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Beyond Reach (The Deepview Series, Book 1)
Beyond Reach (The Deepview Series, Book 1)
Beyond Reach (The Deepview Series, Book 1)
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Beyond Reach (The Deepview Series, Book 1)

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While recovering a body from an undersea cave, rescue diver Elizabeth Durst narrowly escapes an attack by a mysterious diver. Desperate to put distance between herself and her pursuer, Elizabeth accepts Stiller Coleman's sudden offer to join his cave diving expedition.

Stiller Coleman has discovered a microbe that extends human life. Now he must venture deep underground to find the source before Sealine Drugs mogul Goren Herwich gets his hands on it.

The deepwater dive underway, members of Stiller's crew begin disappearing, Stiller starts exhibiting strange abilities and Elizabeth is trapped with the one man she thought she could trust but who now wants her dead.

The DEEPVIEW SERIES, in order
Beyond Reach
Beyond Hope
Beyond Belief
LanguageEnglish
Release dateJan 16, 2014
ISBN9781614175223
Beyond Reach (The Deepview Series, Book 1)

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    Beyond Reach (The Deepview Series, Book 1) - L.J. Bradach

    Beyond Reach

    The Deepview Series

    Book One

    by

    L.J. Bradach

    Published by ePublishing Works!

    www.epublishingworks.com

    ISBN: 978-1-61417-522-3

    By payment of required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this eBook. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without the express written permission of copyright owner.

    Please Note

    This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

    The reverse engineering, uploading, and/or distributing of this eBook via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the copyright owner is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated.

    Copyright © 2013, 2014 by Laurie Bradach. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

    Cover and eBook design by eBook Prep www.ebookprep.com

    Chapter 1

    Only one place left to look.

    Elizabeth peered into the gap as far as her light allowed. The opening was small, a tight cavity that led to a series of tunnels. It was a hazardous underwater maze, but it had to be checked all the same. Shrugging off her tanks, she lowered them down and followed on her air hose. Even at her petite size, she had to scrunch knees and shoulders to fit inside the coffin-sized chamber.

    This would be the lost diver's twelfth hour submerged. There was still hope of a rescue, but survival was only possible if he'd found an air pocket, or some dry cave. Drawing on years of experience in underwater cave rescue, Elizabeth was not aware of either option existing in this system. Yet only the largest passages of Topaz Springs had been explored. There were numerous cracks and fissures that could hold airspace. The problem was finding the right one.

    Skeletal diatoms twirled in her beam like tiny Ferris wheels. The passage was frescoed in fossils. Every inch held minute bits of shells, plants, and corals extinct for centuries. Few people would ever witness such a sight. Or be willing to pay such a price to see it.

    Pete used to tell her they would beat the odds. But now, almost a year after his death, Elizabeth's heart was still as fragile as the walls that surrounded her. Bone and shell turned to dust and floated away. In a submerged cave, no one beat the odds.

    A pale wall materialized, reflecting back her light. End of the line and she'd found nothing. She considered the final passage, cockeyed off to the left. Pinched out, Pete had written on his slate the first time they dove here together. Unless the lost diver had pushed that isolated path, Pete was probably the last person to enter that dismal corridor. And now her.

    She swam through a narrow canyon of stone and paused above another dark gash in the floor. It was impossible to tell if the diver had gone that way or not. She'd have to go down. Snapping an extension onto the surface guideline, she eased some rope from her spool. Two more seconds ticked past as she forced her jangling nerves to comply.

    Her slightest movement transformed the body-hugging walls into soupy vapor, leaving blades of razor-sharp coral exposed. Squirming in thick yellow muck, Elizabeth felt along the floor, the walls, trying to find her way through the miserable squeeze. One of her fins kicked out into space—the passage lay behind her.

    Re-mounting her tanks beneath her arms, she contorted her body and jack-knifed a full turnabout. The grating sound of metal-on-rock made her heart skip, but a quick check showed her equipment intact. She tamped down fear and concentrated on her mission.

    She moved with care, climbing over rubble with fingertips to avoid stirring the silt. After maneuvering another tight squeeze, the tunnel opened to a vast inner chamber. She rechecked her guideline, and began scanning the walls with her light.

    Time was slipping away. For a rescue to occur, the diver would have to be found soon.

    She'd covered almost every inch before she caught sight of an orange speck near the ceiling, tucked between piles of craggy breakdown. A tingle of encouragement shot through her. If air existed in this hellish maelstrom, that's where it would be. Elizabeth prepared for a rescue.

    Her hand sought the bailout bottle attached to her belt. The miniature tank held just enough oxygen to transport a diver back to the cave entrance where additional divers waited. Elizabeth had broken the cardinal rule by entering this cave. None of the others were small enough to get through the tight squeezes, so she'd pushed it alone. There would be hell to pay when she got back, but she had to try.

    With a twist and a pop, she added more gas to her buoyancy compensator vest. A gentle hiss inflated the air bladders, drifting her upward. Steady, steady, she didn't want to crash into the ceiling. The diver was tucked in a narrow crevice, making her approach problematic. A loud foooossh emanated through the water as Elizabeth exhaled in frustration. The diver didn't turn, but she saw motion.

    One of his arms was waving.

    Abandoning caution, she kicked up the rocky incline, churning sand in her wake. Near the top, she lost her grip, slid, and finned out more silt. Rushing meant disaster, but it was hard to rein in her excitement. Submerged caves rarely yielded survivors. Finding the diver alive would be a good omen, a sign that better days were ahead. In the last year, Elizabeth's life had been devastated by tragedies. Maybe the same wouldn't be true for this diver's family.

    On the second approach, she spied something glinting from the rocks below. Brushing away sand, she saw a glimmering disk and realized it was a face mask. Swimming closer, Elizabeth now saw that the arm she had imagined waving was actually caught in an eddy, flapping listless in the current. Disappointment numbed her like a cold shot of ether. It was just business as usual: there would be no miracle today.

    She withdrew her underwater slate and began jotting notes.

    Evidence of the victim's final, horror-stricken minutes shook her. Deep gouges scarred the muddy ceiling; a layer of rock and silt blanketed the body. A dangling medallion turned out to be a US Navy dog tag.

    Sucking a deep breath, she steadied her Nikonos camera and began shooting. Her documentation was meticulous. In the murkiness of her flashlight, in visibility measured by small inches, she found a single cylinder tank and hose skewed beneath the body.

    Elizabeth shook mud from the abandoned regulator and sucked in a breath. Functional, she noted on her tablet, trying not to imagine the diver who had gnawed grooves in the mouthpiece. There was oxygen in his tank. His pressure gauge still registered half full.

    She fumbled a grip on the lifeless hand and pulled it toward her—the fingernails were gone, torn away, the milky flesh peeled back and shredded to the bone.

    Amateur, she thought, another stupid, senseless death. In the diving community, especially among cave divers, to be discovered in such a desperate, frightened pose would be unthinkable.

    I won't be found gentlemen, so don't even try. Pete had a wry grin on his face the evening he'd made that pronouncement. Elizabeth had no idea how his words would come back to haunt her.

    Bold predictions were loose and cheap in the sleazy Florida bars favored by underwater folk. Pete's statement was met with universal agreement, and discussions always followed concerning the dignified way to drown:

    I sure as hell won't be clawing. Not at the end.

    If you know it's over, man, just drop the gear and go.

    Naw, you should tie yourself to the guideline so your family can bury you. That's what I'm gonna do.

    That's what I'm gonna do. It wasn't even a question.

    Many who ventured into underwater labyrinths never returned. Skill and experience could only take you so far in such a hostile environment. Seasoned professionals and pioneers of the sport regularly perished in their prime. It only took one mistake—and sometimes not even that much.

    Elizabeth shook off the phantom discussion. Three of the divers crowded around that dingy table last year were already gone. One body had been found, but the other two were lost to the sea, her fiancé included.

    Damn you, Pete. She gave a hard tug. The body burst free in a flurry of dirt and toppled onto her. The bailout bottle and the precious guideline slipped from her hand as she plunged downward. Muddy froth rendered her lights useless.

    She managed to find and activate the victim's buoyancy vest, providing some much-needed relief from his bulk. Elizabeth readjusted her own vest to their combined weight, and the living and the dead drifted together.

    As she waited for the murk to settle, her wrist alarm began to beep. Time to go. She hastily secured the body to a boulder and felt her way in the direction of the exit passage. The whirling sandstorm she'd unleashed on her way in now obscured the path out. Her fingers combed through the rubble frantically, searching for the guideline, or the opening to the labyrinth.

    Minutes ticked away before Elizabeth found the right tunnel. The entrance was festooned with jagged coral, like razor teeth in a tiny mouth. She pushed into the cramped space, using her hands to thrust her gear forward; she then retracted her elbows to drag her torso and legs behind.

    The tunnel was more difficult in this direction, and progress was slow. It was hard to keep her mind off the fact she was beneath sixty feet of water, slithering through a pitch-black, unmapped passage with a dwindling air supply. She squirmed a few more feet.

    Did Pete die this way, curled up in some dark and forgotten tunnel? Is this how she would die too?

    She forced herself to keep going.

    The coral tugged and squeezed like a frantic lover. The end was not in sight. Elizabeth's breathing became conscious and strained. She tried to conserve her breaths, but with her next inhalation the oxygen was gone.

    The desire to gasp was overwhelming. Fear stabbed her with a cold blade and wouldn't let up. She'd been diving all her life. Her father was a diver; she knew this profession. If she stayed calm, she had two or three more minutes of consciousness. The current was strong, the spring had to be just ahead.

    As she pushed her tanks forward, one jammed at an angle, clogging the other as well. She bit back terror as she fought to undo the barricade. Her fingers shook as she yanked at the cylinders, ripping hoses and spewing remnant oxygen in her struggle. Finally the tanks were righted. With a shove, they breached the end of the tunnel and dropped from sight.

    Elizabeth kicked and thrashed the remaining distance to emerge in the dark glow of the basin. At sixty feet, she was too deep to make for the surface. She had to swim downward, toward the labyrinth's entrance, where divers awaited her return.

    It was a panic flight. She sped like a bullet through the chilling water until she saw the strobe lights of the emergency team. From the blinking shadows, Elizabeth sought one wetsuit in particular and swam toward it, hand clutching her neck, the signal for no air.

    The diver responded by thrusting her regulator into Elizabeth's mouth. Elizabeth sucked hard and filled her burning lungs. She held her breath before exhaling, so she wouldn't choke. She took a few more hits while her friend smiled indulgently. Marti Rockwell had been Liz's best friend and diving partner since college and had saved her life on more than one occasion.

    Another diver held up a slate with a question mark. Elizabeth shook her head and gave the signal to surface. Everyone understood. At their decompression stop, the other divers exchanged depleted tanks for fresh ones, which had been stashed on rock ledges awaiting their return.

    Decompression always made Elizabeth nervous. It was a tedious reminder of how hostile the sea was. The invisible could strike and kill without warning. You didn't have to run out of air, get lost in a cave, or trapped in a passage—all you had to do was swim toward the light and you could be dead before you reached it.

    Time to surface—a tap on her tank startled away the drowsiness. Elizabeth ascended through the warm upper layers of the spring. When she pierced the twilight surface a million pink diamonds danced across the water, but the beauty was lost on her. It had been an awful day from start to finish. Now she had to face a family that was hoping and praying for good news, where only the worst existed.

    Since the victim was an enlisted man, the local authorities would contact the naval base in Tallahassee, and they would send one of their own divers to retrieve the body. That suited Elizabeth just fine. Water sluiced off in candy-colored ribbons as she pulled her tanks from the spring just as the sun was setting.

    Marti wasted no time on intercepting her on the way to the car. That was a damned foolhardy thing you did, Liz. Never go in alone. You know the rule. Killing yourself won't bring Pete back.

    There was a chance of rescue, Elizabeth replied through gritted teeth. It wasn't about Pete.

    Everything is about Pete, Marti snapped, but her expression softened. And I don't blame you, Liz, but you have to be more careful. You have friends who love you.

    Elizabeth blinked at the uncharacteristic display of emotion. Really?

    None that I know of, but I'm sure there must be someone, Marti quipped. Elizabeth cracked a smile. Marti's good humor always helped deflect the pain.

    Marti started to help the other divers load gear into the van. Want me to go back with you? You seem a little out of it.

    No, I'm fine. Anyway, James should be at the shop. He'll give me a hand if I need it.

    As much as Marti disliked James Melton, she said nothing, which was a small blessing in itself.

    Liz drove intentionally slow while rehearsing how to break the bad news. Her scuba and tour business, Deepview Dives, was already closed for the night, but there were several cars gathered in the parking lot. Groups of people were milling around under the lights, including a local television crew. She parked in the alley and let herself in through the back door to avoid speaking with anyone before the family.

    In the stockroom, a large, three-way mirror caught her attention. She hadn't changed into street clothes yet. Muttering a curse, she grabbed a beach towel and tied a makeshift sarong over her black Speedo. Her hair looked like a wavy gold mop. She tried to smooth it, but gave up. All were just pitiful efforts to avoid the inevitable.

    She crossed the hall silently and peeked through her office door. A man stood by the window, bent slightly and gazing out. The victim's father was alone. That wasn't good. Elizabeth preferred to face a group of relatives and friends. They could comfort each other. It was easier that way.

    The door creaked as she pressed against it. The man turned quickly, but Elizabeth couldn't bear to look at him. She knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of this news. She stepped inside and froze. Hard as she tried, the words wouldn't come.

    Was there a right way to tell someone a loved one is dead?

    The room darkened and began to swirl. As the man approached, Elizabeth stepped forward to meet him in total blackness.

    The sea was green and glassy.

    I'll never quit looking for you, she whispered. From the depths, she saw Pete reach for her.

    Elizabeth fell into his arms. The contact unleashed a shivery-hot wave that peaked and crested in beads of golden lava. Heat spread over her like liquid sunshine, the gloom that surrounded her heart was gone. Daylight returned; she'd found him at last.

    She fought to stay close, but he moved away and held her at a distance.

    Pete?

    I've got you, you're going to be fine.

    Elizabeth held on, clinging to flesh and memories until the space between them widened and she found herself seated on a metal chair. The man who knelt before her was not Pete. The pain of separation was suddenly replaced by an awful reality—Elizabeth was being comforted by the dead boy's father.

    I'm so sorry. She began to rise, but thought better of it and remained seated. I'm sorry, but I found him. The man looked at her expectantly. His green eyes widened with concern; his face was angular but handsome. The finality of death hadn't scarred him yet.

    Your son drowned. Anguished words rushed past her lips. I couldn't bring him up, but I will. If the Navy doesn't send a recovery team, I'll go back for him.

    The man looked at her uncomprehendingly. News of this sort affected people in different ways. Leaning back, he glanced toward the window. So that's why they're here.

    Now Elizabeth was confused as well.

    She took a closer look at her consoler. Too pale to live in Florida, he had smooth, refined features, and light brown hair that strayed across his forehead. His face registered concern, but not grief. Though his serious manner made him seem older, he looked to be in his early thirties. Not much older than her, and far too young to be the victim's father.

    He rocked back on his heels and stood. As he walked to the window, Liz saw that he was well over six-foot, with a lean build that made him seem even taller. She noticed he was wearing a uniform of sorts, tan slacks with a dark green shirt. Elizabeth was furious at herself. How could she have mistaken that guy for a grieving parent?

    Who are you? she snapped, all business and embarrassment now. And how did you get in here?

    I had an appointment with Elizabeth Durst. No one cancelled, so I waited. I'm Stiller Coleman.

    Appointment? Oh, no. She'd forgotten she had a meeting scheduled with a botanist from the National Park Service. When he turned, she could see the NPS logo emblazoned over his pocket.

    Dr. Coleman, I'm so sorry. It completely slipped my mind.

    Perfectly understandable. He spoke with a soft twang. Since I've come at a bad time, perhaps we should reschedule.

    Too quickly she answered, No. Please stay. Elizabeth rubbed her forehead. It'll help me decompress to talk to someone. It's been a bad day. I have to tell parents that they've lost a son.

    He seemed to weigh his words carefully, and it took him a few seconds to respond. Are you sure you're feeling well enough?

    She'd fainted. He'd caught her. He knew she wasn't okay.

    I'm fine, just tired, she said.

    All right, I'll go with you.

    His offer surprised her, but she was grateful for the company, even from a stranger. When she signaled she was ready, he swung the door open and they walked outside, into the wails and din of the media.

    There was no hope of privacy. Elizabeth conveyed the terrible news to the parents as they huddled together, rocking back and forth. The media engulfed the grieving couple, peppering them with questions. From the corner of her eye Liz saw a black SUV slam to a halt in the parking lot. Two uniformed men jumped out and pushed through the circle of reporters.

    Without introductions or niceties, the shorter of the officers addressed the crowd: The victim was US Naval personnel. Naval intelligence will be taking over this investigation. We will authorize our own divers to recover the victim. As Liz had expected, the statement was short and to the point.

    The officer continued, All information released to the press will be approved by my office and subject to U.S. security clearance. The officer paused before issuing his final statement. Topaz Springs will be closed pending an official investigation.

    That's not fair, Elizabeth said to Coleman. We don't even know if the guy was certified in cave diving. She slumped against the ranger. Topaz Springs wasn't the problem; untrained divers cast their own fates. Closing popular dive holes only made it more difficult for professionals to find places to hone their skills.

    Is there anything you can do about it? Dr. Coleman asked, and Elizabeth shook her head. They walked back to her office. Once inside, he closed the blinds as she sank into the chair behind her desk.

    I need coffee. Would you like some? She indicated an age-old, simmering pot. He poured her a cup of something that resembled liquid mud.

    The moment the coffee was in her hand, Elizabeth realized how cold she was. Thank you for helping me, Dr. Coleman. She pulled her towel around her shoulders and shook off a chill. Now tell me what I can do for you.

    Pete Logan recommended I contact you.

    Elizabeth's heart jumped at the mention of his name. You knew Pete?

    Coleman eyed her keenly, waiting, as if he expected her to say more. Yes. We met during a reclamation job. I was sorry to hear about his death.

    You're a treasure hunter?

    In a manner of speaking. Coleman shifted uncomfortably. Your fiancé and I both had an interest in securing historic artifacts, but I was working for the Park Service Conservation Unit.

    Elizabeth's good will evaporated. Clearly, he considered Pete a thief of the deep, a scoundrel who salvaged wrecks for cash and glory. She'd made up her mind to throw Dr. Coleman out, but decided to allow him the courtesy of stating his business first.

    He looked at her with alarm, though she hadn't uttered a word. Of course she was probably glowing neon with anger.

    I'm sorry, Ms. Durst, I didn't mean to imply...

    Of course you didn't. She smiled coldly. The Park Service exploits shipwrecks in the name of posterity, while my fiancé did it for personal gain. Yours is clearly the nobler motive.

    He met her gaze calmly, absorbing the brunt of her anger without flinching. I doubt my motives would be classified as noble. In fact, what I've come to speak to you about has a direct impact on my personal gain.

    Liz was not convinced. And Pete was involved?

    Very involved, he replied. You might say he initiated the entire venture.

    Funny, I don't recall him ever mentioning your name, Dr. Coleman.

    Stormy green eyes bore into hers. Smugglers and pirates didn't unnerve her, but she had to look away from Coleman's gaze. He leaned forward in his chair.

    You're considered the best for underwater cave exploration and body recovery.

    I'm only considered the best because I'm the smallest, Elizabeth replied. I've had twenty years experience in open water; ten in cave systems. I never wanted to get involved in recovery, but bodies tend to get caught in tight places.

    That's why I'm here. I want to hire you for a recovery.

    A recovery? Elizabeth wrinkled her brow. There must be rescue divers where you live.

    No. It has to be you, he said flatly. I'm aware of your reputation in the diving world, and I'm convinced you're the only one who can do this job.

    Dr. Coleman... I don't think...

    It won't be an emotional recovery. There's no family to speak of.

    Elizabeth didn't have the slightest intention of taking the job. She didn't need the money or the additional risk, but she did want Dr Coleman to leave as quickly as possible. He was obviously a wacko, and as such, was a fitting end to her horrendous day.

    She pretended to listen as he recited details of the purposed dive. The instant he paused, she pulled out her calendar and a notebook to humor him. After confirming the date, she was poised and ready to write.

    Okay, Dr. Coleman, whose body will I be recovering?

    Mine, he replied.

    Chapter 2

    The silver Jaguar looked absurd sitting in front of Red Salt National Park's meager visitor's center. Next to the battered NPS pick-up, the pristine sedan shone like mined platinum. Stiller parked his Jeep a few rows back and eyed the Florida plates.

    Six-thirty Monday morning and Goren Herwich was already in residence. The Sealine Drugs mogul would expect to be briefed on experiments in progress to determine whether his company's recent donation would be paying dividends in the near future.

    Herwich was a bio-prospector. His company's meteoric growth was based on the development of a revolutionary mood-enhancing drug dubbed Hula. It was purported to be a miracle cure for depression and anxiety, with no side effects. The drug already had FDA approval, and was only days away from being released. Pre-orders numbered in the millions.

    With so little time separating Goren Herwich from billionaire status, Stiller could think of no good reason he should still be poking around in the Ozarks. Only the scent of greater riches motivated Herwich. That was an unsettling thought.

    Herwich had always shown a keen interest in Stiller's research. Normally, that wouldn't be a problem; but recently, an amazing thing had happened. One of Stiller's experiments had yielded a staggering result. To keep Herwich from finding out about it, more research had to be done, and fast. Additional samples had to be collected, and Stiller would have to venture through a treacherous underground environment to obtain them.

    His chance of success was low.

    At least, that was Elizabeth Durst's assessment when he'd told her he needed to organize an expedition to dive a deep, unexplored lake as part of an ongoing research project.

    No wonder you need a recovery diver, she'd said. Your venture sounds suicidal to me. Yet she'd agreed to do it—right after Stiller mentioned the first stage involved a twelve hundred foot rappel.

    Excuse me? She'd started laughing... until she realized he was serious.

    Dr. Coleman, you're telling me that there's an underground lake a thousand feet below your property. Do you have any idea of its origin or depth?

    None at all.

    By dangling that prize in front of her, Elizabeth had agreed to accompany him. Stiller only had a few short days to prepare for the descent. Time was of the essence. He couldn't suffer Herwich's curiosity or interference right now. He grabbed his Stratton hat from the passenger seat and headed for the visitor's center.

    Moist air enveloped him as he strode up the sidewalk. It was another oppressively hot day in Summertown, Missouri. Rounding the corner to the employee entrance, Stiller mounted the stairs and angled his backpack through the old frame door. He took a quick look around before crossing the room and ducking into his office. The building seemed empty. Perhaps Herwich and the others were out on the trails. Stiller needed absolute privacy to check on his specimen.

    It was unlikely the experiment would still be viable. Bracing for the worst, he unlocked a drawer and pulled out a small glass container. The tiny specimen was immobile. He slid the dish under a dissecting scope and focused in on a dark speck near the center. It lay completely still. Then it moved.

    He was staring at the impossible.

    Stiller's closet-sized office suddenly took on expansive proportions. In this least-visited of national parks, the discovery of a lifetime could be occurring. He held a breath in anticipation, but dared not believe what he saw. The fruit fly had outlived its life expectancy three-fold.

    He jiggled the Petri dish and the tiny fly danced in displeasure. You can't be alive, Stiller whispered, leaning away from his microscope to peer at the insect with naked eyes. The fly hummed impatiently, agitated by the warm lights and attention. Carefully, Stiller removed the dish and set it aside, never taking his eyes off the small miracle.

    Impossible, he breathed.

    What have you found? Goren Herwich suddenly appeared behind him. With a quick motion, he jerked the dish from Stiller's desk. What's this fly living on?

    Plain agar. He's my control subject, Stiller replied. The most incredible part of that statement was its truth. Stiller hadn't added anything to the agar, but some marvelous contamination must have occurred in the mixing.

    Goren Herwich rocked on his heels, balancing the Petri dish in his palm. He examined the fruit fly critically. A sweat broke on Stiller's brow.

    Leave it alone, he willed. Watching the fool handle it was bad enough, but if Stiller let on how important that fly was, his experiment would be appropriated as part of Sealine Drug's ongoing microbe research in Red Salt.

    Let's bring up the particulars on this specimen, Herwich barked, brushing Stiller aside and commandeering his computer. File access?

    Dro Three, Stiller replied. Herwich punched the buttons and a stream of information appeared. "Hmm, male Drosophila Melanogaster, bar-eyed, wild-type. But... the date of acquisition is over a hundred days ago. A fruit fly's average lifespan is less than a month. Can you explain that?"

    Yes, I'm quite sorry, Stiller said, boiling on the inside. But I forgot to enter the data for the ascending generations.

    You forgot? Herwich's eyes narrowed. Dr. Coleman, you're one of the top specialists in your field. And you expect me to believe you would be so negligent? Do you think I'm a complete— A timely intervention by Stiller's boss squelched the interrogation.

    Mr. Herwich, we're so glad to see you. Park Administrator Nan Brody shook his hand briskly. Stiller could read the disingenuousness in her greeting, although it clearly didn't register with Herwich. He was a man used to being in control. He simply moved his sphere of influence back and forth from his lavish research facility in Miami, to the modest, grant-poor park in the middle of the Ozarks.

    Dr. Coleman doesn't seem to understand his responsibilities. Herwich's porcine face flushed pink at the scalp line. The effect made his pale, thinning hair look like a pastel nimbus. Sealine's donations to this park are contingent upon efforts being made to secure new drugs.

    Nan bristled. No one in the Park Service works harder than Stiller. We're all after the same thing, Mr. Herwich, to find new sources of beneficial drugs.

    At least that was the party line. But Stiller knew the truth.

    In the last decade an unfortunate alliance had evolved between wealthy drug companies and the National Park Service. Always strapped for cash, large donations by these private corporations allowed improvements and

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