The Beekeeper's Secret Read online

  “How was your flight?”

  “Laborious.”

  “Don’t you just love that stupid question?” she smiled. Before giving him an opportunity to respond, she asked a more important and less mundane request. “Do you have your credentials?”

  “You’re speaking to Field Agent Andrew Smyth?”

  “Field Agent. You could have gone a little higher in the ranks.”

  “Considering I’m committing a felony crime, I thought I’d keep a low profile.”

  “Sam, no sweat! You’ll be in and out in no time. Trust me, the rent-a-cop is clueless. But you need to find out why the Feds shut down the apiary.”

  He was not particularly thrilled with his assignment, but he was the one who showed up on her doorstep ready to offer his services. “Where was the body found?” he asked, stepping up to the plate.

  “Inside his laboratory. It’s located in the converted garage. The beekeeper’s wife ran the office from within the main house, so she was not nearby at the time.”

  Max glanced at Sam, curious as to why the location of the body would be important. From his expression, he had already anticipated her question, but he did not give a hint as to his speculation.

  “It’s a place to start. How much farther?” he asked, eager to complete the mission, even before he got started.

  “A few more minutes.” Max used the time to throw another curve ball. “Hey, last night I was going through the beekeeper’s calendar. Jeff visited him the week before leaving for Brazil. And there was this guy named Sorenson who showed up at the apiary numerous times. It could be our Norwegian, the one that Jeff met in Brazil. And get this. Remember that doctor from Japan? He visited the apiary the day after Jeff.”

  “Incredible.”

  “There are a lot of other names, but I need more time to sort through them.” Max spotted the turnoff up ahead. “Okay, time to switch drivers.” She pulled over to the side of the road. “It’s right up there. Drive up that dirt road and just over the hill, you’ll see the gate. There must be a surveillance camera, which is how the rent-a-cop caught me playing Poirot. And it was about this time yesterday that I was here, so you’ll most likely run into the dear fellow—now, ready to do your magic?”

  “Where are you going to be?”

  “I’ll hide in the back seat. Here, you take over.” Max’s agile body climbed into the back seat and ducked out of sight.

  Sam shifted over into the driver’s seat and groaned, “I can’t believe you talked me into this.” He lightly stepped on the gas pedal and eased the car along the dirt road until he met up with the gate fitting Max’s description. With Max hidden from view, he got out of the car and perused the perimeter. It only took a few minutes before he heard the anticipated gruff voice barking orders.

  “Hey, mister!” said the pudgy guard peering through the metal links. “You got no bidness snoopin’ round. Now git, ya’ hear?”

  Sam flashed his badge in an authoritative manner, relishing the moment.

  “Oh, sorry, Agent. May I ask what bidness you got?”

  What a sucker! Max was right. Sam laid it on thick. “The bureau sent me back to check the place out. A double-check to make sure we missed nothing. It shouldn’t take me too long.”

  “Well, c’mon in, but I’d appreciate it if you’d make it quick. My shift is bout ready to end.” The would-be cop, with a bark worse that his bite, unlocked the gate and let Sam inside relocking the gate behind them.

  Max, who had been listening in on the conversation, waited until she heard their footsteps move away. Alone at last, she unwound from her contorted position and peered through the window. She watched as Sam and the guard entered the makeshift base of operation. A half-hour later, Sam exited the building with the guard in tow. They appeared to be yucking it up, while Max returned to her crouched position in the backseat and waited for Sam to get back into the car.

  With the sound of the guard relocking the gate, Max whispered, “What did you find out?” Almost as soon as she uttered the question, sirens began wailing off in the distance. Then the ominous sounds became progressively louder.

  “Let’s get out of here.” Sam jammed his foot on the gas pedal.

  “Take the first right up ahead,” Max instructed as she slithered back into the front passenger’s seat. “So tell me, what did you find out?”

  “The Feds did their usual exemplary job of raiding the place. They must have taken truckloads of stuff out of there, including the bees. Not a hive in sight. Also, the hard drive was missing from the computer.”

  “Not a problem.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The beekeeper instructed his wife on how to scrub the drive should anything happen to him.”

  “Sounds as though he was expecting foul play.”

  “Sam, what is it?”

  Max noticed that each time he looked in the rearview mirror he pressed harder on the gas pedal.

  “The sirens we heard—just pulled into Clovis Hill.”

  Max turned around to look. She spotted two black sedans pulling into the driveway of the apiary. The guard was running back toward the gate. “What do you think that’s all about?”

  “I can only guess the Feds had the place bugged.”

  “And they saw you?”

  Sam gave her a knowing stare and then refocused on the road.

  “Dammit! Quick, take the next left. I need two minutes at the hotel to grab my things and checkout.”

  “I second that. Then let’s get the hell out of Dodge.”

  “The hotel is only ten minutes from the Texas border.”

  “That puts the nearest airport in Lubbock. My guess is we’re an hour and a half away. We’ll catch a flight from there.” Sam saw the sign for the Super 8 and swerved into the parking lot.

  “I’ll be right back.” Max dashed out of the car and headed to her room.

  Sam remained vigilant.

  It was a fast shot across the border, as they now headed for Lubbock Preston Smith International Airport.

  “What are you doing?” Sam asked.

  Max was tapping wildly on her phone. “I’m canceling our flights out of Clovis and rebooking us on another flight. Looks like we can make the six-fifteen, stopping in Dallas. But we won’t arrive until ten past midnight.”

  “I don’t care what time; just get us out of here. But hold off on canceling our flights out of Clovis. If the Feds are on to us, let them think we’re still around…” Sam’s sentence appeared not to have ended.

  “What are you thinking?” Max caught the hesitation.

  “It’s not what I’m thinking; it’s what I’m feeling. And I have a really bad feeling about this case,” he admitted.

  Max reared her own frustration. “What is it they don’t want us to know?! That’s what haunts me.”

  “Aside from the fact that someone killed a beekeeper and a U.S. senator with bee venom, both of whom were four thousand miles apart from each other—your guess is as good as mine.” Sam realized how bizarre his account of the situation sounded. And he sensed it was going to become even more inexplicable.

  “We know that Oliver Prince was killed on December eighth, the same day Jeff left for Brazil. Manaus is two hours ahead of Clovis and Jeff was killed two days after he arrived.”

  “So, it’s possible Prince could have told the killer that Jeff was in Brazil,” Sam surmised. “Given the timeline, it’s even possible that whomever murdered the beekeeper, also had the opportunity to get to Brazil and murder Jeff. You must admit, at least for doing in the beekeeper, it was the perfect murder.”

  “But why kill Jeff using the same method?”

  “There’s got to be more to it. Beekeepers breed bees and make honey, right?” Sam asked.

  “At least that’s what they were doing at Clovis Hill.”

 
“Then why grow plants?”

  “What?”

  “The laboratory looked like a cannabis lab. There were three rows of tables, roughly ten feet long by four feet wide. The kind used for a raised garden bed. Above the tables hung an LED-based lighting system. The ones designed for commercial cultivation.”

  “You mean bioengineered to provide high levels of photosynthetically active radiation.”

  “Okay, smarty pants. But like the bees—all the plants were removed.” Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out a few leaves and handed them to Max.

  “Nice going! But what do you think they’re all about?”

  “I don’t have a clue, but let’s have the leaves analyzed as soon as we get back to DC.”

  “So, no bees. No papers. No plants. No beekeeper. At that point, why shut the place down? You know Sam, that was also the Princes’ home.” Max thought back to Miss Ellie and wondered how she was coping.

  “It seemed rather extreme. I can only gather the Feds haven’t finished looking. Looking for what is the question.”

  Chapter 19

  The Consortium’s Goal

  “You damn fool! You’ve jeopardized the whole operation!”

  Solum heard the fury in Slater’s voice and took the offensive. “I got the beekeeper’s data, just like you paid me for. And I took care of the senator and destroyed the package, as we agreed.”

  “Your choice of using venom for both the senator and Prince was stupid!”

  Slater, adding insult after insult, moved Solum into a full-frontal assault. “As far as the senator was concerned, there was no plan to kill him, only to steal the package! But the poor bastard just walked in at the wrong time. As luck would have it, I still had the vials of venom left over from the beekeeper. So, I used one on him! What choice did I have? And what’s the big deal anyway? Besides, I made it look like a lovefest gone bad.” Solum smirked remembering the scene. Then his ire spewed. “For Christ sakes, who’s going to link a senator’s death in Brazil with a beekeeper in New Mexico.”

  Slater was beyond outrage. “I can name one possibility—Max Ford!”

  At the sound of the name, Solum reeled in his fury and tried to maintain his cool. He asked, “How is she involved?”

  “You killed one of her best friends!—and it wasn’t the beekeeper. Now she’s sniffing around Clovis with her new sidekick. And as far as the data we wanted, nada. There was nothing on the USB drive.”

  “What?! I copied it myself!” Even though he was still being chastised, Solum was glad for the diversion.

  “He must have scrubbed the drive before you got there. Idiot!”

  “You want me to go back in? He might have stashed the physical data somewhere in the facility.”

  “Our guys are handling it. For now, stand by. You’ll be given one more chance.”

  The line went dead.

  Solum did not like the use of the words one more or the idea of tangling with the director’s henchman. A grave mistake Erog made when he hired Henry Little, the notorious assassin known as L to take out Max and some scientist she was protecting on an earlier case. L failed and never got another chance to make amends because Solum was ordered to take L out. And then he was sent to take out the scientist and anyone else who got in the way. Now, he had an uneasy feeling that Max was about to become his next target—again. Why can’t she stay out of the damn way?

  Slater pulled out his other phone, the one with the secure line and hit a button, the only button designed to work.

  “Director, Prince has been taken care of, but unfortunately there were no data to retrieve. The hard drive was scrubbed before the beekeeper met his fate. The senator, however, was an unplanned casualty, but the package has been destroyed.”

  “So, this brings an end to this nonsense?”

  “Not exactly. Max Ford showed up in Clovis, along with her new associate, Casper.” Slater gritted his teeth and prepared himself for the onslaught.

  “Every time she starts sniffing around, she puts all of our work in jeopardy! If we are to effect global governance, America’s role must not fail! We cannot rely on a jungle of states to conform when they are each being shaped by their own citizens and being influenced by external geopolitical forces. And let’s not forget the media. Fake or otherwise, it works against us when we are not fully controlling the message. None of this helps move us closer to a universal social contract. The only way to ensure that our planet is habitable for billions of people is to control Earth’s precious resources necessary to sustain life. This can only happen through our efforts and our efforts alone. We must obtain absolute power over a New World Order!”

  Slater had heard the speech before, but thought the director sounded a bit more morally desperate and treaded lightly. “How would you like me to handle the situation?”

  “I keep you around to solve problems. You figure it out! Just take care of them!—Now!” The director did not restrain any signs of fury as Slater had hoped.

  He took that to be a directive with zero wiggle room. “Yes, Director.”

  The call was ended.

  Chapter 20

  Good Grief

  “Let’s be seated,” the counselor urged.

  Chair legs scuffed across the floor as they were being placed in the form of a circle. Quickly, they were filled with ten lost souls.

  “Let’s pray.”

  In unison, they uttered: “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.” They were words from the Serenity Prayer, which they had recited many times before.

  “Welcome. It’s good to see a few familiar faces and a few new ones. For those who missed last week’s session, we discussed grief and how it affects your relationships. Would anyone like to share the takeaway?” The counselor waited for a volunteer.

  A hand went up in the air.

  “Yes, Allison.”

  “Grief is an individual experience. No one can grieve for me. Friends think they’re helping by telling me that they understand how I feel, but they have no idea. The heartache is so personal. I admit I don’t even know how my children are grieving.”

  “You need to find ways to express your feelings and not keep them bottled up inside,” the counselor stated, coaxing her to continue.

  “It’s easier to talk about how I’m feeling in this group, knowing that others in this room have also experienced a form of grief.” Allison scanned the group and kidded, “As long as no one tries to make me feel better.” They chuckled as she continued. “I have learned that if we listen but not judge, it starts the healing process. I am trying to do that with my children.”

  “Well said, Allison. Would anyone else care to share their thoughts?”

  Another hand shot up.

  “You’re new to our group. Please tell us your name?” the counselor asked.

  “Samantha.”

  “Welcome, Samantha,” the group greeted her.

  “How do you grieve?” she asked. “For me it would be a blessing, but I’m stuck in anger.”

  “You are grieving. But you’re using your anger to avoid the pain. Understand anger is okay. A colleague of mine, Andy Davidson, explained it best: ‘You need to recognize you’re not yourself, then express your anger, and then ask for forgiveness. That will bring you the most relief. By asking for and granting relief you will eventually be able to let the anger go.’”

  “I’m so pissed all the time,” Samantha admitted.

  “Embrace it! Once you accept that it’s normal to feel resentful, you’ll get through the anger. But understand the pain may never totally go away. You will, however, learn to find a way for peace and the pain to coexist. Let’s review the phases of grief, for those of you who were not here last week.”

  The counselor walked over to the easel and flipped back to
the sheet listing the five phases. Written in large lettering was:

  Impact

  Chaos

  Adapting

  Equilibrium

  Transformation

  One of the newcomers asked, “I thought the stages of grief were denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance?”

  “You’re referring to the stages defined by Elizabeth Kübler-Ross, a Swiss psychiatrist, as detailed in her book On Death and Dying. But the ones listed on the flipboard are outlined by Joanne Jozefowski in her book, The Phoenix Phenomenon: Rising from the Ashes of Grief. I personally don’t believe everyone follows the same pattern of grief, in the same way I’ve disagreed with Gail Sheehy’s Passages. Humans react differently based on their own environment and experiences. I find Jozefowski’s approach more helpful and positive for one trying to rebuild a shattered life.”

  “In what way?” Allison asked, hoping her own personal tragedy could be put to rest.

  “Instead of working through the grief stage by stage, as Kubler-Ross outlines, Jozefowski provides guidelines. Her book discusses ‘how to avoid hazards, adapt with healthy coping mechanisms, and eliminate unnecessary suffering.’”

  Allison wanted to understand. “So, until you accept the impact of a tragedy, whether it’s coping with denial or fear, and you manage to wade through all the chaos, it’s not until then that you can begin to adapt?” she stated, looking for confirmation.

  “In some form,” the counselor replied. “There are those who may skip over the chaos completely. Micro-managing one’s life could be a very positive coping mechanism. Most important, you will begin putting your life back in order and engage once again with loved ones. But it’s imperative to learn to accept their help. Jozefowski says it’s important to ‘take control of grieving so that grief does not control you,’ then you can ‘slowly accept the new reality.’”

  The counselor continued to walk through the other phases on the list, addressing questions along the way, until she sensed the group was reflecting on the chaos in their own lives and were looking for ways to negotiate a better existence. She also thought it a fitting end to the session. “Please help yourself to coffee and cookies in the back of the room. But first, remember, incredible changes will happen in your life, but only when you decide to take control. Just don’t spend time dwelling on the things you can’t control.”