Project Hannibal by Kathryn Hoff (good english books to read TXT) 📗

“You promised. You took the job to help me get the mammoths to the target area.” Luis didn’t relish the idea of trying to move the herd alone through another hundred miles of wilderness.

Brandon shook his head. “You said it yourself, our money’s already in the bank. And you’ve made it pretty clear that you and I are history anyway.” He began to load his kit into his backpack. “So what’ll it be? Follow me to Mankeeta or stay with the herd?”

Abandon the mammoths, his hand-raised children? Leave them in peril for a lying, criminal ex-boyfriend?

“Just leave me the tent,” Luis said.

In their rustic cabin, Anjou stared at Ginger in disbelief. “An arrest warrant? For me?”

“For both of us,” Ginger corrected. “For theft of government property. Apparently Major Butterick returned to the research site to shut us down and was quite annoyed to find us and everything else gone. My contact was rather snippy about it—and she specifically asked that I not attempt to speak to her again.”

“We haven’t stolen anything,” he said. “The equipment is just . . . in storage.”

“And the mammoths,” Ginger explained patiently. “Technically, they belong to the US government.”

“Impossible. I created them!”

“You created them using a government grant. Legally, the army owns the results of the research they funded.”

Anjou drummed his fingers on the rough wood table, glaring. He’d known that, of course, but in the spotlight of fame, it wouldn’t have mattered who owned the creatures.

Outside, the cries of seagulls punctuated the crash of waves on the rocky shore. He was sick of hiding out in this primitive cabin, with its gray skies, incessant wind, and the pervasive odor of fish.

He sighed. “Find a lawyer. We’ll turn ourselves in, tell them we’re shocked anyone would think we’ve stolen anything. We just sent the equipment into storage while we looked for larger quarters—the staff will verify that. And the mammoths weren’t stolen, we simply deployed them early, all in accordance with the grant. On time and under budget, right? If the army’s determined to destroy the mammoths, we’ll tell them about the transponders and show them how to find the herd.” It would be dreadful to see his mammoths slaughtered, but better to sacrifice them than his career. “Meanwhile, one of your contacts can leak the story. Public opinion will rally to our side.”

Ginger bit her lip. “It may not be that simple.”

Anjou’s scowl deepened. “Why the hell not?”

“There may be some . . . irregularities in the contracts.” She looked up with a nervous smile. “Nothing big. But if there were to be a legal investigation . . .”

“Ginger, what did you do?” Anjou struggled to keep from shouting.

Her eyes flashed in anger. “Oh, don’t be stupid. The hotels, the private car services, traveling by corporate jet? The parties we hosted at the conferences? Did you think that money fell from heaven?”

Anjou had never thought about it at all. He’d just assumed the conference sponsors wanted him to be comfortable. “So you inflated the contracts and skimmed the excess.”

“If the project had gone as planned,” she said, “no one would have looked carefully enough to notice.”

God help him, his name was on every one of those contracts. Whatever Ginger had put in front of him, Anjou had signed. Hadn’t questioned a penny.

Arrested. Him, Henri Anjou. It was unthinkable.

“We’ll blame accounting errors,” he said. “The lawyer will think of something. We can get through this.”

Ginger’s fingers twined. “Perhaps, except . . .”

“Except what?”

“There may also be irregularities in my immigration status.”

Anjou’s teeth ground. “You came from Korea on a student visa. You’re a US citizen now.”

She was still for a moment. “The papers I used to obtain my student visa were forged. I wasn’t born in Seoul, but in North Korea.”

“North Korea! But how . . . ?”

“My mother fled with me as a child, through China and from there to Laos and Thailand to get to South Korea. But when I wanted to emigrate to the US, I was advised that if I admitted to being from North Korea, the US authorities would regard me with suspicion and perhaps deny me. So I lied. If I am arrested, even if we are proved innocent of the charges, they would deport me.”

Anjou felt like the ground beneath his feet had turned to quicksand. Ginger had been his partner, his rock, his mentor. “Wasn’t anything you told me true?” he demanded.

She squared her shoulders and raised her chin. “You are the greatest geneticist of your generation: that is the truth. Your accomplishments will be honored for the next century, even if the current government is blind to your genius. If I have failed you, it is only because I could not bear to see you treated so shabbily.” She hung her head. “I will understand if you cannot forgive me. Do as you said: call your lawyer. Turn me in. I will accept all blame.”

Anjou’s anger faded. “Oh, my dear Ginger.” How could he abandon her? Without her, he would still be a nobody bench scientist, struggling for recognition. “I don’t want you to suffer, far from it. But what choice do we have? We can’t go on the run—we wouldn’t last a month.”

The silence stretched out, punctuated only by the cries of the seabirds, like so many lost children calling for their mothers.

“There is another possibility,” Ginger said. “Nikodim.”

Anjou frowned. “You mean Zhurov? That Russian from the Oslo conference?” Nikodim Zhurov had been a member of a panel that Anjou had chaired. Zhurov had toyed with mammoth genes, too. He’d made remarkable progress on the genetics—enough to worry Anjou—but Zhurov had never cracked the complexities of the epigenetics and gestation needed to actually produce a living specimen. At the cocktail party after the conference session, he’d quizzed Anjou for an hour about his techniques, and later Anjou had seen