Read Lab Notes: a novel Online
Authors: Gerrie Nelson
David wasn’t sure if he should believe Michael’s story. If he convinced Diane she should accept the bodyguard’s protection, it could be akin to letting the fox into the hen house.
The two men walked around to the bay side of the building while Michael finished his cigarette. He was stomping the butt on the ground when he looked out at the harbor. “Where did that come from?”
David looked where Michael was pointing. “What do you see?”
On the other side of the
Enterprise
—that smaller boat; it wasn’t there a bit ago”
David squinted and peered across the harbor. “Shit! That’s Bellfort’s runabout.”
Both men turned and ran for the building.
Diane rounded the corner of the counter and found Bellfort. He was on all fours, heading toward the electronics room door. It gladdened her heart to see him crawl.
She aimed the dart gun at him and waited.
He arrived at the door, reached up for the knob, then stopped and leaned his forehead against the wood. He knew she was there.
He tilted his head and looked up at her through the corner of his eye. “Don’t. Please don’t,” he said. There was panic in his voice. Hyperventilating, he rolled himself to a half-sitting position and held up one palm in a defensive posture. “I beg you, don’t.”
When Diane responded, her voice was filled with loathing. “Scared of a little dart, are we? I bet you’re afraid of shots too. Did you cry at military school when the nurse gave you your inoculations? I bet the other boys laughed at you, especially that boy with the rabbit. Did he call you a chicken? That’s what you are, aren’t you?—A big, fat chicken. A coward. And a thief and a murderer too—”
At that moment, David and Michael charged through the main door into the bench room. Diane’s head jerked toward the commotion.
In that split second, Raymond Bellfort made his move. His flight was fueled by terror. When Diane turned back, he was on his way to the exit. She tore after him.
Just as he made the turn to run through Maggie’s frame, Bellfort looked over his shoulder and smirked. Diane aimed the dart at his neck and fired. He ducked. The dart hit the wall and fell to the floor.
“Dammit!” Diane shouted and tossed the gun onto a desk.
Bellfort ran into the frame unimpeded. But he didn’t exit the door on the other side.
Maggie’s voice blared out, “Good bye Raymond Bellfort, Good bye Raymond Bellfort…”
When Diane reached Maggie, Bellfort was on the floor inside the frame. He made a gurgling sound and twitched, then he went still.
David and Michael arrived beside her. Maggie continued shouting her goodbyes to Raymond Bellfort. David stepped over and pressed “off” on the control screen.
Everything went silent except for Huck’s frenzied barking in the distance. David kicked off his shoes, and entered Maggie’s frame. He bent down and felt for Bellfort’s carotid pulse. Then he looked up at Diane. “He’s dead. Maggie must have grabbed his shoes. He hit his head.”
David made no effort at resuscitation.
Diane needed to be alone for awhile. She told the men she had to calm her frantic dog.
Her mind reeling, she found her shoes, then headed toward the main door muttering under her breath, “Checkmate, you bastard.”
The island’s northern headland, where years before, Gabriel and his younger brother had lost scores of soccer balls into the sea, was the chosen field of honor.
Gale-sculpted boulders and twisted divi divi trees stood as witnesses. Clamorous trade winds served as the trumpet’s blare and the beat of the drum.
Carlos and Gabriel shouted off twenty paces, stopped, turned and raised their pistols. One of the men aimed wide, fired, then lowered his arm and remained in place.
The other understood. He closed his eyes momentarily to gather his resolve. Then he aimed carefully. And fired.
It was the third wet morning in a row, but the rain had finally diminished to a drizzle. Diane met Sara at a popular tourist spot on the edge of Galveston Bay. The merry-go-round was silent and the Ferris wheel and red and blue shuttle trains stood still. There was something melancholy about an amusement park in the rain.
The women stepped out of their cars and shook hands, then they hugged. Their destination was a cozy coffee shop at the other end of the boardwalk. But first Sara wanted to walk and talk.
Diane didn’t bother pulling up the hood on her slicker; she found the drizzle somehow cleansing.
“Are you okay?” Sara asked.
“I’m fine,” Diane lied.
Sara said, “Considering his hypertension, they feel that Bellfort had a stroke when he hit his head on the floor. I like to think of it as a death of convenience—the authorities would have had a hard time proving Raymond Belfort killed Vincent. The video was the only proof of foul play. And I’m sure he destroyed it a long time ago.”
Sara went on: “I’ve heard of double jeopardy, but this was double irony. First the dart gun, then Harry Lee reached up from the grave and unleashed the power of Maggie.”
Diane walked along silently, feeling that Sara’s comments didn’t require a response. They had talked about most of it a couple hours ago on the phone.
However, in recounting to Sara her near-death experience in the lab, she had neglected to mention that, when the advantage shifted her way, she had spiraled into a murderous rage and was thrilled by the hunt.
Sara asked, “Do you know the origin of the phrase ‘the handwriting on the wall’”?
“It’s from the Bible, isn’t it?”
“Yes, the Old Testament. By deciphering handwriting on a wall, a man named Daniel was able to prophesize the downfall of Babylon to King Belshazzar.”
The women walked along mulling this over until Sara said: “I guess David told you about the BRI extortion mill.” She looked at Diane who nodded. Sara continued her story anyway.
“The Lab Rats found that BRI would entice scientists to come to Houston and bring their technologies with them. Once they were in their web and they had signed over their inventions, Bellfort and Everly would shop the products in the marketplace. They’d approach companies who stood to lose the most if the BRI products were released. Everly was a pro at shaking down people who were anxious to bury the new technologies.”
Sara went on to tell Diane about Leonard Everly’s indictment for the murder of Dr. Harry Lee. The authorities had plenty of evidence against him.
TekTranz had disclosed that they sometimes made payments to Everly using a second bank account. They apparently turned a blind eye to the fact that he was double dealing.
Sara added: “We checked that account and found he had an infusion of five million dollars two days after Harry Lee’s death. The money came from a bank in Bahrain. That Saudi account’s been closed, but we’re on the trail of its former owners. With that information, and now that we have Bellfort’s and Everly’s computers and Hu Lee’s testimony, a strong case can be made.”
The women stopped at a fish food dispenser and fed it some coins. They leaned on the rail and sprinkled the pellets into the water below.
Diane said, “I’ve decided to cancel my interview in Maine and stay on a little longer to clear things up here. Gabriel’s email placed me in charge of BRI. He asked that I oversee an audit of the books. That’s the least I can do. I was so cruel to him that day on his plane. I really don’t know how I’ll face him again.”
“It was an easy mistake; his yacht was on the video. I’m sure he’ll understand.”
Sara dumped the last of the pellets into the water, now roiling with fish, and turned to Diane.
“I can see all this coming together: Hu Lee has asked you to develop Harry’s new technology. Gabriel has placed you in charge of BRI, albeit temporarily. But I have a feeling he’ll extend your contract. And we would fund the project.
“BRI could be a kind of Janus in the biotech world. The face turned to the public would continue with its present programs. Let’s see.” She counted on her fingers: “There are the Wentzel and Sabbedra’s projects, and I’m sure you’ll want to finish
Chimeron
and dabble in ethnobotany in your spare time. And who knows, maybe you’ll be able to rescue
Peruvase
.
“But BRI’s other face, its secret face, would develop Dr. Harry Lee’s new technology—Maggie’s next generation.”
Diane was quick to object. “It doesn’t make sense to use BRI. I’m sure Hu Lee would trust your organization with the technology. Then, wouldn’t you be better off finding a big lab that has experience with this sort of thing?”
Sara shook her head. “No. The Agency and Homeland’s research arm, the
Science and Technology Directorate
, would like a small off-the-books research facility—a ‘Boutique Lab’ if you will.
“BRI is perfect. And so are you, Diane. We can get you all the help you need.
“This is an important biometric device. Terrorists and drug smugglers can use counterfeit passports, cover their irises, mess with their finger and handprints, but they can’t disguise their cell physiology or the mechanics of their motion.”
Diane lowered her head and fluffed some of the drizzle from her hair. She studied the boards on the walkway, then raised her eyes to Sara.
“I find all this confidence in me very flattering.” Her voice cracked. “But I stand here, still a bit shaky from having a serious threat on my life. I’ve experienced jeopardy before, but this encounter transcended bodily endangerment. And it has forever altered the smug sense I had of myself… So I ask you, why would anyone knowingly set up herself and her staff and families as targets of who-knows-what organization? Why would anyone expose herself and her employees, day in and day out, to something that, in Hu Lee’s words, ‘will be a very dangerous undertaking?’”
Sara cocked her head, studied Diane’s face for a moment and said, “I suppose that’s something we all have to determine for ourselves, Dr. Rose.”
Diane parked under the treehouse and stepped out of the SUV. Opening the front door, she realized it was the first time in weeks that she hadn’t looked over her shoulder.
Huck didn’t show up on the stairs to greet her, but she shrugged it off. He was probably out on the deck chasing a squirrel or chewing on a bone. She tossed her keys into a bowl on the entry table and turned to go into the kitchen. But something made her stop and look back toward the living room.
The sun had finally peeked out from behind the clouds. It slanted through the windows sending orange stripes along the living room wall behind the sofa where Carlos Carrera sat. The lower band of sunlight lit up his mane of white hair; he looked like he was on fire.
He stood and walked toward her. “I was afraid you would not invite me in, so I let myself in.”
Diane was paralyzed. The only thing that kept her from fainting with fright was the memory of Gabriel assuring her that Carlos and his “knights” would never hurt her.
Carlos stopped when he saw her terror. “It kills my soul to have you look at me with such fear. You are the daughter I never had. I would not harm a hair on your head.”
He motioned toward the living room. “Come. Sit with me. We must talk.” He returned to the sofa.
Diane walked haltingly into the living room and sat on the edge of a chair across from him. “Where’s my dog?”
Carlos smiled. “He is on the deck enjoying the soup bone I brought for him.”
His smile faded, and he leaned forward as if to say something important. But he paused, groping for words. He appeared distraught. Several silent seconds passed while he studied the rug, then he looked up at Diane and said, “Gabriel has died of a heart attack. He was cremated and his ashes were spread on the sea near Carrera Island.
Diane stifled a sob. It wasn’t possible that another man she loved had died… Loved?… Yes, she
had
loved him in a way.
She stared at Carlos in disbelief. The room went out of focus. Outside, a neighbor’s dog barked and Huck answered. Above, a pine branch scraped along the roof.
That should be pruned
, she thought. On the other side of the room, Carlos was saying something.
“My son was not a perfect man, but he was not a murderer. Gabriel called the shipyard in Corpus Christi where the
Maria V
has her annual maintenance. They keep records. The boat’s hull sustained damage we were not aware of. The receipts show that Raymond paid for the repairs with his own money—”
Diane held up her hand to silence Carlos. “I know Gabriel didn’t kill Vincent—they were friends” she said in a choked voice.
Carlos bent down and fumbled in a briefcase on the floor beside him. He pulled out some papers and sifted through them.
“Gabriel has left a will,” he said. “Eduardo, his son, will be the administrator of his investment fund. BRI is to receive a significant percentage of the fund’s yearly profits for research projects.”
He rifled through the papers again. “Here it says that you are to receive his stock in Bayside Research and his house on Carrera Island.”
He looked up and smiled. “We will be neighbors.”