Crossing to my bathroom, I filled the sink with warm water, deposited the tag, and added a half bottle of Body Shop papaya-scented hand soap. Classy.
Back in my bedroom, I turned on the Discovery Channel. Shark Week. Nice!
An hour of sea carnage later, I remembered the dog tag. The sink now contained a chocolate-colored puddle. Ew.
I pulled the plug and sludge swirled down the drain. The tag lay on the porcelain, still coated dark brown, indecipherable.
I ran the water as hot as I could stand, and gently scraped the metal under the flow. No go. Even under my desk lamp, the letters were unreadable.
Hmmm.
I could've used my rotary tool, but I didn't want to scratch the metal. And the sandblaster might damage the lettering. This task required something more delicate.
I could have let it go right there. Thrown the thing away. But I didn't. I wanted to know what the tag said, pure and simple. Had to know.
I get like that.
I kicked into research mode, and, a few minutes later, confirmed my hunch. A LIRI lab had everything I needed. The process would take twenty minutes, tops.
I posted a tweet on the gang's private page. Minutes later I had three replies, all affirmatives. We would go early the next morning.
Time for a stealth mission.
PART TWO:
INFECTION
CHAPTER 11
Damp gusts tugged at my flimsy Gap poncho. A steady drizzle tapped techno beats on the hood drawn over my head. Once more, I wished I'd worn my North Face jacket. Too late. I was soaked.
Sodden hair clung to my face and shoulders, wilted by the rain, humidity, and stifling heat. My sweat faucets were working overtime.
Ignoring my discomfort, I tried to concentrate on the task at hand. Surveillance.
Crouched behind a boulder on Turtle Beach, Kit's binoculars in hand, I studied the back entrance to the Loggerhead compound. Inside the fence, forty yards distant, the grounds appeared abandoned.
"All clear," I called.
The boys emerged from the rocks, one by one.
The early morning sky and roiling Atlantic were both the color of pewter. The sun had yet to penetrate the low-hanging fog.
Lousy weather, but excellent cover. Perfect for espionage.
Choppy surf had nearly scrubbed the mission. But the weather channel had predicted only passing squalls and ruled out the possibility of a major storm. If we hadn't gone that day, it meant a week until our next opportunity.
My curiosity was far too pumped for that.
Shelton had agreed, which swayed Ben. Hi, outnumbered, had relented. The barf bag he brought had been put to use. Twice. Rough ride.
We bypassed the main dock, churning instead to a little-used equipment platform off Tern Point. At times, turtle researchers used the location to observe breeding activity on the beach. After nesting season, the area was empty and forgotten. The platform wasn't visible from the buildings, and no one would go near it on a day like this. Our stealth was assured. Hopefully.
The rear gate to the LIRI complex was locked, as expected. Sunday was an off day so the shuttle ran only at noon and dusk. Few worked, usually those with patients requiring care. We'd arrived a little past nine, hoping to find the complex empty.
Despite the ghost-town appearance, one of two souls was certain to be present. Sam and Carl, security guards extraordinaire, alternated weekends. One or the other would be manning the security booth, perhaps with one eye on the monitors. Perhaps with both shut.
In any case, we knew how to avoid detection. At least, we thought we did. This caper was the first time we'd put theory into practice.
Breaking in should be easy. We were about to find out.
Our target was Lab Six in the rearmost building of the cluster. Hi had overheard his father griping that Karsten had closed the building several weeks earlier, giving no explanation. The doors were now locked at all times.
Odd, that. The Loggerhead labs usually ran at full capacity, with waiting lists. The closure would burden operations, cause logjams for equipment, and rankle staffers.
Whatever Karsten's reason, I wasn't questioning our luck. I wanted a name from that dog tag and intended to get it.
Sneak in, sneak out. Don't get caught.
Hi read my mind. "We can still back out. My parents will flip if we're busted. My mother may even drop dead."
"We don't need another reaming from Karsten," Shelton said. "He'd ban us forever."
"We won't get caught." I tried to sound firm. "Our plan is solid."
Though Shelton and Hi radiated apprehension, neither would back down in front of the other.
Ben looked stoic. As usual.
Dropping the binoculars to my chest, I turned to bolster my troops. Captain. Squad leader.
First, my entry-man. "Shelton, you can pick locks in a heartbeat." I patted his shoulder. "You know you can. I've seen you practice hundreds of times."
Uneasy nod.
"Ben, the digital recorder for the security cameras is broken, right? You said your dad is bringing the replacement next week." Temple tap. "That means no tape."