He frowned but said nothing. He’ d known last night that it wouldn’t matter what he and Ms. McHenry did; the fact they were there alone together would be sufficient to set the rumor mill in motion. All it would take was one security guard spotting them, and unless he was ordered to keep his mouth shut, the tales would fly.
“I’m surprised you got any sleep at all,” Viascola said.
His frown became a scowl. “Why are you here, Gen?”
Now she pretended to pout. “I merely bring good news. We’ve transferred Manny. Here’s his replacement. As per your request.” She handed him Lacey McHenry’s folder and strutted away on her six-inch heels.
Stunned to motionlessness, he stared after her until she disappeared around the corner. Then, as his lab techs began to trickle in, he turned and walked into his office. Kicking the door shut behind him, he opened the folder with genuine dismay.
He’ d known they’d move McHenry off the animal floor after last night, but the last thing he expected was to have her assigned to him. And Swain himself had approved her reassignment—his signature was right there at the bottom of her promotion notice.
Well, this was going to be awkward. At least he had only a day of it to weather.
He came around his desk, laying McHenry’s file atop the other folders and papers as he moved the mouse to awaken his computer. Then he settled into his chair and went back to paging through McHenry’s file. He was peripherally aware of his desktop appearing on the screen, but it was a few moments before he noticed the little blue square blinking at the lower right-hand corner. Frowning, he reached again for the mouse and clicked on the unfamiliar icon.
At once a small window opened, asking for a password. He typed in the Golf-Zero number Rudy had given him. A new window appeared, an opening program he didn’t know, which eventually resolved into a DNA profile, labeled
Anomalous Blood Sample
, complete with a summary text of the analysis.
He glanced away from the screen to the USB port at the side of the machine where a gray flash drive had been inserted, hidden by the piles of papers from the sight of anyone except the person sitting in Cam’s chair.
Since he was leaving tomorrow, this information didn’t concern him, but curiosity compelled him to read it anyway. According to the summary, the DNA did not match any they had on file. Furthermore, the blood chemistry registered a high white-blood-cell count, indicating a widespread systemic infection, probably viral. There was also the presence of unidentified proteins. The author speculated these might be contaminants from the collection process, but even so found the mysterious nature of these proteins to be “provocative.”
Well, he understood now why it was labeled anomalous, and it was not at all what he’ d thought. When Rudy had said they thought Swain might have sarcophagi . . .
His pulse fluttered and his mouth went dry. The memories were right there. All he need do was open the door in his mind and they’d come pouring out.
No. Once was enough. Once was far too much. I can’t do it again. . . .
He dropped his head in his hands and closed his eyes, breathing deeply and slowly through his mouth.
Scriptures rose to the surface of his mind. . . .
Greater is He who
is in you, than he who is in the world . . . I can do all things through
Christ . . . He will never leave you or forsake you . . . When I am weak,
then I am strong, for His power is perfected in weakness. . . .
He caught his breath and sat very still. Felt his heart slamming against his breastbone. Heard his pulse rushing in his ears.
Maybe this
is not about what you can do, Cam. Maybe it’s about Him. Maybe that’s
why He brought you here: to show you that.
His mind backed away from those thoughts as if they were a virulent poison, a fiery furnace, a death sentence.
And what’s so bad about death, anyway? You’d be with Him. Or
do you really not believe any of this stuff you’ve been studying all these
years?
The question hung in his mind, a grim indictment. He did believe. Sometimes. But at other times, like Paul, he was a miserable, wretched man. He who presumed to bring the gospel to these unbelievers . . .
There is now no condemnation in Christ, Cameron.
What does that have to do with anything? Go away. I won’t stay. I
won’t do this again.
If not you, who?
Horror and denial welled up in him, and again the dark memories threatened to break free of their prison.
You know you can find someone
else, Lord. You could take care of it yourself, for that matter.
But I am calling you to be my vessel.
“Dr. Reinhardt?” The voice pierced his thoughts.
He dropped his hands and lifted his head. Lacey McHenry stood holding his office door slightly open, as if she feared to enter. He stared at her blankly, pulling his mind out of the darkness and into the now.
“You didn’t appear to hear my knock,” she added, giving him an odd look, “and they said I should report to you. . . .”
He shook off his distress and waved her in. “Yes, I just found out about your transfer myself. Come in.”
He clicked the Alt and F4 keys, closing the window, wondering if he’ d ever be able to access it again, or if the file would self-destruct upon closing. Probably the latter.
“Dr. Viascola said you asked for me specifically?”
He heard the notes of disbelief and uneasiness in her tone, and felt his face flush. Having gone to breakfast, she’ d have suffered far more from the rumors regarding their actions in the Madrona Lounge than he had. “Yesterday after the unity meeting I suggested to her that you might make a suitable replacement for Dr. Espinosa. She turned me down, though. Apparently she changed her mind.”
“Because of last night?” McHenry asked softly.
“She just said she’ d reconsidered my request. Of course that’s all she
could
say. Did the guy from ASU get here?”
“I don’t think so. Everyone says they’ve sent Manny Espinosa down to the AnFac in my place.”
Well, Cam had asked for that, too. And someone did have to take care of the animals. It was just that he suspected the frog eater would be back and would not be happy to find Espinosa in McHenry’s place. But then, security had to suspect that, too. Surely they’d take care of things. . . . Outside the glass walls of his office the lab techs and postdocs had arrayed themselves at their various cubicles and stations about the lab, nearly all of them gawking openly at the meeting going on in Cam’s office. He frowned, and thought of going out to tell them all to get to work and mind their own business.
“So why
did
you ask for me,” McHenry pressed, “if it wasn’t . . . ?”
He looked around at her, and she trailed off, cheeks flushing, and he was struck anew by how appealing she was becoming. Every time he saw her, she seemed to grow prettier, and he couldn’t deny the element of pleasure with which he contemplated having her stationed right outside his office. When she blushed and lowered her eyes like that, the dark wisps of hair curling along her soft cheeks and down the graceful neck, he could hardly pull his gaze away.
She shifted her weight and glanced up at him again. His flush of embarrassment heated as he leaned back in the chair and sought to make himself return to business.
“Why did I ask for you? I had your file yesterday, remember? I skimmed your master’s thesis. Quite impressive. It was ridiculous they had you picking dead frogs out of a tank and autoclaving glassware when you could be doing real work. Especially when I’ve got a mound of studies that need examining.”
And now he was saying way too much, way too defensively. Desperately he stopped himself and gestured toward the cubicle that stood just outside the office’s glass door, all its flat surfaces piled with file folders. “It’s all on Manuel’s desk out there.” He paused. “Well, your desk now, I guess.” He smiled awkwardly, then tore his gaze away and turned his attention to the screen to open his
To Do
file for the day before he embarrassed himself further.
And still she didn’t leave. Finally he glanced up at her. “Was there something else?”
“I was just wondering in what light, exactly, you want me to evaluate them?”
“Oh. Yes. Sorry. The overall project objective is to search for a genetic aging mechanism related to telomere reductions. But I suppose you should read the project proposal first. And the abstracts of all the research we’re currently doing. It’s on Manny’s computer. You should be able to find it easily. Once you’re familiar with what we’re after, you can go through the folders of studies and note which ones have relevance to our objectives. Which ones we might want to replicate, or replicate with changes . . . With citations, of course.” He frowned at her. “You
do
know what I’m talking about, right?”
“Of course. I’m compiling relevant studies from the literature. When did you want my report by?”
“When? When you’re done, of course.” He turned his gaze back to his computer screen and used the keyboard to call up a display of the gel readouts from Thursday.
She left him then and made her way to her new desk. He watched her surreptitiously over the top of his computer screen. The folders weren’t merely piled upon the desk itself but ranged around the chair on the floor, for Manny had made little headway, considering such grunt work beneath him.
She spent a few moments looking around the station, opening drawers and paging through the folders. Then she turned to the computer and opened the document containing the proposal and abstracts, a fact that presented itself in a small box in the upper corner of his own screen.
As she settled in to work, he sought to do likewise—and found it an exercise in futility. He couldn’t focus for longer than five minutes. If his mind wasn’t drifting back to his plans for tomorrow, his eye was straying to his newest research assistant, and dredging up new waves of guilt with which to torment himself. Should he ask her to come with him into Tucson tomorrow? Alone, perhaps he could explain. . . .
But hadn’t he already advised her to leave? And if she didn’t, wasn’t that her prerogative? And her choice to live with the consequences?
Except she had no idea what the consequences might be. Even he didn’t know. . . .
At length, dragging eyes and mind away from her for the umpteenth time, he picked up one of the files on his desk and swiveled his chair around to face the bookcase behind him, then forced himself to start reading the file’s contents. He’ d gotten through two pages when the sound of his office door closing brought him back around; seeing who was there, he rocketed to his feet, papers from the file folder fluttering to the floor.
“Director Swain!” he exclaimed, alarm flooding him. “Good morning, sir.”
“Good morning, Dr. Reinhardt,” Swain said. “Just coming by to see how you’re doing on that project of yours.” He seemed completely at ease.
Cam regarded him warily. “Well, I’ll have to order a new batch of frogs after last night,” he said, bending to recover the dropped papers.
“Of course. Nelson tells me you’re starting to see results, though. That you went through the first batch’s livers yesterday.”
Cam nodded, still on guard but playing along. “They all showed a remarkable vitality and almost complete freedom from disease or degeneration.”
“So the f43 gene might have application?”
“It might, sir. . . .”
Swain nodded and turned to glance around the lab, his eye catching on Lacey McHenry outside the office. “Your new staff member has arrived.”
“Yes, sir.”
Swain chuckled. “I still can’t believe you sent our Rhodes scholar to the AnFac.”
“Your signature was on the transfer, sir,” Cam pointed out.
“I was merely being accommodating.” Swain’s gaze came back to him. “Besides, it’s safer for her this way.”
“I’m not so sure, sir. Have you caught the guy who broke in yet?”
“Don’t worry about him.”
“A man who can turn a five-hundred-gallon steel tank full of water over with bare hands? Who can penetrate locked doors and leave them locked behind him?”
“It’s not what it appears.”
“Then what is it?”
Swain ignored the question. “What I find interesting is how
you
keep showing up at the same time he does.”
Cameron said nothing, at a loss as to where his employer could be going with this but feeling like a mouse stalked by a serpent.
“Thanks to the intermittent function of the cameras,” Swain went on, turning back toward the office door, “no one but Ms. McHenry there has seen him. Maybe he’s you.”
“You think
I
could turn over that tank?”
“Not with your own hands, no. But you’re a clever man.” His gaze held on Ms. McHenry for several moments while Cam wrestled with the insinuations in Swain’s statement. Insinuations which made no sense, but which seemed to be threatening in a way he could not discern.
“So how is she working out for you?”
Cameron followed the direction of his gaze. Uneasiness slithered into his belly. “She only started this morning. It’s a little too early to tell.”
“Really?” Swain’s voice dripped sarcasm, and for the first time Cam realized the tone of the meeting had gradually changed. The easy cheer had vanished, replaced by a subtle parry and riposte.
Outside the glass-walled office, McHenry had gotten up to move a pile of folders off the desk onto the floor, then move another off the floor and onto the desk. Now she stood stretching her arms and shoulder muscles, unaware of Swain’s scrutiny.
“She’s quite an attractive girl, isn’t she?” the director said. “I can see why you’d want her here. Nice figure. Trim, athletic. I bet she jogs.”
Cameron returned his attention to the folder on his desk, dismayed by the level of annoyance he felt that Swain would speak of her so. Annoyed with himself, as well, for his strong reaction to Swain’s words.
Swain turned to him now. “Do you know?”
“Know what?”
“If she jogs?”
“I doubt it,” Cam said.