D Carpenter - Infertile Grounds

“But I thought—”

“No, Chris, that’s not relevant here and now,” Pell shifted in his seat uncomfortably and kicked Chris hard again.

Chris shrugged, not understanding what Pell was doing. Let him do things his way, for now.

“I’ll tell you what, Pell,” Carl said. “Let us do some of our own research tonight and call me in the morning. Unless we can dig up something more on our own about this, I’m going to tell you to drop it.”

“Drop it!” Pell screamed. “After what I just told you?”

“You just told me about some different events that may or may not be related. You don’t even know if this virus exists or not. You’re basing everything on Chris’ word and some unconnected evidence. In fact, it seems you could be trying to make the evidence you do have fit the story. My bet would be that this David Rose, for whatever reason, told you a lie.”

“Who would make up a complicated lie like this on his death bed – to a total stranger no less?” Chris asked.

Carl shook his skin-capped head and said, “I don’t know, but think about it. I’m not a scientist, but I know that developing a virus like the one you’ve just described isn’t simple. It’s a scientific undertaking that’s going to take years and money – lots of money. There are undoubtedly companies across the river in Cambridge trying to do conceptually the same thing, except they’ve had corporate backing and some of the brightest minds in the world at their disposal and still haven’t been successful. So why and how would a bunch of hillbillies in the middle of nowhere in northern Maine be able to pull this off? I need some time to look into this.”

Carl was an extremely bright man – a megalomaniac personality, but definitely very smart. He had detached from their discussion and stared off into the distance, tapping one skinny finger against his weak chin. Chris watched him mentally compile and sort through the information. Spawning ‘what ifs’, trying to make sense of it.

Carl rose and without looking directly at either of them said, “Call me in the morning.”

With that, he and his two shadows walked out of the room, leaving them alone.

“Damn,” Pell muttered.

“What’s the matter? The guy just wants to look into it himself.”

“You don’t get it. Carl’s only motivation is his career. He doesn’t care about anything but that. I’m telling you right now that when we talk to him in the morning, he’s going to tell us we’re crazy, and I should go back up to Bangor. Where I belong.”

“Maybe not.”

Pell snorted and said, “Just watch.”

“Why did you stop me telling them about my theory on Ngami?” Chris asked.

“I’ll tell you when we’re out of here,” Pell said “Where to now?”

Chris rose. “Let’s get out of here. You can stay at my house tonight. I’ll drive,” Pell wouldn’t be able to handle a Boston rush hour. Chris enjoyed Boston traffic. It was a game of nerves – whoever had the bigger balls made the best time.

Chris glanced across the seat at Pell as he drove through South Boston and into Quincy. He was quiet, his complexion ashen – most likely reminiscing about his career-limiting decision to kill Allen Jenkins.

“How you feeling?” Chris asked.

“Peachy.”

“Giving up booze is the best thing you’ve ever done for yourself.”

“It feels like it.”

“When we get to my house, I’ll have Karen make us something good for dinner – something to take the bite off.”

“We almost there?”

“It’s right around the corner.”

His house was nestled in a moderately upscale subdivision. All of the houses were on the small side and had a similar Cape Cod style. Theirs was perfect for the two of them, but if they ever had kids, it would get small real fast. As they pulled into the driveway, he saw Karen’s Volvo in the garage, and a shiny new pickup in the driveway. She would be surprised to see him.

“I wonder who’s truck that is,” he said as they climbed out and walked up the front steps.

To his surprise nobody was in the living room.

“Maybe she’s out,” Chris said. “She wasn’t expecting me until Sunday.”

“Can I get a drink of water?” Pell asked.

“Sure, the kitchen’s down that hall. Help yourself.”

Pell left the room and headed for the kitchen. Chris followed until he got to the stairs that led up to the second floor. He took the steps two at a time and went straight to their bedroom. He was getting a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. The door was partially closed and he pushed it open.

Karen was naked, climbing out of bed. A man he had never seen before sat up in his bed. Chris screamed. Not a word, just an animalistic cry. For a split second, he froze in shock but that was rapidly replaced by a rage unlike anything he had ever felt. It tore through his body as time seemed to slow down, giving him the unwanted opportunity to study the scene in front of him. Karen’s mouth moved but he heard no sounds. The man had a large scar on his shoulder and a number of moles across his chest but he was in good shape – lean, hard, ripped. Was that why she had done it?

Chris screamed again and hurled everything off the top of the dresser. Jewelry, perfume bottles and other totems of female beautification sailed across the room, smashing into the walls and careening off the hardwood floor. Chris was completely out of control.

He tore their large, ornately framed wedding picture from the wall and hurled it towards the bed. The picture sailed across the room and crashed into the man’s skull, knocking him sideways out of the bed and onto the floor.

Karen cried out. “Stop, Chris. Stop!”

Chris started toward the man. Every muscle in his body quivering to inflict some sort of physical pain on him for being with the woman he had committed his life to.

Pell burst into the room and screamed, “Chris, stop!” But Chris tackled the guy and delivered a blow with his fist to the guy’s face.

Arthur Kent picked up the handset and pressed the flashing line button at the request of his demanding but incredibly efficient secretary. Carl Moscovitz’s nasally voice said, “Hi Arthur, got a minute?”

“Go ahead.” He clicked an icon on his computer screen that started a recording of the conversation. “This got anything to do with that IR out of Maine I read this morning?”

“You don’t miss anything, do you?”

Arthur nodded. What a kiss-ass. He had promoted Carl to Northeast SAC and sometimes wondered if that had been a mistake.

Carl filled him in on his meeting with Pell.

“That’s it?” Arthur said.

“Pretty much. I’ve got two of my best men on it. If this really is something we need to work it out quick, similarly if it’s all a bluster about nothing, we need to work that out too so we move on without wasting too much resource. We’re looking at all of the obvious avenues, focusing on Sarah Burns. I also called a PHD friend of mine at DyNAcorp. I ran it by him – no details, just concepts. He confirmed what you would expect. Setting up this kind of lab is a big deal. Costs a huge amount of money for equipment. But it could be located anywhere, in a basement, a garage that sort of place. The key is the brainpower. He claims there’s only a handful of people in the world capable of something like this and he knows most of them.”

“So what do you think?”

“Gut feel. There’s something here. I’m not sure if it’s what Pell claims but it could very well be.”

He scribbled notes as Carl talked. “I want twice daily updates. Morning and afternoon. Anything else comes up, you know how to get me.”