Medusa

Austin said he would talk to Zavala after he’d studied the results of the computer search. He got back in his Jeep and drove to the thirty-story green-glass tower, overlooking the Potomac, that housed NUMA’s headquarters. He parked in the underground garage and took the elevator up to his Spartanly furnished office.

A thick file was sitting on his desk with a note from Yeager telling him to “Enjoy!”

He opened the file, but had only made it past the first page when his telephone buzzed. Caller ID couldn’t identify the number.

He realized why after he picked up the receiver and heard the crisp voice of James Sandecker, the founder and longtime director of NUMA before being appointed Vice President of the United States when the elected second-in-command died. As was his usual style, Sandecker got right to the point.

“Pitt forwarded your report on the B3 incident to me. What in blazes is going on, Kurt?”

Austin could imagine Sandecker’s crackling blue eyes and flaming red Vandyke beard, fixtures around NUMA for years.

“I wish I knew, Admiral,” Austin said, using Sandecker’s hard-earned Navy title over his more recent political one.

“How is Zavala faring after his ordeal?”

“Joe’s fine, Admiral.”

“That’s fortunate. If Zavala had bought the farm, half the female population of Washington would go into mourning and we’d have to shut down the whole damned town . . . Then this attack on the Beebe . . . Shocking. It was a miracle no one was hurt. Are you making any progress?”

“We think there’s a Chinese co

Sandecker chuckled.

“I don’t know how Gamay wangled her way in, but she’s not likely to learn a thing. The work they’re doing is highly classified.”

“Sounds like you know what the lab is up to.”

“More than I’d like. This is part of something very big, Kurt, and we’ll have to move quickly. The situation is reaching critical mass. I’m setting up a meeting that will explain things. I’ll call you in about an hour, so stand by. In the meantime, pack your bags for a trip.”

“I still haven’t unpacked from my last assignment.”

“That’s good. You and Joe will have to move out on short notice. I’m still working out the details, don’t have time to get into it now. Don’t ever let anyone tell you the job of Veep is as worthless as a bucket of warm spit.”

Sandecker hung up without another word. Austin stared at the phone in his hand.

He pushed speculative thoughts aside and soon was engrossed in the file on his desk. It didn’t take him very long to learn that Pyramid was no ordinary corporation.

CHAPTER 20

GAMAY HAD BEEN AWAKENED EARLIER THAT DAY BY THE thin shafts of sunlight filtering through the louvered windows. She slipped out of bed and pulled on her ru

Feet crunching on the shell pathway, Gamay ran with an athletic grace, using a loose-boned economy of motion that assured that, if she were ever reincarnated, she’d come back as a cheetah. She ran every morning, a habit that went back to her tomboy days, hanging out on the streets of Racine with a gang of boys.

Gamay heard footfalls and turned to see Dr. Mayhew coming up from behind.

He caught up with Gamay and ran beside her.

“Good morning, Dr. Trout!” he exhaled. “Enjoying your run?”

“Yes, very much, thank you.”

“Good.” He clicked on his quick smile. “See you at breakfast.”

Mayhew stepped up his pace and continued past Gamay until he disappeared around a corner.

The legendary Florida humidity soon nudged the coolness of early morning aside, and Gamay returned to her room drenched in perspiration. She showered and dressed in a fresh pair of shorts, a tank top, and sandals, and she followed the sound of voices to the dining room.

Dr. Mayhew waved Gamay over to join the group she had met the previous night and pointed to an empty chair. The consensus at the table was in favor of the brie-and-tomato omelet. It was cooked to perfection, and served with homemade oatmeal bread.

Noting Gamay’s gusto, Mayhew said, “The cooking here is one of the perks we insisted upon before marooning ourselves on Bonefish Key.”

He drained the rest of his coffee mug and dabbed his mouth with a napkin. Then he reached under his chair and handed Gamay a plastic bag with a clean lab coat in it.

“Ready for the tour, Dr. Trout?”

Gamay rose and buttoned herself into the coat.

“Anytime you are, Dr. Mayhew.”

He replied with the inevitable switched-on smile.

“Follow me,” he said.

They took an unmarked shell path in a direction opposite that of the nature trail and came upon a one-story cinder-block building painted a light mossy green. The air vibrated with the hum of unseen electric motors.

“Resource cultivation is done in this building,” Mayhew said. “It may look like a garage, but this lab is on the leading edge of biomedical research.”

The dimly lit building housed dozens of large, lighted fish tanks. A couple of white-coated technicians armed with clipboards moved from tank to tank. They paid no attention to the newcomers, except for a casual wave. The air was heavy with a wet, fishy smell.

“These seawater tanks are precisely maintained to duplicate exactly the habitat of the marine organisms they contain,” Mayhew explained.

“How many different organisms are you researching?” Gamay asked.

“Dozens of species and subspecies. Let me show you the current reigning star of the show.”

Mayhew went over to a tank that housed several vibrantly colored red blobs, each about the size of a grapefruit. Short, pointed tentacles surrounded their mouths. They festooned the rocks inside the tanks.

“Lovely,” she said. “This must be the sea flower that I read about it in the scientific journals.”

“The staff likes to give common names to the creatures,” Mayhew said. “Saves wrapping our tongues around Latin locutions. There’s the sea star and the sea blossom, and so on. Ironic, when you realize that these exquisite creatures are efficient killing machines superbly engineered to attract small fish close enough to sting and devour.”

“There’s another irony,” Gamay said. “Despite being poisonous, they may be able to cure disease.”

“Killing and curing aren’t mutually exclusive. Curare is a good poison that’s used in medicine. Botox too.”

“Tell me about the sea star, Dr. Mayhew.”

“Gladly. That little beauty is related to another sponge discovered in 1984. Harbor Branch Oceanographic was diving off Bermuda in the Sea-Link submersible. They found a piece of sponge in the sub’s suction tube. The sponge contained a chemical that in lab tests killed cancer cells.”

“I read about that in the scientific journals. An exciting discovery,” she said.

Mayhew nodded.

“And frustrating as well,” he said.

“In what way, Dr. Mayhew?”

“Scientists searched for another twenty years for a whole sponge without success. Then someone had a brainstorm: why not dive deeper and find the sponge’s true habitat? On the first dive, they found enough sponges to support years of research. The scientists had been looking for the sponge in places where other stuff was growing. Their sponge grew at a depth of a thousand feet, where the bottom was practically bare.”