Ramirez scribbled his signature across another document. Even the petroplague couldn’t kill red tape.
“You may be right about the earthquakes, Felipe,” Molton said. “I’ve got a scientist on the phone. You can ask him if they’re related to the petroplague.”
“Who is it?”
“Jeff Trinley from Bactofuels.”
Some answers, and perhaps good news.
“Does he have an update on that biodiesel he promised me? Put him on!”
Ramirez and his associates enthusiastically faced the speakerphone as if the Bactofuels rep were Jesus Christ himself.
“Trinley, I hope you’ve got the first good news of my day,” he said. “We need that fuel.”
“I know, Mr. Mayor, we’re working on it and we’re very close. But that’s not why I called.”
“Then why am I wasting my time with you?”
Trinley started talking faster.
“Sir, I need your help. Someone is threatening our biodiesel project.”
“What? Who?”
“The same person who started the petroplague.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“You’re aware, of course, that the oil-eating bacteria which have us in their power originated in a laboratory at UCLA.”
“I am.”
“Are you aware that a student in that laboratory collaborated with a group of radical environmental activists to start this crisis?”
Ramirez shook his head as if to clear out his ears. “Excuse me?”
“The genetically altered Syntrophus bacteria first entered the environment when this student gave the terrorists the location of the research test site in Jefferson Park. With this information, the radicals bombed the test site and released the bacteria. The student denied any connection to the attack but recent events make it clear she is ruthlessly determined to keep the plague going.”
Was Trinley talking about Christina Gonzalez? The same Christina who gave testimony in this office?
“What events?”
“My colleague at UCLA, Dr. Robert Chen, who was also this girl’s boss, is dead. Murdered in his lab by his own student.”
Gasps of dismay rose from the gathered listeners.
“Chen was murdered?” Ramirez said.
“The girl rigged a lethal accident to stop his research. I’m afraid she might do something to sabotage the Bactofuels project as well.”
Chen can’t be dead, we need him. But he is dead? Killed by a girl?
“What girl, Mr. Trinley?”
“Christina Gonzalez.”
Ramirez felt the blood drain from his face. That sixth sense he’d long trusted, his ability to read people, had failed miserably. Christina was in league with the enviro-terrorists? She was a murderer?
“Why would she kill her mentor?”
“Chen was working on a cure for the petroplague. Some kind of antibiotic that would kill it. The girl couldn’t let that happen. She whacked him and destroyed all the lab’s samples of his antibiotic.”
Ramirez didn’t have time to digest this bizarre and disturbing tale right now, not with the plague raging and the earthquakes increasing. One word in Trinley’s denunciation grabbed his attention. “Chen was working on a cure?”
“He was, but because of Gonzalez it’s gone forever. Your Honor, you’ve been extremely supportive of our research effort and it’s paying off. I verified this morning that our photosynthetic E. coli are making isobutanol. We will provide you with a fuel that gets L.A. moving again. But I need your help.”
“What do you want the city to do?”
“Arrest Christina Gonzalez.”