“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Then why study them in space?”

“Haven’t you heard of pure science, Dr. McCallum? Knowledge for its own sake? These are weird, fascinating creatures. Helen found her species in the Galapagos Rift, near a volcanic vent, at depth of nineteen thousand feet. Six hundred atmospheres of pressure, at boiling temperatures, this organism was thriving. It shows us how adaptable life can be. It’s only natural to wonder what would happen if you took that life-form out of its extreme conditions and brought it up to a friendlier environment. Without thousands of pounds of pressure crushing it. Without even gravity distort its growth.”

“Excuse me,” interrupted Gordon, and they both turned to look at him. He had been wandering around the lab, poking in empty drawers and looking into trash cans. Now he was standing beside one of the travel posters hanging on the wall. He pointed to a snapshot that had been taped to a corner of the picture frame. It a large aircraft parked on a tarmac.

Posed under the wing were the two pilots. “Where did this photo come from?”

Rebecca shrugged. “How would I know? This is Helen’s lab.”

“It’s a KC-135,” said Gordon.

Now Jack understood why Gordon had focused on the photo.

The KC-135 was the same aircraft NASA used to introduce astronauts to microgravity. When flown in giant parabolic curves, it was like an airborne roller coaster, producing up to thirty seconds of weightlessness per dive.

“Did Dr. Koenig use a KC-135 in any of her research?” asked Jack.

“I know she spent four weeks out at some airfield in New Mexico. I have no idea what kind of plane they were using.”

Jack and Gordon exchanged thoughtful looks. Four weeks of KC-135 research would cost a fortune.

“Who would authorize an expense like that?” asked Jack.

“It would have to be approved by Dr. Gabriel himself.”

“Could we speak to him?”

Rebecca shook her head. “You don’t just drop in on Palmer Gabriel. Even the scientists who work here hardly ever see him. has research facilities all over the country, so he may not even be in town right now.”

“Another question,” Gordon interrupted. He had wandered over to the empty terrarium and was peering down at the moss and pebbles lining the bottom. “What’s this enclosure for?”

“The frogs. I told you about them, remember? They were Helen’s pets. USAMRIID carted them off along with everything else.”

Gordon suddenly straightened and looked at her. “What kind of frogs?”

She gave a startled laugh. “Do you NASA guys always ask such weird questions?”

“I’m just curious what variety one would keep as a pet.”

“I think they were some sort of leopard frog. Me, I’d recommend a poodle instead. They’re a lot less slimy.” She glanced at her watch. “So, gentlemen. Any other questions?”

“I think I’m through here, thank you,” said Gordon. And without another word he walked out of the lab.

They sat in the rental car, the sea mist now swirling past their windows, moisture filming the glass. Rana pipiens, thought Jack, northern leopard frog. One of the three species on Chimera’s genome.

“This is where it came from,” he said. “This lab.”

Gordon nodded.

“USAMRIID knew about this place a week ago,” said Jack.

“How did they find out? How did they know Chimera came from SeaScience? There has to be some way to force them to share their information with us.”

“Not if it’s a matter of national security.”

“NASA is not the enemy.”

“Maybe they think we are. Maybe they believe the threat comes from inside NASA,” said Gordon.

Jack looked at him. “One of ours?”

“It’s one of two reasons why Defense would keep us out of the loop.”

“And the other reason?”

“Because they’re assholes.” Jack gave a laugh and slumped back against his seat. Neither one of them spoke for a moment. The day had already wearied them both, and they still had the flight back to Houston.

“I feel like I’m punching at thin air,” said Jack, pressing his hand to his eyes. “I don’t know who or what I’m fighting. But I can’t afford to stop fighting.”

“She’s not a woman I’d give up on, either,” said Gordon.

Neither one of them had said her name, but they both knew they were talking about Emma.

“I remember her first day at Johnson,” said Gordon. In the dim light of the misted windows, Gordon’s homely face was sketched in shades of gray on gray. He sat very still, his gaze focused ahead, a somber and colorless man. “I addressed her incoming astronaut class. I looked around the room at all those new faces. And there she was, front and center. Not afraid to be picked on. Not afraid of humiliation. Not afraid of anything.” He paused and gave a small shake of his head. “I didn’t like sending her up. Every time she was chosen for a crew assignment, I wanted to scratch her name off the list. Not because she wasn’t good. Hell, no. I didn’t like watching her ride off to that launchpad, knowing what I know about everything that can go wrong.” He suddenly stopped talking. It was more than Jack had ever heard him say in one stretch, more than Gordon had ever revealed of his feelings. Yet none of what he’d said came as a surprise to Jack. He thought of the countless ways he loved Emma. And what man would not love her? he wondered. Even Gordon Obie is not immune.

He started the car, and the windshield cleared as the wipers scraped away the veil of mist. It was already five o’clock, they would be flying back to Houston in darkness. He pulled out of the parking space and drove toward the exit.

Halfway across the lot, Gordon said, “What the hell is this?” Jack slammed on the brakes as a black sedan barreled toward them through the mist. Now a second car screeched into the parking lot and skidded to a stop, its front bumper just kissing theirs.

Four men emerged.

Jack froze as his door was yanked open and a voice commanded, “Gentlemen, please step out of the car. Both of you.”

“Why?”

“You will step out of the car now.”

Gordon said softly, “I get the feeling this is not negotiable.” Reluctantly they both climbed out and were swiftly patted down and relieved of their wallets.

“He wants to talk to you two. Get in the backseat.” The man pointed to one of the black cars.

Jack glanced around at the four men watching them. Resistance is futile just about summed up their situation. He and Gordon walked to the black car and slid into the rear seat.

There was a man sitting in front. All they saw was the back of his head and shoulders. He had thick silvery hair, swept back, wore a gray suit.

His window whisked down, and the two confiscated wallets were handed to him. He slid the window shut again, a darkly tinted barrier against prying eyes. For a few minutes he studied the contents of the wallets.

Then he turned to face his backseat visitors. He had dark, almost obsidian eyes, and they strangely devoid of reflected images. Two black holes trapping light. He tossed the wallets into Jack’s lap.

“You’re a long way from Houston, gentlemen.”

“Must have been that wrong turn in El Paso,” said Jack.

“What does NASA want here?”

“We want to know what was really in that cell culture you sent up.”

“USAMRIID’s already been here. They swept the place clean. They have everything. Dr. Koenig’s research files, her computers. If you have any questions, I suggest you ask them.”

“USAMRIID’S not talking to us.”

“That’s your problem, not mine.”

“Helen Koenig was working for you, Dr. Gabriel. Don’t you know what goes on in your own labs?” Jack saw, by the man’s expression, that he had guessed correctly.

This was the founder of SeaScience. Palmer Gabriel. An angelic last name for a man whose eyes gave off no light.

“I have hundreds of scientists working for me,” said Gabriel. “I have facilities in Massachusetts and Florida. I can’t possibly know everything that goes on in those labs. Nor can I be held for any crimes my employees commit.”