10

Sitting in the chair in his hotel room with his feet propped up on the coffee table, Eric listened as Chris excitedly explained what he was finding.

“Of course, I don’t read Russian, but I’m sending this to the language guru at DHS that Silas put me in contact with. You got really good shots, but a few are kind of wiggly.”

Having been staring at the ceiling for a few minutes, he dropped his chin and pinned Chris with a glare. “I did the best I could considering I could hardly walk up to Egor and say, ‘Pardon me, would you please let me get a clear picture of your notes, which coincidentally the Chinese journalist is already staring at.”

Chris cackled, and said, “You’re so funny!”, before staring back at his computer screen.

Eric dropped his head back and continued staring at the ceiling, thinking the last thing he wanted to do was provide Chris with any comedic relief. “Once you get finished going through some of what we got today, see if anyone has a tie to the Foundation for Liberating Animals. That’s who I’m interviewing tomorrow, and I’d like to know if any of the journalists here have been involved with them.”

Chris nodded and, with a few more clicks on his computer, said, “I know you’ve already done your research on them, but you need to be really careful. These people are not just animal-rights activists, they’re extremists. They consider themselves to be above the law when it comes to interrupting scientific research, and that includes death threats, violence, arson, vandalism…hell, the list goes on and on.”

Shaking his head, he thought about the difference between the FLA and Chester’s ideals. According to Chester, he had no problem with research, being involved in the animal industry himself. Chester just hated the risk of contamination of his land and cattle. But, he reminded himself, that did not mean that Chester was not involved in threats to the facility.

Chris continued to search but so far was unable to come up with an overt connection between any of the journalists and either of the protesting groups. Just as he was about to close up his computer and head back to his room, Eric stopped him with a request.

“Don’t read anything into this, but can you get me the home address for Dr. Lydia Hughes?”

Chris’ blue eyes widened for a few seconds before grinning widely. Much to Eric’s satisfaction, Chris made no comment, other than, “No problem, man.” After only a few clicks on his keyboard, he said, “Just sent it to your email. That way, when you open it on your phone, it can go straight to your GPS.” Closing the top of his computer, he nodded his head as he stood and walked out of his room, calling out, “See you tomorrow.”

Eric continued sitting in the chair for a few more minutes, his mind filled with various aspects of this mission. He had no idea at this moment if he was getting any closer to finding out the information that Silas wanted. Hearing his phone ding with the incoming email containing Lydia’s address, all other thoughts left his mind, and a satisfied smile curved his lips.

This was not what Eric had expected, nor what he liked. While his visit with Chester had been friendly, his interview with the FLA had so far rivaled his most serious cloak and dagger missions.

He was picked up in front of his hotel by a taxi driver whose instructions were to take him to a particular bar just outside of town. Left out front, he waited as per the instructions, then another person picked him up in a dark SUV with tinted windows. Climbing into the back seat, he was instructed to place a blindfold over his eyes.

The drive took almost fifteen minutes before the SUV came to a stop, and he was told to stay put. He could hear the driver alight from the vehicle and the sounds of footsteps as they walked around to his door. Once his door opened, a firm, but not painful, hand on his arm guided him out. With the barest amount of light from the bottom of the blindfold, he could see that he was walking on asphalt.

Moving through a door, he continued down a tiled floor. The blindfold was taken off after he entered a room, and he found himself in a comfortable office. A door opened and, much to his surprise, a man walked in wearing a mask, the type found in a Halloween store.

“Good afternoon,” the man said, chuckling as he spread his hands out to the side. “I realize all of this subterfuge appears to be over the top, but our work is so important and there are those who find our methods unacceptable.”

Surprised that the man used a digital voice changer as well, Eric asked, “Unacceptable or illegal?”

“Both, I should say.” The man sat down behind a small desk, and said, “I know you represent a scientific press, so I find it interesting that you want an interview with the Foundation for Liberating Animals.”

“I’m trying to gain a deeper understanding of the NBAF, and to do so it also behooves me to understand those who are against it. I have spoken with Chester Thompson—”

The man made a rude noise, biting out, “A ridiculous and feckless exercise on Mr. Thompson’s part.”

Lifting his eyebrows, Eric said, “Before you begin your explanation of your organization, perhaps you would be good enough to give me your name.”

“John Doe. After we speak today, you’ll understand why I use the name. My work is important, but as I said earlier, I don’t feel bound by society’s laws.”

Nodding slowly, he said, “Okay, so tell me why your work is important. Let’s start with that. I’ve read that you have no problem with the theft of animals, vandalism, coercion, and other methods to, in your words, liberate animals from researchers.”

“Yes, we believe in direct action in pursuit of animal-rights and will take any method necessary to free animals where we can.”

“It’s also said that you’re considered to be terrorists.”

“We desire to overshadow any debate on the need for using animals in any type of research. It may be as simple as creating fear so that a scientist will stay silent and, doing so, will help to turn public opinion against the research.”

“So, are you admitting that you consider yourself to be a terrorist?”

“If by terrorist you mean do we invoke terror? Then yes, I believe the word terrorist could apply. Although, we prefer animal activist.”

“How organized is your organization?”

“I can tell you that we are active in over forty countries, but if you’re asking if we have an email list and newsletter, the answer is no,” John Doe chuckled. “We go to great lengths to cover our tracks.”

“What do you want my readers to take away from this article?” Eric knew he was playing a part but found himself truly wanting to know the answer to this question.

John Doe was quiet for just a moment, then sighed heavily. “We are the ones who are considered to be terrorists at worst, criminals at best, but all we strive to do is save the innocent.”

“With new laws in place for research facilities, do you still feel relevant?”

“Man has a great capacity for cruelty,” John Doe said. “We will always be relevant.”

Eric countered, “Surely you do not think cruelty applies solely to acts against animals. After all, your organization has been linked to attacking people, firebombs, blowing up buildings—”

“In the pursuit of what is right, there will always be casualties,” John Doe stated, his voice harsh.

“So, it is fine to harm humans, just not animals?”

The room was silent, no answer forthcoming.

Changing the direction in the interview, Eric asked, “With your group being so international, do you get money from other governments?”

John Doe sat very still for a long moment and Eric did not think he was going to answer the question. Finally, John said, “We get donations from a variety of sources and do not turn down any assistance in the pursuit of our cause.”

As the interview came to a close, he was taken back to his hotel the same way in which he was brought. Bypassing Chris’ room, he walked directly to his, finding his thoughts tangled in his mind. Moving directly into the shower, he stood under the hot spray of water. With his hands pressed flat against the tile, he allowed the water to pelt his back.

Having dealt with other types of terrorists when he was a SEAL in Afghanistan, he knew that to terrorists, their cause was right and just, regardless of their methods. Both John Doe and Chester Thompson admitted to not turning down money that was offered to further their cause.

Climbing out of the shower, he toweled off and pulled on fresh clothes. Hearing a knock on his door, he opened it to Chris, and said, “Keep digging on the money trail from the FLA and Chester’s group. While Chester, at least, sounds like a sane man, I can tell you the FLA will stop at nothing to try to shut down the facility here. And keep digging to see what link we can find between any of our journalists and groups that may be paying the protesters money.”

“Sure, boss,” Chris said.

He shoved his feet into his boots, his wallet into his back pocket, and grabbed his leather jacket. “I’m heading out.”

“Going to find that pretty vet you were asking me about?”

Shooting a look over his shoulder at Chris, he grinned but did not reply.