Five

To call Luke’s one-man office the “Washington bureau” of Modern Century was a stretch, but he believed in putting a good face on things. The magazine was based in Boston, but they needed someone stationed in Washington to advance legislative reform. Someday Luke might be able to hire a secretary and additional reporters, but for now he was a one-man operation.

He’d been writing for Modern Century for six years, covering gritty subjects like graft and child labor. Last month he’d written an eight-page article exposing corruption in the War Department, in which an officer was caught diverting funds and stoking the rebellion in Cuba. Luke uncovered the source of the corruption by enduring a fifteen-month stint in a Cuban prison and spying on imprisoned members of the rebellion. Luke had been privately awarded a medal by President Roosevelt upon his return to the States, but his undercover work for the government would forever remain a secret.

He sat at his desk and continued scanning government reports about the need for better testing for food preservatives. Current safety standards required a rabbit to be fed a dose of the preservative. If the rabbit was still alive the next day, the substance was deemed safe for use.

Luke took a long drink of milk and continued munching on a wedge of apple strudel. Anything to get his weight up. The Department of Agriculture would begin interviewing volunteers for their “hygienic table trials” tomorrow. What an awful name for such a daring experiment. Nevertheless, he needed to prove himself fit and healthy enough to qualify for the trials. According to the Surgeon General, a man of Luke’s height should weigh between 161 and 183 pounds to be considered healthy. He currently weighed 153. He finished the milk, then started on the second slice of the apple strudel. He was going to qualify for that experiment if it killed him.

He bit back a smile, because it truly might kill him, but he never shied away from a challenge. Besides, it shouldn’t be too hideous. According to the advertisement, only half the men would be subjected to the chemically tainted meals while the other half would be in the control group eating wholesome food.

Luke secretly hoped he’d be in the group with the tainted meals. He wanted to tough it out. It would be a privilege to volunteer his own body in a quest to prove the danger of chemical preservatives.

A knock sounded on the door. “Come in!” he said through a mouthful of strudel. The man from the telephone company must be early to set up the service, but all to the good.

It wasn’t the man from the telephone company. It was Clyde Magruder, looking like a black cloud.

Luke masked his surprise, wiped his mouth, and stood. “Hello, Clyde,” he said casually.

It had been almost two years since they’d seen each other. Aside from a few more strands of silver in Clyde’s sandy hair, there had been little change. He still looked big, imposing, and had the mean-eyed charm of a python.

Clyde’s nose wrinkled in distaste as he surveyed the office. “Such a shame that your two-bit magazine can’t afford decent office space.”

A flash of blue sparkled on Clyde’s hand. Clyde excelled in all the pretentions of the newly rich, so a pinky ring shouldn’t be a surprise, but Luke couldn’t resist a little mockery.

“Nice ring,” he said. “Very classy. Then again, I’ve always said you can spot a Magruder a mile away by their vulgar jewelry and the gilt paint they slap on everything.”

“Would you care to make more insults about my family?” Clyde said. “I’m not due in Congress for another hour, so please. Let it all out, Luke. Perhaps it would do you good to get rid of some of that bile.”

“And as a Magruder, you know all about bile.” Luke opened his top desk drawer and tossed a can of Magruder’s potted ham at Clyde. “My brother had a chemist dissect this. It’s eighty percent ham and ten percent beef tallow. We couldn’t figure out what the rest of it was. Mind helping us out?”

Clyde tossed the can back to him. “It’s a moneymaker that bought me a summer house in Maine. Do you mind telling me about this?”

Clyde set a slip of paper on his desk. It was the card that accompanied the roses Luke had sent to Marianne. He hadn’t known who she was when he sent them, or he wouldn’t have done it. He hoped it hadn’t landed her in trouble.

He used a single finger to slide the card back toward Clyde. “It’s nothing.”

“Any time you tamper with my daughter, it’s something,” Clyde said, his voice lethally calm. “I saw the photograph of you with my grandson’s dog. I’m giving you only one warning. Stay away from my family. If you want to lob your nasty assaults at me, have at it, but if you ever touch my daughter, there won’t be enough of you left to mop off the ground.”

He grabbed the can of potted ham and threw it at the window, shattering the glass as the can arced outside. Clyde left the office without another word, slamming the door so hard that the glass in the door’s window broke too.

Luke’s hands clenched. He really hoped Marianne hadn’t caught grief for those roses. He hadn’t known who she was! He wouldn’t have gone within ten yards of her if he’d known she was Clyde’s daughter.

He fought to rein in his breathing as he strolled to the window, the glass shards crunching beneath his boots. The can of ham had fallen harmlessly to the street below, which was a blessing, since they were on the fourth floor and there could have been people beneath the window. Clyde’s act was a typical low-class Magruder tantrum.

Cold wind blew into the office. Luke would have to hire a glazier to repair both the window and the door, but in the meantime, he had work to do.

Clyde’s visit was like waving a red flag before a bull. Every instinct cried out for Luke to go find Marianne and start courting her in earnest. He could shower her with gifts and compliments and charm her until she was breathless. Two years ago that was exactly what he would have done in response to Clyde’s threat.

But his time locked in a Cuban jail cell had taught him a great deal. He had been taught patience and wisdom. He would do nothing to hurt Marianne, but he would double his fire at Clyde. The man had to be removed from Congress.

Luke swallowed back his anger and thought strategically. He cut another slice of strudel and made himself eat. There were so many reasons he wanted a front-row seat in the government’s study of poisonous food additives, but at the top of the list was a chance to personally strike a body blow against Clyde Magruder.

The advertisement calling for medical volunteers instructed men to apply at the Department of Agriculture beginning at nine o’clock. Applicants would be required to pass a physical exam and fall within the acceptable weight range for their height. Luke was still seven pounds underweight, but a gallon of water weighed eight pounds. He could fake it. He’d already drunk a quart of water but felt so bloated he didn’t know if he could get the rest of it down. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to, because there probably wouldn’t be many volunteers.

Slinging the jug of water over his shoulder, he meandered toward the Department of Agriculture, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his face. Winter was such a dicey time in Washington. Sometimes it was a frosty misery, but today he barely needed a coat.

As he rounded the corner, he was stunned to see dozens of men lined up outside the Department of Agriculture. Who were all these people? The line snaked down the steps and around the front of the building. Luke approached the last man in the line.

“What’s everyone waiting for?”

“Free room and board!” the man said. He held out a copy of the advertisement for the experiment. “All we need to do is pass a physical and agree to eat all our meals here. The doors open at nine o’clock.”

Luke scanned the crowd of young healthy men. There had to be over a hundred people in this line, and the department was only taking a dozen volunteers.

Luke uncorked the jug of water and began drinking. He was going to have to get the whole gallon down, and fast. It was going to take some quick thinking to convince the test administrators that he was as healthy as the other men in this line, but Luke had always been good at quick thinking.

By ten o’clock all the men had filled out basic forms to apply for the research study, then were ushered into the room where a doctor would make the first round of cuts. Luke reluctantly followed instructions to shuck off his heavy winter coat and boots before stepping on the scale. Nature was calling, but he couldn’t use the restroom until after he’d been weighed. A doctor and a nurse were doing the preliminary screen, weighing the men, shining a light into their eyes, a tongue depressor down their throats, and banging a hammer on their knees.

“We’re all insane for being here,” a tall volunteer with curly blond hair said. “They should probably use that hammer on our heads.”

“My head is harder,” a man beside him said. They looked so much alike that they had to be brothers.

“But mine is bigger,” the other replied.

“Yeah, but Mom still loves me the most.”

The two brothers kept up a nonstop stream of competitive banter all morning. When the doctor complimented the taller brother for how fast his eyes dilated, the other begged to be tested so he could dilate faster. They gave their names as Ted and Bradley Rollins, two brothers currently attending Georgetown University who rowed crew for the college. Luke simply thought of them as Big Rollins and Little Rollins. They were eager to flex their muscles for the fresh-faced nurse who seemed charmed as they argued about who had better grades, who had more muscle, and who could hold their breath longer. Big Rollins began boasting about the five-minute mile he’d run last weekend.

“Five minutes? That’s nothing,” the man next to Luke said. He had a lanky, athletic build and floppy dark hair. “I can run a five-minute mile with hurdles in the mix.”

“I don’t believe it,” Little Rollins said.

The lanky man offered a hand. “I’m Wesley Sparks, fourth place finisher in the Paris Olympics hurdle race in 1900.”

“Ouch, fourth place,” Little Rollins said.

“I know!” Wesley replied. “Do you know what coming in fourth place in the Olympics does to a man? Do you?”

“Let me guess,” Nurse Hollister said. “It makes you want to enroll in risky tests of human endurance.”

The nurse’s dry humor didn’t make a dent in the skinny man’s earnest demeanor. “No, it makes me wake up at two o’clock in the morning, reliving that race over and over. I remember it like it was yesterday. The eyes of the nation were on me after years of training and sacrifice. Two thousand years of history and sportsmanship awaited my performance, but as I took my position at the starting line, I started worrying my left shoe wasn’t tied properly. I lost out to Belgium because that shoelace distracted me. Belgium! So now I’m here for the free room and board so I can train for the St. Louis Olympics in two years. There will be no fourth-place finish in St. Louis, and I will qualify for this study.”

“Step up on the scale, St. Louis,” Nurse Hollister said. “You’re on the scrawny side for this.”

Luke held his breath, hoping St. Louis would qualify. Anyone tormented by old regrets, even if it was only missing out on a medal, deserved his sympathy.

“You pass to the next round,” the nurse said. “Next.”

This was it. Luke stepped forward, praying he weighed enough to qualify for the next round.

“Take off your belt,” the nurse intoned when he tried to step on the scale.

Blast! He’d worn his heaviest belt buckle to gain a few ounces. He yanked it off and stepped onto the scale, resisting the urge to shift with the need to relieve himself.

“One hundred and sixty-one pounds,” the nurse announced as she marked it on his chart.

Thank the good Lord! He dared not ask to use the bathroom, lest she realize what he’d done. “Can I step outside?” he asked. “I saw a water fountain in the hallway.”

“Don’t be long,” Nurse Hollister said with a nod.

He didn’t even bother to tug his shoes back on, just ran down the hall toward the men’s lavatory in stocking feet. On his way back, he took a sip from the water fountain just to keep himself honest, but he was now ready to compete against the other men in earnest.

By the time he got back, most of the volunteers had been dismissed for failing to meet the basic physical requirements, but Luke, the two brothers, St. Louis, and twenty other men were still in the running. The brothers were arguing about who was a better sailor when Luke approached the taller of the two brothers and offered his hand.

“Luke Delacroix,” he introduced himself. “I won the two-man sculling contest three years in a row in college, and according to Nurse Hollister’s chart, my eyes dilated a second faster than both of you loafers.”

They were fighting words. Big Rollins challenged him to a rowing race after the trials, and Little Rollins said he had the advantage over all the volunteers because of his cast-iron stomach.

“That will be useful against the poison you people are going to feed us, right, Nurse Hollister?” Little Rollins asked.

“I’m not at liberty to say exactly what will be in the meals,” the nurse replied.

“Acid?” St. Louis asked. “Formaldehyde? Paint thinner?”

“Let’s not dwell on it,” Luke said. “It’s all poison.”

“Then we shall be your poison eaters,” Little Rollins said to the nurse.

“That doesn’t sound quite right,” the other brother commented. “Poison crew? Poison team?”

“Poison squad,” St. Louis offered, and Luke had to admit that name had a certain flair.

They were soon all ushered into a new room for the physical tests.

“In this room we will test for basic physical coordination,” a young doctor in a white lab coat said. “Nothing exotic and no hurdles, but we need to see if you can toss a beanbag from hand to hand for a full sixty seconds.”

Big Rollins snorted. “Let’s see if we can juggle for two minutes.”

“Deal!” Little Rollins said.

Luke was curious to see if they could actually do it, but these men were both young, healthy, and had obviously spent too much time in foolish competitions. They both juggled quite well, and the nurse tried to get them to stop after a minute, but they insisted on continuing to see who could outlast the other. Given their health and vigor, it was obvious these two would be selected for the study. If Luke could keep pace with them, surely he’d be among the men chosen too.

The brothers continued their frantic juggling, laughing as they tossed the beanbags in ever-faster motions to impress the nurse. Big Rollins won by twenty seconds and surrendered his two beanbags.

“That’s nothing,” Luke said. “I can do it with my feet.”

That got everyone’s attention, earning catcalls and howls of disbelief, but these people didn’t know him. When a man spent fifteen months trapped in a prison cell with little to do . . . yes, he had learned to juggle with his feet.

He was out of practice, so he only took one beanbag. He still had his shoes off, and he lay on the floor, propping himself up on his elbows and holding his knees in the air. After balancing the beanbag on top of a foot, he tossed it in the air, then caught it on top of his other foot. The nurse started the timer, and Luke continued batting the beanbag from foot to foot. The other men began applauding as he crossed the sixty-second mark. He could have gone the full two minutes if he hadn’t been laughing so hard, but eventually the beanbag went glancing off his foot too far for him to capture, and he sprang back to his feet, accepting congratulations from some of the men and even the doctor.

But not the brothers. “We’re going to have to kill him,” Little Rollins said.

Luke grinned and offered his hand. “You can’t kill me. After today we’re all teammates on the Poison Squad.”

Ten minutes later his assertion was proven correct as he, the two brothers, St. Louis, and eight other men were given the paperwork to become the inaugural members of the Poison Squad.

When Luke joined the experiment, he hadn’t realized the strain it would put on both Gray and his wife. After all, it was his body and his mission, but if he put himself in danger’s way, it affected others. Annabelle was tormenting herself for telling him about the study, and it was obvious Gray wanted him to have nothing to do with it. Today they were both helping him move into the boardinghouse where he’d live for the next four months. It was a slim three-story building only blocks from the Department of Agriculture.

Gray did his best to talk Luke out of going inside. “You haven’t signed any contract committing you to this study. You are free to walk away at any time. I say you walk away now. Before it even begins.”

Luke headed up the steps to the front porch. “I have to do it.”

“No, you don’t. You’ve already given enough of yourself.”

It hurt to see the expression on Gray’s face as he stood on the sidewalk with Luke’s trunk slung over his shoulder. Gray had been his lifeline over the past year, visiting him repeatedly in that Cuban jail and then tending him while he recovered his health. He didn’t want to repay that generosity by thumbing his nose at Gray’s concerns, but he felt called to this assignment.

“Here, I’ll take the trunk. You don’t need to stay.”

When he reached for the strap, Gray twisted past him and headed into the boardinghouse. A clerk in the foyer directed Luke to a third-floor bedroom he would be sharing with three other men.

It was going to be a tight fit. There were two bunk beds, a single desk, a single chest of drawers, and a slim window overlooking an alley. Luke was the first of the test subjects to arrive and chose the lower bunk closest to the window. Gray hoisted his trunk onto the mattress.

“Oh, Luke.” Annabelle sighed as she scanned the room with worried eyes. “Are you sure? No one will think badly of you if you back out.”

“I would,” he said instinctively.

Annabelle and Gray didn’t understand. He was elated by this chance to prove himself. Adventure and danger had always been carved onto his heart. In his younger years it ran wild, leading him into foolhardy exploits and trouble with the law, but he was learning to funnel it toward the good. He needed to test his physical strength against a challenge. He needed to match wits with a worthy opponent and win. Five days out of the week he sat at a desk and did paperwork, but his soul craved more. There was a wildness inside that needed a mission to both challenge and frighten him.

This need was so deeply embedded that he had no doubt God instilled it in him. Luke had never done his finest praying in a church pew. He did it out in the real world. He had proven himself in the sweltering battlefields of Cuba and in exposing corruption on the pages of Modern Century.

Now it was time to test his mettle with the Poison Squad.