Celtic Empire (Dirk Pitt 25)

A lanky man with thick glasses and a straggly beard looked up from a microscope. “Why the long face?” he asked in a heavy Boston accent.

“There’s a funeral in the village today. The procession just passed.”

“For the little boy?”

Elise nodded.

“Very sad. Rondi told me there was a sick boy from the village at the Suchitoto clinic. I didn’t realize it was serious.”

He shouted to a local teenage boy sorting stalks of corn from a bin. “Rondi, what happened to the little boy?”

The teen hurried over to the scientists. “He was enfermo for a short time. A doctor came and took him to the hospital last week, but they could not help him.”

“What was the diagnosis?” Elise asked.

Rondi shrugged. “Un misterio. The doctors, they don’t say. Just like the others.”

“What others?”

“Three other children from the village have died in the past few months. Same thing. They get enfermo, and it is too late for the doctors to help them.”

Elise looked at her colleague. “Phil, do you think it could be related to the food crops?” She pointed to the bin of corn Rondi had been sorting.

“Due to the genetically modified seeds we provided the farmers here last year?” He shook his head. “Not a chance. This variety is only engineered to withstand drought, and has been safely used all over the world.”

She nodded. “It’s just heartbreaking to see children get sick.”

He shrugged. “We’re agricultural scientists, Elise, not doctors.” He glanced at the thriving cornfield. “And tomorrow, we need to pack up and move ten miles north.”

He saw the disappointment in Elise’s eyes. “Okay, maybe we can do more. I’ll email our country manager and have her make a request to the World Health Organization. They have an established presence in El Salvador. I’m sure they can send someone to investigate.”

“Thank you. The people here deserve to know what’s creating the illness.”

He nodded. “In the meantime, I need you and Rondi to assess the yields in Plot 17.” He pointed to a diagram of the fields around the village. Plot 17 was a narrow field close to the lake.

“Sí, I know which one that is,” Rondi said. He grabbed a canvas bag and looped it over his shoulder.

Elise followed him down a footpath through a neighboring cornfield. As they hiked, she kept thinking of the funeral procession and the small white coffin.

“Rondi, have there been sick children in the other villages, too?”

He nodded. “A cousin named Francisco. He died a short time ago. He lived in San Luis del Carmen, across the lake.”

“How old was he?”

“Four, I think.”

“I don’t recall that village. Did we provide seeds to the farmers there?”

“No, they always have strong crops. But I did see the científicos there last week.”

“What sci

entists?” Elise said. “Our team just arrived at Cerrón Grande four days ago.”

“I don’t think they were U.S. workers. Nobody seemed to know where they were from.”

“What did they want?”