Devil's Gold (2 page)

Jason stopped, scratched his ass again, and sighed. “I'll get right on the antidote. That is, after a few hours of shut eye. I'm wiped.”

“Not before you dispose of the bodies.” Edward headed back to the metal stairs. He began to climb. Stopping halfway up he cleared his throat and turned around, watching the younger man secure his specimen and shut down the scope. Edward gasped for air in short, fast gulps, his nostrils flaring to draw in more oxygen. He'd only climbed the bottom part of the ladder. Swearing, he calmed his breathing and summoned a commanding voice. “I noticed the wolf pens were empty. Did you destroy the last two?”

Jason shot a quick look in his direction, then lowered his eyes and bent down to dig out the cover for the scope. “I took care of 'em.” He slipped the heavy plastic over the machine and offered Edward a lopsided smile.

“Good,” Edward said and climbed the rest of the way up. Whistling a little tune, he popped his head into the center of the log cabin. Suddenly, the insidious scent of rotting flesh no longer bothered him. A perfume of success now lingered in the air. Nothing could stop him now. Nothing.

Niger Delta, West Africa

T
HE STALE SCENT OF AIR-CONDITIONING TICKLED
C
ASSIDY'S
nose, and she fluttered her eyelids several times seeking to diminish the burning dryness of her eyes. A voice, spoken an octave too low, interrupted her moment of contemplation.

“Dr. Lowell?”

Cassidy pushed back from the edge of the wall, her fingers sliding from the smooth metal surface of the window sill, and turned to face the president of New World Petroleum. She hid her disgust for Robert Cole behind a polite smile. He was a wisp of a man, hardly a physical threat. The onyx of his hair reminded her of the oil slicks his company refused to clean up. He was her enemy.

Unfortunately, in a roundabout way, she worked for him.

“I hope this meeting hasn't inconvenienced you.” Cassidy brushed a stray strand of hair off her forehead and hooked her thumbs into the back pocket of her jeans.

He walked toward her, tapping his hand against the backs of the chairs surrounding the conference table as he passed them. Cole paused beside her and surveyed the room, a loud sigh emanating from his lips.

“I'm used to much better accommodations. Was there a reason you requested this room?”

“I felt we'd avoid the glare from the large windows in your upper conference room.” Her gaze slid from the confined space to the narrow window and followed the path of sunlight sparkling across the water of the Gulf of Guinea until it settled on the shores of West Africa. From her vantage point on NWP's corporate floater, the environmental devastation was barely visible. She heard the machinations of active oil rigs. They hummed and banged and echoed above the gulf, twisting her gut as they bled the region.

“I see. Your request was a pleasant surprise. I hope you've brought me what I need.” The tight smile that crossed his face didn't warm his eyes.

With quick strides, Cassidy maneuvered toward the table and waved her hand at the man seated behind an array of computer equipment. “I assure you, I've done my homework,” she responded. Pressing her palms against the surface of the conference table, she wiped the nervous sweat off her hands. “Please signal Atlanta that we're ready.” The technician nodded. Cassidy pulled out a worn fabric chair and slid into it. Drumming her fingers against the table and ignoring Cole, she waited for the video connection to be made.

A small computer screen extended upward from the end of the table, and within a few seconds the hum and crackle of static air confirmed a link to the video conferencing room of ZEBRA headquarters in Atlanta, Georgia. The face of Dr. Drew Sharpe appeared. He glanced at Cassidy, confidence and pride apparent in the smile he offered. She grinned back and felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude at his virtual presence.

“Mr. Cole. Dr. Lowell. It's a pleasure to see you both. I understand from the Nigerian Oil Ministry that there's a necessity to escalate the results of our project. Dr. Lowell, where do we stand on your findings?”

Cassidy inhaled, preparing herself for the tantrum that would certainly follow her report. “Dr. Sharpe, I have discussed in great detail with Mr. Cole the futility of this project. Under no circumstances does the presence of New World Petroleum or its sister organizations have a positive influence within the Niger Delta. In short, sir, oil drilling is killing this region.” She sat back and waited for the fireworks.

An angry red flushed Robert's neck as he directed his attention at Drew. “Sharpe, our corporation has not donated close to a million dollars to your agency in order for them to determine we're harming the environment.” He leaned toward the screen and stared directly at Drew.

Cassidy narrowed her eyes and focused on the man across the table. She allowed her words to remain unheated and unemotional. “I hadn't realized this was a pre-bought report. If you wanted fiction, then you hired the wrong organization.” A fake smile tilted her lips upward when Robert twisted in his seat and glared at her.

“Cassidy, be careful.” Dr. Sharpe warned. She glanced at her boss. He sat still, no fidgeting or paper shuffling. The stern set of his mouth and cold stare created an expression she'd never expected to see applied to her.

She felt her own cheeks heat with anger and frustration. “I cannot in any professional manner create a positive report. The Niger Delta is dying. The only way to salvage the region is for oil production to cease all activity.” Cassidy paused and drew in a shaky breath. She gazed across the length of the table and spoke with deliberate slowness. “Your refusal to clean up the spills is unacceptable.”

“Refusal?” Robert pushed away from the table and slowly rose out of his chair. He ran a tapered finger along the edge of the conference table, continuing this movement as he stepped around the circle of mahogany and stood directly beside her. “I warn you, Dr. Lowell, to cease and desist with your false accusations.”

Cassidy willed herself still. The tight control of her temper radiated down her body and released itself through a series of frustrated foot tapping hidden beneath the table. “False accusations? Mr. Cole, I'm not an idiot. You only have to look beyond the shoreline to find the problems.” When he merely quirked a brow, she turned toward her boss. “May we speak in private?”

Dr. Sharpe pursed his lips and glanced at Cole. “Mr. Cole, do you mind?”

He shrugged and offered Cassidy a tight, cold smile before turning toward the video screen. “Get your employee under control, Drew, or you won't like the consequences.”

Cassidy grinned when she recognized the don't-mess-with-me glare emanating from Dr. Sharpe's face. “Threats don't work, Robert.” He glanced down at a stack of paper and with swift precise movements spread the pages out on the table. “Leave the room, please. I need to confer with Dr. Lowell.”

Robert Cole tipped his head down in a stiff nod and signaled for the computer technician to follow him out of the small conference room. “I'll be in touch, Drew.”

Dr. Sharpe smiled and stared at Cassidy. “Well?” He leaned slightly forward, resting his elbows on the edge of the table.

She sucked in stale air through her teeth and swallowed against the sudden dryness in her throat. “Sir, there is no possible way I can complete this contract per the terms of the original agreement. I've tried to explain this to Mr. Cole, but he's adamant that we respond with positive results.” Cassidy sat on the edge of her chair, the worn fabric no longer a cushion against the sharp metal that dug into the back of her thighs. She folded her hands and concentrated on not fidgeting.

“I've glanced at this report you faxed over. Can you not twist any of these details into a better light?”

Cassidy felt her mouth drop open, and she snapped her jaw back up. Rolling her eyes to the ceiling, she bit on her lower lip. “Okay. Let's see—by creating gas flares that burn 24/7, New World Petroleum has provided a constant hot plateau for baking bread and drying clothes. The natives are extremely grateful. However, one must not get too close or else one burns to death.”

Steel blue eyes hardened and no longer offered the comfort she'd sought in the beginning of the meeting. Sharpe pointed a finger at her and spoke harshly. “Cassidy, stop being sarcastic.”

She refused to bow to the intimidation flowing across the satellite link and plowed on. “Or how about, New World Petroleum has demolished all the pesky mangroves and provided new roadways. We'll leave out the part where the mangroves provide erosion control and a livelihood for the locals. Roads are much more exciting.” She smacked her palm on the top of the table and pointed back at Sharpe. “How's that?”

“Your zeal is appreciated but unacceptable.”

She met her boss's gaze. His mouth was tight, and a thin white line surrounded lips that were twisted down in anger. “What?” Cassidy felt the heat of her own anger burn her cheeks. She cursed silently, wishing for the geological survey Charles promised. It held concrete evidence to the downfall of this region.

“Can you, for once, think outside the box?”

She began to tell him exactly where to stick his damn report, but she glanced out the window instead, allowing the sun to smooth back her irritation. “The reason you hired me was because I consistently think outside the box. Drew, you trained me. I'm the best zoologist on staff. How can you expect me to see any positive in this ecological nightmare? I can't find any trace of the pygmy hippo or close to a dozen additional species that previously inhabited this region.” She stared at the screen, not really wanting to see the expression on Sharpe's face. He was her mentor. A man she admired above all others.

Dr. Drew Sharpe, the life force and creator of the Zoological Environmental Bio Research Agency, more commonly referred to by its acronym “ZEBRA,” was a man whose mere presence commanded undivided attention. His unwavering dark eyes and angular features, his clipped New England accent, and his bearing reinforced a military background that didn't tolerate insubordination. His left eye twitched, and a shadow of ink-blue veins protruded from his neck at her defiance. She'd crossed the line into enemy territory.

Cassidy refused to believe he was asking her to lie.

She held her breath and waited. After what felt like an eternity, Dr. Sharpe nodded and pushed the stack of papers on the table away and out of her line of vision. “You have ten days to wrap up whatever loose ends remain, and then an extraction team will bring you home.”

Her heart flipped out of her chest and dropped to the floor. She couldn't breathe. “What?”

“You're needed back at corporate.”

A high-pitched buzz rang in her ears, and she shook her head to clear the panic that numbed every corner of her being. “Excuse me?”

“Cassidy, your field time has stretched beyond acceptable limits.”

Inhaling a deep breath, Cassidy smiled. “Very funny.” Dr. Sharpe stared at her, and she felt every ounce of confidence crack and fall away. “You're serious?”

“Quite.”

“But I haven't even begun to determine the long-term ramifications nor started on any resolutions for the oil conglomerates. There's months of work here to be completed. Years, maybe. The multitude of species within this region have barely been recorded. Drew, please, this place will be dead unless someone fights for it.” Cassidy opened her palms and tilted her head to the left. “Please.”

His lip curled in a sad smile, and Drew closed his eyes for a second. When they opened, they were void of emotion. “It's no longer your concern, Cassidy. I'll see you at debriefing on …” he dragged over his calendar, “the Friday after next.”

Cassidy stared, too shocked to say anything. He offered her one last parting smile and then hit the disconnect button. The room dimmed. She sat there, ears ringing and body numb. Her eyes burned from more than the thin stream of cool air flowing through the vents. Unshed tears pricked and demanded release.

She fisted her hand and slammed it on the table. The pain shooting up her arm from the contact didn't even register a
one
on the Cassidy-pissed-off scale. “Damn.” A long blond curl fell against her cheek. Pushing it off her face, she yanked her pony tail holder from her head, twisted the stray strand in with the rest of her mass of disorganized curls, and refastened her hair. “Damn! Damn!”

The door cracked open and Cole peered into the room. “Problem?”

She glanced at the smug expression twisting the president of NWP's mouth into a fake smile and bit her tongue before she stuck it out and blew a raspberry at him. “No, sir. Is the boat ready to take me back to shore?”

Principe, West Africa (an island south of the Niger Delta)

Jake Anderson wiggled his toes. He stared beyond the edge of his worn rope hammock and watched in fascination as a school of flying fish burst from the crest of the frothy white wave, flicking their fins rapidly and sailing through the air as graceful as birds. The fish dove back into the aqua waters of the South Atlantic and disappeared from sight. A gentle breeze ruffled the spiky leaves of the palm tree he'd tied his hammock around, causing a soft rustling noise.