Devil's Gold Read online

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  DEDICATION:

  To Robert. Thank you for believing in me and loving me unconditionally, for my front porch and all the sunsets—past, present, and future.

  Published 2009 by Medallion Press, Inc.

  The MEDALLION PRESS LOGO

  is a registered trademark of Medallion Press, Inc.

  Copyright © 2009 by Julie Korzenko

  Cover Illustration by Adam Mock

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.

  Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Printed in the United States of America

  Typeset in Adobe Jenson Pro

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Korzenko, Julie.

  Devil’s gold / Julie Korzenko.

  p. cm. – (Zebra chonicles; 1)

  ISBN 978-1-934755-55-6

  1. Women zoologists–Fiction. 2. Viruses–Fiction. 3. Security, International–Fiction. 4. Special forces (Military science)–Fiction. 5. Yellowstone National Park–Fiction. 6. Niger River Delta (Nigeria)–Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3611.O74915D48 2009

  813’.6–dc22

  2008045684

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  First Edition

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS:

  I would like to acknowledge the perseverance of my children, Chelsea and Nicholas. Thank you for laughing at the less-than-perfect lunches. Yes, I know. Two slices of bread does not make a PB&J. You two are troupers. I love you.

  I am indebted to the brilliance of Dr. Michael A. Davis for his ingenious ability to understand what it was I wanted. Without his diabolical mind, CPV-19 would never have been conceived. I take full responsibility for all scientific flubs and inaccuracies. Thank you, Dr. Mad. You may step into my Hall of Heroes.

  I could not have succeeded without the support of Catherine Berlin, Stephanie Bose, and last but not least, the Bats, specifically a few that hold a permanent place in my heart: Valerie Parv, Shara Jones, Sheila Holloway, Ann Wesley Hardin, Bronwyn Parry, Pam Payne, Anne Lind, Karen Kerns, Kate Rothwell, Meg Allison, Laura Hamby, Grace Tyler, and Angie Martin. Cavey of me to only name a few Bats… but space is sparse, and I am Dread.

  CHAPTER 1

  Gardiner, Montana

  EDWARD FISKE STEPPED FROM THE SHADOWED RECESSES OF THE front porch. The worn planks of the farmhouse creaked and groaned beneath his feet as he made his way down the rickety stairs and into the sunshine. It was a glorious morning. He paused, inhaling the sweet scent of dew and cottonwood trees. Emerald spears of late spring grass beckoned bare feet as they danced in the wind, ending in a graceful sweep at the banks of Yellowstone River.

  The serenity of the homestead sent a warm tingle through Edward’s body, tugging his normally stern mouth into a slightly lopsided smile. He shook his head at the irony of life. Beauty and tranquility were nothing more than a mask for the evil that slept below.

  Edward concentrated on centering his emotions. It wouldn’t do at all to allow his technician to see the excitement that bubbled furiously in his gut. He was an impassive man. The itch of anticipation was not something he normally felt, but last night he had surpassed the Christmas Eve eagerness of his childhood. Each time he had stirred from sleep, his watch had mocked him. It had ticked through a layer of molasses, slowing the large hand to an infuriating snail’s pace.

  But he’d managed.

  He’d held himself in check.

  His feet crushed the grass; the tender blades bent and broke beneath the soles of his sneakers. He resisted the urge to race across the lawn but stepped up the pace and ignored the biting pain that clutched his upper chest.

  After the sale, he’d lose weight. He’d have to. Touring the country and lecturing on his creation would take energy and a physical fitness he currently lacked. Edward brushed a stray strand of hair over the balding area of his head, pushing on toward his dream.

  He rounded a grove of quaking aspens and halted. The dilapidated log cabin was a poor monument to the significance of what rested beneath its rotting logs and disintegrating roof. A worn and chipped cornerstone marked the front doorway. His eyes scanned the chiseled numbers, and he nodded to himself, puckering his lips in satisfaction. The date-stamp on the cabin reflected an era when men battled wilderness, forging past the obstacles created by forces unimaginable. It resembled a time of progression. Similar to him, Lewis and Clark were men of evolution. The success and failure they struggled through as they charted a waterway across North America coincided with Edward’s vision of his own career. It seemed fitting to have a cabin dating back to their era acting as a shield for his baby.

  Pushing on the heavy front door, he scurried within and stopped inside the darkened room, allowing his eyes to adjust. The scent of mold and decaying flesh assaulted his senses. A corner of the room was littered with the carcasses of small rodents killed as they ingested the poison he’d laid out to trap the menacing creatures. Wrinkling his nose in disgust, he crossed the hard-packed earthen floor toward the far wall and opened a small metal box, punching a sequence of numbers into the lighted keypad.

  A brown cloud of dust particles rose from the floor as the doorway to the lab slid open. He hurried to the edge of the four-by-four opening, turned around, and began his descent down the steep metal stairs. His pudgy fingers grasped the railing. Concentrating on not missing a rung, Edward descended at a slow pace.

  His mind whirled with visions of how he’d present his creation. He’d have to be careful because what lay below had Satan’s signature scrawled across it in blood-red letters. That thought stopped him. He liked it. It had an almost poetic tone, one that would fit nicely in his memoirs. With a mental note to write that thought in his journal, he continued his descent into what had once been a typical cellar.

  The dawning of a new era was about to take place. His era. It was time for Edward Fiske’s name to be written next to Albert Einstein’s. When Isaac Newton’s principles of relativity were discussed, so would Edward Fiske’s DNA modification be expounded.

  Yes, his heart beat faster. This day brought forth endless visions of scientific recognition.

  “’bout time, Eddie,” a muffled voice called from the end of the room.

  Edward pulled a handkerchief from his back p
ocket and mopped the sweat dripping down his forehead. He quickly surveyed the laboratory. Black granite work surfaces were littered with an array of equipment, the far right corner more congested than normal. The night before he’d shoved the three-sided laminar flow station against the back wall. Its air filtration system was no longer adequate. Stacks of unused petri dishes scattered the interior of the flow station, discarded and unnecessary.

  A grin tugged at Edward’s lips.

  His benefactor never questioned funding requests. Life, the past few years, had been damn near Nirvana. He inhaled, releasing his breath slowly to calm the excited jumble of nerves, the tinny scent of humming electrical equipment overlaid by alcohol sterilization as sweet to him as his mother’s roses in spring.

  Edward’s fingers tickled the cool ceramic of a white cylindrical container. He verified that the controls on top of the cryogenic storage tank were correct, then paused, splaying his fingers around the sides of the containment unit. His success lay inside.

  “Eddie?”

  His assistant’s voice broke the moment of silent self-worship. His lab technician was hunched over a large microscope, his hands shoved into robot-type arms that stretched beyond a thick glass pane and into the negative airflow chamber.

  “Well?” Edward moved forward to stand beside the younger man.

  “Take a look, boss.” Jason stepped away from the scope, scratching his ass. He shuffled in place and pushed loose strands of greasy hair behind his ears. Edward grimaced, grateful he’d soon be free of this throw-back-to-the-sixties slice of humanity. If Jason weren’t so damned clever with DNA replication, he’d have dumped the kid years ago.

  Bending forward, Edward peered into the lens. He adjusted the microscope. A brilliant red and green cell came into focus, moving ever so slightly within the solution smeared on the slide. Bingo. His version of Fifth Disease sparkled in the center of the cell. The modified genetic composition of CPV-2 that he’d spent his entire lifetime perfecting weaved itself into the cell like Christmas lights on a tree. He’d done it.

  This human cell now sported the canine virus parvo.

  All the interminable hours of waiting while Jason processed these little babies suddenly vanished. He glanced up, taking a second to freeze this moment in time. His technician smiled and laughed and Edward grinned, clapping him on the back.

  “It’s finished. Five years of trial and error, and we’ve finally succeeded.”

  “Yep, Eddie. We’re through. How soon until you meet with the big guys? I want my bonus.”

  Edward narrowed his eyes. Money wasn’t his motivation. It was the look of astonishment from his colleagues he craved. They wouldn’t turn their backs this year at the conference. No. His strain of Fifth Disease would win the National Medal of Science, maybe even the Nobel, and the accolades of his brotherhood.

  “We must show our investors our results.” Lost in thought, Edward tapped his forefinger against his mouth. He continued speaking, not really concentrating on what he said. “That’s what the grant outlines. A demonstration and then final payment.” His mind pictured rapturous applause. Recognition and respect. “However, we need to reverse this procedure and develop an antidote prior to releasing CPV-19. No need to run the risk of exposure.” The whining tenor of Jason’s voice sliced through his inner reflections, and Edward snapped his attention back to his assistant.

  “Why?” Jason asked, tugging at the edge of his shirt.

  “Excuse me?”

  “We’ve an entire chamber of results. Why do we need a demonstration? Just send a picture.”

  Edward curled his lip, disgusted by the younger man’s greed. Controlling the surge of anger, he faced the glass that separated the main part of the lab from the negative airflow chamber. The wolf remains, bloodied and trailing gore from all extremities, were piled haphazardly against one wall. “The results in this laboratory were never the objective. It’s the procedure and technology that the board seeks. This is a great leap forward in disease prevention and cure. The steps taken to achieve CPV-19 combined with the creation of the antidote will provide our benefactors with the humanitarian rewards they desire.” Lecture over, he crossed his arms over his chest and waited for more complaints.

  Jason stopped, scratched his ass again, and sighed. “I’ll get right on the antidote. That is, after a few hours of shut eye. I’m wiped.”

  “Not before you dispose of the bodies.” Edward headed back to the metal stairs. He began to climb. Stopping halfway up he cleared his throat and turned around, watching the younger man secure his specimen and shut down the scope. Edward gasped for air in short, fast gulps, his nostrils flaring to draw in more oxygen. He’d only climbed the bottom part of the ladder. Swearing, he calmed his breathing and summoned a commanding voice. “I noticed the wolf pens were empty. Did you destroy the last two?”

  Jason shot a quick look in his direction, then lowered his eyes and bent down to dig out the cover for the scope. “I took care of ’em.” He slipped the heavy plastic over the machine and offered Edward a lopsided smile.

  “Good,” Edward said and climbed the rest of the way up. Whistling a little tune, he popped his head into the center of the log cabin. Suddenly, the insidious scent of rotting flesh no longer bothered him. A perfume of success now lingered in the air. Nothing could stop him now. Nothing.

  CHAPTER 2

  Niger Delta, West Africa

  THE STALE SCENT OF AIR-CONDITIONING TICKLED CASSIDY’S nose, and she fluttered her eyelids several times seeking to diminish the burning dryness of her eyes. A voice, spoken an octave too low, interrupted her moment of contemplation.

  “Dr. Lowell?”

  Cassidy pushed back from the edge of the wall, her fingers sliding from the smooth metal surface of the window sill, and turned to face the president of New World Petroleum. She hid her disgust for Robert Cole behind a polite smile. He was a wisp of a man, hardly a physical threat. The onyx of his hair reminded her of the oil slicks his company refused to clean up. He was her enemy.

  Unfortunately, in a roundabout way, she worked for him.

  “I hope this meeting hasn’t inconvenienced you.” Cassidy brushed a stray strand of hair off her forehead and hooked her thumbs into the back pocket of her jeans.

  He walked toward her, tapping his hand against the backs of the chairs surrounding the conference table as he passed them. Cole paused beside her and surveyed the room, a loud sigh emanating from his lips.

  “I’m used to much better accommodations. Was there a reason you requested this room?”

  “I felt we’d avoid the glare from the large windows in your upper conference room.” Her gaze slid from the confined space to the narrow window and followed the path of sunlight sparkling across the water of the Gulf of Guinea until it settled on the shores of West Africa. From her vantage point on NWP’s corporate floater, the environmental devastation was barely visible. She heard the machinations of active oil rigs. They hummed and banged and echoed above the gulf, twisting her gut as they bled the region.

  “I see. Your request was a pleasant surprise. I hope you’ve brought me what I need.” The tight smile that crossed his face didn’t warm his eyes.

  With quick strides, Cassidy maneuvered toward the table and waved her hand at the man seated behind an array of computer equipment. “I assure you, I’ve done my homework,” she responded. Pressing her palms against the surface of the conference table, she wiped the nervous sweat off her hands. “Please signal Atlanta that we’re ready.” The technician nodded. Cassidy pulled out a worn fabric chair and slid into it. Drumming her fingers against the table and ignoring Cole, she waited for the video connection to be made.

  A small computer screen extended upward from the end of the table, and within a few seconds the hum and crackle of static air confirmed a link to the video conferencing room of ZEBRA headquarters in Atlanta, Georgia. The face of Dr. Drew Sharpe appeared. He glanced at Cassidy, confidence and pride apparent in the smile he offered. She grinn
ed back and felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude at his virtual presence.

  “Mr. Cole. Dr. Lowell. It’s a pleasure to see you both. I understand from the Nigerian Oil Ministry that there’s a necessity to escalate the results of our project. Dr. Lowell, where do we stand on your findings?”

  Cassidy inhaled, preparing herself for the tantrum that would certainly follow her report. “Dr. Sharpe, I have discussed in great detail with Mr. Cole the futility of this project. Under no circumstances does the presence of New World Petroleum or its sister organizations have a positive influence within the Niger Delta. In short, sir, oil drilling is killing this region.” She sat back and waited for the fireworks.

  An angry red flushed Robert’s neck as he directed his attention at Drew. “Sharpe, our corporation has not donated close to a million dollars to your agency in order for them to determine we’re harming the environment.” He leaned toward the screen and stared directly at Drew.

  Cassidy narrowed her eyes and focused on the man across the table. She allowed her words to remain unheated and unemotional. “I hadn’t realized this was a pre-bought report. If you wanted fiction, then you hired the wrong organization.” A fake smile tilted her lips upward when Robert twisted in his seat and glared at her.

  “Cassidy, be careful.” Dr. Sharpe warned. She glanced at her boss. He sat still, no fidgeting or paper shuffling. The stern set of his mouth and cold stare created an expression she’d never expected to see applied to her.

  She felt her own cheeks heat with anger and frustration. “I cannot in any professional manner create a positive report. The Niger Delta is dying. The only way to salvage the region is for oil production to cease all activity.” Cassidy paused and drew in a shaky breath. She gazed across the length of the table and spoke with deliberate slowness. “Your refusal to clean up the spills is unacceptable.”

  “Refusal?” Robert pushed away from the table and slowly rose out of his chair. He ran a tapered finger along the edge of the conference table, continuing this movement as he stepped around the circle of mahogany and stood directly beside her. “I warn you, Dr. Lowell, to cease and desist with your false accusations.”