D Carpenter - Infertile Grounds

Pell sucked hard on the small straw. “What the hell do you know?” He asked. “I did the right thing then. It wasn’t good enough. I was the one being questioned and ultimately demoted, after giving my everything to the job. I’ve lost all credibility. This situation here could make or break me forever if I don’t handle it right. Lots of people in the Bureau are just waiting and watching for me to make the right mistake at the right time so they can crucify me, to finish me forever.”

Pell’s eyes narrowed and a menacing scowl curled the corners of his lips. The look disappeared as quickly as it had come and he hung his head for a long silent moment. Finally, he looked up at the half-full drink and said, “I’ve always relied on gut feel. My gut feel has been right all through my career. Even when I got the demotion I knew I wouldn’t have done anything differently because in my gut I knew had been right. Just those assholes at the office needed a scapegoat. My gut feel right now is telling me to get to work on this and find out everything that’s going on before I have to drag that son of a bitch Moscovitz into this.”

“Then let’s go find out what the hell is going on here.” Chris said standing up and feeling like he was ready to take on the world.

With that, Pell stood up, threw some money on the table and said, “Come on then, partner. I could have chosen worse, but you’ll have to do for now.” Chris followed him as he staggered out of the Lo Maine.

“I’ll drive,” Chris offered as they got to the car.

Pell gave him a weak smile as they climbed in and Chris asked, “So where do we start?”

“Let’s go back to the office,” he slurred.

The FBI office was exactly as they had left it – the front door was ajar, the smell of gunpowder hung in the air. Pell drew his pistol. He walked with much more authority than before. Three double vodkas in an hour can make anyone cocky.

“Shouldn’t we call for backup?” Chris asked.

“Just wait in the hall,” Pell whispered.

“No thanks. I’m staying with you.”

“Okay, but if anything happens, hit the floor.”

“You can count on it.”

Pell paused briefly before flicking on the lights. Except for the shards of wood and the mangled doorknob on the floor, the office space looked untouched. He shut the front door and slid a chair in front of it before they went through each office individually. Finally, comfortable that nobody was lying in wait for them, they went into the conference room.

“So what now?” Chris asked.

The plane slammed hard into the field and bounced up in the air again. Jerry cut the throttle and nursed them back onto the ground. They stopped no more than thirty feet from the tree line.

“That was a rough one,” Seth said as Jerry turned the plane around and they taxied toward the waiting pickup, its headlamps serving as the runway lights.

“It could have been a lot rougher,” Jerry said. “I’m not going to miss this fuckin place – not one little bit.”

Seth grunted as he opened his door and climbed out. He too was more than just a little sick of all of the inconveniences of their current location, but that was more or less a moot point now. Curtis was in the driver’s seat and Seth climbed in next to him. Jerry squeezed into the small seat in the back.

“Did you hear from Mark?” Seth asked as he slammed his door shut.

“Yeah,” Curtis replied loudly. The Grateful Dead blared out of the speakers. “About forty minutes ago. He said he’d be back in about two hours.”

“Turn that down,” Jerry said from the backseat. “Goddamn hippie music.”

“Hey, man, the Dead—”

“Just turn it off, Curtis,” Seth spat. “Did Sarah call?”

Curtis punched the power knob silencing the music. “Not that I know of.”

Seth looked at his watch as they started to drive. She’d be calling any minute.

“Did you get Wendel started on packing up the rig?” Seth asked, referring to the eighteen wheeler which would be loaded with everything they weren’t going to destroy before they left camp.

Curtis nodded and said, “So we’re finally out of here?”

“Yeah,” Seth replied. “If you guys follow the plan to the letter we should be on the road by noon. We’ve got a lot to do.”

They bounced down the rutty road. The lights of the lodge were visible through the brush and woods up ahead. As they came to a stop, Seth saw that Wendel was hard at work with the forklift, loading up the trailer. While he climbed out of the cab, he heard the faint sound of the phone ringing. He made a rush up the stairs and into the lodge. Just as he was about to pick up the receiver, it stopped ringing.

“Damn,” he muttered as he turned and went back outside to make sure that everybody knew exactly what to do.

He turned on the rest of the outdoor floodlights before walking across the driveway to the lab. From the outside, it looked like a garage or barn, but inside was several million dollars’ worth of extremely high-tech equipment – centrifuges, ultra-cold freezers, a couple of in-memory analytical servers for doing modeling, and even an electron microscope. Wendel buzzed by on the forklift. Seth was happy to see his “to do” list taped to one of the bars that supported the overhead cage on the lift, with lines going through each completed item. He loved lists and nothing irked him more than making a list that people didn’t use. He nodded at Wendel who grinned in return.

Inside the lab, he was surprised to see that noticeable progress had already been made. His plan was simple – take everything that would appear out of place to somebody picking through the ashes. All of the high-tech stuff had to go. Anything that would be incinerated by the fire could stay, but he didn’t want anyone to look at the wreckage and know that this was not a simple hunting camp. Especially now.

Shit, he had to deal with Bert too. Primarily a scientist when they had started this so long ago, his responsibilities had grown over the years and somehow he had become the strong arm of Sarah’s organization. It came naturally to him. He had been a tough kid – more a product of the streets than his family, but he had a gift and a keen self-taught interest in science. The scholarship to Harvard came from an endowment left to his hometown, the shit-hole city of Lawrence, Massachusetts by one of the daughters of its once glorious textile business. He had accepted it, reluctantly, and it turned out his Harvard professors recognized he had a genius-level intellect with an eidetic memory. Though they had pushed him to achieve and had high expectations, he would never have made it through if it weren’t for Sarah – when she found him he was floundering, distracted, railing against the system and trying to find a reason for expulsion. She gave him purpose – a reason for persevering and he eventually graduated with his MSC Summa Cum Laude, at the top of his field, with honor and prestige. Now here he was – about to commit murder and unleash a virus that would change the face of the earth. He shook his head and chuckled – fucked up stuff.

He dialed Bert’s number. He wasn’t looking forward to this. Over the years he had grown to like Bert. But, as always, business was business and unpleasant as it might be, he had to do it. He hadn’t wanted to kill Stu and his wife either.

“Hello,” Bert said picking up the phone.

“Bert, it’s Seth.”

Bert’s voice dropped, “I was just about to call you. I managed to track that guy from the diner down. I’ve got some details on him as well as more details on Foster.”

“We need to talk face to face,” Seth said. “When do you think you can come out to the lodge?”