Chapter 37

The conference room next to Pauling’s office was as reserved as a church during a funeral. The men gathered there, including Alistair Forester, were in a somber mood, having been called to the meeting by Pauling the previous day.

Dressed in their dark suits of blues and grays, the four men waited patiently for Pauling to arrive and begin the meeting. Pauling’s secretary quietly circled around the table offering coffee to each man as they chatted among themselves in solemn tones.

Pauling entered, a manila folder in his hands, and took his seat at the head of the polished mahogany table. He nodded at the group. “Thank you all for coming on such short notice,” he said, laying the folder in front of him.

A man at the end of the table scowled. “What’s the blasted emergency, Reginald?”

“Yes,” exclaimed another, “what’s so all-fired urgent that it couldn’t wait for our regular meeting?”

“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Pauling said, holding a hand in the air. “Please indulge me. Bill and John, I appreciate your aggravation, but I believe we acted much too hastily regarding Dr. Olson’s dismissal.

“Here, now,” the man named Bill Hastings retorted. “I believe we gave that man a fair hearing. I don’t see why we need to relive that unfortunate affair.”

“Now, Bill,” Forester interjected. “Dr. Pauling and I listened to a very impassioned entreaty by Dr. Radner on the man’s behalf. I agreed to this meeting. I hope we can put this matter to rest once and for all.”

A resigned Hastings slumped into his chair and nodded.

“Thank you, Alistair,” Pauling said, opening the folder before him. He felt a twinge of anxiety course through his body. His fingers tingled. He removed several papers from the folder and passed them around. “Dr. Radner made several very logical arguments in favor of keeping Dr. Olson. Those remarks are highlighted in the paper before you.”

Pauling went through each point of Radner’s reasoning while the men sat in silence. He noticed that they did give him their undivided attention, a good sign.

“As you can see,” he continued, “Radner believes, and I must include myself here, that education is the key. Too often lay people don’t understand exactly what science is about and the ramifications of their work. And gentlemen, with all due respect, that includes the board of trustees.”

He knew he was on dangerous ground here, potentially insulting these commanding men’s intelligence. But he believed in what he said. They may know law and business but not necessarily the intricacies of science and genetics.

“Please elaborate, Dr. Pauling,” Forester said, a thin smile on his face.

“I’d be delighted. I’ll give you several examples of what I mean. The concept of genetic modification is really the process of selecting desirable traits through gene manipulation, rather than generations of cross breeding. It’s typically a more focused method that allows for less chance of error in the end product than traditional breeding methods. The primary argument against this concept is often that it isn’t natural. People have it in their minds that scientists are taking needles and injecting harmful chemicals into animals and our food, and the public, in general, is terrified of chemicals. This highlights the lack of understanding of chemicals, and that everything on earth is made of chemical compounds, as well as the whole idea of dose and dilution. There are many substances that at a certain dose can cure an illness, while at a higher dose can kill the patient. This is common knowledge amongst our educated scientific community, and it is what many scientists see as a failing of our education system where the general public is concerned.

“The same holds true with the large and deadly Ebola epidemic sweeping its way across the African Continent. There are vaccines that have been developed to combat it, but they’re in the very basic testing stages. Scientists have a major choice to make as to whether to set aside standard protocol and consider the ethics of live field-testing these vaccines on patients and workers in outbreak areas. They have the potential of saving the lives of thousands. The consequences of these decisions will have far reaching effects across the globe. Looking at the state of scientific literacy in America today, I can’t help but be concerned that we, as a society, aren’t intellectually prepared to make decisions of this weight, and that the education system is not currently designed to prepare even the next generation to make similar decisions.”

“So you see, gentlemen,” Forester said, “a number of our faculty do not believe that we as a board have the necessary scientific acumen to make a fair decision where Dr. Olson is concerned.”

“And I might add,” Pauling said, feeling lightheaded after Forester’s blunt remark, “a number of our faculty feel as I do. And strongly, I might add. One was in my office recently, threatening to take her sizable NIH grant elsewhere.”

A buzz went around the table.

“And that does not even address the fundamental issue of fairness,” Pauling continued. “Although we are quick to hold Dr. Olson responsible for events that occurred under his watch, they were, after all, not under his direct control. Accidents do happen, gentlemen. People are free to pursue their own desires.”

The buzz around the table continued, Bill Hastings leading the chatter.

Pauling sighed. “I don’t wish to turn this into a power struggle, believe me. I have no desire to insult anyone’s intelligence here. All I am asking is that we take an honest look at the situation and give Dr. Olson an impartial reevaluation. If we do that, I think we can all leave here knowing we discharged our duties to him and the university fairly and equitably.”

***

The pool of blood lay on the ground at the base of a large bush growing near the sidewalk. The area had been taped off with yellow crime scene tape and, as he approached, Jacoby noticed a group of uniformed officers milling around, talking. As he walked up, a man in a sports coat separated himself from the crowd and grinned.

“I’m Detective Longmire,” he said. “You our man with the FBI?”

“Hank Jacoby,” he replied and shook the man’s freckled hand. “What do you have, Detective?”

“Looks like a homicide scene,” the detective said. “This is where Patrolman Clark was standing when last seen by his partner.”

“And his partner was where?” Jacoby said.

“Directly across the street,” Longmire said, pointing in the general direction. “Clark’s partner says he glanced up the street toward what sounded like a disturbance and, when he looked back, Clark was no longer standing here. He thought he had gone to search the vegetation but, when Clark didn’t return, his partner became concerned, crossed the street, and saw all this blood. That’s when he called in a ten-thirty-three.”

Jacoby nodded. A ten-thirty-three meat emergency. “Go on, detective.”

“There were two units on the scene in less than three minutes, and the men searched the area. They found this trail of blood here,” he said, indicating splattered blood on the ground, “and followed it until it ran out down there a ways.” Again, he pointed through the dense shrubbery.

Jacoby nodded and followed the blood trail a short ways, the vegetation becoming denser as he did.

“Blood type is A negative, sir, the same type as Clark’s. The lab is doing DNA testing as we speak.”

“No one has heard from the patrolman? He didn’t get sick and go home?”

“No way, sir,” Longmire said. “I know the man. He would never leave his post like that.”

Again Jacoby nodded. “Your guys searching this area?”

“Half the day watch is combing the area right now. If there’s something to be found, we’ll find it. I just pray it’s not Clark.”

“I’ll second that,” Jacoby said.

“Sir, exactly what is this thing we have been searching for? The men who were chasing it said it was the strangest looking being they ever saw. Not at all human. Is it some sort of animal?”

“I wish I could say, exactly, Detective. Even I’m not sure I understand what it is. Some scientific experiment gone awry is about all I can say for now. The scientists at Cal Pacific are worried, however.”

“The officers thought they hit it a few times when they chased into the alley but it got away. Maybe all this blood belongs to it.”

“I doubt it,” Jacoby said, ambling back to the sidewalk.

A patrolman hurried to where he and the detective stood. “Detective,” he said. “We picked up the blood trail again. Beyond those tall trees over there.”

Jacoby and Longmire followed the patrolman through the forested park to where another patrolman stood, waiting.

“It goes this way,” he said, pointing. The patrolman led the way over a thick carpet of dead leaves, following the trail of blood.

The four men trudged through the forest and, every few yards, Longmire stooped and stuck a yellow flag on a thin wire into the ground, marking the blood trail. The blood splatter coursed not in a straight line but followed a serpentine fashion, as if whoever was wounded was disoriented. Jacoby’s stomach rolled. Were they going to find the patrolman’s mutilated body in the next few minutes?

They came to a clearing, and the trail became easier to follow. Jacoby thought the blood splatter was less, the drops farther apart. They rested in the clearing as Longmire sought to get his bearings.

“The Hilton Financial District is over that way,” he said, pointing to the east. “Pretty soon we’ll be out of the park.”

“Whoever was bleeding,” Jacoby said, “was losing less blood by the time they got here. This isn’t looking good, Detective.”

“From the looks of the way the leaves are packed down around here,” Longmire said, “whoever it was rested in this clearing. May have been getting weak.”

They continued following the blood splatter and soon found themselves back in dense vegetation among a grove of oak trees. The blood trail ended at the base of a small mound. One of the patrolmen edged his way to the mound. The other had his nine millimeter drawn and at the ready.

“Looks like there is an entrance of some kind here,” the patrolman called over his shoulder.

The other three men took positions on either side of him. The afternoon daylight was waning, making it difficult to see through the dim light of the forest. The patrolman edged closer.

“Careful,” Longmire said. “What do you see?”

He took a flashlight from his belt and shined it into the dark recess. “Like I said, a tunnel or something.”

The other men gathered closer, straining for a better look. Longmire had his pistol out. Jacoby felt his heart jump.

“I need to get a closer look,” the patrolman said, and he inched his way nearer the opening, the light from his flashlight flickering through the vegetation in the dark distance.

The patrolman dropped to his hands and knees and crawled to the opening. Jacoby watched his light disappear as he shined it into the entrance. Entrance to what? Jacoby thought. The carpet of leaves made a rustling sound as the patrolman wormed his way into the darkness. The light from his flashlight flickered for a moment then reappeared, dancing through the leaves. Hurry up getting there, Jacoby thought. Tell us something.

Then the patrolman stopped his moving. His light stopped flickering. The forest was deathly quiet as the men waited for a signal from the patrolman. Jacoby’s pulse quickened.

Then a sorrowful voice belched forth from the dim recess.

“Dear God, no.”