Celtic Empire (Dirk Pitt 25)

“Well, well,” Pitt said. “I think I’d like a sample of this EP product. Then we can think about exiting stage left.”

As he spoke, the door opened. A young woman with short black hair and wearing a lab coat entered the room carrying a yellow binder. She gave Pitt and Giordino an odd glance as she shelved the binder. Turning back toward the door, she lo

oked at Pitt and hesitated. “I’m sorry to intrude, Dr. Andrews. Is there anything I can help you with?”

Pitt didn’t hesitate at the question. “I was just looking for the outgoing transportation schedules.”

She crinkled her nose and shrugged. “Sorry, I work in research. They might be in the production bay.”

“No worries. Thank you, Miss . . .”

“Thompkins. You’re welcome.” She exited the room.

“A friend of yours, Dr. Andrews?” Giordino asked.

Pitt glanced at the identification badge clipped to his lab coat. In block letters, it read DR. EUGENE ANDREWS, above a photo of a dark-haired man who bore a faint resemblance.

“Apparently, I have a forgettable face.”

“Do you think she’ll report us?”

“We should probably bank on it.” He turned back to the map. “They’re shipping the stuff all over the world. Be nice to know exactly where.” He tore down the map, folded it, and put it in his pocket.

“That’s a starting point,” Giordino said.

“Let’s find the production bay.”

The corridor was empty as they left the conference room. They nearly skipped the next room, when Giordino spotted a man seated at a desk. Pitt hesitated when the man turned and looked out the door’s cutout window. He was older, with a round bespectacled face and thinning brown hair. He gazed at Pitt with a look of fear and resignation.

“Al, I know this man.”

Pitt tried to open the door, but it was locked. The man inside shrugged, indicating he couldn’t open it. Pitt noticed a card reader by the door, then remembered his lab coat badge. He waved Dr. Andrews’s ID card next to the reader and heard a click. He turned the door handle and stepped into the room with Giordino following.

The man looked at them expectantly, said nothing.

“Dr. Perkins?” Pitt asked.

“Yes.”

“My name is Pitt.” He glanced about the room. It was laid out on the order of a dorm room, with a built-in bunk and a small side bathroom. “Are you being held against your will?”

Perkins hesitated, then nodded as he studied the two men. “Who did you say you were?”

“We’re with NUMA,” Pitt said. “We’re investigating some deaths that may be linked to the deployment of a BioRem product.”

“Thank God someone finally noticed,” Perkins said. “How did you get in here?”

“We sneaked in through the lakeside back door,” Giordino said.

Perkins popped up and peered out the window for any activity in the hallway. “They’ll kill you,” he whispered. He looked at Pitt with desperate eyes. “They forced me to help them.”

“Can you help us obtain a sample?” Pitt asked.

Perkins shook his head. “Too late. It’s already deployed everywhere. They’ve been mass-producing it for months. Millions will be afflicted.”

“Then help us stop it.”

The biochemist stared at his feet and shook his head. In a low voice he muttered, “There’s no way to stop it.”