The Sting of the Bee Page 4

  CHAPTER 5

  Early the next morning, John left the cabin and strolled onto the deserted deck. He leaned on the rail, staring out into the nothingness of the blue water stretching to the horizon. A wandering albatross appeared out of nowhere. Its long, dark wings and brilliant white body soared above the ship. John nodded to the bird as it flew out of sight. A good omen for sailors, and perhaps, for a lonely man.

  The sound of the waves against the hull lured his mind into the past. This serene ocean had destroyed the coastlines of the Earth, drowning the historic seaports of civilization. Societal chaos had spread with the rising waters, and with it, religious comparisons to the Great Flood of the Bible. The economic turmoil created a haven for corruption and cronyism.

  John had been firmly trapped in the metal teeth of a corporate giant, but in desperation, he had chewed through the proverbial leg to escape to a new life. A deep swell drifted into the ship, lifting the huge vessel up and then down after the swell passed. The undulation reminded John of his last day at work.

  ***

  The monitor in the compu-table pulsed as Carl’s fist slammed onto its surface, waves rippling across the gel screen. With his lip curled like a snarling dog, Carl leaned forward, salivating at the prospect of devouring his favorite meal: the soul of an employee.

  John Barrous held his breath, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of the table. He, and his co-worker, Miranda, had worked for months to complete the Hickston project, detailing the leakage from an abandoned refinery into the groundwater. Miranda remained frozen beside John as Carl’s finger jabbed the screen repeatedly, marring the image with each blow.

  “You two are supposed to be our best engineers,” Carl sneered. “John, you’re out of a top-ranked environmental program and you think this is right?”

  John stared at Carl, his heart thumping as he weighed the consequences of leaping over the table and beating the other man senseless.

  Carl sat back, pulling his thinning hair over his bald spot. His eyes darted from John to Miranda and back again. “Let’s review this again after you and Miranda have corrected this crap.”

  Miranda flicked the screen off and the room became deathly quiet. In that silence, John heard his voice drift from his lips of its own accord. “I’m afraid that’s not possible, Carl. This is my last day.”

  Carl’s mouth dropped open and he gaped at John. “What did you say?”

  Miranda stared at John as if he had gone mad.

  John blinked. He inhaled the fresh air of freedom and smiled at the shock on Carl’s face. “That’s right, Carl, I quit.” Woodenly, as if hearing a distant pied piper, John walked from the conference room.

  Footsteps clattered in the hall behind him.

  Miranda caught up and grabbed his arm. “John, don’t do anything hasty. Even Carl knows the work is correct. He just loves being an asshole. Let’s get out of here and have lunch at Josephine’s.”

  They left the office, threading their way through the bums on the sidewalk, remnants of a society which had passed them by. As they turned the corner, a woman stepped out from a doorway. A shock went through his body. Was it . . . her?

  She moved into the sunlight, revealing her face. A stranger—not his beautiful, sweet Helen. As if it could have been her.

  He stumbled on the threshold and in a daze, followed Miranda into the restaurant. They sat and ordered the lunch special. After the meals came, John picked at his food, feeling Miranda’s eyes on him.

  He glanced at her with a shrug and speared a slice of tomato. “Perhaps my quitting will save one of the other poor beasts waiting for slaughter. I’ve heard rumor of another round of layoffs.”

  John ate the slice of tomato, and then laid down his fork, staring at the spaghetti on his plate as his stomach churned. He raised his eyes to Miranda’s anxious stare, and with teeth bared, he clenched his hand in a fist. “Corporations are like spiders—we get trapped in their web and then paralyzed by a quick bite.” A sick smile flashed onto his face. “They suck out our creative juices, and all the while, we have full knowledge of our host’s feast.” John plucked up his fork and stabbed a meatball, holding it up like a trophy. “All that remains are the leftovers, to be discarded with the next day’s trash.” His shoulders slumped as he dropped the meatball and let the fork clatter back onto the plate.

  He stared at the plate. A bus-cart cleared a nearby table and the clink of dishes hurt his ears.

  With a sigh, Miranda leaned forward and cleared her throat. “John, I know it’s been a rough year.” She reached across the table toward him. “What about your idea of homesteading on Antarctica?” Shrugging, she asked, “But perhaps your daughter doesn’t want to go?”

  John tilted his head. “Now that Helen is gone, it’s certainly on my mind. Oddly enough, Ginnie wants to go, but maybe it’s a reaction to her mother’s death.”

  “Did they ever catch the guys who did it?”

  His lips were pinched as he shoved his plate forward. “How do you catch a world gone mad?” He raked his hand through his hair, his fingers pushing into his scalp like tines. “All I know is that I don’t want to wait for the last bus to the retirement home.”

  ***

  John clutched the railing of the ship. And now, after escaping from the corporate insane asylum, I have a date with a criminal syndicate. Scowling, he turned away from the peaceful ocean and climbed the stairs to deck three, annoyed at the irritating twist of fate that had gotten him sucked into this espionage.

  Yesterday, John had found Buck and told him they wouldn’t be homesteading after all, and that he needed the money. Buck remembered him and had been delighted to bring him into the fold. Buck was that “good ol’ boy” sort, who would sell his mother with a smile.

  John reached the room, took a deep breath, and knocked. Buck opened the door; he must have been waiting for him. With a grin, he dragged John toward the group gathered around a large conference table. “Come on in, come on in—Sergei wants to meet you.”

  With a sweeping glance, John perused the luxury suite, one of those huge cabins at the back of the ship that people like him never saw. Sleeping quarters flanked each side of the main room, with marble bathrooms off to the side. Beyond the table, a sunken lounge area faced a bank of windows stretching the width of the room, allowing an exquisite view to the occupants, but now completely shuttered with curtains. A sure sign of clandestine activities.

  He set his jaw to keep his face impassive and exchanged looks with this band of merry men. He’d decided that the character he would play would be a reluctant Joe, a guy who wasn’t quite sure he trusted anyone—a role he knew wasn’t much of a stretch.

  Surrounded by men of questionable background, a thin man with a short-cropped beard leaned on the edge of the conference table. John chewed the inside of his lip. This was the dude Buck had been working with at the conference, and who appeared to be the ringleader. He stared at John with a raised eyebrow.

  Buck bobbed his head toward the thin man and waved toward John. “Sergei, this is John.”

  With a twitch of his lip, Sergei examined John from head to toe with eyes hardened with years of desperate living. “Buck tells me you want to join our little party?”

  John swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “Yes. I quit my job and sold everything to make this trip. I need cash when I get back.”

  “Everybody did, so why are you really backing out?”

  John’s heart beat like a drum. The bastards weren’t easily fooled. Blinking rapidly, he gestured with his hands, “The truth is that my daughter has become ill, so we have to go home.”

  Sergei’s brow furrowed. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “She had a seizure a couple of days ago, but the doctor on the ship can’t tell what’s wrong. We have to return to the States to get her checked out.”

  Sergei turned to Buck and pursed his lips. “You vouch for this guy?”

  Buck nodded. “Yep.”

  “OK,
we do need another body for parcel fourteen.” He looked hard at John. “You understand this is hush-hush.”

  Exhaling, John smiled at Sergei. “All I care about is the money and to get back home.”

  With a curt nod, Sergei turned away, and began to discuss strategy with one of the other men.

  John interrupted him. “I hate to bring this up, but just how does this money thing work? Who pays me and when?”

  Sergei shot a look to Buck and then narrowed his eyes at John. “You get a quarter of the money the day before the run. And the rest when you successfully make a claim.” With a frown, he snarled, “After you sign it over to us, that is.”

  John shook his head with a puzzled look. “Odd that anyone would pay for free land. Who is this group?”

  Sergei shot him a dead-fish look and turned his back. Buck shook his head with a scowl. John didn’t press the question. He would have to work any more information out of Buck—alone.

  As they walked out of the meeting, he called after Buck, “Want a beer? I’m buying.”

  “Sure!” Buck said, slapping him on the back.

  They sat at the bar and punched in their choices on the screen. Two cold ones slid out.

  “Service with a smile.” John clinked glasses with Buck. “Thanks for your support in there. I need the money.”

  Buck shrugged. “No problem. Glad to do it.”

  John swallowed the crisp liquid and sat back with a grin. Buck must get a nice bit of change for reeling me in. After the first beer was history, John leaned in and asked Buck in a low voice, “Buck, you seem like you’re in the know. What’s the skinny with this group buying up parcels of undeveloped land?”

  Buck tilted forward with a snort. “None of your damn business. Now shut up and let’s get another round.”

  John wiped off the spittle that Buck had spewed his way. Old Buck wasn’t as dumb as he’d thought—or hoped.

  CHAPTER 6

  Towering fjords threw shadows across the Destiny as she maneuvered through the passage into Prydz Bay. The contrast of dark and light played on craggy rock faces bearded with thin grasses. No one spoke as they waited to dock. John couldn’t quite believe he was here.

  Ginnie’s face was bright with anticipation as she scanned the panorama. John still had nagging doubts about bringing her to this desolate land, but there was no going back now.

  John clutched the railing. His need to escape sprang from more than his heartbreak over Helen’s murder. He had hated the ruthless hierarchy of the “civilized” world. He shook his head to clear the specters of his past. Their entire social order had been left behind and they would have to build a new one from the ground up. This time, he had the chance to decide his future—his and Ginnie’s—by the sweat of his brow, rather than trying to beat his way into an established system over which he had little control.

  They eased toward the dock. He shivered against the cold wind biting his skin. Was he up to it? Was he the man he thought he was? Or would he crumple under the task?

  Ginnie glanced up at him, cheeks pink and excitement in her eyes. Ah, to be so innocent again—to dive off that high dive without a thought. Her presence would spur him to reach deep within himself, no matter how difficult it would be. To bend this land to a plow would take every ounce of his strength. Only a fool would think homesteading a bleak land like Antarctica would be a walk in the park. Bodies would lie in that earth before this adventure was done.

  The sky was a brilliant blue and the clean air intoxicating as he inhaled deeply to quiet his thumping heart. Tiny, windblown evergreens clung to the steep walls surrounding them. John perused the landscape of a continent virtually untouched by humans. During his environmental engineering career, he had witnessed the price of irresponsible pollution. Would humans defile this unspoiled land as they had the rest of the planet?

  His thoughts drifted to Lowry, the woman who had dragged him into the last thing he wanted to get tangled with—politics. He knew it was inevitable on some level, but for God’s sake, before he even reached the continent?

  John had committed himself to derailing the land speculators while on board the ship, but he had told Lowry in no uncertain terms that his involvement ended the moment they hit land. He had to prepare for his run.

  John heard his name and turned to find Lowry, the pale sun illuminating the beauty of her face. He waved and forced a smile. Whether it was good or bad, he had to admit that she was a force of nature.

  Passing by him, she whispered in his ear, “Have you heard anything?”

  He shrugged. “At the last session, I overheard Buck mention something about a meeting.”

  “What meeting?”

  “Some guy named Durant and someone from Antarctica are meeting tomorrow morning.”

  Lowry’s eyes grew wide. “This must be the big meeting! I knew they had to have someone on Antarctica giving them info.” Nonchalantly, she gazed at the scenery, smiling like a tourist, then said out of the corner of her mouth, “John, you have to go to the meeting.”

  “I wasn’t invited.”

  “Just say you overheard about a meeting and thought you were supposed to go. That’s half-true. I have something for you to wear when you go.” Then she disappeared in the crowd.

  John stared at the approaching dock. Great.

  An hour later, she knocked on the door of his cabin. With a sigh, he paused the maps he’d been studying of the Land Rush. He moved to the door, opened it, and Lowry slipped in.

  John moved back to the monitor, blankly staring at the virtual terrain. Lowry glanced around the room.

  “Ginnie’s out with friends.”

  “Okay, good.” She began pacing behind him. “Okay, this is the plan—you’ll be in that meeting—with a hidden camera. All we need is a quick video of the principals at the meeting. Then you give it to us and you’re done.”

  John bit the inside of his cheek.

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Is there something you need to tell me?”

  Shrugging, he muttered, “I’m not a natural con.”

  “That’s good news.” She pointed to the monitor. “Remember, I already gave you information on the Land Rush tracts, even to the point of compromising the lands I want to claim.”

  John grimaced. She was right. “I said I’d do it, and I will. But after I turn over the video, I’m done. I have to finish planning my Land Rush tactics.” He turned back to his maps. “You do remember our agreement—once on Antarctic dirt, I’m a free man.”

  Lowry pursed her lips. “Yes, and I will honor it.” She dropped a bag onto the bed and pulled out a cap stitched with the Antarctic logo, the same one that all of the homesteaders had received in their welcome bag.

  “I added a bonus to your cap. There’s a camera in the middle A of Antarctica. You just flip this switch on the inside of the cap, and the camera is on.”

  “Fine!” he said, grabbing the cap. “But I need your assurance that after this my involvement ends.” John faced her. “And what if you and your little troupe can’t bring these thugs to justice? If I don’t win their tract as agreed to, an unfortunate accident might be in my future.”

  “We have inside connections with the UN. My Uncle Nick and I have been consultants to them for years as a part of the Antarctic expedition. They’ve told us that if we can prove our allegations, they will shut down the scam before the Land Rush starts.”

  Lowry laid a hand on John’s shoulder. “I know that you are also worried about Ginnie. I’ll wait near your cabin and you can drop the cap in the hall, and then disappear, and they will never know how we found out.”

  After she left, John exhaled. What have I gotten myself into?

  ***

  The next morning, John headed for Sergei’s suite, his legs weak as his nerves flared. Before he turned the corner to the cabin, he stopped and pulled the cap off of his head. He leaned on the wall of the corridor, flipped it over, and stared at the tiny metallic camera. Exhaling, he switched the camera on and
whispered, “God help me.” He walked to the door of the suite, and paused, listening to the muffled voices in the room. With a deep breath, he knocked.

  One of the underlings opened the door. John murmured, “Buck told me to come the meeting.” Everyone turned their heads as he slipped into the room. The hush was palpable.

  Nodding to Buck, John pasted a dumb smile on his face. He edged toward the large table surrounded by a group of men, several he knew, but there were a couple of new faces in the mix. “Buck mentioned something about a meeting?”

  John moved his head slowly across the scene, videoing everyone in the room and a holomap of the Land Rush tracts on the table. The holomap imaged the desired tracts shaded in greens and unwanted in reds, with transport access, the proposed capital city of Amundsen, and the port overlain—a nefarious game of three-dimensional chess.

  Setting his jaw, he fought to keep the stupid look on his face. This would put the group in control of the new city, the transport lines to the new farming areas, and the port. Lowry was right—they wanted it all.

  Buck stepped toward him. “I didn’t say shit to you about this meeting.”

  John made sure he videoed the two participants he didn’t recognize. One was a distinguished-looking older man sitting in the corner. He appeared to be an outsider to the group; perhaps he was the Antarctic Connection.

  A younger man, dressed casually, had been leaning over the holomap and appeared to be leading the meeting. He frowned at Buck, and then snapped at Sergei, “Get that son of a bitch out of here!”

  Sergei strode over to John and grabbed him, shoving him toward the door. “Get the hell out. You weren’t invited!”