CHAPTER 20 Code Word Flat #2
I took this entire conversation to mean that Phillip Ross was smart. Smart enough to develop a new kind of biological weapon. The image on the screen changed, and this time, words appeared.
Nanotechnological Advances in the Field of Gene Targeting: A Study of Technobiological Viruses in the Common Mouse (Mus musculus).
“This is the title of Ross’s most recent dissertation, from the University of Bayport—where, incidentally enough, his research and schooling were supported by the prestigious Kaufman Grant for Advances in Science.”
Kaufman. As in Peyton, Kaufman, and Gray.
“So the firm was bankrolling his research,” Brooke concluded.
“Correct,” our contact confirmed.
“And then his research started going really well, and Ross realized that he might get a better offer elsewhere.” That was from Chloe.
“So he starts making subtle inquiries.” Tara.
“Invites the interested parties, or their emissaries, to Bayport.” Brooke again.
“And he figures that if he keeps a low enough profile by only negotiating with people who aren’t normally considered true players in their own right, Peyton won’t find out about it.” Zee provided that bit.
“Except they did find out about it.” Now it was my turn, teamwork at its best. “So they made Amelia an offer, and now they’re counting on her to get the weapon for them.”
There was a brief pause, and then April added in the last piece of the puzzle. “And to make sure that Ross never backstabs them again.”
Even given the seriousness of the situation, some petty part of my mind couldn’t help but think that growing up with Hayley Hoffman as a best friend, April probably knew a lot about backstabbing and retaliation.
“So what do we know about this weapon?” Chloe asked.
Our contact wasn’t immediately forthcoming with information, so Chloe started musing on her own.
“Whatever he was testing on mice for his dissertation, he must have found a way to apply it to humans. Nanotechnology means we’re dealing with something so small it can’t be seen by the naked eye, but so technologically advanced that it has some sort of computational ability.
Gene targeting means we’re talking about DNA.
And the fact that the words virus and weapon are used suggests that whatever the nanotechnology does to genes, it ain’t pretty. ”
“Very good, Chloe. In generic terms, you’ve hit the nail on the head. I’m afraid we can’t share specifics at this time, but rest assured that the resulting technology is incredibly dangerous. We cannot allow it to fall into enemy hands.”
I stared at Ross’s dissertation title on the screen and memorized it.
My dad was a career scientist with a PhD of his own, and I’d absorbed enough physics babble over my lifetime to know that dissertations were usually published—if not in a scientific journal, at least in some kind of university collection or database.
Good old Uncle Alan might not be gung ho on giving us specifics, because he was so very good at leaving out important details, but with a little more information on Ross’s dissertation research, we could probably figure it out for ourselves.
While I was staring at it, the image on the screen changed, this time to reveal a picture of a building.
“Ross’s lab is located here,” the voice said.
“On the fifth floor. Security is tight, and while we could break in, we need to do so in a way that won’t advertise our presence to Peyton, Kaufman, and Gray.
We need to acquire this technology, but if Peyton doesn’t realize we’ve done so, they may proceed with their plans. ”
And if they proceeded with their plans, the Big Guys might actually be able to pin something on them. Maybe not the whole firm, but at least some of the associates.
“We need to get in and get out, and the configuration of the building eliminates the possibility of going in unseen. That means we have to go in unnoticed, and that means we need you girls.”
The next picture on the screen made me wonder if there was a slight chance I was still dreaming.
“Cheer Scout cookies?” I asked.
“Cheer Scout cookies,” the voice said. “This is your cover. As of 1500 hours this afternoon, all five teams will commence fund-raising at strategic locations spread throughout Bayport, specifically, large, commercial buildings.”
It took me a second to realize that one of the locations in question was the building that housed Ross’s lab.
I must have been playing this game for too long now, because in a twisted way, this whole cookie thing made sense.
If we were all doing “fund-raising,” then the fact that a subset of us chose to do it at Ross’s lab wouldn’t raise suspicions. Clever.
“Girls, I must stress the incredibly sensitive nature of this case. We must acquire the weapon prototype that Ross has constructed, replace it with a decoy, and get out without raising suspicions. Due to the danger involved in penetrating Ross’s lab, we’ve designated the active part of this mission as eighteen and over.
We’ll be sending two operatives in; the rest of you will be acting as decoys across town. ”
Eighteen and over meant that the CIA wasn’t comfortable handing this part of the case over to minors, which meant that dangerous was an understatement. The last time a case had been given this designation, Zee and Brooke had been caught in a crossfire in Libya.
“Unfortunately, however,” the voice continued, “after a deeper analysis of Ross’s technological capabilities, psychological profile, and security detail, the task force assigned to this case has recommended that at least one of the operatives sent on the primary mission have a strong technological background, superior fighting skills, and … errrrr …”
Chloe preened, sure the voice was describing her.
“The psychological profile revealed that our best chance at countering Ross’s paranoia is to go in with someone young, female, and unintimidating.”
As far as I could tell, that description fit each and every one of us.
“Specifically, it has come to light that Ross is more likely to implicitly trust a young female with a particularly small chest.”
I didn’t even want to know how they’d come to that psychological conclusion. Nor did I want to know why everyone in the room was suddenly looking at my breasts.
Or lack thereof.
“I’m in,” I said, ignoring the fact that I’d gotten the coveted assignment based on the flatness of my chest.
“So am I,” Brooke said. “Assuming we only need one operative with that last … special attribute.”
Brooke was admirably trying to be diplomatic about the boob issue.
“I’m sending through all of the information you girls need,” the voice said. “Remember, get in, acquire the weapon, replace it with the decoy, get out. Stealth is the name of the game, girls.”
And with that, the screen went dark, and the phone line went dead.
“You heard the man,” Brooke said, visibly relieved that we’d managed to keep this mission a Squad operation. “We meet back here for seventh period, and at fifteen hundred hours, Operation Cheer Scout begins.”