Bee Conspiracy, page 18
The National Guard troops at West Los Angeles Armory took the parade field to prepare for their Army Physical Fitness Test. Several squads broke into rounds of sit-ups, then push-ups. Others took laps around the track calling cadence:
Me and Superman got in a fight
I hit him in the head with some Kryptonite
I hit him so hard I busted his brain
And now I'm dating Lois Lane
On the other side of the armory campus, several homeless people streamed out of the overnight shelter. They set out to find a library or Starbucks where they could spend some of their day.
The bees buzzed in the hive box that was planted outside the loading dock. Its timer went off at 7:45AM. The smell of bananas permeated the air as the alarm pheromone atomizer sprayed its contents in and around the bee box. The box valve opened and the forager bees streamed out en masse.
An unlucky National Guard recruit was the first victim. The foragers swarmed around him and stung his exposed limbs. Unfortunately, all of his limbs were exposed. He was wearing shorts and a t-shirt. The reservist screamed and yelled as the attack happened. His fellow squad members ran over to help but the soldier sprinted away as fast as he could. The bees did not follow the recruit but instead attacked the members of his squad. They dispersed in various directions.
A homeless woman rummaged through the dumpster near the shelter loading dock. She grabbed some empty cardboard boxes which made a ruckus. The bees in their agitated state considered this a threat to their hive. They descended upon her and stuck their stingers into every bit of bare skin they could find. They had no choice or malicious intent; they were simply acting according to instinct. The woman screamed and yelled but no one paid much attention. The neighbors were used to homeless people with mental issues screaming out loud. Several of the woman’s compadres witnessed the bees attacking her and hollered as well.
The din of the National Guard reservists and the homeless shelter clients yelling together eventually gave the surrounding public the message: something was wrong. “It’s the killer bees!” a security guard yelled as he tried to re-route foot traffic in the area. His warning only instilled panic and the bystanders ran off every which way, bumping into each other. A couple of people tripped and were trampled. The bees really didn’t have to sting or injure very many people. Their mere presence caused the humans to injure themselves.
The next hive to trigger was on the Americana main street set of the Burbank movie studio backlot. The agitated bees streamed out of their hive box. In their agitated, pheromonal state they perceived the nearby film crew to be an existential threat to their hive. They attacked the camera assistant as she wielded her clap sticks to mark the beginning of a take. The lead actress in the scene screamed bloody murder as the bees swarmed around her too. She tripped and fell off her stiletto Manolo Blahnik shoes. A nearby dolly grip came to her rescue and carried her off to the safety of her trailer.
The art director waved the rest of the crew away as he swatted the bees with furniture pads. He was a B-movie film buff and found this situation oddly reminiscent of a scene in The Swarm. In that scene lethal bees attacked a small town that looked very much like the set on which they were filming.
The director called studio security, initially thinking that perhaps these bees had escaped from the set of another production (was there a horror movie shooting today?). But security told him no, they were not movie bees, they were the killer bees – to this point only seen on TV news – making a live appearance.
The bees swarmed together in a nearby tree, waiting for their scouts to advise if there was a suitable new home nearby for them. The grotesque sight of the bees covering an entire tree limb did not help the film crew to calm down. They reacted with more distress and apprehension and the fear spread like wildfire amongst those most prone to it. Many ran to their cars in the nearby parking lot. Several fender benders ensued as drivers did not pay much attention to the road. They simply wanted to flee as quickly as possible.
Down at Union Station passengers boarded a departing commuter train only to be met by another influx of bees that had escaped their triggered hive. The passengers reacted poorly and lost their heads. Several opened windows and climbed through only to land on the tracks outside. That would have been fine if it were not for the arrival of the Amtrak Coastliner at the same time. Two lives were cut short in that very moment. A young film student on his way to USC took in this carnage. He stopped in his tracks not because he was terrified but because this scene was familiar. He was reminded of a scene from that campy 1970s film, The Swarm. In that film passengers boarded a train to escape the bees who had invaded their small town. But the train became a death trap. He shrugged and marveled at how life can imitate art.
The pattern of bee attacks repeated itself in the tiny enclaves of West Los Angeles, Brentwood, Cheviot Hills, the San Fernando Valley and Echo Park. The denizens of Echo Park, who were normally quite environmentally conscious, wasted no time making immediate calls to city hall insisting that the bees be doused with heavy doses of toxic pesticide.
All of these sightings and sting attacks, while none of them fatal as in the case of Howard Skulberry or Valerie Wilder, created a pall of fear that spread far and wide across Los Angeles. Hester Lynne of Channel 12 News was on the case, broadcasting from as many of the bee sightings as possible. She interviewed panicked people right and left. Experts were consulted who pontificated about the highly aggressive strain of bees and how they were a random happenstance of climate change.
One of those experts was Gordon Lund of Sage Chemical Company. He and Hester Lynne went way back, as they had both done the charity event circuit together, so he readily accepted her invitation for an interview. He added fuel to the fire, expounding on the fact that more death was to come unless these pests were eradicated. Just as he was speaking, several more hive timers went off, releasing another wave of weaponized bees. Gordon reiterated that there would have to be some kind of mass pesticide application to keep the public safe. He admitted that in killing the aggressive Africanized honeybees, other less aggressive pollinators would die too. He even offered that if too many pollinators were to die, there could be ecosystem collapse on a broad scale. But he had an answer for that, too. He was not able to explain, as Hester had to cut the interview short. She had to rush over to the latest act of airborne mayhem.
The experts advised that people stay in their homes as much as possible and carry insect repellent at all times. Outdoor events all over the city were quickly cancelled.
***
Kelso and Duke holed up overnight in the Westside police precinct while waiting for Duke’s phone to ring with further instructions from Beryl’s kidnappers. The phones in the station were ringing off the hook. “Have you actually seen the bees, ma’am?” the desk officer on duty asked calmly.
“No, but I heard they’re over on Wilshire and that’s five blocks away!”
“We are investigating in coordination with the fire department, ma’am, but for the moment I suggest you stay calm and stay in your house until we have more information.”
This type of interaction repeated over and over again. Kelso tried to tune it out as he paced back and forth in the hallway, willing Duke’s phone to ring. He was worried about Beryl. It was obvious to him that all of these things were connected: Valerie Wilder’s death, Beryl’s abduction and the weaponized bee attacks throughout the city. It all had to do with what Duke was holding: this prototype of a robotic bee.
Duke stared at his phone, waiting. None of the city’s pandemonium mattered to him right now. He was exclusively focused on getting his daughter back. He did not care that he was going to trade this tiny electronic bee for his daughter’s life. He did not care what the kidnappers would do with it. He did not care that eventually the FBI would realize they didn’t have it. None of that mattered. He had done a little bit of hostage negotiation in his day and the first rule of negotiation was to show that you were negotiating in good faith. This tiny bee was his token of that.
When will this phone ring, he wondered. It had been 10PM the last time he had heard from the kidnappers. What had been happening to her in the meantime? He refused to let his mind go through negative scenarios. It was too painful and did little to resolve the problem at hand.
He turned to Kelso, who was trying to wrench the desk sergeant’s phone from his hand. “Tell them the bees are confused. Tell them they don’t want to hurt anyone but they are like a mother bear protecting her young, they will act out if antagonized.”
“That’s not part of the approved script,” the desk sergeant replied.
“Screw the script!” Kelso answered. “What brain trust wrote the script? The script doesn’t tell them anything! It’s too vague! It sounds like you are covering something up! The bees will die off on their own and fairly quickly – people just need to leave them alone! This too shall pass!”
The desk sergeant handed Kelso the phone. But then Duke’s phone rang. It was Beryl’s number. He picked it up. “I’m here,” he said calmly.
“Do you have the bee?” Albert Fossil asked.
“Yeah. Got it right here.” He took a picture of the prototype and texted it.
“Very good. That’s what I’m looking for.”
“I’ll bring it over right now.”
“Just so we understand each other, I am going to send you a video. I want you to understand how serious I am that you come alone and that you don’t breathe a word about this to anyone.”
The video came through. Beryl sat with her hands and feet bound to a chair in a warehouse of some kind. It was the faux milking shed of the Sage test farm. A row of bee boxes were lined up behind her. There was a tube inside her mouth that connected to one of the observation beehives. Inside the tube was a small disc. It was the only thing preventing the bees from entering Beryl’s mouth. Fossil came on screen, his face covered by his beekeeper’s veil.
“If the bees enter her esophageal cavity they will sting her throat. It will swell and close, suffocating her to death. There is a timer on this disc. It will automatically release the bees in twenty minutes. If something happens to me, the bees will be released. If you show up with anyone else besides yourself, the bees will be released. If anything happens to that prototype, the bees will be released. Do you understand?”
The blood in Duke’s veins throbbed. He saw what the weaponized bees had done to Howard Skulberry and Valerie Wilder but that was through his detective’s lens. Wearing the hat of a cop provided a certain distance, a protective barrier from the horror of crimes. But that was all gone now. This was personal. It was not some random victim but his own daughter, the precious gift that had given his life meaning. He blamed himself. He could have left the force a long time ago and none of this would have happened. He had job offers. He could have been an insurance investigator and made twice the salary he made now. But he turned down the offer. He would not forgive himself if he lost Beryl. “Completely,” he said.
“I’m texting you the address. I hope I see you soon.”
The screen went blank and the call ended.
***
Gordon Lund sat in his office watching several different television monitors covering the havoc that the carefully planted bee boxes had wrought on the city. He loved the phrase the crisis makes the man, and he knew that this crisis was going to make him. He had carefully planned it that way. His phone rang and his assistant announced she had the mayor on the phone.
“I am assembling a crisis task force and I want you there, Gordy,” the mayor insisted. Lund did not like it when anyone called him Gordy, much less the mayor.
“I will certainly rise to my civic duty, Zeke,” he replied. Since they were on a first name basis today, he addressed the mayor by his first name too.
“Have you been watching the footage? I don’t understand how this has happened. It’s really bad. The public is demanding swift action and I am going to give it to them.”
“As well you should.”
“I’m counting on you to give me the best options.”
“I think I have some answers for you.” He certainly did. He had been working on these answers long before this crisis had happened or, more cleverly, been executed.
“Get yourself down to City Hall right away.” The mayor hung up.
***
Kelso had a brainstorm. He took a look at his photos of the bee boxes on the tennis court. There were addresses on each of those boxes. Some of the addresses corresponded to the places already attacked by angry swarms of bees. Pershing Square was one of them. The Chinese Theatre on Hollywood Boulevard was another. It was obvious the boxes on the tennis court were the original set of weaponized bees intended for deployment. He had found their staging area, causing Lund and his beekeeper to destroy any evidence of their plan quickly.
But there had obviously been another staging area for more bees. It likely had bee boxes lined up with delivery addresses too. He took another look at his photos. Some of the addresses had not been mentioned on the news or elsewhere as bee swarm hot spots – at least not yet. One of them was the Santa Monica Third Street Promenade, a popular outdoor gathering place. Another was the Fairfax Farmer’s Market and Grove. He picked up the phone.
Chris, the entomologist from the black light party was glued to the TV, watching events as they unfolded.
“Kelso? What the hell is going on? This is crazy! Never seen anything like it!”
“It’s some kind of orchestrated attack. I think you can help us to stop it.”
“What can I do? “
“I’m going to text you some addresses. I want you to gather some of your best beekeepers and give each of them one. I think you will find bee-boxes planted there on timers, waiting to be released. You need to keep those hives secure, do you understand me? Disconnect the timers.”
“I’m on it.”
“There is no time to waste. Lives are at stake.” He hung up the phone.
Duke walked down the hallway towards the parking lot exit.
“Hey, Duke! What happened? Where are we going?” Kelso looked at him expectantly, hoping to get an update on Beryl’s abduction.
“I’m going to make the exchange.”
“You want me to drive?”
“You are not coming. I’m doing this alone.” Duke instructed. He threw Kelso the keys to Beryl’s Mustang. Then he walked out the back of the station towards an unmarked Gran Torino he had checked out of the motor pool.
Chapter Seventeen
Chris Helingdock convened an emergency meeting at the Life Sciences building on the UCLA campus. He was surrounded by several faces from the black light party, including Professor Crosby, Hector Sanchez and Laurel Deering, the one who had mixed the potent purple punch.
“You have all watched the news. You have seen the absolute panic injected into the citizens. We have a suspicion this is a massive fear campaign with an agenda,” Chris began.
“Who is we?” Hector asked as he puffed on a cigar.
“Me and Kelso Bagley from the US Fish and Wildlife Service.”
Laurel raised her hand. “I can vouch for Kelso. He is one-hundred percent legit. Knows how to rock a black-light party.”
“Yes, that’s him. He has been doing some investigation and he believes that the Africanized honeybees are purposefully being let loose in crowded locations where they will cause mass panic,” Professor Crosby chimed in.
A woman entered the room and the group turned their heads. She was dressed in designer overalls and Timberland boots with a bandana around her head. She had a chic Rosie the Riveter theme going. “Who are you?” Chris asked.
“I am Alora Maxwell, proprietor of Nature’s Path Cosmetics.”
“You know anything about bees?” Hector inquired.
“My business is based on bees. We market bee venom for aesthetic purposes.”
“I think maybe you’re in the wrong place? We are not going to be doing makeovers,” Chris said.
“I know that,” Alora replied. “I have been watching this absolute nightmare going on and listening to the haters on TV talk about killing all the bees. This has to stop or I will be out of business. So I called Officer Bagley, with whom I became acquainted last week. He suggested I join you to do something about the problem.”
Chris shrugged. “Kelso invited you? You’re good with me.”
“Who benefits from seeding the panic and fear?” asked Professor Crosby.
“I don’t have time to get into that now but we need your help. I have a list of addresses here and we need you to go to these addresses and search for any possible planted beehives.”
“Why us?” asked Hector.
“Because I know you’re up to it.”
“No, I mean why can’t he send a USFWS squad to do it?” Laurel inquired.
“Because there is none. The only squad is us.”
“I see,” said the Professor.
“I’m not really a beekeeper,” said Hector.
“You know more than the average citizen or fireman,” said Alora.
“If we don’t do this?” asked Laurel for the sake of debate.
“Then it’s likely that more bees are released and more people panic and demand that the city do some kind of mass pesticide application in the next day or so,” replied Chris.
“I don’t have to remind you that an application like that would cause mass mortality of many pollinator species,” Alora interjected.
“I’m in!” answered Hector.
“Me too,” said Laurel.
“Let’s do it,” said the Professor.
The rest of the gathered group echoed their sentiments.
Chris held up a list of locations that had been culled from the photos on Kelso’s phone. “You each get a location. You go there and see if you can find any bee boxes planted at the location. If you do find one, you disengage any sort of timer that will release the bees and then you bring them back here. Understood?”
The group erupted in the affirmative.
