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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Audrik" data-source="post: 7335352" data-attributes="member: 73653">The Bedford Project - Session 2dBefore concluding the examination of the scene, Porter wanted to be sure they weren’t missing anything. He booted up the VR headset and released one of the quadcopter drones he’d bought with money a hurricane victim would never see. The bird’s eye view revealed rolling hills, farmland, and the occasional tree. A little further down the road, the drone spotted a dense grouping of trees which stood out. Porter directed the drone that way, and he was rewarded. From above, it was easy to see the six-wheel tanker truck parked between the trees, but it would have been well-hidden from the road. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to camouflage it from the side.He flew the drone closer, and he noticed a familiar logo on the tank: A praying mantis about to be shot execution-style by a man in a suit. It was the same logo on the hat of the man in the jail cell. The name on the tank said “Brewster Pesticide, a Brewster Holdings Company.” This Operation just kept getting better and better. Porter brought the drone back and packed it in the trunk of the rental car.The two agents walked down to the truck and inspected it. The cab was unlocked, and the 500-gallon tank was locked tight. Dempsey checked the passenger’s side, but the glove box was locked, and so was the center console. No keys above the visor either.Porter checked the driver’s side. No manifest in the door like most truckers would have, but he found it under the seat. He scanned it for relevant information, and other than the driver’s name – Peter Travis – one thing jumped out. One really big, really bad thing. According to the manifest, the truck was hauling pesticide. The language used would be meaningless to most people, but Porter had had a long career in the spy and anti-terror game. He knew a thing or two about chemicals. What this manifest said to him was that the truck wasn’t just carrying pesticide; it was carrying pesticide enhanced with teratogenic toxins, deadly PCBs, and other hazardous waste.Dempsey followed all that. It meant this was no pesticide truck. It was a 500-gallon chemical weapon. But who would want it, and why? Porter nodded. Those were good questions. As for who … the driver, Peter Travis, was in lockup, and Sheriff Taylor was holding him for some reason. It was a good bet those two might have a few ideas. Either way, this truck was dangerous, and it needed to be immobilized. Dempsey drew his hunting knife and slashed the three tires on his side before tossing it over the truck lawn dart-style with a “heads up!”Porter looked up just in time to dodge the blade. He grumbled, but the truck was still the most dangerous thing in the area. He slashed the tires on the driver’s side and handed the knife back to the Irishman as they headed back to the car. It was starting to get dark, and they didn’t want to be near Bedford after sundown. They hoped Atwood was okay on his own, but neither agent was willing to go looking for him or to give him a call. Not in this town. Back to the safe house.Ms. Cherry had still not returned Atwood’s call, and it was dark enough out by now. The profiler put on his jacket and headed down to his car. He wanted to get the hell out of this town, but that might blow his cover. Even still, he was getting hungry, and … He jumped. Three or four bees landed on his right shoulder or buzzed around it. He swatted them away, but they came back. Not on his left. Not above his head or near his feet. Just his right shoulder. He hurried to the car but stopped short.There were at least a couple dozen more bees on and around the fender the girl had touched. She’d touched the right side of his neck at the diner, too. Had she sprayed something on him and on his car? Something to attract bees? Or … she couldn’t be working for the guy from DARPA. Right? One of the projects the agency was working on was remote-controlled insects.He took off his jacket and scooped a few bees from the car. He hurried back inside his room, smashed them, and then opened his jacket. It wasn’t a pretty sight. He wasn’t a biologist or entomologist, but if someone wanted to control an insect remotely, they would need to attach something, right? Like a bee-sized headset? Or maybe turn them into cyborg bees? Then again, maybe this town was just getting to him. Cyborg bees? Really?All the same, he wanted to be sure. Atwood took a magnet from the refrigerator and touched it to the smashed bees. Little bits of bee did stick to the magnet, but it wasn’t because they were magnetic. Okay, good. Atwood breathed a sigh of relief. That probably meant his cheerleader stalker sicced bees on him on her own. Time for a shower and more waiting. Why the hell didn’t the other two respond to his calls and texts?</blockquote>

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