"Looks like we get some action today, Sweetie," Urland said, hacking tobacco juice into an empty beer can. "I’m takin’ my gun."
"What do I wear for stealing a truck in Minnesota?" Brenda was serious. "Are jeans okay?"
"Come on Brenda," Urland said. "You’ll look great whatever you wear. Where’d you put my ammo belt?"
Judas Priest! John thought. Of all the anarchists in the damn country, he had ended up with Snuffy Smith and Daisy Mae Yokum. He hoped they could at least steal the damn truck.
As Brenda and Urland prepped for their mission, John and Farris walked to the concrete building. Farris would survey the lab.
The facilities here were better than Farris had feared. The building interior had been thoroughly power-washed and smelled of industrial cleaner. The ventilation system seemed adequate. Lab tables, beakers, flasks, and miscellaneous lab supplies were present in abundance. The fluorescent ceiling lights provided ample illumination and multiple electrical outlets were powered by a diesel generator Farris heard rattling behind the barn.
One wall held multiple gas hookups that connected to bulk sources outside the concrete structure. Farris thought segregating the gas supply lines from the lab proper was a wise design decision. There would be much less danger of an inadvertent explosion.
Some of the gas fittings were labeled. Oxygen. Propane. Acetylene. A few spare connections were available in case other gases were required.
"I will need a dozen cylinders of argon gas hooked into the wall," Farris said. It was more an order than a request.
Little shit thinks he’s in charge.
"Twelve tanks. I may have to be creative getting that much argon without attracting attention," John said. "But I’ll get it. When do you need it by?"
"The argon is for the last step in the process. It will be at least a few weeks, maybe longer, before we get to that point."
John took Farris outside and pointed him toward the adjacent facilities, then left Farris to explore on his own. The Umbers probably needed further instruction.
John didn’t like Farris. And Farris merely tolerated John. Each considered the other a necessary evil.
Farris began to explore. Leaving the lab and walking to the side farthest from the house, Farris could see the full extent of the new construction. He noted that the oxygen and acetylene gas lines were connected to a smallish metal shed nearly abutting the lab on one side.
Farris unlatched the metal door. Inside the shed were multiple canisters of each gas. The argon would fit here, too.
Alongside the shed was a steel-framed, tin-roofed lean-to which sheltered four, large cast iron cooking grates with sizeable gas burners beneath each. Two five-hundred-gallon pressurized gas tanks located a short distance up the hill behind the lab provided propane to these grill burners, and also to the propane wall fixture in the lab.
Hand-adjustable flow regulators — much like the knobs on a backyard gas grill — controlled the propane flow to the grills. On each of the four burners sat an empty, four-gallon, stainless steel, covered cooking pot.
Farris continued his assessment of the premises. Another, much larger lean-to lay perpendicular to the first and opened toward him. This empty structure had a concrete slab bottom and was nearly forty feet in length. Substantial steel poles supported the roof in three locations along the front.
Having surveyed the surrounding facilities, Farris returned to the lab and set about compiling a list of additional chemicals and equipment he would need. Reagents. Buffers. Acids. Bases. Solvents. And some further specific lab tools and instruments.
By now, John had returned from the house. Farris was sitting at a lab table, pen in hand.
"The facilities will suffice," Farris said to John. "With the items on this list, and an extreme quantity of potash, I can begin."
He tore multiple sheets off the yellow pad and handed John the list.
John looked doubtfully at the handful of papers. "Sure this is all?"
Farris just stared at him.
John considered slapping the insolent kid — then thought better of it. "I can get most of this stuff for you within the next few days. Will you be able to stay busy setting up ‘til then."
"I will need to do a good bit of preparation and testing before I can actually begin production. I must know that all the equipment and connections will work flawlessly before I start doing anything dangerous."
"Good. I’ll be checking in every day to see if you need anything more. In the meantime, good luck with the inbred comedy act!"
John slipped out the metal door, closing it behind him.
Infidel!
Snot!
Alone in the lab, Farris felt a surge of energy and purpose that he had not felt since the incident with the professor. He knew Allah’s will was upon him.
Now… where to start?
CHAPTER 11
I had gotten quite the education from Chuck at the Lab. I now knew considerably more about farming and fertilizer than I would have cared to. But the potassium apparatus and its abilities interested me. Exactly how much potassium production was it capable of? And where was it now?
Maybe Gunner would have some answers.
By this time, law enforcement would have completed some of the background investigating — questioning the family members of the deceased, interviewing Ag Lab Facility employees, searching for the decedent’s car — all of the time consuming, and usually boring, services that police perform so well.
The Episcopal Church carillon in downtown Red Wing rang out the hour as I entered the front door of the Law Enforcement Center. Eight o’clock. Time for donuts. I had a large box of Red Wing’s finest pastries in hand.
Approaching the uniformed secretary at the front desk, I asked to see Doug Gunderson. "Please inform the Chief Deputy that I come bearing gifts."
I smiled.
The secretary gave me a sideways look; but she put my request through to Gunner. "He’ll be down in a bit. If you’d like a seat…." She gestured at the uncomfortable looking plastic chairs lining the wall across the lobby.
I had seen alleged criminals sitting in those chairs on many occasions. I had always assumed the rigid plastic was part of the interrogation process. No water boarding. Plastic chairs only.
"Do you need to cuff me before I sit there? Because I can’t part with this box until I am assured it will get to the Chief Deputy."
She threw me a fake smile and turned back to her computer.
I remained standing.
After a couple minutes, Gunner appeared in the doorway to the inner offices. He first confirmed that I, indeed, held bakery products, which I lifted in his direction. Then, leaning against the open door, he waved me inside.
I led the way down the hall to Gunner’s office, entered, and ceremoniously placed the donut box in the center of his cluttered desk. Paperwork could wait for a few minutes when donuts were within reach.
Gunner poured himself a styrofoam cup from the Mr. Coffee in the corner. He gestured with his thumb that I was welcome to help myself to one also — which I did.
"So to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit," Gunner asked, as he expertly opened the donut box, folding the white cardboard top carefully under the bottom, exposing the entire selection. He chose a cream cheese danish. I took a cake donut.
"I was wondering if you have anything new on the floater murder? The Red Wing Daily says you have a ‘person of interest’ in the case."
Gunner had his mouth full of cheese danish.
I waited patiently for mastication to conclude.
Gunner choked down the danish and cleared his throat with a swallow of coffee. "Never a free lunch… or donut, apparently." There was another throat clearing ‘ahem.’ "Tell me. Why should I tell you about an ongoing investigation?"