Einstein Dog (15 page)

Hindquist is after your pups,
he told her.

She didn't seem surprised.

He tried to describe his theory about how valuable SMART dogs would be to an arms dealer, but Libra could not understand his tellies.

I know Hindquist is evil,
she said at last.
That is enough. I do not doubt it when you say he is after my children. I have already sensed that too.

“But I don't know what to do!” Bertrand cried.

You must do what you can,
she said,
and not blame yourself for what you can't.

“I feel like there's
nothing
I can do, though,” he said bitterly.

She licked his cheek.
You are braver than you think, child.
She held him in her gaze, then added,
But you and Ariel must not face this on your own. You must tell Professor Smith.

But . . .

Tell him,
Libra ordered.

On the way home Bertrand asked his father what he knew about Frank Hindquist and AMOS.

“I know he's put up a million dollars for SMART research, son,” Professor Smith said. “Can't say I really know why.”

“His ideas about cell farming don't really make sense, right?”

“They don't add up for me, but they must make sense to somebody. Pharmaceutical companies don't invest that kind of money without expecting to see some kind of return.”

“What if the cell farming thing is just a cover, Dad?”

“What do you mean?” Professor Smith prompted.

Bertrand didn't hold back. He told his father about Advanced Military Ordinance Supply, the Global Council, his theory about the SMART dogs.

“That's what you were doing out at the AMOS factory?” Professor Smith exclaimed.

“Yes,” Bertrand admitted. Then he described their encounter with the Gowler brothers and their conversation with Frank Hindquist.

Professor Smith listened to Bertrand's story then drove on in silence for a couple of blocks. “If what you say is true, it's very serious, son,” he said when they stopped at a traffic light.

“You mean you don't think I'm just imagining things, Dad?”

“I think you took a very big risk, going out there Birdie, and I don't ever want you to do such a thing again, do you understand?”

“Yes, but you believe me?”

“I believe what you have told me needs to be looked into and, if it proves to be the case, we must sever our ties with Mr. Hindquist.”

“But you don't think I'm being stupid!” Bertrand insisted.

“No, son,” Professor Smith assured him. “Even if what you say cannot be proved, I don't think you've been stupid to investigate. I only wish you'd told me before you went snooping around the AMOS factory.”

Bertrand grinned. It had never felt so good to be told off by his father.

Bob scanned the grounds through his night-vision binoculars. Beyond the cones of light that dotted the Main Mall the campus bled into darkness. They planned to cross the green in a zone of deep shadow, then backtrack to the Stafford Building, entering through the same door Bob had used months earlier when he wired Professor Smith's lab.

Bob didn't want to think about what was supposed to happen after that.

Charlie goofed around with the blowgun, pretending to play it like a clarinet. “Bee-bop doo-op dee-doo-doo-bop! Pretty good, eh?” he chuckled, glancing at Bob for approval.

“You'll get us caught,” Bob cautioned.

“You worry too much. There's nobody around.”

“Well, I'm nervous and that's making things even worse.”

“Doo-op do-op-dop-doo,” Charlie finished with a flourish, letting the blowgun hang down at his side on its strap. “This thing's going to make a lot more sweet music tonight, man,” he crowed. “It's gonna play the last lullaby for that smart-ass dog in there.”

“Are you really going to kill her?” Bob asked.

“Huh?”

“The SMART dog. After you've seen her playing with her pups and those kids, you're just going to go in there and kill her?”

“Orders are orders, man,” Charlie replied cheerfully.

“You could reduce the dose; just put her to sleep.”

“Yeah! And are you going to explain to Hindquist why she's still alive?”

“Maybe the dart malfunctioned,” Bob suggested.

“And maybe he'd see through you like the hole in a donut.”

Charlie punched him hard on the shoulder. “Stop being such a mama's boy and get ready to move,” he ordered.

Bob looked across the gloomy depression of Campus Green toward the black hulk of the Stafford Building. What was about to happen was wrong, terribly wrong. But he would do it anyway because he was destined to obey the commandments of cowards bigger and stronger than he.

Homes had been found for all her pups and her life of captivity was coming to an end, but the joy Libra should have taken in that knowledge was crowded out by the clammy certainty of doom.

She left her litter asleep on the family mat and positioned herself between them and the kennel gate. She hadn't heard anything yet, but Libra's sixth sense, that mysterious ability to pick up the mood of a place, had her hackles raised and her stomach churning. She growled softly.

Mother?

Startled, she turned to face Einstein.
Go back to the litter,
she ordered.

But what's wrong?

Go back to —
A sound! She was certain she'd heard the click of metal on metal somewhere deep inside the Stafford Building. Instinctively her head snapped forward, ears erect, nose twitching. Could she have imagined it? Libra discarded that desperate hope, listening intently.

She would bark like crazy if they
had
come. If they penetrated as far as the kennel, she would fight to the death. Instinct urged her to sound the alarm, but Libra waited. She had to be sure. Campus security might respond to her first ruckus; they would ignore a second.

There! Again! A faint rattle from the lab's outer door. Someone
was
breaking in. Still, Libra delayed. Was it him out there? She analyzed the scent seeping into the kennel room. It was a nervous, evil pungency, but not the stink of the devil himself. He'd sent minions to do the job.

Libra lunged at the kennel mesh.
Intruders! Come save my pups!

She barked until all the air had been forced out of her, then inhaled desperately and repeated her summons, her paws lifting off the floor with each salvo. Behind her, the pups stirred.
Hide!
she shouted instinctively, but there was no place to burrow or run in their concrete den.

The knob to the kennel room door twisted and a squat, muscular human burst in, followed by a second intruder, whom she recognized. Libra snarled and snapped at the air.

She would bite, scratch, and tear at them if they tried to enter her pen. The leader bustled across the room, raising a stick to his mouth. Libra would have dodged, but she shielded Einstein.

Phtoo!

A blurred projectile shot across the room, piercing her left shoulder with a sting that made her yelp. She'd been bitten. By what, she couldn't say, but venom burned in her veins. While she could she redoubled her frenzied barking and snarling.

The shooter grinned. “Haven't had enough yet?” he chuckled, raising the blowgun again. He let fly, and a second lethal sting penetrated Libra's chest. Knowing what to expect, she didn't flinch, but concentrated on protecting her pups.

Do not move,
she ordered Einstein.
Stay behind me and keep quiet.

Libra stumbled, but righted herself. In a matter of seconds she would collapse. Only one hope remained: one hope for one pup.
Stay still,
she barked, then wheeled and fainted on top of Einstein.

Let me out! Let me fight them!
he begged.

He struggled beneath her, wanting to challenge the intruders. Libra held him fast, stilling him with a powerful command. She could not ward off the evil that had come for her litter, but she could conceal one pup from the monsters who were now breaking through the kennel gate. Her whole purpose narrowed to that desperate hope.

But oh! What she had to endure! First her assailant's bone jarring kick, then her pups' desperate pleas as they were thrust into a canvas sack . . .

“We've got 'em. Let's go!” the dominant male ordered.

Libra heard the scuffle of feet heading toward the back door, and the whine of her pups being carried off into the night. She beamed her love after them.
I am with you!
she cried.
I shall never leave you
. . .

At last Einstein broke free. He ran to the open door, then back again.
Mother!
he wailed.
Get up! Help me chase them!

Help me free the others! Please Mother!

But she couldn't move and the kidnappers were long gone. Realizing this at last, Einstein howled, his tiny body wracked with sorrow.

His lament broke Libra's heart.

He awoke with a start.

“Wha?” Bertrand gasped. The phone was ringing. He stumbled out of bed and felt his way downstairs. Just thinking about the light switch made his eyes sting, so he groped along toward the phone stand. Somebody wanted to get through very badly.

“Hello?” Bertrand croaked, half expecting a prankster to hang up in his ear.

“Is Professor Alex Smith available?” a crisp voice demanded.

“He's asleep. Who's calling?”

“Corporal Reg Pinehurst, Langley RCMP.”

“What's wrong?” Bertrand demanded, alarmed.

Why would the police be phoning at this hour? His head cleared as if a Force 5 hurricane had blown away all the cobwebs.

“I need to talk to Professor Smith,” the corporal insisted.

The brusque manner startled Bertrand, but there was a consoling undertone that troubled him even more. Something terrible had happened.

“Dad!” he hollered, charging up the stairs with the portable handset. “Dad!”

He burst into his father's room just as the bedside light winked on. His father sat up groggily and took the phone. “Hello?” he mumbled. Bertrand heard Corporal Pinehurst's voice buzzing like a fly in a bottle. Professor Smith's eyes widened with alarm, which quickly gave way to consternation, then sorrow. “Taken?” he asked. “All of them?” The droning resumed. “And the mother?” A long pause followed, then a short, feeble sentence. “I'll be right there,” Professor Smith said grimly.

As they threw on their clothes Professor Smith told Bertrand what had happened: the lab had been broken into, the pups kidnapped, Libra wounded.

“How bad?” Bertrand demanded.

“I don't know son. She's been drugged.”

During the drive Professor Smith clenched his jaw shut and focused on the road.

“Frank Hindquist did this,” Bertrand accused.

“We can't jump to conclusions, son,” Professor Smith said uneasily.

“I'm sure it was him,” Bertrand insisted.

Then they drove on in silence, steeling themselves for the ordeal ahead. Nothing could have prepared them for the scene at The Stafford Biology Building, though. Four or five police cars were parked haphazardly in front of the entrance, their emergency lights blinking and flashing. Yellow tape cordoned off the area and an officer wouldn't let them in until Corporal Pinehurst had been notified.