Chimera

CHAPTER 8

The Genetics Section of the Draganov Research Center

Intent on initiating his latest set of experiments, Sergei Draganov’s eyes swept back and forth from his lab notebook to the rack of ninety-six vials, smoothly pipetting micro-amounts of genetic material with robot-like precision until he realized that the rack of pipette tips on the lab bench next to his right hand was empty.

He blinked, looked up at the glass-paneled storage shelf overhead where he kept his pipetting supplies, saw that it too was empty, and sighed.

Leaning over to his left, the pipette still clutched in his right hand, he activated the wall-mounted intercom that was the primary communication tool between the administration office where the old woman sat, and the widely scattered buildings of his research center operation.

“Where is Borya? I need more pipette tips and vials from the supply shed.”

“I don’t know,” the old woman responded, her raspy voice echoing throughout the genetics lab. “At MAX I think.”

“Why would he be there now?”

“Because he has become crazy. Why else would anyone want to be there with all those evil things?”

Draganov rolled his eyes. “Borya has not become crazy and the animals in MAX are not evil. They are just… damaged. It’s not their fault.”

“No, it is our fault. All of us. We caused their grief.”

Draganov sighed. “We have discussed this many times. They are experimental lab animals. In any other research facility, they would have been sacrificed after the data was gathered, but I want to learn more from them so we keep them alive and well cared for. That is Borya’s primary job, to help me care for them.”

“But you have been gone too much, Sergei Arturovich. Left to himself, Borya becomes more distant every day. He hardly talks with us anymore, not even on the intercom. And Aleksei says that Tanya — ”

“Borya drinks too much, and Aleksei fills your head with nonsense.”

“But Tanya not getting better and Aleksei says we could all be in danger if — ”

“Tanya will be fine and Aleksei is wrong. Our work is very safe. You have no need to worry.”

“But — ”

“Enough. I’m tired and I need to sleep. Find Aleksei and — ”

The voice of Aleksei Tsarovich, the Center’s burly veterinarian, suddenly boomed out over the intercom.

“I’m here, Sergei. What do you want?”

“Where are you? I’ve been trying — ”

“At the medical clinic with Tanya. Her fever is worse, and the x-rays — ”

“What x-rays?”

“The ones I’ve been taking of her. You must come see for yourself.”

Tanga Island, Malacca Strait, Thailand

Lanyard was leaning back in his deck chair, sipping at his beer and contemplating the contours of Tanga Island and the positioning of the other dozen or so boats anchored around the popular diving spot, when a pair of dark-green-shelled abalone arched up out of the water and clattered onto the deck.

Moments later, Jack Gavin climbed up the stern ladder, set his scuba tank, mask and fins aside, caught a chilled can of beer tossed by Lanyard, and settled into a second deck chair with a squish of warm seawater.

“Ah, this is more like it — a bloody patch of water that stays flat and calm.” Gavin popped the tab on the can and took a deep swig of the cold brew. “So, how are things going in the planning department?”

“A bit dicey,” Lanyard said, still staring across the glistening water at the small island, and the clouds that were starting to darken again. “Wallis called a few minutes ago.” Lanyard quickly summarized the information on Kulawnit and Bulatt, and the concern about the Thai police showing up.

“I think he’s dead-bang-on about Kai,” Gavin said after considering the new information for a few moments. “We don’t dare leave that bastard in a position to cut a deal with the Thai police and Interpol; we’d end up running for the rest of our lives. But I don’t like the idea of them popping up and cutting off our escape either. I think we need a better plan.”

“Come up with that all by yourself, did you?” Lanyard raised his eyes skyward and shook his head sadly. “Just goes to show there’s nothing like a little compressed air to stimulate the brain. Don’t suppose you happen to have one handy?”

“What, a better plan? Not likely, mate. Planning’s not my cup of tea, you know that. Always forgetting about the ‘what happens afterwards’ parts.” Gavin shrugged cheerfully as he took another sip of beer. “That’s why you and Wallis are the thinkers, and I’m the ops go-to bloke. And speaking of Wallis, what’d he have to say? I’ve never known him not to have an alternate plan.”

“Oh, he has one,” Lanyard said. “Basically, you and I deal with Kai, and he’ll cover our arses like he always does.”

“There you go, mate.” Gavin raised his beer can in salute. “Sounds like a plan to me. So how do you want your ‘Ab’ cooked, with or without the bloody lobster?”