Project Moses - A Mystery Thriller (Enzo Lee Mystery-Thriller Series) (21 page)

“So…umm…why, exactly, did you do this?” said Peachtrie. “I mean, if this ever got out of the laboratory, it would be disastrous.”

“Oh, we work under P-3 conditions. Air and water is controlled. Access is limited. Nothing gets out,” said Fish. “You know, of course, what the Manhattan Project was?”

“Do you mean in World War II? The atomic bomb?”

“Right,” said Fish, he gave Peachtrie a conspiratorial wink. “I can’t tell you exactly what this is for because I don’t know. All I can tell you is what my boss tells me. This is very hush hush because the government wants it that way. But, in my view, this is the same as the Manhattan Project. I can’t tell you everything that’s going on here. But, believe me, it’s very heavy stuff.”

Peachtrie pondered the situation. He didn’t particularly mind working for the government, or even the defense department. What really worried him was that he didn’t see exactly why Fish needed a molecular biologist.

“So…uh…tell me, G.W.,” said Peachtrie. “What exactly do you want me to do here?”

“Oh, this was the easy part,” said Fish, gesturing to the dying plants in the upper box. “Now, we need to develop some strains of wheat that this stuff won’t kill. And we only have a few months to do it.”

“Are you thinking of transgenetic resistance?” asked Peachtrie, referring to the genetic engineering technique in which a gene from one species of plant or animal is transferred to another. It vastly increases the genetic reservoir available to find disease resistance.

“Possibly,” said Fish. “We know that certain wild oats are resistant to almost all forms of
graminis
. That might be one place to look for a resistant gene that would work. Use your imagination. That’s why we’re hiring you.”

Chapter 26

LEE AND SARAH touched down at San Francisco International Airport in the early morning. After retrieving their luggage, they rented a blue Thunderbird. Lee used a credit card and showed the rental agent his driver’s license to get the car. He told the rental agent he would drop the car at the airport in a week and mentally made a note to leave the car at some other location in case anyone was tracking his credit card purchases.

They stopped at the first motel they found on El Camino Real, the six-lane highway that links the cities along the San Francisco Peninsula in an endless succession of strip shopping centers, filling stations, motels and fast food restaurants.

It was the Milbrae Parkway Motel. It had the American Automobile Association seal of approval and carried on its bright sign the encouraging motto: “Luxury at Affordable Prices.” Their room had two queen-sized beds, turquoise carpeting, a combination television-radio-alarm clock and an instant coffee maker in the bathroom.

Lee and Sarah didn’t even bother to unpack before falling into bed, exhausted from their flight.

At first light, Lee awoke to the sound of Sarah’s panicked breathing followed by moaning. She was on her side facing away from him. He put his hand on her arm and squeezed gently.

“Hey. Hey. Bad dream, Sarah. Bad dream,” he said. Sarah shook herself half awake, groaned, snuggled back into him and fell asleep again. Lee closed his eyes and let her sleep for another hour before getting up and taking a shower.

They made it to the motel office just before the free continental breakfast disappeared and took a meal of instant coffee, Safeway croissants and apples to their room.

They informed the motel clerk that Mr. and Mrs. John Benson would be staying in their room for at least one more night. By 10 a.m. they were in the T-bird on 101, heading toward San Francisco. It was a warm spring day so they rode with the windows down.

With the old freeway ramp that led straight to Chinatown demolished in the aftermath of the 1989 earthquake, Lee got off at the 4th Street exit and worked his way through the financial district. He passed the cafe where he had once covered a benefit catfish fry for a group determined to make Northern California the 51st state: (
“If at first you don’t secede, fry, fry again…”
). He took Kearny Street as if headed for his flat, but turned a few blocks before into the underground parking garage underneath Portsmouth Square on the edge of Chinatown.

They walked to Waverly Place and continued up the street for several blocks. Then, Lee turned into the doorway of an old, multilevel structure with four railed balconies overlooking the street. The wood stairs were steep and narrow. They went up three long flights without stopping. Sarah was winded by the time they reached the top floor. They went through an unlocked metal grill.

As soon as they went in, Sarah could smell sandalwood incense burning. At the front of the room hung the painted portraits of three men in ancient Chinese dress. The paintings were partially obscured by scores of red and gold paper lanterns hanging from the ceiling. Below the paintings sat a long table with three large bronze bowls filled with sand and sticks of burning incense.

It took Sarah a minute to realize someone else was in the room with them. It was a middle aged woman wearing a dark green knitted dress with a vest made of red and gold material. She knelt on a cushion off to the side and carried a bunch of incense sticks tied up in a string.

The woman walked over to an oil flame and lit the incense. When all of the sticks were burning, she went to the large bowls and inserted three burning incense sticks in each one. Small trays of fruit sat around the bowls.

Then, the woman walked around the room, putting a single incense stick into several smaller sand-filled bowls. Some bowls sat before small altars, simple boxes holding old wooden statues on small stands. Piles of coins and pieces of fruit surrounded the statues.

“She’s offering something to each of the deities represented here,” whispered Lee. “The three major gods and the lesser ones.”

When the woman had finished placing incense in every bowl, she walked up to one side of the altar. There were cans filled with small sticks. She picked up one can and then knelt before the portraits. She shook the can, producing a rhythm that increased in speed. Her eyes were closed and she bowed repeatedly. Finally, one stick fell onto the floor. When she picked it up, Sarah could see a number on it.

The woman went to an alcove where there were rows of small strips of pink paper with Chinese characters. She went to the number that matched the number on her stick, and pulled out a slip. She read it slowly and chuckled.

“She’s reading her fortune,” Lee explained, speaking again in a whisper.

Finally, the woman pulled a handful of oranges out of a bag and placed them on a long narrow table along a side wall. Above the table were white plastic panels with Chinese characters. Some of the panels had pictures of people, some appeared to have been taken decades ago. She put her hands together and bowed slightly several times while she murmured.

“She’s leaving an offering for her ancestors or someone who has died,” said Lee.

The woman gathered up her things and began her long descent to the street. As she left the temple, an old man passed her on the stairs. He wore a long-sleeve flannel shirt, brown polyester pants and running shoes. One side of his face drooped.

Lee walked up to him.

“Master Chu,” he said. “How are you?”

Master Chu smiled and nodded at them.

“This is my friend, Sarah,” said Lee. Master Chu offered Sarah his hand. He seemed very frail and she was surprised at the firmness of his grip.

“Thank you for going to see my grandmother,” said Lee. “She told me on the telephone that you have been twice.”

Master Chu nodded his head in agreement.

“I teaching your grandma tai chi,” he said. “She needs it very much. She very stiff. She also very smart lady, your grandma. You listen to her.

“She say you in trouble,” continued Master Chu, looking at Lee up and down as if inspecting him for defects. “She say you always follow your own mind. Everything be okay.”

“Please tell her that I am fine,” said Lee. “I can’t see her for awhile but I will come again as soon as I can.”

Lee reached into his back pocket and extracted his wallet.

“I’d like to give you some money, for the vegetables,” he said.

Master Chu put up his hand and shook his head.

“Your grandma say no place to cook,” he said, now looking at Lee with an expression of dismay. “She say, ‘Why you always bring food when no place to cook?’“

“I thought she liked it,” said Lee.

Master Chu shrugged.

“You bring gift. What she say?” he asked.

They said their goodbyes to Master Chu and left him in the temple while they walked back down to the street and into the sunlight.

“It’s a Daoist temple,” said Lee.

“It was fascinating,” said Sarah.

“There are Daoist and Buddhist temples all over Chinatown in places you wouldn’t expect them, over restaurants, above stores. Some are very formal. Others feel like someone’s living room.”

They walked the half dozen blocks to the Jade Cafe, a small restaurant on Broadway. Inside, there was a glass case filled with pastries and custards. Next to it, in the window, were large, round steaming trays stacked six high and filled with the dim sum offerings of the day.

Lee noticed three men wearing dirty, white aprons had a production line going on a large table at the back of the restaurant, past the handful of tables for customers.

At one end, a man was picking up small lumps of rice batter and flattening each one by pressing the batter with a cleaver against the table top in a quick twisting motion. The result was a stack of round flat noodles of uniform thickness that was passed down the table.

The other two men stuffed each flat noodle with a concoction of ground meat and pinched the edges of the noodle together, forming a tiny purse with fluted sides. These were piled onto a metal tray that was removed periodically and the dim sum delivered to the kitchen in the back of the restaurant.

From a woman working behind the food-filled case, Lee ordered rice wrapped in a large lotus leaf and cooked with sausage and ground meat in the middle until the rice was moist and sticky and permeated with the flavor of the leaf. He added an order of shu mai, seasoned ground pork steamed while encased in thick rice noodle, and another order of har gow, shrimp steamed inside the rice-noodle envelope.

Their food was handed across the counter on two plates sitting on an orange plastic tray. They sat at the only empty table.

They had finished the shu mai and were working on the har gow when a man about Lee’s age walked in. His head was shaved. He had a thin mustache and goatee, and he carried a white Emporium bag with string handles. He sat across from Lee and Sarah.

“Hi, Enzo,” he said.

“Hello, Ben. This is Sarah. Sarah, meet Ben Hom. Ben is my…what are we, Ben? Second cousins?”

“Something like that.”

“How is the store?”

“It’s all right, Enzo. ‘Got a special this week on damsels and lion fish.”

Lee shook his head.

“Not me. My cat will never have a restful night’s sleep.”

Ben Hom looked inquiringly at Sarah.

“Nope,” she said. “I’m death to goldfish and turtles. I don’t want to add to the list.”

“Tsk, tsk,” said Ben Hom. “They’re clean, you know. Don’t need to let them out at night, worry about the rugs. And they’re safe. Won’t bite the kids unless you get piranha.”

“Nothing’s safe,” said Lee, shaking his head.

After Ben Hom had left them, Lee and Sarah walked back on to Broadway which was bustling with lunch hour traffic. Lee carried the white Emporium bag as they walked up Broadway toward Grant Avenue. They turned left onto Grant. They stopped at a luggage store where Lee bought a blue day pack. Then they went into a discount camera and electronics store and bought a pair of Bushnell binoculars and a set of cheap walkie talkies.

It was just a few blocks back to the car in the underground garage. Lee popped the trunk and they loaded their bags into it. The white Emporium bag hit with a thunk.

“What, exactly, is in there?” asked Sarah.

Lee said nothing until after he got into the car and started the engine.

“It’s a gun,” he finally said.

“I thought so. Do you now how to use it?” said Sarah.

“Yeah. Benny’s a gun nut. He’s taken me to the range a couple of times.”

“Do you think it’s wise?”

“Look, Sarah. I’m not planning to have a shootout with anyone. But, if a situation arises where I wish I had it, I don’t want to be without. Until then, it stays in the trunk, okay?”

Sarah turned and looked Lee in the eyes.

“I understand but I don’t have to like it, do I?” she said.

Lee didn’t reply as he hit the accelerator and began the series of tight turns that would take them back to the daylight.

Chapter 27

IT WAS 4:30 P.M. when they reached the soccer field beside the tavern called Lucy’s on Resnick Road in the foothills of the Santa Cruz Mountains. They drove past slowly, continuing up the road another mile or so. Then, they turned around and rode by in the other direction, before finally pulling into the Lucy’s parking lot.

Lucy’s and the soccer field were at the bottom of a narrow valley beside a stream bed that now carried only a muddy trickle. Across the two-lane road was a sizable hill that bulged out at the soccer field. As a result, the soccer field was located on the outer edge of the bend in the road. Past the soccer field, the road continued its steep upward climb.

Sarah put the binoculars, one of the walkie talkies, a sweatshirt and a quart-size bottle of mineral water in the blue day pack. Then she crossed the road and began climbing up the hillside.

She was wearing running shoes and the tall grass in the lower portion of the hill made her footing slippery. She fell to her knees several times on the way up, but kept moving steadily up the slope. Clumps of trees, mostly small live oak, began about two hundred feet up the hillside, merging together further up until they became a solid mass near the crest of the hill.