Lab Notes: a novel (26 page)

μ CHAPTER FORTY THREE μ

“It all began along the Silk Road, which I’m sure you know was the ancient trade route between China and the Mediterranean. Travelers and merchants needed rest stops, so tea houses began springing up. Over several centuries, various snacks were added to teahouse fare, giving birth to the tradition of dim sum.”

At that moment a waiter wheeled a cart of bamboo steamers up to the table, interrupting Mr. Lee’s discourse.

While Hu Lee discussed the selections with the waiter, Diane sipped her green tea and scrutinized the man who had taken a one-hour flight from Dallas to see her. He had phoned last evening and they agreed to have brunch. Dim sum had been his preference.

He landed at Hobby Airport at 10:30 in the rain. She picked him up and drove to the restaurant on Houston’s Southwest side.

Hu Lee was a handsome man, probably in his middle fifties. He had grown up in Hong Kong, but was schooled in the U.K. His accent was a cultured blend of Chinese and British.

His khaki slacks, boating shoes and rolled shirtsleeves signaled he was not always the buttoned down banker his voice suggested over the telephone. Also, there was that lock of black hair that dangled rakishly over his forehead; he obviously didn’t feel compelled to smooth it back.

Finally, the waiter and his cart rattled toward the next table. Hu Lee picked up his chopsticks. “Allow me,” he said.

He served an assortment of dumplings, steamed buns and deep-fried spring rolls from the lazy susan in the center of the table onto Diane’s plate.

The restaurant was packed with parties of six or eight people around each table. The atmosphere was a potpourri of smells and sounds. Patrons shouted orders, trays clattered and dishes clinked in celebration of Sunday brunch.

Diane and Mr. Lee had a round table for six to themselves. They sat in chairs next to each other in order to carry on a conversation. So far they had only discussed the weather, Tung Chen and his father and dim sum.

Each time Diane turned his way to make a comment, she saw Hu Lee’s eyes assessing her. It was not the look of a man who was checking out a woman, appreciating her assets, noting her flaws. It was more of an intense animal watchfulness—almost as if he was gauging whether or not he could trust her with his life.

Originally, she had asked Tung Chen and his father to intercede with Mr. Lee on her behalf, hoping that Harry Lee had given his uncle information about BRI that might inform her
Peruvase
search. But now it was obvious Hu Lee had his own agenda.

She wanted to shout out: “What’s this about? Surely they have dim sum restaurants in Dallas—or for that matter, in Hong Kong. What are you doing here?” But she continued quietly wrestling with her chop sticks, biding her time.

Finally he said: “Do you know anyone named Leo?”

“No… Why?”

Mr. Lee laid his chop sticks across his plate, placed his napkin on the table and turned to her. And under cover of the dim sum commotion, he told her the story he had been too frightened to tell the Hong Kong authorities or the CIA.

Hu Lee’s nephew Harry, upon hearing rumors in the science community about technologies that came out of BRI and disappeared, began spying on Raymond Bellfort. He hacked into Bellfort’s computers and even watched his house through his telescope.

Harry Lee was deaf as a child, but had corrective surgery in his teens. In the intervening years, he had developed an exceptional ability to read lips.

While working at Bayside Research, he would spend entire evenings watching through his telescope when Bellfort entertained people on his patio. That’s where he saw the man that Bellfort called “Leo.”

Leo and Bellfort were planning to sell off Harry’s technology before it was completed, then fire him. They talked about it sparking a lot of interest in the Middle East—the potential buyers did not want to see such a powerful biometric device used internationally.

At that point in Hu Lee’s story, Diane interrupted. “I’m so sorry, but drinking all this tea… I have to run to the lady’s room.”

Hu Lee was a gentleman. He jumped up and helped pull back her chair. “Of course, of course,” he said.

After locking herself in a bathroom stall, Diane took deep breaths and ran her fingers through her hair. Why was Hu Lee sharing this information with her? She pondered what to do.

Mr. Lee’s second mention of “Leo” had conjured up the image of wooden cross boards identifying
Dr. Leo’s Serengeti Ranch
. Leonard Everly was Leo.

Everly, most likely under an assumed name, had connected with Harry Lee online, found a Middle Eastern buyer for his technology, then traveled to Hong Kong. He intended to bilk Raymond Bellfort and BRI out of their share in the technology that Bayside Research had funded—once a cheat, always a cheat.

But Harry Lee had recognized Everly, and Everly knew it. Poor Harry. His lip-reading ability had cost him his life.

However, Diane was not free to discuss Everly with Hu Lee. For the time being, she was sworn to secrecy with both the “Lab Rats” and the CIA.

Back at the table, with a fresh pot of green tea and mango tarts in front of them, Hu Lee continued his narrative:

Unbeknownst to Raymond Bellfort, Harry Lee, on his own time, had been developing an improved, slightly different biometric device, more compact, more user-friendly. But when he left BRI, he also took the old technology with him. He wanted to deny Bellfort the ability to profit from his life’s work by peddling it to terrorists who would destroy it.

Harry looked for funding online. He drew some interest, and chose to work with a company out of California named “Ridge Laboratory.” Ridge differed from the rest in that they expressed an interest in Harry’s abilities, as well as his technology.

Most of the preliminaries were done over the telephone or online. Then they sent a representative to Hong Kong to meet with Harry.

After Harry’s murder, Hu Lee’s investigation uncovered the fact that the research company, “Ridge Laboratory,” was nonexistent.

Hu Lee looked down at the table; his voice became husky. “Harry spent his last day with my wife and me. We drank tea and watched the sunset from the living room. Then, at eight o’clock, I drove him to The Peak to meet his killer.”

He turned back to Diane and watched her closely as he spoke. “The technology that Harry took with him that day was the old device—the one he knew could not be completed without his input. He was giving it to them as a trial to test their trustworthiness.

“I have the new technology in a safe place, waiting for the proper venue to build it. But there are evil people out there who won’t want to see it come to fruition. Its development will be a very dangerous undertaking.”

μ CHAPTER FORTY FOUR μ

Diane sat in her BRI office downloading files onto her computer from the server. She’d finish this last task, then end her relationship with Bayside Research Inc.

Huck, acting as a foot warmer, lay curled under her desk. It seemed he needed physical contact with her almost constantly since her return from South America.

She glanced at her watch; it was 7 p.m. Her monitor told her she had fourteen minutes until the download was complete. David should be there in another half hour to help carry her things to the car. Then he was taking her out to dinner.

She tapped her pen impatiently on her desktop. Huck raised his head and growled. She reassured him: “It’s only me. See.” She tapped her pen again as proof. But Huck crawled out from under the desk and went on point, his nose aimed toward the door.

She reached over and patted him. “That’s why the office door is closed. You’d be chasing every creak and groan this old building makes.” Huck sat down beside her, but kept a wary eye on the exit.

Diane turned and looked out the window at the darkened bay. She watched the blinking light on the channel’s farewell buoy and felt saddened.

Huck growled again. She felt for a velvety ear and scratched behind it. “We’ll be finished here soon.”

Just then her computer beeped. She looked up and saw
Access to Source Document Terminated
written across the screen.

“Rats!” It appeared the server was down—again. It was too late in the evening to call the IT service. Maybe it was something she could handle on her own. Once before, she had watched the IT technician simply press a reset button.

She stood up to go to the electronics room. But Huck jumped ahead of her. Growling, he lunged at her office door. “What’s wrong with you, boy?”

Reaching for the doorknob, Diane said firmly, “Stay.” She had to go through the lab to get to the electronics room, and neither area needed a sprinkling of dog hairs.

Backing up, Huck whined his displeasure as Diane closed him in her office.

Walking through the reception area and across the hall, she wondered why she should give a damn if Huck shed hairs all over BRI’s labs and their electronics; after tonight, she’d be outta there.

Diane entered the main door of the lab into the bench area and found all the lights ablaze. She had been in the lab two hours earlier and distinctly remembered turning off the lights when she left. The cleaning people must have been there in the meantime; she had seen their van when she arrived.

She crossed the room toward the data area, but stopped dead in the doorway. On a counter near the far wall sat two large red plastic packing crates that had not been there earlier.

Ignoring the hair standing up on the back of her neck, she stepped through the wide doorway into the data area. Now she could see down the length of the first counter. On the floor beside the crates stood a dolly that held a desktop computer. With a quick scan of the room, she located the computer’s former home, now a gaping hole sprouting wires and connectors beside one of the desks. Her eyes returned to the open crates. Her brain registered “robbery in progress.”

At that moment, the door to the electronics room banged open, and Raymond Bellfort stepped out carrying a server under each arm. He had a wild intensity about him. His face was purple, his hair and clothing disheveled. He slid one server onto the counter top. Then he placed the other into a crate. He reached for the first server.

Diane’s decision to turn and run came a split second too late; Bellfort sensed her presence and looked up. They made eye contact and held it.

Bellfort spoke first: “I didn’t know you were here.” His voice was half an octave too high.

Diane’s glance dropped involuntarily to the crates, then back up to his face. His eyes narrowed. She was in trouble. Raymond was stealing a computer and two servers from BRI, and it was her misfortune to catch him in the act.

Her knees went weak.

Bellfort was obviously a common thief as well as an embezzler. And, if he was murderer too, this encounter with him could prove fatal.

Raymond inched his way in her direction. He began talking—probably to distract her from the fact that he was closing the distance between them.

“Your boyfriend copied me in on that email he sent you,” he said in a tremulous voice. He stopped, pulled a crumpled handkerchief from his pocket and swabbed his forehead. Then he chuckled and said. “Gabriel’s not a very good judge of human nature, is he?”

He shot Diane an icy smile. “
You’re
intuitive about people though, aren’t you Darlin’? You’d know what to expect from a man if he was placed in a situation where he had nothing left to lose. Wouldn’t you?”

Diane didn’t trust her voice. And she sensed that any display of fear would inflame his madness. She stood as silent and still as if she had encountered a cobra.

But her brain shifted into overdrive:
Boyfriend?
God, how she wished she’d read Gabriel’s email. Whatever he said, he had made Bellfort crazy; she needed to get out of there. But how? If she could get her shaking legs under control, she could turn and retrace her steps—through the doorway behind her, then a straight shot through the bench area, then only several yards across the hall and through the reception room to her office. She’d be safe there until help came. Even if Bellfort broke down her office door, he’d be no match for a pissed-off eighty pound dog.

She turned one foot tentatively to the right. But Bellfort detected the motion. In three strides he covered the distance to the far edge of the doorway, where he took up position. He smirked and said “Check.” He was toying with her and wanted to make sure she knew it.

Her move.

Bellfort watched her with the cunning of a leopard stalking a deer.

She took some quiet breaths and calmed herself. Any move toward the front door could place her within Bellfort’s striking distance. She needed a new strategy. The remaining exit was through the back door. But to get there, she had to negotiate a slalom course through the desk area, then around a counter and through Maggie…
Maggie!

As far as Diane knew, Maggie’s operating system was still turned on. If she could make it that far, Maggie, as always, would see her as an intruder and set off the alarm. That would alert Wilbur who would call the police. Hopefully, Bellfort didn’t know how to turn the thing off.

It was now or never. Diane turned and bolted. She pivoted around the first desk, then the second.

Bellfort was caught flat-footed, but quickly did an about face and headed toward the back of the room. Even though Diane had a shorter distance to cover and was lighter on her feet, Raymond’s path to the other side of the lab held fewer obstacles.

Rounding the last desk, Diane looked up and saw Bellfort ahead of her, panting, blocking the way to Maggie. Her gambit had failed.

Again, he inched toward her. She glanced around. Not seeing any means of defending herself, she backed up a few steps.

Raymond’s lips curled into a cruel smile. “You shouldn’t run from me Darlin.’”

Diane’s mind reeled; she had heard that before—those exact words. But where? Then came the realization—the night of the break-in—the chimps in the trees—
Oh My God!
.

Bellfort continued moving her way. She retreated a few more steps.

Bellfort sneered. “Your lily-livered husband ran from me too.”

That got Diane’s attention. She held her position a moment.

Raymond Bellfort continued his taunt, “You didn’t know he was a coward did you? Not only a coward—a squealer too.” Bellfort’s voice had risen to the creepy childish pitch he had used on the chimpanzees that night.

Diane found her voice and spoke for the first time since walking into the lab. “That’s not true.”

“Ha! Too bad you weren’t on the boat to see how he turned off course and ran from me.”

Diane’s heart flipped over. She pictured Vincent on the video, clinging to the binnacle guard in that horrible weather, talking about another boat in the area. On camera, he reported that poor visibility made it necessary to alter course to avoid a collision.

Her mind screamed with the realization that it was Raymond Bellfort on the
Maria V
. He had stalked Vincent out at sea aboard the Carrera’s steel-hulled yacht and rammed him. And the sadistic sonofabitch had enjoyed every moment of it—just as he had reveled in clubbing the chimps at the so-called break-in and burning the rabbit at his prep school and torturing the macaque monkeys in the lab. Now she was his quarry, and he was loving every moment of it.

Raymond continued his taunt. “He had a couple opportunities to save himself, you know. He could have stopped squealing to Gabriel when I told him to. Then that day out there in the Gulf, if he hadn’t fallen on his face in the cockpit, he’d have had a chance to turn the boat away.” Bellfort laughed a joyful laugh. “But he never made it to the wheel.”

Diane couldn’t bear to hear any more. And it was probably only a matter of seconds until he’d attack. She had to attempt another escape to the front door. Mentally, she mapped out a shorter route through the desks. But then, stepping back a couple feet to position herself for the lunge, she noticed something in her peripheral vision. And her heart leaped.

Oh sweet irony! On the wall to her left hung the dart pistol and the golden dart. Raymond Bellfort had mounted them there on the display rack the Monday after the awards party aboard the
Enterprise
.

Initially, Diane had voiced her objection to paying homage to animal darting—while it was sometimes necessary, it didn’t need to be celebrated with a plaque. But then she caved in to Raymond’s insistence. And after a couple weeks, she stopped noticing the pistol on the wall.

She knew the dart was not loaded with a tranquilizer. But it could still be an effective weapon. She’d have to shoot to maim.

She planned her moves carefully—there was only one dart. She glared straight ahead at Bellfort, her eyes challenging him to move into her space.

Her change in demeanor halted Raymond’s approach.

Diane took a half step forward, aligning herself with the pistol rack, being very careful not to let her eyes telegraph her intention.

She’d have to make a quarter turn, grab the pistol and dart off the rack, turn back, load and aim.

She saw Bellfort glance at the wall that held the dart gun, then back at her. He may have been crazed, but he wasn’t stupid. He launched his attack.

In one smooth motion, Diane swiveled, snatched the gun and dart, turned back, loaded and lined up the weapon on Bellfort’s crotch. He stopped dead two body lengths away from her.

She saw the terror in his eyes just before he dove behind a metal desk to her right. He screamed in pain when he hit the floor.

She hadn’t even fired the dart.

Bellfort slithered, scrambled and squeezed through knee holes and under tables, grunting his way through the maze. Then Diane heard a chair crash to the floor and realized he’d made it half way across the room.

She was free.

She could run through Maggie, set off the alarm then head down the backstairs and outside. Even if that monster chased after her, the pistol would keep him at bay.

She took a few steps toward Maggie, then stopped and looked at the dart gun in her hand. Something primitive switched on in her brain.

She stepped out of her shoes and turned into the room.

She crept through the desk rows, thinking about the night the chimps were set loose. Raymond Bellfort had wailed like a baby when Wilbur’s dart stuck him in the thigh. He had screamed for them to remove it, forgetting about the marauding chimps—the greater threat, by far.

She stopped a moment, readjusted the dart in the gun, then headed to the far end of the room.

David Crowley pulled the red jeep into his parking space at BRI. He stepped out, closed the door and almost had a heart attack; a figure was running towards him from the woods. He reached inside his jacket; then he recognized the corkscrew hair.

David eyed the man suspiciously. “Crissake, Michael, you about scared me to death. Slipping up on a person like that in Texas, you could get yourself shot. What’re you doing here? How’d you get in?”

“I came over the wall. My car’s out beside the road. Gabriel sent me to watch over Diane. I’ve been hangin’ around the neighborhood since yesterday.”

Michael pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered David one. He declined. Michael lit up, and they started toward the building.

While they walked, Michael told David about Gabriel’s encounter with Diane at the airport in Santa Marta. From their conversation, Gabriel had deduced that Raymond Bellfort killed Vincent Rose.

“That’s not the way I heard it,” David said.

“I swear Gabriel Carrera had nothing to do with Vincent Rose’s death. I was in New York with Gabriel that whole week.”

David didn’t respond.

“Listen, we have to join forces to keep an eye on Diane. Gabriel’s afraid she might be in jeopardy when Bellfort comes back. Gabriel said Diane would never accept my protection though. So I’ve had to skulk about.”