The cloud of dust rose from behind the rented SUV, a large Suburban, as it sped along the unpaved road. Corbett figured it was technically a driveway, not that it mattered. A mile back he’d turned off Highway 20 and drove south until he passed a row of mailboxes. At the next left, he turned onto this gravel and dirt road that, if his GPS was directing him accurately, would end at his intended destination.
The meth chemist came well recommended. When Corbett was tasked by Simon Ming to set up a manufacturing lab, his first thought was to tap into the overlooked talents of the illegal drug community. He reasoned that there should be several well-equipped laboratories manufacturing methamphetamine, fentanyl, and other opioids. Even better, those working the labs would already be trained well enough to carry out his assignment.
He began his search by discretely contacting several dealers in Eugene. Slowly, his search expanded, and Corbett soon learned that the isolated and remote lands of central Oregon offered what he sought.
He slowed the black SUV as he approached a doublewide trailer, easing to a stop near the front door. Even before Corbett exited the vehicle, a man appeared at the front door brandishing a pump-action shotgun.
“This is private property,” the man said. “So unless you have a warrant, I suggest you turn around and leave.”
Corbett raised his hands. “I’m not the police.”
“Then you have no business here. Best you leave, now.” To emphasize his point, he racked a shell into the chamber of the shotgun.
“Name’s Corbett. Roger Corbett. If you’re who I think you are, we have a business deal.”
Slowly he lowered the muzzle of the shotgun. “Okay, come on in.”
Corbett followed him inside. The man leaned the gun against the sofa within easy reach and motioned to a chair. “Have a seat.”
Corbett declined. “I don’t want to keep you long. Besides, I drove a long way and would like to get on my way back to Eugene.”
“Roger Corbett. Yeah, I know the name. Talked with him on the phone. You sound like him, but I’d rather you showed me some ID—just to be sure.”
“You’re a cautious man.”
“I learned early on that caution helps me stay healthy and alive. Not to mention out of prison.”
“Fair enough.” Corbett removed his wallet and produced his Oregon driver’s license as well as his Utopian-Bio ID badge.
The man nodded. “Okay. Looks real enough. So what brings you out here, Mr. Corbett?”
“I understand you’re close to being ready to manufacture our product. I’d like to see your facility.”
The chemist smiled. “Oh, I get it. A site inspection.”
Corbett nodded. “Yeah. That pretty much sums it up.”
“Follow me. The lab is in the trailer next door.”
It was a short walk to the next trailer. It also appeared old and unkempt. The paint was oxidized and faded, and all the windows were completely covered on the inside with aluminum foil.
The chemist knocked on the door and said, “It’s me. Coming inside with a guest.”
They opened the door and entered. He closed the door behind Corbett without delay on the off chance that someone was surveilling them from a distance. With no ambient light entering through the windows, the only illumination was from a row of fluorescent bulbs running the length of the room. Three men were busy stacking cardboard boxes. All the interior partitioning walls had been removed, resulting in one large rectangular space. Along one long wall were six laboratory ventilation hoods. Several tables supporting a collection of laboratory equipment filled the remainder of the space.
The chemist began his tour. “My men are nearly finished. They had to pack up equipment we don’t need and set up new work stations. Those hoods draft downward and vent out the bottom of the trailer. That way, anyone snooping around won’t see the typical stacks on top of the roof that indicate we have lab hoods in here. Most of my competitors never figured that out. Dumb asses. Anyway, we got plenty of capacity here to work up the cultures and isolate the agent on absorbent media.”
“Sounds like you know what you’re doing.”
“A scientist from Utopian-Bio taught me, and I’m a quick learner. Not that this virus is that much different from our usual product. Know what I mean? You can’t go around being sloppy, or the chemicals will kill you. Same with this virus. Get careless, and you get infected.”
“Just make sure you don’t get careless.” Corbett said. “Do you have room for the tissue cultures?”
“We have more folding tables. We’ll set them up in here, enough to hold three hundred and fifty culture flasks. By keeping the trailer at a constant warm temperature, the cultures will grow quickly. As they mature, the flasks will be processed in the hoods, and the cycle repeated. Product will be kept in three large refrigerators that will be installed just inside by the front door.”
Corbett looked at the empty space.
“Don’t worry, they’re getting the refrigerators tomorrow.”
“You don’t think that buying three refrigerators at one time might seem a bit odd? What if the sales guy calls the police?”
The chemist rolled his eyes. “We don’t shop at stores unless we have to. The refrigerators will be bought at garage sales and from listings in the newspaper.”
“You can trust these guys? Trust your team?”
“I’m standing here and not in prison. That’s because my team is loyal. I take care of them, and they keep their mouths shut.” The chemist grinned. “They’d all prefer to have a good paycheck over a bullet in the head. Wouldn’t you?”
“I see your point.”
“I provide my workers with good personal protection equipment like rubber gloves and full-face masks fitted with air bottles.”
“You can find professional equipment like that at garage sales?”
“You can buy almost anything on eBay. And Amazon.”
“Good. Expect to start soon, within a few days. How fast can you make the product?”
“It’ll take two days for cultures to mature. Processing will take another twelve hours, but we can do that while another culture is started. So, about every two days we can cycle maybe fifty kilograms of product.”
Corbett nodded his approval.
“How much are you going to want? I need to plan my staffing and supplies.”
“Five hundred kilograms to start.” He took one more look around, satisfied the illicit lab was very close to being ready. He had just one more question. “You have the seed culture that was provided earlier?”
“Sure do. It’s in the refrigerator.”
Corbett made a show of looking for the appliance that he already knew was absent.
“Not here, in my trailer,” the chemist said.
Corbett wrinkled his nose. “You put that stuff next to your food? Are you crazy?”
He shrugged. “No harm. The package is sealed, right?”