The Giant Smugglers Read Online Free Page B

reassure his partner. The scientist checked the inside pocket of his jacket to make sure the sample he’d collected remained secure then hoisted himself up into the passenger seat. With an emphatic slam of the door, he trapped the dog inside the van. “Let’s go.”
    Barton’s hand shook as he found the ignition key and turned it. He pulled away from the silo, his eyes bouncing from the road to the dog, which was poking a suspicious snout into his right leg. When the van hit a bump and lurched, the dog gave a sharp bark. Barton recoiled, jerking his foot off the accelerator.
    â€œKeep your foot steady on the gas. Head back the way we came.”
    Barton retraced the route he had taken through the quarry. As the van turned past the office trailer, an old man in a duster jacket strode into its path. He held up his hand for the van to stop, glaring into the cab through the dusty windshield. The dog recognized her master, and her tail smacked Barton’s thigh with a steady thump-thump-thump .
    Barton’s fingers twitched on the steering wheel. “Should I go around him?”
    â€œThis is where the dog gets off,” said Fitzgibbons. “Let’s have a word.”
    Barton brought the van to a stop. The old man approached the passenger side and slid open the side cargo door.
    â€œPowder, out!”
    The dog bounded through the opening. The old man slammed the door shut and rapped the passenger window twice. Fitzgibbons slid it down. “I see Powder introduced herself,” said the silver-haired man.
    â€œBeautiful dog,” said Fitzgibbons, his follow-up smile closed and brief.
    The old man fumed. “This is private property. What’s your business?”
    â€œI’m Dr. Sean Fitzgibbons and this is my associate Mr. Barton.” Fitzgibbons extended a firm hand. The old man took it, returning the show of strength.
    Barton offered an anxious smile and a small wave. “How’s it going?”
    â€œFitzgibbons,” said the old man. “Should I know that name from somewhere?”
    â€œPerhaps you remember him from the sprinting trials a few Olympics ago?” offered Barton.
    â€œNo, that’s not it,” said the old man, unimpressed.
    â€œWe’re with Accelerton,” Fitzgibbons said, waving off his partner. “We’re out doing routine sweeps to determine if there’s been any spread of our seed from one farm to another. It happens all the time, you know.”
    â€œYour genetically modified seed?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œYou won’t find any of your stuff back there. That land’s organic.”
    â€œYes,” said Dr. Fitzgibbons, wrinkling his nose. “I smelled the manure.”
    â€œFunny,” returned the old man. “I didn’t smell any until now.” He made no effort to disguise his sarcasm.
    â€œOur apologies, Mr.… I’m sorry. I didn’t get your name?”
    â€œHank Pulvermacher. Didn’t you hear the warning siren? That ridge you drove under is rigged to blow. You’re damned lucky I saw you when I did.”
    â€œMr. Pulvermacher, we’re sorry to start your day this way. We didn’t hear any siren. But now that we have our soil samples…” Fitzgibbons reached between the seats and held up the containers Barton had collected back at the farm.
    Hank squinted at the vials, dubious. “You can tell what’s what from that little bit of dirt?”
    â€œYour dog persuaded us to stop our canvass. Powder, is it?”
    A wry grin crossed Hank’s face, signaling acceptance of a stalemate. “You want to dig around back there, call the main office. Otherwise, you’re trespassing. That’s how it is, so get on your way.” He gave the side of the van a smack to hurry it along.
    â€œOf course, Mr. Pulvermacher. Once again, my apologies.” Fitzgibbons slid the window up. Barton, the armpits of his shirt now dark half-moons of