Free Mutant by Peter Clement Page B

crying wolf, or if we’re lucky, they’ll consider it ‘no news’ and run nothing.” She absently fingered the printouts that documented their negative findings. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think that somehow Bob Morgan discovered what I did and was so confident I’d ‘come up empty,’ as that shrew from
Environment Watch
put it, he leaked the fact that I was running the tests to the media—all to discredit me.”
    “That’s ridiculous,” scoffed Patton with a laugh.
    “Is it? Who else would know? Surely no one here spilled the beans. And he’s such a creep—I can just imagine him gloating over
me
having to say that I could find no evidence of environmental contamination around his plant.”
    Patton smiled behind his hand, his round wire-rimmed glasses and curly gray hair making him look owlishly wise in a way she found irksome.
    Azrhan, on the other hand, stared at her, his eyes widening in earnest amazement. “You really think he’d do that?” he said.
    “You bet I do. And for him to be that certain I’d find nothing, it means for sure they’re using a vector he knows we’ll never guess the primers for, or they really do have effective filters.”
    Azrhan nodded and continued to sip his tea in silence, letting his gaze slip out the window to where the winter dusk was settling over downtown Manhattan. Sullivan absently followed his line of sight, and saw he was watching the Twin Towers reflect the final seconds of the setting sun and turn themselves into pillars of fire.
    “Concentrate on the press, Kathleen,” said Patton with a chuckle. “You’ll accomplish more if you succeed in getting our message out with them than by obsessing about Agrenomics.” He got up from the easy chair opposite her desk. “And I wouldn’t write off that ‘shrew’ from
Environment Watch
. She seemed to be listening to you at the end.”
    “You’re going?” said Sullivan, feeling a twinge of disappointment. She’d hoped to have dinner with him.
    “Sorry, but I’m meeting a potential donor to the Blue Planet Society for drinks. But let’s talk later. I’ll be at home.”
    “Sure,” she said, trying to quell the pangs of jealousy that shot through her. Most of his “potential donors” were wealthy socialites, women who adored being in his company and were willing to offer him much more than cash. Easy, Sullivan, she cautioned herself, you knew what he was when you allowed yourself to climb into his bed. “Hope you score big, for the sake of the environment,” she added with a smile, the rude tease a throw-back to the time when they’d been just friends and she’d reveled in ribbing him about his wicked ways.
    He gave her a merry grin and bent over to kiss her good-bye. She turned her face, offering him her cheek instead of her lips.
    As he vanished out the door, she returned her attention to Azrhan. He discreetly continued to stare out the window. Finding the silence embarrassing, she said, “There’s still one thing I can’t figure.”
    “What’s that, Dr. Sullivan?” If he sensed anything between her and Patton, he showed no sign of it.
    “Why should the people at Agrenomics be such nervous Nellies about people getting onto the grounds?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “If Morgan’s feeling so secure that the likes of me with all my expertise won’t find anything incriminating, what are all the armed guards around the place for?”
    “Maybe he’s worried about industrial espionage?”
    “Maybe,” said Sullivan, putting down her cup and packing up her papers to leave for the night. In the process, she managed to knock over the dozen or so unanswered Christmas cards that she’d allowed to accumulate on her desk these past weeks, a reminder of how much the work on her samples had kept her from preparing for the rapidly approaching holidays. “Or perhaps it’s because he’s got something else to hide—something that can’t be found by prowling around outside the building and using