crisis, and my source will have to act within the next twenty-four hours.”
A long silence descended over the room. The men looked at the secretary, taking notes, and the tape recorder on the table in front of her.
“I don’t see the need for a formal resolution on this,” Dodgson said. “Just a sense of the room, as to whether you feel I should proceed.…”
Slowly the heads nodded.
Nobody spoke. Nobody went on record. They just nodded silently.
“Thank you for coming, gentlemen,” Dodgson said. “I’ll take it from here.”
AIRPORT
Lewis Dodgson entered the coffee shop in the departure building of the San Francisco airport and looked around quickly. His man was already there, waiting at the counter. Dodgson sat down next to him and placed the briefcase on the floor between them.
“You’re late, pal,” the man said. He looked at the straw hat Dodgson was wearing and laughed. “What is this supposed to be, a disguise?”
“You never know,” Dodgson said, suppressing his anger. For six months, Dodgson had patiently cultivated this man, who had grown more obnoxious and arrogant with each meeting. But there was nothing Dodgson could do about that—both men knew exactly what the stakes were.
Bioengineered DNA was, weight for weight, the most valuable material in the world. A single microscopic bacterium, too small to see with the naked eye, but containing the genes for a heart-attack enzyme, streptokinase, or for “ice-minus,” which prevented frost damage to crops, might be worth five billion dollars to the right buyer.
And that fact of life had created a bizarre new world of industrial espionage. Dodgson was especially skilled at it. In 1987, he convinced a disgruntled geneticist to quit Cetus for Biosyn, and take five strains of engineered bacteria with her. The geneticist simply put a drop of each on the fingernails of one hand, and walked out the door.
But InGen presented a tougher challenge. Dodgson wanted more than bacterial DNA; he wanted frozen embryos, and he knew InGen guarded its embryos with the most elaborate security measures. To obtain them, he needed an InGen employee who had access to the embryos, who was willing to steal them, and who could defeat the security. Such a person was not easy to find.
Dodgson had finally located a susceptible InGen employee earlier in the year. Although this particular person had no access to genetic material, Dodgson kept up the contact, meeting the man monthly at Carlos and Charlie’s in Silicon Valley, helping him in small ways. And now that InGen was inviting contractors and advisers to visit the island, it was the moment that Dodgson had been waiting for—because it meant his man would have access to embryos.
“Let’s get down to it,” the man said. “I’ve got ten minutes before my flight.”
“You want to go over it again?” Dodgson said.
“Hell no, Dr. Dodgson,” the man said. “I want to see the damn money.”
Dodgson flipped the latch on the briefcase and opened it a few inches. The man glanced down casually. “That’s all of it?”
“That’s half of it. Seven hundred fifty thousand dollars.”
“Okay, Fine.” The man turned away, drank his coffee. “That’s fine, Dr. Dodgson.”
Dodgson quickly locked the briefcase. “That’s for all fifteen species, you remember.”
“I remember. Fifteen species, frozen embryos. And how am I going to transport them?”
Dodgson handed the man a large can of Gillette Foamy shaving cream.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“They may check my luggage.…”
Dodgson shrugged. “Press the top,” he said.
The man pressed it, and white shaving cream puffed into his hand. “Not bad.” He wiped the foam on the edge of his plate. “Not bad.”
“The can’s a little heavier than usual, is all.” Dodgson’s technical team had been assembling it around the clock for the last two days. Quickly he showed him how it worked.
“How much coolant gas is inside?”
“Enough
A long silence descended over the room. The men looked at the secretary, taking notes, and the tape recorder on the table in front of her.
“I don’t see the need for a formal resolution on this,” Dodgson said. “Just a sense of the room, as to whether you feel I should proceed.…”
Slowly the heads nodded.
Nobody spoke. Nobody went on record. They just nodded silently.
“Thank you for coming, gentlemen,” Dodgson said. “I’ll take it from here.”
AIRPORT
Lewis Dodgson entered the coffee shop in the departure building of the San Francisco airport and looked around quickly. His man was already there, waiting at the counter. Dodgson sat down next to him and placed the briefcase on the floor between them.
“You’re late, pal,” the man said. He looked at the straw hat Dodgson was wearing and laughed. “What is this supposed to be, a disguise?”
“You never know,” Dodgson said, suppressing his anger. For six months, Dodgson had patiently cultivated this man, who had grown more obnoxious and arrogant with each meeting. But there was nothing Dodgson could do about that—both men knew exactly what the stakes were.
Bioengineered DNA was, weight for weight, the most valuable material in the world. A single microscopic bacterium, too small to see with the naked eye, but containing the genes for a heart-attack enzyme, streptokinase, or for “ice-minus,” which prevented frost damage to crops, might be worth five billion dollars to the right buyer.
And that fact of life had created a bizarre new world of industrial espionage. Dodgson was especially skilled at it. In 1987, he convinced a disgruntled geneticist to quit Cetus for Biosyn, and take five strains of engineered bacteria with her. The geneticist simply put a drop of each on the fingernails of one hand, and walked out the door.
But InGen presented a tougher challenge. Dodgson wanted more than bacterial DNA; he wanted frozen embryos, and he knew InGen guarded its embryos with the most elaborate security measures. To obtain them, he needed an InGen employee who had access to the embryos, who was willing to steal them, and who could defeat the security. Such a person was not easy to find.
Dodgson had finally located a susceptible InGen employee earlier in the year. Although this particular person had no access to genetic material, Dodgson kept up the contact, meeting the man monthly at Carlos and Charlie’s in Silicon Valley, helping him in small ways. And now that InGen was inviting contractors and advisers to visit the island, it was the moment that Dodgson had been waiting for—because it meant his man would have access to embryos.
“Let’s get down to it,” the man said. “I’ve got ten minutes before my flight.”
“You want to go over it again?” Dodgson said.
“Hell no, Dr. Dodgson,” the man said. “I want to see the damn money.”
Dodgson flipped the latch on the briefcase and opened it a few inches. The man glanced down casually. “That’s all of it?”
“That’s half of it. Seven hundred fifty thousand dollars.”
“Okay, Fine.” The man turned away, drank his coffee. “That’s fine, Dr. Dodgson.”
Dodgson quickly locked the briefcase. “That’s for all fifteen species, you remember.”
“I remember. Fifteen species, frozen embryos. And how am I going to transport them?”
Dodgson handed the man a large can of Gillette Foamy shaving cream.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“They may check my luggage.…”
Dodgson shrugged. “Press the top,” he said.
The man pressed it, and white shaving cream puffed into his hand. “Not bad.” He wiped the foam on the edge of his plate. “Not bad.”
“The can’s a little heavier than usual, is all.” Dodgson’s technical team had been assembling it around the clock for the last two days. Quickly he showed him how it worked.
“How much coolant gas is inside?”
“Enough
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