The Green Trap (20 page)

“He reported to me,” Tulius said. “He didn't have an entirely free hand.”

“Who the hell does?” someone mumbled.

“But I've got to admit that his reports weren't exactly monuments of clarity and disclosure.”

Olivia Vernon, the youngest of the twelve, and in Tulius's eyes by far the prettiest woman in the center, cleared her throat and said, “Mike told me he was coming into a lot of money soon. I got the impression he was going to quit and go off on his own.”

Tulius said, “That may be true. As Ray said, Mike wasn't a team player.”

“He had something cooking,” Lincowitz agreed. “He was working nights.”

“Working on some chick he picked up in Mountain View,” said Carlo Zapata, who headed the center's instrumentation engineers.

“Is that true?” Rose Peterson asked. “Did he really have an affair going on?”

“That's what he told me,” Zapata replied.

“Maybe that's what got him killed,” suggested Kurtzman. “A jealous husband.”

“Or a jealous wife.”

Tulius shook his head. “How would an outsider get into his office? Past our security?”

“It's not that tough,” Lincowitz said. “Especially if Mike allowed the visitor in.”

“Or brought her in with him.”

“Her?”

“His wife.”

“Did you see the size of her brothers at the funeral? One of them could have done it.”

“Do you think Mike was stupid enough to allow one of those bozos into the building?”

Tulius raised his hands shoulder-high, palms out. “Enough of the personal chatter. I'm not interested in Mike's love life and it's the police's job to find out who killed him. I want to see what he was working on.”

“You think that has some connection to his murder?” Olivia Vernon asked.

“It might. But more important, Mike expected to get a lot of money for whatever he was doing. If he made some sort of breakthrough we ought to be able to find out what it is and duplicate it.”

“He was studying those stromatolites in that hothouse of his up on the roof,” said Rose Peterson.

“He had some interest in genetic engineering,” Tulius said.

“That was last year's hobbyhorse,” replied Jake Freeman. “He was all over me for months, asking about techniques for gene splicing. Then he lost interest in it.”

“I don't think Mike lost interest,” Tulius said. “I think he found what he wanted to know and then went off on his own.”

“Genetic engineering? Gene splicing?” Kurtzman shook his head. “He was playing with cyanobacteria, for god's sake. Not
E. coli
or some other genetic engineering subject.”

“Yeah, but maybe he wanted to splice some foreign genes into the cyanobacteria.”

“Why the hell would he want to do that?”

Tulius was certain that he knew the answer to that, but he kept silent.

“Maybe he wanted to make them resistant to environmental insults. Or see how they might give rise to a new species.”

Within seconds all twelve of the scientists were spouting ideas and arguing with each other. Tulius sat back in his swivel chair and let them blabber. From such wild-ass debate comes new ideas, he thought. Sometimes. He folded his arms and watched their animated wrangling. This is
all my fault, he told himself. I gave Mike too much freedom, let him wander off on his own without enough control or direction.

But he definitely hit on what we were looking for. I gave him all the freedom he wanted and then when he finds what we were after, he decides to quit the lab and go off on his own. Christ, if the police knew about that, they'd suspect
me
for his murder. Tulius thought about that as the argument raged among his senior scientists. Yes, he decided. Michael found what he was looking for. But he wasn't going to tell me about it, after all the years I supported his work.

“Wait,” he called out.

The scientists stopped their arguing and turned toward him.

“Let's organize this debate. What do we know for certain about Michael's work?”

“He was dealing with the cyanobacteria.”

“Measuring their oxygen output.”

Tulius added, “And he had shown an interest in genetic engineering.”

“But he dropped that.”

“Or went underground with it,” Tulius suggested.

“Underground?”

“The chances are that Michael was going to quit the center and go out on his own,” Tulius said.

“He couldn't, not legally,” said Zapata. “He signed a nondisclosure agreement just like the rest of us.”

“Some smart lawyer could crack that.”

“You think so?”

“That's what lawyers are for, dammit.”

Kurtzman got them back on subject. “So Mike was going off on his own with his oxygen-producing cyanobacteria.”

“And a working knowledge of genetic engineering,” added Rose Peterson.

Lincowitz shook his head. “That doesn't sound like it's worth a big jackpot of money to me.”

“Maybe Mike was just bragging. Exaggerating?”

“Why?” Tulius asked.

“To impress us.”

“Or whoever his girlfriend was.”

“I don't believe that.”

“Does anybody here know who the woman was?”

“If there was one.”

“From what he told me,” Zapata said, “it was somebody he'd met at a conference in Denver. Not one of our people.”

“He was romancing some girl in Denver?”

“Woman,” Rose Peterson corrected.

“Hey, Rose, I could've said broad.”

Zapata said, “I got the impression the, uh, woman came here. She was living here locally someplace.”

Tulius raised his voice again. “Let's forget about the gossip and concentrate on Mike's research. We've got to retrace his steps and find out what he was doing.”

They all nodded, with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

“I take it,” Rose Peterson said, “that this scavenger hunt will be in addition to our regular work?”

“That's right.”

She sighed heavily. “There are times that I wish I was on an hourly wage.”

“Yeah,” Kurtzman agreed. “Then we could collect overtime pay.”

Tulius smiled paternally at them. Grousing was normal. He knew they were just as curious as he about the research that got Michael Cochrane murdered.

But Tulius was also curious about something else. His financial people had been handling a takeover bid from some holding company in New York with a Wall Street address. The offer had been good enough to tempt Tulius, and only his fears of being pushed out of the laboratory that he had created, the organization that was his chief joy in life, led him to turn down the Wall Streeters.

Then the offer was suddenly withdrawn. A week before Michael Cochrane was killed.

Now, squarely in the middle of his desk, was a memo from his chief financial officer. The buyout offer had been renewed. The CFO advised Tulius to phone a certain Lionel Gould, in New York City.

I
'm delighted that you called,” said Gould to the image on his wall-mounted screen.

He saw that Jason Tulius looked slightly uncomfortable as he sat behind his desk in Palo Alto. Perhaps not uncomfortable, Gould thought, so much as uncertain, even a little fearful. Good, he said to himself. Fear is good. It stimulates the mind, encourages the imagination, leads one to make decisions that are not necessarily logical. That is good.

Warily, Tulius said, “My CFO tells me you've expressed interest in buying into Calvin Research.”

“Indeed I have,” said Gould, smiling his best smile.

He noted with approval that Tulius was in his shirtsleeves, as he himself was. Gould's office was heavily air-conditioned, yet he worried that he might be visibly perspiring. Gould always felt uncomfortably warm; his body's metabolism was somehow pitched at a near-fever level. He knew that many of his staff complained about the frigid temperature of his office.
Some of the women grumbled that he kept it cold so that their nipples would be stiff. There were even rumbles now and then of a sexual harassment suit. Ridiculous! Gould sniffed at the very idea. They can wear sweaters, can't they?

Tulius shifted uneasily in his desk chair. “Mr. Gould, you have to understand that Calvin Research Center is pretty much my whole life. I have no intention of retiring.”

“Retiring?” Gould was genuinely surprised at the idea. “No, no, that is not what I have in mind. Not at all. You are the very heart and soul of Calvin Research; I understand that.”

“You'd let me remain in charge, then?”

“I would insist on it,” Gould said, with complete honesty. “We could draw up an ironclad guarantee of it in our agreement.”

Tulius still looked suspicious, as wary as a bearded pirate being offered amnesty instead of hanging.

“Could you tell me, then, just why you're interested in my company?”

“Gladly,” said Gould, with a cavalier wave of his hand. “The Gould Trust is dedicated to supporting the arts and sciences. We finance hundreds of scholarships each year.”

“I know,” said Tulius. “I've Googled you.”

“That is good. However, I feel that the time has come for the trust to become more deeply involved in energy research.”

“Gould Energy Corporation has a very well-funded research laboratory.”

“Indeed it has. Indeed it has.” Gould leaned toward the microcam on his desk and lowered his voice a notch. “But, truth to tell, the corporation's research efforts are geared toward the past, not the future.”

Puzzlement clouded over Tulius's face. “I don't understand “

Folding his hands over his belly, Gould said, “Just between you and I, Dr. Tulius, the corporate research labs are focused on improvements in fossil fuel technology. They're trying to find better ways to locate new oil fields, cleaner methods of burning coal, new techniques for handling liquefied natural gas.”

“They're working on magnetohydrodynamics, too, aren't they?”

Gould frowned for a moment. Magnetowhatever?

“MHD power generation,” Tulius said.

“Ah, yes!” replied Gould, relieved. “Yes, indeed. MHD might allow us to burn high-sulfur coal without breaking the EPA's air quality standards.”

“That sounds pretty futuristic to me,” Tulius said.

“Perhaps so. But the corporation will not support research into alternative energy sources. No wind or solar power work.”

“They're into nuclear energy.”

“Yes, but when I suggested to the board of directors that we should be looking into the possibilities of fusion energy, they voted me down. Almost unanimously.”

Unbidden, a smile crossed Tulius's face. “I didn't realize that your board dared to cross you.”

Gould shrugged good-naturedly. “It happens occasionally. Not often, I grant you. In the matter of fusion research, I must admit that they were probably right. It's much too far in the future.”

Still smiling, Tulius said, “The physicists say that fusion power is just over the horizon.”

“Yes, and the horizon is an imaginary line that recedes as you approach it.”

Tulius laughed and Gould knew that he had established his bona fides with the scientist.

“But to get back to our business,” Gould said, “I feel strongly that the Gould Trust must become involved in energy research for the future: solar, wind power, hydrogen fuel, that sort of thing.”

“But we're a biochemistry research center. I don't see where our kind of work could help you.”

Gould leaned back in his yielding chair and pursed his lips. For a long moment neither man said anything. They simply looked at each other, each of them trying to take the measure of the other.

At last Gould said, “Dr. Tulius, let me be perfectly frank with you. One of your staff scientists, the late Dr. Cochrane, led me to believe that he was on the track of a considerable breakthrough in producing hydrogen fuel.”

Despite his beard, Tulius couldn't hide the surprise in his expression. “Michael Cochrane? Hydrogen fuel?”

“That's what he led me to believe. Of course, I'm no scientist, but—”

“Photosynthesis,” Tulius said, more to himself than Gould. “Splitting water molecules into oxygen and hydrogen.”

“The Gould Trust is prepared to fund your center's research quite handsomely,” Gould said. “All your research efforts, every project you have going.”

“Including the work that Michael Cochrane was engaged in.”

“Especially the work that Michael Cochrane was engaged in,” Gould purred.

“I see.”

“For legal and administrative reasons, the trust cannot simply hand out grant monies to your center. You are a profit-making enterprise, and the trust is set up only to fund not-for-profit endeavors.”

Tulius smiled bitterly. “We try to make a profit, that's true. It doesn't always work out, though.”

Gould knew better. Calvin Research Center made a modest profit on contract research, although Tulius plowed almost every penny back into more research.

“It will be necessary for the trust to buy your center outright and convert it legally into a not-for-profit organization.”

Tulius scratched at his bearded chin thoughtfully. “That sounds tricky. Our existing customers—”

“We can work that out,” Gould said quickly. “My legal people will take care of every detail.”

Nodding, Tulius said, “I'd like to think about this, if you don't mind.”

“Of course,” Gould said grandly. “This is a big step for you. Naturally you should consider it quite carefully.”

Tulius promised to get back to Gould before the week was over, then said a gracious goodbye and cut their phone link.

As the scientist's image winked out on his wall screen, Gould took in a deep breath of satisfaction. I've got him! He'll go for it, he told himself. The prospect of guaranteed funding for all his projects is too good for him to refuse.