Invasive (11 page)

“In their mandibles, yes. But on the ventral side of the head you'll see a collection of long hairs—those are psammaphore hairs. They form a kind of basket that the ants use to carry those seeds. Or sand, or other particulate matter. It's those hairs we're focusing
on as being valuable for pollination. As the ants go to claim seeds from plants, they pick up pollen. Ideally. Though now we're thinking we'd be better off looking for nectar-drinking ants.”

“Are these harvesters native here?”

“No. No ants are. Hawaii and the leeward chain have no native ants.”

“Why bring them here? Aren't you going to destabilize the environment?”

Will shrugs. “It's always a risk. Same with the bees. The harvesters are incredibly inoffensive, though. They're not a pest insect. They don't attack, and they don't hurt the wildlife—if anything, they help propagate new plants through seed carrying. Hawaii, though, right now is plagued by two invasive ants—fire ants and crazy ants. So we're thinking of starting a new program to create beneficial ants who will be armed with the ability to incapacitate the nests of these other nasty invasives.”

For a moment, they're quiet. Hannah can hear the tiny
ticka-ticka-ticka
of the ants' legs. It's all around her. “Let me ask,” she says. “You and Ajay are on these projects? The ants and the bees.”

“Ah. Well.”

“No,” she says, pretending to just now remember. “That's right, you're . . . what's it called? Additional projects?” She gets it wrong deliberately, hoping he'll correct her.

He does. He fidgets with his eyeglasses as he says, “No, it's called Special Projects.”

“And what are those?”

A cagey smile. “If I told you, they wouldn't be quite so special.” A slick line. It feels practiced. It's also a diversion.

She's about to pursue it further, but just then: A faint vibration in her feet. A distant pulsing
whup-whup-whup
. “I didn't think anybody could get here via helicopter,” she says.

“That's true. Which means it isn't just anybody.” She realizes what this means even before he says it: “It's Einar.”

W
ith the sound of the helicopter, Arca Labs goes from quiet and still to a wasp nest knocked out of a tree with a rock. Bodies moving in hallways. Throwing on lab coats. A buzz of unfocused panic.

Hannah enjoys observing the sense of agitation that Einar's visit—presuming it really is him, of course—has caused. She stands in the reception area, waiting and watching. Will is with her. He's trying to play it cool, but he's failing: his Adam's apple twitches with nervous swallows, and his right hand taps out a staccato drumbeat against his pocket.

Ray comes up out of the lab, still buttoning up a billowing white shirt underneath a jacket. “What are you doing? What are we doing? Where's David? Shit.”

David Hamasaki comes out next, his head and chin leading, the rest of his body pinwheeling to catch up. He's smiling, but it's strained, like a cord pulled too tight and about to snap. “Okay, okay, Einar likes someone to meet him down by the helipad, so let's go.” He's out the front door, Ray glued to his heels.

Will gives her a small smile. “We could wait here—”

“No, I'd like to see the helipad.” Hannah strides out the door.

Outside, the day is warming and the wind coming off the ocean is assertive—it gives her a little shove as soon as she steps out of the trees, following Ray around the left side of the building along a small decking walkway. This walkway descends through the trees toward the massive lagoon in the center of the island. Out there, tucked behind a small black rock cliff and a trio of bent, splayed-out palms, is a helipad.

Hannah can see a helicopter there—black and gray, almost insectile. Rotors red like they tasted fresh blood. She doesn't know much about helicopters, but reading about Einar took her to an article about this very one: it's a Bell 525 Relentless. The ultimate in luxury helicopter rides. This chopper isn't even on the market yet.

Next to the helicopter, a pilot stands with his hands clasped behind his back. Between Ray and David she sees two figures walking up from the helipad: A tall, thin, pale woman. Like a human scalpel—like a vampire. Next to her, the man himself.

Ahead she hears Ray curse under his breath. “Fuck. We were too slow.”

Einar Geirsson marches right up. Ray and David greet him, but he ignores them entirely. Next thing Hannah knows, he's reaching out to her. A gentle kiss on each cheek, light as moth wings fluttering. She wants to pull away, but by the time the urge reaches her it's already over.

“Hannah Stander,” he says, a bit of his accent turning the words just so. “Einar Geirsson. An absolute pleasure.”

“The pleasure is mine,” she answers. It strikes her that what makes him handsome is his little imperfections. His nose is thin and just a bit crooked. His lips are thin. He carries about him the air of a strange, unknowable predator: beautiful like a spider or a wolf.

“Let us walk,” he says. And then he's moving toward the labs and the crowd turns to follow him the way goslings follow their mother goose.

She is swept up in it. “I did not expect to meet you,” she says, working to catch up and match his strides. “I was told you'd remain off-site.”

“Ah, but how could I? Your report troubled me like a bad dream, and so I had to come. If such trouble is afoot, how can I stand back and ignore it?” He snaps his fingers. “Do you know what to do if you are sailing and you meet a rogue wave? You do not turn your side or your back to it. That is how you capsize. No! You meet it head on. You cut the wave in half. Rising truly to the challenge.”

Ray juggles himself forward and says, “Einar, I just want you to know that everything here is under control.”

“Of course it is,” Einar says. “I trust you implicitly, Ramon. Hannah, this is my assistant and bodyguard, Venla Normi.”

Hannah turns to the vampire—who hides behind a pair of massive-lensed sunglasses—and says, “Good to meet you, Ms. Normi.”

The woman says nothing but gives a short, clipped nod.

Now they're back at the labs and in through the front. Einar continues his unstoppable march—this time in the direction of the dorms. “Venla, please have someone here get my bags from the Bell. I'd like to have a quick run and a soak.” As they move through the rec room he says to Hannah, “I am here for the duration of your stay, Hannah. I will help facilitate your investigation to the maximum degree of which I am capable. Consider me your humble servant in this.”

“Thank you,” Hannah says, feeling both drawn in by him and pushed away. She can't settle on whether he's doing this to her as a favor, as a PR move, or as something deeper and more protective.

“You are comfortable here?”

“I am.”

“Everyone has been kind?”

“They have.”

“Kindness is sadly underrated. Have they been helpful?”

“Also yes.”

“Good. You and I will meet at dinner to go over your findings. Seven
P.M.
? We will eat after the others so that we may have privacy to discuss your case freely.”

Before she can respond, he makes a fast beeline for the back exit beyond the dorms. He opens it with his own wristband RFID tag, and then disappears down another walking path toward a small domed house about a hundred yards away.

Hannah almost goes through the door after him, but Ray catches her elbow. “Uh-uh. Not you. We don't follow that far.”

David says, “Nobody but Venla goes to his yurt.”

“And me,” Ray says.

David gives him a wilting look, like,
Really?
And Hannah wonders when the last time was that Ray was really on the inside. Because suddenly it looks a whole lot like he's on the outside. The outside of the scientists here, and the outside of Einar's inner circle. Which, from this vantage point, isn't even an inner circle so much as it is a two-person cabal. Maybe less, even. A star chamber for one: Einar all the way down.

I'd like to have a quick run and a soak.

That gives her the idea. Croissant half out of her mouth, Hannah sits on her cot and stands to pull on a pair of running shorts and sneakers. She draws her hair back into a ponytail as she hastily chews the pastry.

Kit comes whirling into the room like a tropical storm. “Shit, shit, shit, was not ready for our surprise visit. Will there be an inspection again? This soon? Should've known. Einar always says he believes unpredictability to be a virtue.” She's talking to herself, it seems, because it's like she suddenly realizes Hannah is there. “Oh! Oh. Agent Stander. You going running?”

“I am.”

“Einar's on the path.”

“I know.”

Kit narrows her eyes. “We aren't supposed to run when he does.”

“I'm not like the rest of you.” It sounds cockier than she means it, but she lets it lie just the same. “It's fine. I'll leave him alone.”

There: A tiny flinch in Kit's face. Like she knows something but is afraid to say. It's barely perceptible, but Hannah catches it.

“Have fun,” Kit says.

Hannah gets up and heads to the front reception area. Venla is standing by while one of the interns grunts and hauls bags into
the area one by one. “Where are you going?” Venla says, looking Hannah up and down like she's some homeless person who wandered into a cocktail party. Her lip curls into a dismissive sneer. Her accent is sharp like a hook. Finnish, maybe.

“For a run.”

“No. Einar has the path. He has it for one hour.”

“I won't be long and I won't be in his way.”

“But I will be in
your
way,” the woman asserts. She steps in front of Hannah, hands flexing like spiders doing calisthenics. Suddenly Hannah remembers: assistant
and
bodyguard. The woman moves like a spring ready to uncoil into a wire lash.

Hannah feels her own body tense up. “Are you threatening me?” she asks Venla. “That wouldn't be an act of good faith, would it? Threatening a consultant for the FBI.”

“It is no threat. It is a promise. Remember you are a guest here.”

“And you are a guest here, too. I've seen the lease agreements. Einar co-leases this island with the United States government. It would be a shame if that agreement had to be reviewed because of this mess.”

“Little consultant,” Venla hisses. “This is cute. That you think you have this kind of power. That you think Einar's money would not buy him whatever he wants. I could break both of your legs on the White House's front lawn and Einar would write a check and make it all go away. He could make
you
go away.”

“Understood,” Hannah says, then heads back into the dorms. She hears Venla cursing at the boy to hurry up with the bags.

Hannah moves quickly. As soon as the door hisses shut behind her, she jogs through the length of the dormitory branch—past the rec room, the kitchen, the dorms, to the communal bathroom. The woman she saw earlier in the main lab—the one with the big eyes and the ladybug freckles—is in one of the open shower stalls. A lone wristband is sitting next to the faucet by the sink. Must belong to the woman.

Hannah darts in. She yells over the sound of the shower spray. “Hi, David said I could have this.” She scoops up the wristband.

The girl turns around, startled. “Hey, I need that back,” she protests. “I have to be back in the lab in fifteen.”

“What's your name?”

“Lila.”

“Lila, I'll be back in ten.” It's a lie.

“Oh . . . okay.” Worry falls across the girl's face.

Hannah hears Venla barking at Kano to move faster. She hurries back out of the bathroom and to the side exit. Then she pops it with the RFID tag on the wristband and she's out.

She runs. Feet echoing along the synthetic decking.

Running has always been clarifying for Hannah. People think they're being funny and ask,
What are you running from?,
and she always tells them,
I'm running from death.
Though the real answer is quite different:
I'm running toward answers.

Running moves blood. Heart to brain. It clears clutter from her mental table. Makes way for new thoughts, ideas, conclusions.

Her legs churn and burn. Through the trees. Past a spray of orchids. Past a couple of fat-bellied bottle palms. Under the hanging blossoms of a guava tree. As she moves, she hears the buzz and tap of honeybees. The path winds and slaloms—down through the flora, along the lagoon, and then back up along a volcanic ridge where seabirds nest. She can see the Pacific Ocean stretch out like a plate of dark glass.

Then she sees him. On the far side of the island ring, Einar runs at a steady clip, a hard pace. That far away, he's just a small silhouette against the wide-open sky. She barely knows why she's out here, except that Einar is a mystery. He wasn't supposed to be here—and now he is. Could he be tied to the murder? Nobody else is supposed to be out here when he is, and that tells her maybe,
just maybe,
there's something worth seeing.

Hannah runs harder, putting more power in her own legs, the
sweat dripping off her brow and into her eyes. Down the ridge once more, to the beach. She looks up again and—

Einar has stopped.

Hannah blinks against the sun because she's seeing double now—Einar's silhouette splitting and becoming two, two shadows reaching across to each other and—

No. It's two people. There's someone else standing there. Then they're moving, disappearing down the second elevated rise, through a small gateway formed of swaying palms.

Who was that?
Nobody else is supposed to be out here.

Again Hannah runs. She rounds the northern bend of the island, pumping her legs harder. They must still be a mile away. She can run a mile in eight easy, but now she pushes herself to do it faster. The walkway winds around volcanic rocks jutting up like dragon fangs, and then begins to ascend up the next ridge—

Her foot hits, slips on a scree of whispering sand—