The Black Silent (17 page)

Ground up with grain and turned into hog feed. The public would learn of a tragic boating accident as the suspect sought to escape justice, after which Walther's body fell victim to strong tides and/or marine predators.

It took him about four minutes, driving at reckless speeds, to get back to the foundation.

He needed to get on the phone with Nash, but Nash didn't like cell phones. At the conference room he found eight men waiting and decided to put off the phone call.

These were crude men—the ones with lengthy criminal records—and they were here for a pep talk and the dos and don'ts of the job. Calm and baritone, Khan's voice carried the certainty of authority. As he spoke, he strode in front of a blackboard on which he had made some notes and taped large photos of Robert Chase and Ben Anderson. Khan sounded as calm as a college professor, but everyone knew he was as ruthless as any thug. Consequently, he did well leading rabble, staying above the fray, while at the same time letting them know he was serious. When Khan did lose his cool, it was part of a very effective act.

Some of the men worked as hard money collectors, some as personal bodyguards for some very tough people, who ran meth labs and worse. Three were bouncers in the seediest Vegas strip clubs, places that were little more than fronts for prostitution. Many had personally been beaten senseless by Khan, which engendered a respectful attitude.

Using these types worried Frick, but the thought of an out-of-control operation headed for failure worried him more.

Khan abruptly ended the lecture. "You've been entertaining Haley Walther?"

"Not yet," Frick said. "We need to talk."

They walked into the hallway outside the conference room.

"You must be pretty desperate, having me use this crew," Khan said.

"You got that right. So what?"

"Is there extra if I deliver?"

"You know it."

"How much extra?" Khan said.

"Fifty K for good measure," said Frick. "Additional fifty K per head if you or Rafe have to waste somebody. You work it out with Rafe."

"That'll do it. How are we gonna solve your problem by Monday?"

"It's a small island. We're hitting everybody Ben Anderson knows and watching all the harbors. Rafe has Haley Walther. She may be able single-handedly to solve the problem."

"He'll rape her."

Frick just stared at Khan.

"I'm telling you 'cause Rafe tends to get distracted by his own pleasure," Khan said.

"You need to know that"

"Yeah, well, he was all I had at the moment. We've got eight more men to dispatch."

"Give her to me, instead."

Frick thought about that. "Maybe later. Right now, I need you running these guys."

"I'm a professional. I'm not looking for conjugal rights. I'll get the information."

"Just manage your boys. If I need your help with her, I'll ask."

Frick then laid out the places they needed to search and watch. After Khan had his questions answered, they got down to the specific assignments.

That took a few minutes. Khan had one last comment.

"With what's going on inside that house between Rafe and the girl? That boyfriend of hers will come back. In his gut he knows."

"He would if he could, but he's hurt. Ran off the property. I left another guy with Rafe. I don't expect the boyfriend will be back all that soon. We need to discuss the most important job you got. I need you to supervise personally."

"Okay."

One of the things Frick liked about Khan was that he listened. And he was smart.

"You caught up on what McStott's pulling out of Anderson's research?" Frick asked.

"Octopuses, genes, and proteins. Crazy shit, but I followed."

"McStott's nothing more than a dirty scientist; he's got a couple lab tech helpers that are greedy bastards to help out. You supervise and try to tell the pony from the horseshit."

Khan simply nodded.

"I'm putting you in charge of the gold mine," Frick said. "I want results, and I don't want McStott getting any ideas about hiding what he finds. It's a little after six. I figure we have sixteen hours, maybe even until Monday evening, but no more, and by then, somebody will blow the whistle. Somebody will ask why Sergeant Frick is still in charge. Then the state comes in and we're done."

"McStott won't steal anything or turn us in," Khan said. "But I want to tell you something. Strope knows a man in the government. This government man heard a little about a guy named Sam who has a lot of names." Khan smiled, but it had the look of derision. "You made a big mistake not killing him when you could. And a bigger one leaving Rafe with his woman friend."

Sam heard Haley say something unintelligible as he climbed the stairs. Occasionally his feet made a creak on the old hardwood, but Sam knew that a man in Rafe's frame of mind wouldn't be likely to hear.

When he reached the landing, he went to the first door and listened.

Nothing.

"No."

The word came out muffled. The bed creaked. Quickly he stepped to the next door, where he heard her more clearly. He put his hand on the knob and concentrated on moving the latching tongue out of the door frame without a sound. Once he had the knob all the way turned, he slowly opened the door. They were on the bed. Her hands were tied and her feet, so she was spread-eagled, gagged in a bra and panties.

Rafe had his knife under her chin.

It was time to move. Sam passed through the doorway and stood quietly, worried about the knife so near her carotid.

"Just talk to me and I'll stop," Rafe said.

On a dresser stood a large, glass snow globe. In one smooth motion Sam picked up the globe and hurled it at the back of Rafe s head from a few feet away. The ball exploded on Rafe's skull; Rafe fell on top of her, quivering. Sam checked his pupils and determined he was out cold.

He grabbed Rafe's knife and quickly cut Haley loose. Once she spit out the gag, she grabbed him and held him tightly. He wrapped himself around her. He knew they had to leave and did his best to calm her as fast as he could.

"I was so scared," she cried.

He murmured assurances as he helped her dress. Together they went back to the stairs.

Gibbons, at the bottom, gave a nod with his head. The second man was in the living room, no doubt assuming the crash upstairs was part of the torture program.

"Listen," Sam whispered. "I need you to run down those stairs hysterical, with me chasing you. The guy in the living room will go after you. I'll be right behind."

"That's risky," she said. "What if I get too far ahead?"

You won't."

They looked at each other one more time and without hesitation she ran down the stairs screaming.

"Help me! Help!" She sounded terrified.

Sam limped after her with Rafe's knife. The man came running out of the living room and intercepted her in the hallway.

He never saw Sam come around the corner. With his knife hand Sam punched the side of the man's head. He whirled. In a fluid motion Sam switched the knife to his left hand and struck with the palm of his hand into the man's nose, then smashed an elbow into floating ribs. The man dropped in a state of semiconsciousness, bleeding badly from the face.

Sam grabbed the railing, put his foot against the wall, and, despite new pain in his knees and back, heaved with all his might. The bottom of the railing broke away, leaving Gibbons with his hands free.

"Frick probably has the key to those cuffs," Sam said. "You got any bolt cutters?"

"I'll get them," Gibbons said. He went to the basement door and disappeared with his hands still cuffed in front of him. Sam checked the guy on the floor. He wore blue jeans and a flannel shirt with a Kevlar vest beneath the shirt and cuffs in his back pocket. In seconds Sam had the guy chained to the radiator pipe in the living room. He wouldn't go anywhere, even if he regained full consciousness, any time soon. Sam hoped he hadn't overdone it when he hit him. He checked his pupils and his pulse, worrying about intracranial bleeding. There was no emergency room on the island, although there were paramedics and rapid helicopter evacuation to a trauma center.

Gibbons returned with a large pair of bolt cutters. Sam quickly snipped the cuffs.

"Come with us," Sam said.

"I'm not leaving," Gibbons said. "I'll hide in my basement. They'll never find me."

"They may, and if they do, they'll kill you." "Believe me, they won't."

Sam realized that arguing was a waste of time that they couldn't afford. "You need your car?"

Gibbons thought for a minute. "Better you take it; that way they'll think I've left. And one more thing." The way he said it, Sam knew it was big. "I think Ben might be hiding at the foundation."

"Why didn't you say so before?" Haley cried. Sam took Haley gently by the arm, kept her back, and worked on getting Gibbons talking.

"Why do you say that?" Sam asked.

"A hunch."

"Tell me. You can see these guys aren't screwing around."

"In the workshop there's a small study. It's hidden behind some shelves that move. You might find him in there. And I think you'll find more of his research too. Maybe you would be interested in those volumes, even if you don't find Ben." He paused. "But you might indeed find Ben. It's a good bet." Just when he thought Gibbons was done with the revelations, the older man cleared his throat.

"There is also a small storage room that you access with a door that's behind some lumber racks." "Anything there?"

"I don't know. I just mention it because it's out of the way."

They moved to leave, but on second thought Sam stopped and grabbed Gibbons's bolt cutters.

Outside in Gibbons's car Haley seemed lost in thought. Sam wondered if she was reliving whatever had happened upstairs.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine. Just wondering how we get back into the foundation. Now we have two reasons to go there. The plankton volumes and Ben."

"Once we get in, we still have to get out. Since you told me about the volumes in his office, I've been giving some thought to it." Sam looked at her more closely. "Are you sure you're fine?" She seemed to be putting effort into not crying. "You didn't come any too soon," she said. "The bastard. He was all over me. I hate him. I hate him. I want him rotting in jail."

Sam started the motor and clicked the electronic garage door opener. In seconds they were on the street. As he drove, he saw her hands clenched so tight they were turning white. The tears were coming now.

On a back street Sam pulled over and faced her. Touching her seemed different, but he chanced it and put his arm around her. Perhaps it was becoming more natural. At first she resisted; then she came close. "Laitimer was lying." she said.

"What do you mean?"

"He has an ax to grind. An agenda," she said. Sam drove. "How?"

"It's just a hunch," Haley said.

"He acted like his evasiveness was all about being loyal to Ben."

"I think he is paranoid," she said.

"His agenda is certainly not our agenda."

"Well, at least he gave us the documents he had." She began flipping through the computer printouts. "Every one of these pages has ARCLES at the bottom of it."

They entered the parking lot above the Friday Harbor Marina, where boat owners parked. It was well-lit, with few cars and quiet—a typical off-season night in Friday Harbor.

"It's time to call Rachael," Sam said. It took the punch of a button because he had her number in memory. "Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Rachael said. "Meet us at the marina parking lot."

"I'll be there in about twenty minutes. Maybe just a little more."

"Here's a section about Arcs," Haley said. "Ben apparently has other scientists working on this. I recognize Jacob Krevitz, a retired fellow from UW. Oh, and Miles Knoff, retired from Cornell. Ben's really been putting brainpower into this."

She read on. "Here are some calculations regarding a methane/sulfate cycle. Not that I know what that has to do with anything."

"What's it mean generally?" Sam asked.

"It's a cycle that doesn't use oxygen," she said. "By comparison we breathe oxygen, we exhale CO ; vegetation does the opposite. You know?"

2

"Sure."

"According to this, some Arcs live on a methane/sulphate cycle like we live on an oxygen/CO cycle. Methane-producing Arcs take in CO and hydrogen and make 2

2

methane. The point is, if you calculate the available energy in their various chemical cycles, factoring in the normal amounts of energy required to maintain an organism, then Archaea cannot possibly live. None of them. That means that by our standards these Arcs are energy efficient beyond comprehension. It would be equivalent to discovering a race of people that could live for a year on a slice of pizza." She returned to the pages.

"Somebody actually did the pizza calculation." She was quiet for a while. Sam watched a couple men coming up Water Front Street—mere shadows passing through the streetlamp halos. He studied them. Not in a hurry, relaxed, nothing in their hands, they looked like people accustomed to the island.

"Wow," she said.

"What?"

"The ramifications of what I just told you—they're enormous."

"Tell me," Sam said.

"Aside from the fact that these things appear to live on practically nothing, the methane makers produce much more methane than the methane eaters consume. Ben did a mass calculation for methane production by Arcs. He says there's more methane stored in the bottom of the sea than all the oil, coal, and gas reserves put together."

Sam whistled long and low.

"Not so hard to believe," Haley said, "when you consider what Ben says here: 'Arcs comprise one-third of all the living stuff on earth.' Unbelievable! And to think Nelson Gempshorn worked on this."

"Who is Gempshorn?"

"He's a vice president of American Bayou Technologies."

"The company that's merging with Sanker?"

"Yeah." Haley looked surprised that Sam knew this. "That's right. And you know, I don't think I ever mentioned it to you, but I walked in on Ben and Nelson one day at Ben's place. They had some kind of a model of something and they sort of seemed to panic when I came in. The model had something to do with the seafloor and ships. Now that I think about it, American Bayou Technologies is in the energy business. Offshore oil, mainly."