Gerrie Nelson - Lab Notes

“Please God, help me,” she screamed and steeled herself for the onslaught. But it didn’t come. The launch climbed to the crest, and the wave swept underneath it. She had gotten into the rhythm of the sea.

Diane whispered a breathless stream of thank you’s and switched on the running lights.

As the boat moved farther and farther away from Carrera Island, the waves broke less frequently and the lights ahead became better defined. Then slowly, blessedly, the launch moved into the lee of the big island.

Diane adjusted her course, turning slightly away from Aruba. No matter if it did offer safety and shelter, she didn’t want to cozy up to a landmass composed largely of rocks. She needed a chart. She clicked on the autopilot and rifled through the helm storage and cockpit lockers. No charts. No life jacket either.

Then, with a start, she wondered if she had enough fuel. She slapped her forehead. “Good planning, Rose.” But, actually, if she had gone over every detail earlier, she might have thought twice about setting out on the lone voyage. Some journeys were better taken one peril at a time.

Now, however, some planning was in order. Her immediate future loomed large. And she desperately wanted to survive it. She pulled back the throttle, settling the boat into a comfortable ten-knot speed. She needed time to think.

What happens when she gets back to land? She had an uneasy sense that she shouldn’t involve Olimpia in her plight. But if not Olimpia, who? Or what?

Should she go to the airport, hoping for an early morning flight? Not a good idea; the Carreras would miss the launch by then and come looking for her. She found herself already out of options, unless she tried booking passage on a cruise ship. But, “Oh shit!” she’d need her passport to go anywhere. And it was in her luggage at Olimpia’s house.

She had to phone Olimpia. She grabbed for the overnight bag.

Olimpia’s voice was sleepy. Good , Diane thought. No one had been looking for her.

“You say you are coming in? It is the middle of the night.” Olimpia sounded incredulous.

Diane fought to keep her voice steady. “Something has happened, Olimpia. I need you to trust me. I must get out of Aruba. Now.”

“Who is bringing you in?”

“I’m alone… I stole the launch. Please, I need your help.”

Silence. Then, “How far out are you?” Her tone had become businesslike.

“Fifteen minutes to the dock, maybe.”

“I will meet you at the marina.” The phone went dead.

Bright resort lights backlit the harbor. Diane squinted, frantically trying to pick out the red blinking light marking the channel entrance. It should be there. It was an international maritime law, she thought. She hoped.

Then, with profound relief, she recited the sailor’s mantra, “red, right, returning,” as the red flashing marker passed her starboard side, and she entered the channel.

But her celebration was short lived. She knew other perils awaited. For starters, who would greet her at the dock? Olimpia or the police?

Frank Chen sat at a breakfast table at the J.W. Marriott overlooking three stories of curved glass that presented an IMAX view of Hong Kong.

He pulled his gaze away from the panorama as the hostess led a gentleman to his table. Mr. Chen stood and extended his hand. “Mr. Lee, I presume.”

Harry Lee’s Uncle Hu bowed slightly. “Yes. It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Chen.”

“Thank you for coming,” Frank Chen said and gestured toward the seat opposite him with a sweep of his hand. “Won’t you join me for breakfast?”

Hu Lee bowed once more and allowed the hostess to seat him. He looked at Mr. Chen with a questioning glance, wondering why he had been invited there.

“I understand you are also in banking, Mr. Lee.”

Hu Lee knew of Frank Chen’s financial empire. Everyone did. Now it pleased him that Mr. Chen spoke to him as a peer. “Yes, I am. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Do you know of an American scientist, Dr. Diane Rose?” Chen asked.

Hu Lee was taken back. He nodded tentatively.

Frank Chen sat forward with a twinkle in his eye. “I initiated this meeting at the request of my eldest son, Tung. Dr. Diane Rose was his biology professor in the States; he had a secret crush on her for several years. But she also kindled in him a passion for science, which is responsible for the success he enjoys today. She is an honorable woman.” Mr. Chen held his hand over his heart. “You would be doing my son a great favor if you could find the time to talk with Dr. Rose.”

Hu Lee relaxed. “Of course,” he said. He would be glad to do such a favor for Mr. Chen and son.

Diane awoke to the rhythm of her head bouncing on Olimpia’s shoulder during a rumbling twenty kilometer taxi ride from the airport into Santa Marta. She sat up, worked her neck and jaw into place and looked over at Olimpia who seemed to be dozing. She squinted at her watch; her nap hadn’t lasted long enough. But it was amazing that she’d slept at all.

Glancing outside, she couldn’t make out any land or building features. Everything was obscured by a dense morning fog. Not that she had any interest in sight-seeing. At that moment, her overriding concern was: What the hell are we doing here? Olimpia’s pilot friend could have taken them to Curacao or Bonaire or Venezuela, all nearby. But Olimpia had brought her to the place where the Carreras wielded the most power: Colombia.

Diane let her head collapse against the smoke-infused upholstery behind her and prayed for sleep to return; wakefulness was far too painful. But her mind kept replaying the past several hours.

Olimpia had picked her up at the harbor in Oranjestad and had driven like a mad woman to a private airstrip. Throughout the harried trip, Olimpia assured Diane that leaving on short notice was not a problem. “We will just go to the Kogi a few days earlier than planned,” she said.

The bumpy flight to Santa Marta in the single-engine plane, with its many rattles and vibrations, was not conducive to whispered questions like: “Who or what is the Kogi?”

After landing in Santa Marta, Diane’s attempts at questioning Olimpia had been shushed in a parental tone that strongly indicated Diane should be seen but not heard. She barely remembered climbing into the taxi and falling into an exhausted sleep.

Now, she realized her short nap had revived her just enough to awaken her anguish and anxiety. If she was going to survive this ordeal, she knew she had to confront her demons—immediately.

Diane sat up, breathed deeply and rolled her shoulders. She’d take a rational scientific approach, analyzing her pain down to its enzymes as if it were a soul-eating plant. I can do this .

First she addressed her anguish: It began with the realization that the man she had just made love with and his charming father were involved in her husband’s murder.

A searing pain shot across her chest. Diane sat back, forced her mind to go blank and focused on her respirations. In a minute or so, she had relaxed enough to confront the demon again.

This time she interrogated it: Had she encouraged Gabriel’s interest in her, beginning with their first meeting and that dance aboard the Enterprise ? If so, had Gabriel murdered Vincent to free her for himself…? What about Carlos and all that gentlemanly fawning over her? She was a clone of his wife. Did he want her as a replacement? Or was that fuzzy female thinking?

Okay, how about the business aspect? Gabriel owned control of BRI. Had Raymond reported Vincent’s constant probing and multiple grievances to him? Or, if Vincent knew of Gabriel’s majority ownership, had he aired his complaints directly to Gabriel?