The Biofab War Read Online Free PDF

rug.
    “For the week. Corporate largess,” said the geologist, sipping his beer. “I took some vacation time to plead my case.” He squeezed Cindy’s knee.
    She pouted, crinkling her freckles. “I’m stuck here for now—my mother.” Her mother, she explained, was in assisted living, frail and unwell, Cindy her only child. Any move would be traumatic.
    “Okay,” Greg said. “I’m buying a house, down on the bayou, complete with swamp and ‘gators and housekeeper. There’ll be a separate apartment for your mother. I promise, no more hurricanes.”
    Cindy accepted with a hug and a kiss.
    John exchanged they’re crazy glances with Zahava.
    After congratulations toasted with brandy hoisted high in Styrofoam cups, the topic turned to the Institute and Greg’s job. He’d been in charge of surveying the Goose Cove site. The cove proper, as distinct from the village, was scheduled to be enlarged and dredged, serving as a port facility once the Georges Banks’ wells began producing.
    “Geologic sampling is part of the EPA site requirements. I’d gotten as far as sampling strata along Goose Hill—it overlooks the cove and was going to be blown up and carted away—when Langston suddenly declared me and my team bumblers and shipped us back to Shreveport inside of four hours.” He sipped his brandy, staring pensively into the waning fire. Cindy put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Happily, there’s a shortage of qualified petroleum geologists.”
    “You’re still with Royal?” John asked.
    He nodded. “I’d rather leave on my schedule than theirs.”
    “Why do you think Langston got rid of you?” asked Zahava.
    “Probably afraid of what I’d find up on that hill. Something that could end the entire operation, cause him to lose his grants, his imposing home, his nice office.”
    “And did you?” asked John.
    The geologist gave him a hard look. “You’re not working for Royal,” he said flatly. “Not their type. Government?”
    “Sort of.”
    Farnesworth nodded. “Yeah, I found it.”
    Before going to bed, John made two calls, one to Sutherland, the other to McShane in Boston.

Chapter 4

    F ollowing John’s directions, McShane had no trouble finding the dirt road leading from the paved, two-lane state highway to Goose Hill and the cove. He pulled into a small clearing among the bayberry and scrub pine at the foot of the hill. Parking next to a red Jeep, he made his way along the densely overgrown trail to the foot of the hill, brushing aside the morning’s dew-covered cobwebs with his gnarled blackthorn Irish walker.
    As he ascended, the trail quickly turned into a rocky defile, the undergrowth becoming sparser with each step. Passing between two boulders, he heard the soft snick of a well-oiled gun bolt sliding home. Taking a chance, he called, “Zahava! Don’t shoot! It’s kindly old Professor Bob!”
    Lowering her Uzi, she stepped from behind the right-hand boulder, all contriteness. “Bob! Are you okay? I hope I didn’t frighten you.”
    “I am. You did not. I came of age in an Asian paradise called Forward Firebase Charlie. I used up my whole life’s ration of fright back then.”
    “So, not always kindly Professor Bob.”
    “We live our live in stages my dear, our past selves often people we wouldn’t recognize. Or be caught dead with. Where is everybody?”
    “Up ahead, in a maze of boulders. Greg—.”
    “The geologist John mentioned?”
    “Yes, Greg’s trying to find a particular rock.”
    “That’s what geology is all about. Lead on.”
    They found the trio (Cindy having been ordered off to work, lest her absence arouse suspicion) on a shoulder of the hill, walking behind Greg as he slowly followed a map through a great tumbled-down pile of boulders. After quick introductions, he returned to his task as Bob quizzed John. “Why in God’s name did you drag me up here? I barely had time to finish at Harvard.”
    “Finish your lunch at the Faculty Club, you