But that’s where a part of me still wants to go. Because I haven’t completed the mission yet: Operation Find Jason. I know a little more than I did, or at least I think that I do. I know that Jason was interested in New Century Seeds and that there’s something pretty shady about them.
The rice will still grow, no matter what.
Maybe I can use that information to find out more from his friends in Yangshuo.
Even as I think this, there’s another part of me that’s going, You fucking idiot. You’re not going to find out anything, and what’s the point anyway? Whatever the problem is, you’re not going to be able to fix it.
But there’s the idea that I can give Dog an answer. That I can give myself an answer. You know, figure things out. Solve the mystery. The End.
Yeah, right.
I ’M NOT CRAZY ABOUT it, but I decide to fly to Guilin. It costs more, but my leg hurts a lot, and I’m not feeling all that great in general, and I just want to get there. So I buy a ticket, rise up at stupid o’clock the next day to catch the one plane from Shantou to Guilin, and I get into Guilin around nine-thirty in the A.M. I stagger around the airport with my daypack and my duffel and my crutches and find the bus that goes into Guilin proper. Take that to the train station and find the bus to Yangshuo. I do all this in a fog of hurt and narcotics and lack of sleep. None of it feels real, except for the shooting pain every time I step on my bad foot.
“This sucks,” I mutter as I rest my head against the window of the Yangshuo bus. I stretch my leg out as much as I can. At least no one claims the seat next to me, and I doze a bit as the bus bumps along down the road to Yangshuo. I don’t even open my eyes when the driver lays on the horn and swerves around whatever car or taxi or tuolaji might be in his path.
I GET INTO YANGSHUO about noon. I check into my hotel, which is tucked in an alley off Xi Jie. It’s a backpacker dive called Maggie’s Guesthouse. The lobby is a jumble of mismatched furniture, old travel and music posters, kids sprawled out working on their laptops. I picked it because it’s close to the Gecko, and I don’t want to walk far in the shape I’m in.
Yeah, I plan on going back there. Yeah, it’s probably a stupid idea. But that guy Erik knows something, I’m sure he does. And so does Sparrow, who might even be a better target. She was nicer anyway.
But I’m too tired to go there right now. I ache all over, and my leg feels swollen against the compression bandage. I should take a look at it, I guess, but I don’t want to. Instead I have a Percocet and stretch out on the hard bed. I swallow a couple of aspirin, too, for the inflammation. I stare at the ceiling, at the water stains and peeling paint and think, Seriously, what the fuck are you doing?
Attacked twice, in two different cities. All of Jason’s friends, if they really are his friends, acting like they’re in some mafia and took a vow of silence, treating me like I’m some kind of cop or something.
What is there about this situation that I’m missing? Aside from Jason?
Then I think: Jason.
I’ve researched the seed companies. I’ve researched Sidney Cao and Vicky Huang. The person I haven’t checked out is Jason.
I start Googling. And it doesn’t take me long to find out just how FUBAR the situation really is.
IT’S ABOUT 10:00 P.M. in San Diego. If that’s past anybody’s bedtime, too fucking bad. Because if I have to make an actual phone call, I will.
Somebody’s up, though-Dog’s Skype icon is green.
Sure enough, when I ring, he picks up right away. Like he’s been sitting by the computer waiting.
His face lights up when he sees me.
“Hey, Baby Doc! You got… you got news?”
“I’m working on it. Listen, is Natalie around?”
That gets him worried. His forehead wrinkles, his eyes squeeze shut for a second, his lips draw back before he can get the words out. “You can… tell me.”
“Look, as far as I know, Jason’s fine. This is something I gotta talk to Natalie about.”
He frowns. Then bellows, “Hey, Nat!”
I wait for Natalie to sit in the computer chair, adjust the earbuds. She smiles at me, showing her slightly crooked teeth. She looks exhausted, but maybe that’s from the blue glow of the computer screen.
“Hi, Ellie,” she starts. “Doug said-”
I cut her off. “So you left out a few things.”
Her eyes dart to one side, then back to me. “It’s complicated,” she says.
“Really? Complicated? Like, the part where Jason’s an ecoterrorist?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
YEAH. AN ECOTERRORIST.
That’s what the spokesman of the company whose property he vandalized called him. I’d write that off to corporate asshattery, except it looks like the FBI is saying the same thing.
Here’s what I found out:
Jason was in some group of environmental activists who went from posting their manifestos online and protesting in front of companies who’d committed ecological sins to more serious shit: “monkey-wrenching” they called it at first. Minor acts of sabotage, like chaining themselves to trees and slapping bumper stickers on SUVs that said things like YOU ARE DRIVING A DEATH MACHINE!
Then it escalated.
There’s this one company in particular that Jason and his buddies targeted, a corporation called Eos. I’d heard of them, vaguely. They’re “as good as nature can be,” or something. But I never knew exactly what it is that they do.
Turns out they make chemicals. Plastics. Fertilizer.
And seeds.
Hybrid seeds, which Wikipedia tells me are seeds produced by cross-pollinated plants. I’m not sure what that means, but the seeds are trademarked, meaning Eos owns them. Eos also makes genetically modified seeds, GMOs. Gene-spliced crops created to resist their own herbicides. So you can drop a shitload of Rescue Ride!® weed killer, also made by Eos, on the crops and not kill the plants but kill all the weeds. They also make a potato that contains its own pesticide. Which sounds kind of creepy, but they claim it’s perfectly safe.
The articles I found about Jason don’t have a lot of information about why he and his friends think Eos is such bad news. Mostly the articles are about their “criminal activities,” not about why they did what they did.
But what they did includes trying to set fire to some Eos experimental crops. Which is what got Jason on the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted List.
“YOU DIDN’T THINK THIS was something I needed to know?”
“I thought-”
“It’s bogus!” Dog yells in the background. “He didn’t!”
“I don’t fucking care if it’s bogus!” I snap. “You got me running around looking for an ecoterrorist? Me and the fucking FBI?”
That’s when the hard lines in Natalie’s face get harder. “The way I see it, you owed me one.”
Bitch.
Okay, she has a small point. Me and Dog did fuck around a few times. But, like, that’s all on me? Didn’t he have something to do with it?
“Doug wants to find his brother,” Natalie says, her voice cold. “And Doug and I are a team.” She tosses her streaked blond hair. “You can do what you want.”
NOW I REALLY HAVE to decide.
Once you start calling somebody a terrorist, things escalate to a whole different level. I know that from experience.
Jason’s looking at twenty years in prison, at least, and for what? For setting a bunch of plants on fire?
And of all places, he flees to China. Not the best choice, if you ask me.