain’s obviously seeking to pull you into his orbit.” He glanced over his shoulder as if he’ d heard something, then stepped to the side, pulling her with him as a third security guard, this one in a small electric cart, wheeled silently past.

She’ d heard not even a creak of its approach, though given all the racket made by the booth workers, that was hardly surprising.

Reinhardt stepped back to the middle of the path, and she moved again to his side.

“Did you read the articles I left you last night?” he asked.

“I didn’t get any articles.”

“They’re on a disk. I put them in a manila envelope with some other stuff. Left it on your desk, under the proposal.”

She didn’t recall it. “I must’ve thought it was one of mine.”

He grunted. “Well, you should read them.”

“All right.” Her thoughts turned to why she might not have noticed the new envelope, and a wave of guilt rippled through her. “For what it’s worth, I had no idea they were saying all these ridiculous things about you until last night. It wasn’t like I was just ignoring it.”

He said nothing at first. Then, “Even if you’d known, would it have made any difference? Would you have backed out of Swain’s offer?”

“Well, no. But I sure would have protested. . . .” She trailed off, knowing how little good that would have done.

“What if I told you Manny really was dead and they’re covering it up?” He glanced down at her. “Would you go in there today and tell him you want to leave?”

“
You’re
not leaving.”

“It’s not that easy for me.”

“But it would be for me,” she said dryly, “because I’m not the great Cameron Reinhardt with the fancy career.”

“You’re not the one who’s being framed for murder,” he said quietly.

She stopped in the path. He kept walking, though, and after a moment she hurried to catch up. Coming up beside him, she reminded him quietly, “There is no murder without a body.”

“And as soon as one turns up, there is.”

She felt as if a chill wind had blown through her flesh, separating each cell from the other, and that any moment now they would all collapse in a heap on the path. “Oh, sweet Lord . . .
Is
there a body?”

Instead of answering her question, he said, “We need to talk, Ms. McHenry, but not here, and not now. Maybe we can meet up tomorrow night at the open house. There’ll be plenty of people around, so it shouldn’t look too conspicuous. . . .” He glanced up at the zig now looming ahead of them as they’d come round the circular path. “I hope you’ll read those articles before then. They’ll give you some context for what I’m going to suggest. Oh, and when you’re done, destroy the disk.”

“Destroy it?”

He nodded. “And since they haven’t found your frog-eating friend yet, I’d suggest you stick with the weight room treadmills for your exercise. That may not be totally safe, either, but it’s better than this. Good day, Ms. McHenry.”

With that, he broke into a jog and pulled swiftly away from her. Soon a bend in the path took him behind a screen of trees and out of sight. She followed more slowly, struggling to process what he’ d said. His articles would give her context? What kind of context? And what was he going to suggest? Why did he tell her to destroy the disk? Why had he not answered her question about Manny, yet made all those comments about his maybe being dead. Did he really mean to imply Swain was
hiding
Manny’s corpse somewhere in order to blackmail him? For what purpose?

Far from resolving the issue, their conversation had only left her with more questions. She wished she’d never spoken to him at all.

Upon returning to the zig, she considered going straight to her sixth-floor office to look for the envelope he’d supposedly left there last night. But her ambivalence was so great in the end she stuck to her routine—returning to her room to shower, then going to breakfast with Jade. When she finally did reach her desk, she decided to focus first on putting a few final touches on her proposal.

Thus it was a good two hours before she found the envelope hidden under some pages of scribbled notes she’ d tossed upon it last night, having indeed assumed it was one of her own. She pulled its sheaf of papers partway out and fanned through the top edges, finding Reinhardt’s disk sandwiched between stacks of gel readouts and research abstracts. Pulling it out of its cardboard sleeve, she slid it into her drive. The directory listed various files of old stories from the
Tucson
Citizen
on the disappearances of Andrea Stopping and five other girls, all associated with the Institute. The dates on some of them, though, were close to eight years ago, when Frogeater would have been only a boy and could not have been responsible for their fates. So, if not Frogeater, who? Swain? Reinhardt
had
remarked about the director trying to draw Lacey into his orbit. . . .

Suddenly queasy, she removed the disk from her drive and considered shredding it right there. The articles were old news. Why torment herself with the doubts and nasty suspicions they would surely sow?

But she couldn’t make herself toss them outright.
I’ll read them
later,
she told herself,
and then decide.
For now she returned the disk to its sleeve, slipped it back among the gel readout pages, and shoved them all back into the envelope. Pushing it aside, she went back to fine-tuning her proposal.

At 10:15 a.m. she rode one of the atrium elevators to the ninth floor, filled with trepidation and hope.

An hour and a half later, she floated back, struggling to believe all that had just happened. He’d approved the project! More than approved it, raved about it. Leapt up from his chair to pace about before her in his excitement, gesticulating his wholehearted endorsement of the potential of an investigation into the effects of HGH on cloned baby mice. To hear him speak, this was the greatest project to ever come along, one that would unlock myriad mysteries and generate a boatload of innovations.

Besides that she’ d done a “smashing” job on the proposal. So good he’d need only tweak a word or two before faxing it off. Most likely that very day. And though Dr. Essex at the U of A had unfortunately just left on vacation, Swain was absolutely sure he would approve it when he returned. “Only a matter of time, my dear,” he’ d said with a wide grin. “Only a matter of time.”