Devil's Gold (7 page)

Sighing, he fought against his dismay. The man didn't understand. “It kills intestinal cells in both humans and canines, resulting in death by dehydration and nutrient malabsorption.”

“Excellent,” Mr. Jacobs said. “How soon can we have this product to market?”

Edward felt his stomach twist into knots. “Market?” He shook his head. “This isn't something to market. I don't think you understand. The procedure is what we need to market, not the virus.”

Mr. Jacobs patted Edward's knee. “We want the virus as well. How soon?”

Shock vibrated from the tip of Edward's tailbone all the way up his spine and across his scalp. A fresh batch of sweat sprung from his pores, and he wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. “Well, I'm currently working on an antidote. The details on the procedure will take some time for me to articulate on paper for the patent.”

“Now, Dr. Fiske, it's you who doesn't understand. I don't give a fuck about the procedure.” Mr. Jacobs smiled. “I want the virus.”

Although the man's expression was pleasant enough, Edward noticed steel behind his gaze. He hid his shock, his brain scrambling for an answer to this dilemma. “It's not stable enough to reproduce.”

Jacobs slammed his foot on the gas pedal and swung the golf cart in a hundred and eighty-degree turn. “I thought you said it was.”

Think, Edward
. “Well, you see—the difference between B19, Fifth Disease, and CPV-2, parvo, is that they infect different cells. B19 attaches to erythroid progenitor cells; those are the ones that make red blood cells.” Good. Jacobs' eyes were beginning to glaze over. “CPV-2 attaches to cells in the immune system and intestinal lining. I have to find that perfect balance where CPV-19 functions in both areas. Right now, I have verified how canines handle the virus, but not humans.” Edward gripped the metal bar holding up the plastic canopy that comprised the top of the golf cart and hoped Jacobs was buying into his story.

“I understand. However, the board will not be happy about this. We require CPV-19 to be delivered no later than the end of this month along with the antidote.”

“But I …”

Mr. Jacobs narrowed his eyes. “Mr. Fiske, this is not a polite request.”

“And the patent?”

Jacobs waved his hand in the air. “Whenever you see fit to finish the paperwork.” The man shrugged. “The end of the year is fine for that.”

This was a nightmare. “But…”

“Have no fear; that's yours to keep. Hell, we'll even process it for you, if you like.”

Relief eased the uncomfortable vice grip on Edward's chest. The patent was his. “I would appreciate that. Thank you, Mr. Jacobs.”

“You're more than welcome, Edward. Fax the specifics to headquarters, and we'll run with it. In the meantime, you get busy on the production of CPV-19.” Jacobs pulled the golf cart in front of Edward's sedan and waited for him to jump out.

“Yes, sir. I will. Thank you for this opportunity.” He scurried toward the driver's side of his vehicle, sliding his key in the lock. He didn't lift his head or glance back as he heard gravel crunch beneath the tires of the golf cart. Dust kicked up by the electric vehicle floated across the air, tickling his nose and making him sneeze.

Slipping behind the wheel, Edward bent his head forward and rested his forehead on the steering wheel. He released his breath in short, quavering gasps and ignored the sweat than ran down his cheeks in rivers of panicked fear. It could be worse, he told himself. It could definitely be worse.

Edward hung up the phone, sighed, and tilted back in the ancient swivel back chair. This day felt endless. He'd confirmed with his contact on the board Mr. Jacobs' request to produce CPV-19. The fact that his benefactor was no longer interested in the patent set off all types of bells and whistle. But he ignored them.

Glancing down at the newspaper spread out on his desk, Edward's face creased into an even deeper frown. Another dead wolf. He bent forward and rested his chin on his hand, reading the black newsprint for the fiftieth time that morning. This couldn't have anything to do with CPV-19. They'd been extraordinarily careful. Unless …

What crossed Edward's mind caused his fingertips to tingle and face to feel numb. “No!” He stood up and waddled out of his office as fast as his short legs would carry him.
Please, please, please
, he prayed silently,
let me be wrong
.

The sun still sat high in the sky, causing a thin layer of perspiration to spring to life on his face. A sharp pain in his chest and leaden feel to his legs reiterated the degradation of his physical condition. Edward quickened his pace, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other without twisting his ankle. The grass faded to worn dirt as he neared the log cabin.

He reached the entrance to the lab and clambered downward, the tinny sound of Jason's radio echoing up the steep stairwell.

His feet touched solid ground, and he sighed in relief. One of these days, he feared he'd slip on the slick metal and plummet to his death. “Jason?” He inhaled, trying to calm the pounding of his heart. He wasn't sure whether it was from panic or the mad dash he'd just finished. His eyes adjusted to the interior, and he spotted his lab assistant in the far corner, pouring over a stack of computer printouts. “Jason.” He repeated.

“Yo.”

He walked over and pulled out a rolling lab chair, its wheels making a low scraping sound against the tile. Sitting down next to his assistant, Edward grabbed the stack of paper and pulled it away from him. Jason sighed and finally gave him his attention.

“Whazzup, Eddie?”

“Wolves, Jason. Apparently, Yellowstone is in a crisis. Their wolves are disappearing.”

Jason tugged on the end of his pony tail. “That's too bad.”

“Yes, it is. Now tell me what you did with the specimens we had here.” Fear tickled the back of Edward's neck. Jason's eyes roamed the interior of the lab. They went everywhere, except the one place Edward wanted them. Jason refused to look him in the eye. “Jason, I need the truth.” The scent of stale smoke surrounded his lab assistant, making Edward's nose sting. He maintained his calm, allowing the smooth surface of the countertop to cool his sweating hands.

The lab assistant shrugged. “I got rid of 'em like you told me to.”

“How?” No answer. Edward narrowed his eyes. “Did you release them back into the wild?”

Jason hung his head. “They're beautiful, man. That black one? His eyes were the soul of the universe. I couldn't burn him. It was wrong. Bad karma.”

Edward stood and paced in a tight circle. “I see.”

“Eddie, it was wrong. You get that, don't you? They were fine. Healthy.”

The tight whip of control snapped, and Edward spun to face Jason. “They were contagious!” he screamed, watching in fascination as his spittle flew across the room in tiny dewdrops of venom. That's what they'd unleashed on the unsuspecting habitants of the greater Yellowstone region. Tiny dewdrops of incurable venom.

One week later
Atlanta, Georgia

C
ASSIDY WELCOMED THE TREMBLING OF OVEREXERTED MUSCLES
. She heaved in gulping breaths and stood with arms dropped at her sides in exhaustion. Blinking, she ignored the rivulets of sweat that snaked down her forehead and blurred her vision. With a quick dip of her head, she swiped her arm across her face and cleared her eyes. Her gaze narrowed, and she reached a gloved fist toward the gently swaying punching bag, touching her padded knuckles lightly on the surface.

The faded and worn leather goaded her.

Blue eyes glittered in her mind. Inhaling deeply through her nose, she welcomed the scent of her own sweat mixed with the chlorine that floated across the gymnasium from the lap pool. It symbolized the beginning of retribution. Cassidy twisted her shoulders and shook her arms, battling against the numbness from the past hour spent beating the bag into subservience.

Stance.

Fists up.

Power.

Her fist slammed into the unforgiving leather. Her muscles quivered as the shock of contact wove from her wrist up through her shoulder muscles. Picking up speed, she jabbed with her left and spun on her heel smashing her foot firmly into the imagined face. The bag swayed away from her vicious attack.

She hopped back, jogged in place, and went back to work. Her mind was blank as she attacked the surrogate enemy. Strike. Retreat. Strike. Retreat.

Strength in pain.

This was her new mantra. Strength in pain. Never again would she allow herself to be vulnerable and directed by outside forces.

In the background, a pounding rhythm poured from the speakers that littered the corners of the gymnasium. Sun glittered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, making Cassidy squint and forcing her to turn her body and begin working another section of the bag. The resounding thud of glove to leather laced its way into the beat of the rock song.

Next time someone attempted to take control of her, she'd think quicker. Act faster. Be more deadly than any man. Her gut twisted, and she advanced at a quicker pace, slamming her fist harder into the bag. Jumping back, she leapt and struck at the inanimate enemy with both feet, trying to drown out Anna's cries and her own guilt.

Landing gracefully, she spun upward and sliced the middle of the bag with her left foot. Damn Black Stripe.

Her right fist followed and jabbed six inches above where her foot landed. Damn her cowardice.

She hopped back and then attacked with a vengeance, her fists pummeling the bag in rapid succession. Damn New World Petroleum.

Cassidy's vision blurred and she paused, bending forward and drawing in deep breaths. Her ponytail had come loose sometime during the workout, and strands of sweat-soaked hair plastered themselves against her forehead and cheek. Biting the straps on her wrist, Cassidy tugged her gloves off. She pushed her hair out of her face, her hands shaking from the force of her attack against the punching bag.

A towel flew through the air, falling against the back of her neck and draping over her left shoulder. Gripping the edge of the rough cotton she wiped it against her face, inhaling the familiar scent of detergent and antiseptic.

“Nice workout, Cass. What crime did that poor bag commit?”

Cassidy struggled for air. Lifting her chin, she gazed to the side and grinned at the man standing beside her. He lounged against the wall, arms crossed over his chest as if he didn't have a care in the world. She narrowed her eyes and focused, reading him like only a best friend could. His wild mop of brown hair fringed light green eyes that were clouded with concern and his rakish smile that never failed to make her grin wasn't as wide or lighthearted as usual.

Steve Pullen unfolded his arms and held them open. She didn't hesitate and flung herself at him, needing the embrace of the only person on the planet who loved her. “Hey, stranger. It's nice to see your ugly face.” Cassidy rested her head against his chest and allowed herself a brief second of feeling safe.

Steve kissed her forehead and patted her back. “Right back atcha, kiddo. What's cooking?”

She stepped back and allowed Steve to guide her off the mats and toward the doors that led into the changing rooms. Cassidy scanned the room, searching… dissecting. The walls flickered with the shimmering reflection of the lap pool that spanned the entire back of the athletic center. Was it possible that the hulk-like man eating up the water with long, steady strokes was Black Stripe? A pounding noise echoed from above, and her gaze traveled upward. Three women ran around the suspended track, their steps in unison, their breathing unchallenged.
What about them?

“Earth to Cassidy.”

She felt Steve's elbow nudge her stomach and snapped out of her scrutiny. “Just releasing some pent up anger.”

Steve punched her shoulder, then pulled her tight against his chest. “Missed ya. I can make it to the top of mini-Everest in less than sixty seconds.” He motioned to the tallest and most vertically challenging of the four climbing walls that jutted out from the far left wall.

“Yeah? Prove it.”

He sighed and cocked his head. “Not this time, sugar. God would like a moment of your time.”

“Is it Friday already?” Cassidy asked, allowing a playful pout to mar her face.

Steve grinned and shoved her toward the door marked for women. “No. But I think the circumstances surrounding your hasty retreat from Africa moved your briefing up just a tad.”

Anger flushed her face. “If you only knew…” Her voice caught, and she swallowed. Her emotions were still too raw and unstable. “Any contact from Charles and David?”

“Not yet.”

Cassidy narrowed her eyes, a flash of uncertainty triggering distrust in her friend.
Could Steve be Black Stripe?
She sighed and moved past the unaccustomed emotion but not before Steve noted the expression on her face.