“His studies are still in the rudimentary stages right now. Like with human stem cell research, it might take years if not decades to learn how to properly manipulate that unique genetic code to the benefit of mankind.”
“What about to the damage to mankind? What’s the word out of Russia?”
“Through back channels, Kharzin’s superiors at the GRU have insisted they knew nothing about his actions. Whether it’s true or not, we don’t know. But word is that the Russian Defense Ministry is turning the GRU upside down, purging anyone associated with Kharzin.”
“How about Kharzin? Is he cooperating?”
She turned and balanced the small box she had been carrying onto the porch rail. “I don’t know if you heard before you left, but he lost one of his feet. He must have rolled after you shot him, contaminated the wound with some of the spilled LUCA organism. By the time anyone realized it, the only option was amputation.”
“Sorry to hear that,” he lied.
“As to cooperation, he knows the fate that would befall him if he ever did return to Russia, so he’s grudgingly beginning to bend, revealing small details to fill in some of the blanks. Like revealing the name of a port authority agent who was paid to look the other way when and if the Macoma reached port in Chicago. The man’s in custody now.”
Good riddance.
“And it seems Kharzin’s paranoia has finally proven of benefit. Prior to leaving for the States, he set up a fail-safe at his lab outside of Kazan. Without an abort code from him personally every twenty-four hours, his lab’s remaining samples of LUCA would be automatically incinerated. He didn’t want anyone else gaining access to them.”
“So they’re all gone then?”
“That’s the consensus. His lab did indeed burn down. And if we’re wrong, we’re still the only ones who have the kill switch.”
“So it’s over.”
“Until next time,” she warned, arching an eyebrow. “And speaking of next time—”
“No.”
“But you don’t know—”
“No,” he said more firmly, as if scolding a dog.
She sighed. “It’s true, then. You and the Nkomo brothers are going into some investment together? Luxury safari adventures?”
“As always, Harper, you’re disturbingly well informed.”
“Then I guess the only other reason I made this long trip was to deliver this.” She pointed to the box on the porch rail. “A small token of my appreciation.”
Curiosity drew him forward. He fingered the top open, reached inside, and pulled out a coffee mug. He frowned at the strange gift—until he turned the cup and spotted the gnarled face of a bulldog on the front. The dog was wearing a red-and-white-striped cap with a prominent G on it.
He grinned as he recognized the mascot for the University of Georgia, remembering all of his past attempts at placing Harper’s accent.
“Never would’ve taken you for a fan of the Georgia Bulldogs,” he said.
She reached down and scratched Kane behind an ear. “I’ve always had a special place in my heart for dogs.”
From the arch of her eyebrow, he suspected she wasn’t only referring to the four-legged kind.
“As to the other matter,” she pressed, straightening up, “you’re sure?”
“Very sure.”
“As in forever?”
Tucker considered this.
Kane picked up his rubber Kong ball and dropped it at Tucker’s feet. The shepherd lowered his front end, hindquarters high, and glanced with great urgency toward the endless stretch of cool grass.
Tucker smiled, picked up the ball, and answered Harper’s question.
“For now, I have better things to do.”