Chapter 14

NewGarden Biosciences was located to the north of Gardenfield, in Maplewood. To get there, Chief Black drove along Old King’s Road, past Lenape Woods and through the security checkpoint.

Bruno noted that the grounds were mostly bare fields, which soon would be planted with corn. Off to one side was a cluster of abandoned military buildings from the 1960s. The property had been a Navy tracking station up until the defense cuts in the early 1990s. Then NewGarden took over and added a brand-new corporate complex consisting of research and administrative facilities, as well as greenhouses. The buildings were an impressive contrast of round and rectangular shapes—a gleaming statement in glass, alloyed metals and stone. And, for anyone who didn’t get the message just by looking, it was spelled out in foot-high polished chromium letters on the wall next to the entrance: NewGarden Biosciences—Transforming the way we feed and care for ourselves.

The receptionist was a conspicuously beautiful woman in her mid-30s, dressed in a smart tweed suit with a surprising display of gold accessories. As if in counterpoint, there were also two armed guards, dressed in dark green paramilitary uniforms that were stiff and understated. They stood stoically in opposite corners, like potted plants, while the receptionist was all gracious gentility as she greeted the Chief and Bruno from behind an elaborate hardwood desk. A polished aluminum nameplate identified her as Rhonda Vick.

Rhonda emerged from the confines of the desk and shook hands with exceptional warmth. “Dr. Fischer and Dr. Jurevicius are expecting you and will be down in a mowment,” she drawled, displaying a textbook South Jersey accent in her tightly formed, slightly nasal o’s. Bruno fell in love with her the moment he heard it.

Rhonda showed them to a conference room, offering coffee, water, or a soft drink. Bruno requested a Dr Pepper. And he practically melted in his chair when she said, “No prowblem.”

When she left, the Chief leaned over to Bruno and said in muted tones, “Dr. Fischer—he’s the CEO here—and Master Quentin go back a long ways. They’re both Quakers. I think that’s why the company’s offering to provide security for the school. But Quentin doesn’t seem to want to have anything to do with Dr. Fischer.”

It took Bruno a moment to get his mind off Rhonda and onto what the Chief was saying. “That makes sense,” he stammered. “I mean, maybe he feels they’re keeping an eye on him and doesn’t like it. On the other hand, I can see why he wouldn’t want to have goons dressed up like commandos guarding the entrance to the Friends School. I’d be afraid to go in, too.”

“We could have them work plainclothes, if that’s the only issue. There’s something funny between Quentin and Fischer I’d like to know more about.”

“Why don’t you just ask him?”

Before Chief Black could reply, Rhonda reappeared with Bruno’s Dr Pepper. “The dawgkters will be with you in just a few mowments.” She smiled and disappeared.

The Chief had to yank on Bruno’s sleeve to get his attention. “If there is something wrong between the two of them, Dr. Fischer might not want to talk about it. That’s why I brought you along. To see what you can find out without putting him on the defensive.”

“So you want me to …?”

“Read his mind, at least check out his aura …”

Bruno started to sputter, “I am not an eavesdropper … and I don’t do furshlugginer auras.”

The Chief cut him off. “Calm down. They’re coming in.”

“Good to see you again, Buddy,” said Dr. Fischer, vigorously grabbing the Chief’s outstretched hand. He was a large man, at least six-two and overweight. He appeared to be in his 60s judging by his gray, thinning hair and the heavy creases worn into his face. He looked more like a rancher than a scientist, except he was dressed in a Brooks Brothers jacket, a button-down shirt that was too small at the neck, and a purple tie with tiny double helixes all over it.

“This is my associate, Serge Jurevicius,” said Fischer. “Dr. Jurevicius is our Chief Operating Officer and head of the Agricultural Division.”

Jurevicius stepped forward to shake hands. He was slim, in his late 40s, with dark hair combed back from his face and a carefully trimmed goatee. He wore charcoal gray pants and a black cashmere mock turtleneck.

“And this is Bruno X,” said the Chief. “He’s consulting with us on this difficult and troubling case.”

The men shook hands all around as Dr. Fischer boomed, “He’s not going to read our minds, is he?” His tone was jocular, but accompanied by a sharp look at Bruno.

“Nah. For that you need an appointment,” Bruno deadpanned. “But if you want, I been teaching the Chief here to read auras, and he can do it for you free of charge.”

The joke fell flat; everyone pretended to ignore it.

“We’re here to talk about security,” said the Chief, without missing a beat. “You gentlemen have generously offered to provide guards for the school …”

“That’s right,” replied Jurevicius briskly. “We can spare two members of our security team during school hours, with the exception of the week of our annual meeting. That’s coming up late in May …”

“Which, unfortunately, is just before school lets out,” Fischer said. “And we were counting on your help, Bud, during the annual meeting, as in years past.”

Bruno was confused. “What happens at your annual meetings that you need police help?”

“NewGarden Biosciences is a biotechnology company,” Fischer explained. “We genetically engineer plants that are healthy to eat, easy to grow, and good for the environment. We also do some work with plants and animals to biofacture medicines. Some people call it pharming, with a “ph.” Cute, huh?”

“So you’re worried about espionage? Protecting your intellectual property?”

Fischer gave the Chief a quizzical look, then turned to the psychic. “You must not read magazines or watch TV. You haven’t heard of ‘Frankenfoods?’ That’s the f-word in our industry. And what else do they say about us, Serge?”

Jurevicius supplied the quote easily, “We’re devils disguised as entrepreneurs and engineers … presenting people with a Faustian bargain.”

“People think we’re creating renegade genes that are going to get loose and devastate the planet,” Fischer continued.

“Like those cockamamie dinosaurs in Jurassic Park?”

“Exactly,” huffed Fischer. “With just as little scientific justification. People create scenarios about what might happen and get themselves worked up that the world’s about to end. Their idea of a solution is to try to disrupt our meetings. Consequently, we need to protect ourselves. But we’re getting off the subject …”

The Chief consulted his notebook. “The school had some queries. They wanted to know more about the personnel. Who they are? What kind of training they have? That sort of thing.”

Fischer laughed, “So Quentin has queries? That’s a very Quaker word, you know.”

“No, I didn’t …” the Chief stammered.

“… Very Quaker, indeed. When you see Quentin, tell him you want to ‘speak to his condition.’ Be sure to use these exact words. Say to him, ‘Emmanuel Fischer wants to speak to thy condition, Friend.’ Can you do that?”

“Yeah, but then what do I say?”

“Tell him the children are his responsibility. It’s not a time to sit in silence. He has to act.”

Silence filled the room as the challenge of the words registered. Dr. Fischer rose to leave. Bruno interrupted him with a question. “Isn’t this a strange business for a Quaker?” he asked.

Fischer tilted his head to bring the proper part of his bifocals into play. “If you weren’t here with my friend, Chief Black, I’d say that’s none of your business,” he snapped. “Since you are here, and supposedly trying to help … I’m going to help you.” He turned to Jurevicius. “Serge, I have another meeting. Could you please show these gentlemen the museum and provide them with anything else they might need?”

He shot another look at Bruno. “Maybe a little education will be useful to you. People assume there’s a contradiction between religion and business. Quakers have never said that and I’ve always felt the opposite is true. I think my craft and my God-given talent enable me to raise up a lot of good, if I can help to feed more people or cure their diseases.”

“But aren’t you tampering with God’s creation?” Bruno shot back.

Fischer went red in the face and turned to leave. “We’ll discuss it some other time … when you actually have some notion of what you’re talking about.”