Wait here.” The big man with the crew cut and reflective aviator shades shook his head disapprovingly as he closed the heavy metal door on his exit.
Sam quickly scanned the room. It looked like a break room or perhaps a presentation room—a long metal table, a few uncomfortable chairs, a projection screen at the front of the room, and a podium. There were no computers and, more importantly, no phones.
“East Harlem,” Sam said.
“What?” Beth asked.
“That was Judge Allerton’s other option for you. I could’ve let you serve your sentence working with the crack addicts, hookers, and pimps in East Harlem. But no, I had to try to do the right thing.”
“Don’t get all bitchy,” Beth protested. “It wasn’t my fault. Did you really think there wouldn’t be security?”
“You said you had a plan. That you would create a distraction,” Sam insisted.
“I did create a distraction,” Beth shot back.
“Asking Crew Cut out there about his feelings toward his mother is not a distraction.”
“It is where I come from. A man’s relationship with his mother is one of the most powerful and complicated influences on his life.”
“Just stop talking,” Sam snapped.
That worked for a second. Then Beth said, “What do you think Morgan is really up to?”
“I don’t know. Whatever it is, we’re losing time to figure out if it’s got anything to do with what’s going on in Manhattan.” And, she thought, to figure out if we have any chance of stopping the cull.
“Don’t worry. I’m sure the cops will be here pretty soon. Crew Cut mentioned criminal trespass. I wonder what class of felony that is. Well, at least you’ll get to see how the other half lives.”
“Could you be any less helpful?”
“The day is still young,” Beth said.
Sam tried the door handle and then shoved the door hard with her shoulder. It didn’t move.
“Is it locked?” Beth asked.
Sam rubbed her shoulder in an attempt to restore feeling. “Gee, you think so?”
“I never said I was good at this spy business. When I hear the word commando I think of going out without underwear, not breaking into some research facility.”
“You know what I like about you, Beth?”
“No, what?”
“It isn’t a quiz. I thought maybe you’d know.”
“See? The fat girl is always the first one attacked.”
Sam sat down across from Beth and upended her bag on the table.
Beth looked at her quizzically. “You’re cleaning out your purse?”
“I’m trying to see what kind of resources we have. They took the phone, but they didn’t look too hard, so maybe…” Sam looked through the contents with an expanding feeling of helplessness—a few Tampax, tissues, gum, car keys, a wallet, and some loose cash. Nothing doing. She returned the items to her bag. “You have anything?”
Beth reached into her pocket and pulled out a few singles, a pack of gum, and an empty Tic Tac container. She reached into her other pocket. “Hold on. I think I’ve got something.” She pulled out some paper clips and proudly showed them to Sam.
“OK, MacGyver, what do you think you’re gonna do with those?”
“Just observe and learn.” Beth straightened two paper clips as she moved to the door. She inserted one into the lock and then the second. Sam watched closely as Beth confidently jiggled and rotated the clips. “The key to picking a lock like this…,” Beth said smugly.
“Is getting a locksmith?”
“No. Is that you must… ow! Ow! Ow!” Beth whipped her hand back and inspected the drop of blood on her finger where the paper clip had poked her. “I’m bleeding.” She ran over to Sam and displayed the tiny speck of blood.
“Just come clean, Beth. You were sent here to destroy my mind, weren’t you?”
“Hey, did I mention that I’m bleeding here?”
Crew Cut returned with a large file folder and a legal pad.
“So nice to see you again,” Beth said.
“You can make this easier on all of us if you would answer a few questions before the police arrive.”
“And where are our friendly police officers?” Sam said. “I’ve got a few things I’d like to tell them about the way we’ve been treated.”
Crew Cut smiled. It wasn’t pleasant. “You know how it is. We’re a pretty small town. Our police need to cover a good deal of ground. It may be a little while before they can get here. No rush, now that you are secure.”
That didn’t sound right to Sam. The cops should have already been here. Unless… Sam looked over to Beth and guessed that she was having the same thought.
“And how can we be helpful?” Beth asked.
“Why were you trying to enter this facility?”
“We told you. We were just looking for a bathroom,” Sam said.
“Cut the crap,” Crew Cut demanded. “Who are you working for?”
“Really?” Beth chuckled into her hand.
“Something funny?” Crew Cut asked.
“I just thought I’d go my entire life without hearing someone actually use that phrase for real.” Beth eyed her interrogator. “Where were you trained? Dragnet?”
“You’re not helping, Beth,” Sam complained.
“Agri-Vet?” Crew Cut volunteered. “It’s them, right? When will you people learn? There’s a reason they’re called trade secrets, you know?”
So Crew Cut either had not spoken with Morgan yet or Morgan was pretending she didn’t know them. “I guess we should tell him the truth before this gets out of hand,” Sam suggested.
“Your call, sweetie,” Beth answered.
“OK, look, we’re actually investigative reporters,” Sam said.
“Pulitzer Prize–winning, by the way,” Beth added.
“We work for the New York Times.”
“Have you heard of them?” Beth asked.
Sam took the ball back from Beth and ran with it. “We’re investigating Morgan. We know the kind of shit you’ve been doing here. Cholera toxin is the least of it. My editors will have this place swarming with lawyers any minute if you don’t let us go. And of course I’ll need the correct spelling of your name for the story.”
Crew Cut leaned into Sam’s face. “You’re investigative reporters like I’m a ballerina.”
“I’ve been wondering,” Beth said. “How is it that you learn to dance on pointe?”
“You won’t think this is so funny when you’re in the backseat of a squad car.”
Sam ignored the threat. “Tell Morgan we’ll only speak directly to her. Otherwise we’ll just wait for the cops.”