Dead Air (Sammy Greene Thriller) Read Free Page B

violence. Then he had led a mob through the medical school, painting hate messages on the walls of the GYN clinic where poor women came for abortions. One nurse ended up in the ICU with a head injury, but after hospital bills were quietly paid, no one pressed charges. Sammy never did discover the name of the anonymous benefactor, though she had strong suspicions.
    Now she took a deep breath, unconsciously anticipating trouble.
    “Chill out man!” the tech snapped. “They’re just animals.”
    “You’re the animals!” retorted a conservatively dressed protester to Sammy’s left.
    A boy with a military-style crew cut shoved the tech to the ground, “Let’s get ’em!”
    The mob pressed forward, pushing open the door and storming into the laboratory where the pigtail macaques were boarded.
    Sammy stopped to help the tech who was on the ground, moaning. Blood oozed from a cut on his forehead. “It looks as though it’s just superficial,” she told him as she helped him sit up. She handed him a Kleenex from her purse.
    “I’m okay,” he said, “but these people are nuts. Don’t they know our work saves lives?” Sounds of crashing cages and breaking glass brought him to his feet. “Jesus, they’re letting them out,” he screamed. “The monkeys!”
    Sammy turned to where he pointed. Taft stood to one side, nodding approval as several of his group unlatched the animal cages. The injured tech started to run from one cage to the other, trying to prevent the jailbreak, but he was outnumbered by the violent horde. Several monkeys, now free, joined the melee, providing a chattering chorus amid the shouting.
    Sammy watched the tech lunge for one tiny pigtail whose silvercollar glistened in the morning sunlight. In a flying tackle, two of the protesters pounced on the hapless lab worker, and the frightened primate leapt into the arms of the youth with the crew cut.
    “Ow!” Sucking his bleeding hand, the flat-topped youth dropped the squirming animal, which scampered off into the crowd.
    Sammy witnessed one of the protesters fly backward onto a lab table, victim of a well-placed accidental kick from the struggling technician.
    “Freeze!”
    As three more protesters lunged in revenge, Sammy heard a whistle behind her.
    “I said, all of you, freeze!”
    A balding, pot-bellied policeman with a bushy salt-and-pepper mustache stood at the door to the lab. He was flanked by a corps of younger deputies. Sammy recognized Gus Pappajohn, campus police chief, and his cavalry, and stepped aside to make way.
    “Don’t anybody move,” Pappajohn barked. He pointed at Sammy. “That means you too, Greene.”
    The deputies moved in to corral the protesters while Pappajohn bestowed a withering glare at the reporter. “Where angels go —”
    Sammy responded with a tense smile.
    The chief of police shook his head. “Greene, haven’t you graduated yet?”
    “Less than two years, Sergeant.”
    “May they go ever so quickly.” Pappajohn’s Boston accent held a trace of his Greek roots. A member of Boston’s finest for over twenty-five years before taking two bullets in the gut, he was forced to accept early retirement, and moved up the coast to Ellsford. He hadn’t counted on the climate being quite so harsh. In a weary voice, he added, “You want to tell me about it?”
    “Look, this isn’t
my
show.” She scanned the gathered protesters for their leader.
    “What’s wrong, officer?” Reverend Taft appeared at the lab entrance as if he’d just arrived on the scene.
    How did he get back there? Sammy wondered.
    Pappajohn’s expression grew more dour. “Good. Another one of my favorite people. Join the party.”
    While the deputies helped the tech round up the monkeys, Taft surveyed the damage with an unconvincing look of shock. “My heavens, what is going on here?” He nodded at the injured protester, who clutched his abdomen. “This is what happens when a university allows innocent animals to be used for