Project Moses - A Mystery Thriller (Enzo Lee Mystery-Thriller Series) (34 page)

COL. HOBART WAITED in the office of the Chief of Security at the Dallas-Fort Worth Airport. He fingered the old scar on his neck as he thought very carefully about how to handle the next ten minutes. He knew his entire future, perhaps even his life, depended upon it.

He had met with the special actions chief of the CIA the previous day. The chief was a gaunt, humorless man whose name and position, as well as the projects he supervised, appeared only on documents that had the highest security classification.

Graylock’s attempt to save AgriGenics had been a total disaster. Alone, the televised meeting had been enough to initiate the two Congressional investigations into AgriGenics. Spreckel’s killing of the Armstrong woman had just compounded the problem. The government now was reduced to a bare fig leaf of deniability. The only hopeful element was that Spreckel had been killed during the process. He could be portrayed as a rogue agent. Spreckel also had been a potential leak that Hobart no longer had to worry about now.

Graylock’s death was a mixed bag. Hobart wished he’d taken a more quiet way out. Going off the Brooklyn Bridge was the kind of high-profile demise that whipped the media hounds into a frenzy. It wasn’t clear whether Graylock’s demise had been voluntary or not. Hobart suspected he had been tossed off the bridge by one of Graylock’s foreign customers who had concluded that Graylock had suddenly become an embarrassing liability. No matter. Graylock had gotten greedy. He was out of the picture forever.

Sendaki was still the problem. And the chief had made it abundantly clear that if Sendaki had a sudden change of health, Hobart would be on his own. He would be thrown to the Congressional wolves like dead meat or worse. No more killing. No covert operations. Not even computer hacking. The lid was off on this one. It was time to scurry for cover. Everyone was hunkering down in their favorite out-of-the-way hole hoping this would all blow away without rooting them out.

The chief had left Hobart with a single card, the one he was about to play. It was on this thin reed of hope that Hobart had stacked everything. If it failed, Hobart would be drawn into the scandal. And if that happened, the best Hobart could hope for was prison time. It was more likely that he would become an easy mark for an agency assassin.

The door to the office opened. Two airport security guards stood outside with Sendaki between them. He was wearing a rumpled business suit that fit his short frame poorly and carrying a briefcase. He looked mad.

Sendaki stepped into the room.

“It’s you,” he said. “What is the meaning of this?”

Hobart nodded at the security guards. They shut the door. He could hear their footsteps as they walked away.

“You obviously remember me,” said Hobart.

“From the hotel in Chicago. Yes. Very well. What am I doing here? I have a connection to make.”

“Yes. Yes. I know,” said Hobart. “Don’t worry. We’ll get you there. We’ll have the plane held if we need it.”

It crossed Hobart’s mind that except for the chief, this meeting would have been totally different. If Sendaki did not agree to the deal he was about to present him, Hobart would simply have had him killed when he left the office. There were a hundred ways it could be done.

“Dr. Sendaki,” began Hobart. “Sit down, please. I understand you have been appointed president of AgriGenics.”

“Correct,” said Sendaki, sitting in the chair in front of the desk where Hobart sat.

“AgriGenics currently faces billions of dollars in lawsuits filed by farmers all over the country whose crops have been wiped out by diseases created or reproduced by AgriGenics. Right?”

“We will make resistant seed available to all of those growers free of charge,” said Sendaki, defensively. “We have figured out how to disarm the stem rust that was ruining the wheat crop. We are confident that we can control the damage to the other grains until we find their weaknesses.”

“But, Dr. Sendaki,” continued Hobart. “Even if you stopped all of the diseases in their tracks today, the damage is already in the billions. Lawyers in the bread belt are as greedy as any place. You don’t think they’ll let AgriGenics off the hook, do you?”

“Probably not.”

“And if they win?”

“AgriGenics would be forced into the protection of the bankruptcy court,” said Sendaki.

“And do you think a bankruptcy judge would let AgriGenics try to work out of its financial problems?” asked Hobart.

“Facing those kinds of judgments? It’s not likely. A court would probably just liquidate the company, sell the assets. And even if the creditors agreed to some type of workout proposal…”

“That could take years,” said Hobart, finishing Sendaki’s thought for him. “And there is no guarantee that the court or the creditors would let you have anything to do with the company. After all, you got AgriGenics into the biological weapons business, didn’t you?”

“Now wait a minute,” protested Sendaki. “You were the one who got me into this. You made all the arguments…”

“I know. I know. I appealed to your patriotism. But, you have a law degree. You know how lawyers think. Do you think your good intentions will mean anything to the lawyers for the farmers?”

Sendaki was silent.

“This is the way I see it, Dr. Sendaki. All of your wonderful work, all of your discoveries, all of the ways to improve the world’s food supply…all of it is the property of AgriGenics. They are trade secrets, patents…all forms of intellectual property. They probably will be auctioned to the highest bidder. Even if AgriGenics keeps them and survives in some form, the chance that you will be able to apply your genius to them, to finish the work you started, is almost nil.

“You could walk away and start a new company,” Hobart continued. “But, every time you try to do anything you will face a lawsuit by AgriGenics or whomever has bought its patents that you are infringing. Or, they will say you are using trade secrets that aren’t your property. You know the drill. You will spend the rest of your productive life litigating. Whether you ultimately win becomes irrelevant.”

“An interesting scenario,” said Sendaki. “I am sure you did not ask me here to gaze into crystal balls. What is the point?”

“The point, Dr. Sendaki, is that I am offering you a way out, a way to continue your work and lead this revolution that you have already started. What do you think would happen if the United States government became involved in these lawsuits? What if we told every federal judge who hears these cases that the incidents happened as the result of accidents that occurred while AgriGenics was performing work under the direct supervision of the government?”

“You are kidding.”

“No, I’m not,” said Hobart.

“And, I suppose that the government would not provide any details of the work since that would endanger national security?”

“Ahh. Dr. Sendaki. You are prescient.”

“No, I just remember my own moot court problem.”

“And, of course, any information that AgriGenics might reveal would be classified and a threat to national security.”

“So, you’re offering AgriGenics sovereign immunity.”

“As you say, Dr. Sendaki, you wrote the problem. You know the ins and outs of the legal doctrine, the uncertainties. But, yes. That’s right. You be the judge of what it is worth.”

“It might just work,” said Sendaki. “And what is my side of the bargain?”

“It’s very simple. You act in a way that is consistent with this strategy. That means any information about the work you did for the government, your relationship with it, anything at all, is strictly classified. You treat it that way. You say nothing about it to anyone unless you are under a court order.”

“And that includes my meetings with you?”

Hobart smiled and nodded. It was going smoothly. His main worry had been that the sheer outrageousness of his proposal would offend Sendaki, that he would stalk out of the office and that would be it. But, Sendaki was considering it. It was simple, really. Sendaki kept his company and Hobart kept his career, his freedom and his life. This might work after all.

“Think about it, Dr. Sendaki. It gives you a good chance of keeping AgriGenics afloat, of continuing your work. The government will be on your side of the table in these lawsuits, that’s a big help.”

Sendaki nodded.

“And, forget about the two of us for a moment,” continued Hobart. “What is the best result for the country, for the world? Which way saves more lives? Which way reduces the amount of human suffering?”

Sendaki was silent for a full minute staring at Hobart, thinking.

“All right,” he said finally. “There is one condition. I need to know who you are. If I am not satisfied with the government’s role, I will complain directly to you. And, if I am still not satisfied, I will tell the whole story from the highest mountaintop, starting with your name.”

Hobart stood up, pulled out his wallet and extracted one of his cards. He handed it to Sendaki.

“Call any time, Dr. Sendaki,” he said. “Consider me the government’s exclusive agent for this…uh…arrangement. No one else will admit its existence.”

“One last thing,” said Sendaki. “Did that agent…Spreckel…did he work for you?”

Hobart just shrugged.

“Have a good flight, Dr. Sendaki,” he said.

Chapter 42

THE LANDLADY TURNED back and focused a skeptical eye on Lee before she let him cross the threshold. She was gray and frail. Her aging bones had betrayed her on her painful way up the stairs outside the house. Still, Lee knew she would stand her ground and refuse him passage unless she was assured of his right to be there.

“For the last time, you’ve seen the letter,” he said. “Her mother called you, didn’t she? What’s the problem?”

“I saw what they did in there,” said Stella Fogarty. “I don’t want you ruining anything or taking anything you aren’t supposed to. What did you say your name was, young man?”

“Enzo Lee. Here. Here’s my card. I work at the San Francisco News. If there’s anything amiss, you’ll know where to find me.”

Stella Fogarty held his card up to her face with both hands. She tilted her head back to focus through the bottom half of her bifocals. She silently mouthed the words that she read: “Enzo Lee. Reporter.” Having an identity seemed to do it for her. The printed card carried enough authority to pass her muster.

“Oh. All right. Go in,” she said, stepping aside and jerking her thumb toward the opened door. “I’ll be next door. Come get me when you leave.”

Lee went up the inner stairs slowly. The air inside was stale, but the weather was cool so it wasn’t hot. When he reached the top of the stairs, he could see the papers still lying all over the floor of the small office, books on the floor of the living room, and the contents of Sarah’s closet and dresser still strewn around her bedroom.

The sight of it reignited his anger. It hadn’t been enough for them to take Sarah’s life. They had terrorized her first, driven her from her home. He kicked one of the books lying on the living room floor and sent it skidding into the far wall. Then he stopped. What was he doing? He went to the bay windows that faced the street and threw open one side. The cool air gushing in made the curtains flap.

Lee stood by the window for a moment. Then, he got down on his knees. He propped his elbows on the sill, resting his chin on his crossed wrists, and looked out at the pink church across the street with the cross at the top outlined in neon. Then he closed his eyes, breathing deeply.

He had grieved before when his mother died. The end had been a relief after five days in the hospital, watching her strength ebb and her fight turn to pain and resignation. He had missed her deeply and felt at the same time that along with her he had somehow lost his own childhood.

But, Sarah’s death had left him numb. He had spent the day in jail lying on a cot, staring at the ceiling. He hardly cared when they released him with apologies for the mistake.

He had gotten a room at a New York hotel and didn’t leave it for the next three days. He kept the shades drawn. He slept for 12 hours at a time and watched television when he was awake. He ordered a bottle of whiskey but ended up smashing it in the bathtub. Room service brought him a sandwich when the hunger pangs became too severe.

Finally, he had emerged to catch a flight to Lincoln for Sarah’s funeral. He slept in a Holiday Inn and drove two hours to attend the service in the morning. He met Sarah’s parents there. They were anguished and confused. They didn’t understand why she was dead. Had she done something wrong? Why had a government agent killed her? What was she doing in New York? Lee didn’t know what to tell them. They didn’t know whether to treat him as a friend or a criminal. In the end, he said nothing. Sarah was right. They were unsophisticated. Besides, no amount of sophistication would make what had happened to Sarah understandable. He was so exhausted he didn’t trust himself to explain anything to them.

But, his grief must have been apparent to Sarah’s mother. At the cemetery when everyone was leaving, she came to him. She invited him to go to Sarah’s flat in San Francisco before she and her husband made the journey to close it. Take anything you’d like, she had said, to remember Sarah.

Then her mother had cried and Lee had held her and he cried, too, finally. They were the first tears he had shed since the day of the shooting. Sarah’s father stood by helplessly.

Lee stood up at the window. He left it open to air out the flat. He looked around him at the mess. He pictured in his mind Sarah’s mother coming into her daughter’s flat and seeing it like this, seeing this gross violation of her.

He started with the books. When they were put back on the shelves and he had straightened all the furniture and dusted the living room, including the hardwood floors, he went to the bedroom. He worked quickly, returning the clothing to the closets and drawers. He refolded everything so it would look orderly. As he handled the clothes, he tried not to picture Sarah wearing any of it. Just cotton and nylon, he told himself. Wool and rayon.

Lee was nearly finished with the office when he found the envelope. It was teal colored with a logo, a single helix laden with fruit and flowers, on the left. He looked at the postmark. It was dated several days before Sarah had left the flat. She must have put it in a pile of junk mail, planning to tend to it when she had more time.