Free Fire - C. J. Box [76]
Joe had learned earlier not to wander away from the path establishedby Cutler for fear of breaking through and falling in, so he stuck close to him, as did Demming. He watched as the geologistwent downhill from the spring itself along one of the troughs of runoff that came from the hot springs, where he pushed aside some ancient pitch wood stumps and revealed a thermister and a half-submerged wood-sided box of some kind in the water. He called Joe and Demming over, and they squatted near him.
With a small laptop computer, Cutler plugged into the thermisterand downloaded the last two weeks of temperature readings.Joe noticed both the instrument and the wooden box were covered with what looked like long pink hair that wafted in the soft current of the warm water.
"I call this ‘million-dollar slime,’” Cutler said, pointing at the pink microbe growth. “This is the stuff used for genetic typingI told you about. I don’t know how it works, of course, but the company that harvests it can’t replicate it in a lab. They need to get it right here at Sunburst, and as far as they know, this is the only place on earth it can be found.”
“Kind of pretty, but not very impressive,” Demming said.
Cutler agreed. He told Joe that the bioengineering firm sent a truck into the park every month or so with a heated incubator in the back to harvest the microbes that had grown inside the box. The thermophiles were transported to Jackson or Bozeman and flown to the company laboratory in Europe.
“Okay,” Cutler said, once again arranging the driftwood over the equipment so it couldn’t be seen from the trail, “we’re done here.”
As they trudged back toward the pickup, Joe’s mind raced with new possibilities. Demming eyed him suspiciously.
Joe said to Cutler, “You said Hoening and the others sometimescame along with you when you did your work. Did they ever come here?”
“Sure, a couple of times.”
“Did they know about the million-dollar slime?”
“Definitely. It’s no secret. The contracts are public record, even though more than a few people have a problem with the idea.”
“Like me,” Demming said.
“Rick Hoening did too,” Cutler said. “Me, I keep my mouth shut and my head down. I don’t want anyone mad at me enough to take away the opportunity to spend my time out here, doing the good work.”
Joe could tell Cutler said it for Demming’s benefit.
“What’s the issue, anyway?” he asked.
“Think about it, Joe,” Demming said. “It’s illegal to take a twig out of the park. We don’t allow oil or energy companies in here to drill, or lumber companies to come in and cut down the trees. This is a national park! But for some reason, we allow bioengineering firms to come in here and take the microbes. We’re talking about thermophiles that have made millions and millions of dollars for the companies that use them. And who knows what other uses are being made of the species here? It’s a damned crime. Hypocrisy too.”
“Hoening got worked up for the same reason,” Cutler said. “He talked to me about it several times. He thought it was outrageousthat a big company could come in here and take resourcesfrom the public and profit from it. He was kind of a Commie at times, I thought.”
Joe hadn’t thought of it that way. “Who lets them?” he asked.
Demming and Cutler exchanged a look. “The Park Service,” Demming said. “They negotiate contracts with them, two or three years’ exclusive use of the microbes obtained from certain hot springs. The companies pay a few hundred thousand dollars for the rights.”
“Does the Park Service or the government get a royalty on what’s found?”
“Of course not,” Demming said.
“Then why do they do it?”
She shrugged. “They just do. The NPS will do anything for cash since we’re so underfunded. Or so we say.”
“Who has the contract for Sunburst, then?”
She shrugged, looked at Cutler. “I can’t remember the name,” he said. “But it’s foreign, I know that.”
Joe stopped abruptly.
“What?” Demming asked.
“This might turn out to be something,” Joe said. “If Hoening was