I could practically feel his disapproval radiating through the phone. But Slash was nothing if not respectful of our choices…even when he disliked them.
“Fine,” he said at last. “But only because Hands has an idea.”
“Oh?” I asked. “We’re all ears.”
“He has a colleague who has a beach house in Atlantic City. It’s empty for the season, but secure. There’s electricity, water, and a keypad lock. I’m texting you the address and the code. You can stay there tonight, and after you return the dog, we can resume this discussion. Deal?”
I looked around the car, and everyone shrugged, so I replied, “Deal.” Just then my phone dinged with the text. I read the address aloud while Gray plugged it into the GPS.
“What did you find on the lab?” I asked.
Slash exhaled. “Enough to not like any of it. I had to use nonpublic sources to get most of the information. It’s not classified, but it remains sensitive. Officially, Tango Bio Research Solutions started at the height of the Cold War as a DoD-sanctioned animal research lab. Originally, the lab evaluated the effect of various chemical and biological weapons on pigs and primates to project the results to humans. They also ran a chemical weapons testing lab in Utah and had the biological research facility in New Jersey.”
“Gross. They purposefully exposed animals to chemicals and biological weapons?” Gwen interrupted him.
“They did,” Slash replied. “Anyway, when the government terminated those testing programs in the early ’70s, Tango transitioned to other federal contracts, developing drugs to help soldiers recover from nerve gas exposure. They spent a lot of money but were never very successful. But underneath that, they continued to have a separate company and program for the CIA where they tried making animals into spies. The operation was called—and I’m sorry to have to say it, because it’s bad—For the Birds.”
“You’re kidding, right?” I asked.
“I wish. Anyway, this questionable CIA research project, with an ever more questionable operation name, went on for decades.”
“Wait,” Basia interrupted. “You’re telling me the CIA was training animals to be spies?”
“Birds, cats, dogs, pigeons, fish, insects, and some robotic prototypes,” Slash replied. “Most of the projects failed, and the CIA shut the whole thing down in the late ’70s.”
“But Tango Bio survived?” I asked.
“Sort of. The CIA operation was located in the Arizona desert. The government stripped out everything and sold the facility. But apparently, in the mid-1990s, some researchers who were doing the original work for the CIA bought the facility and resurrected the research there under the name Vision Zone Technology. Again, their research efforts never amounted to much, and in 2006, the state and federal governments shut down a subsection of Vision Zone for illegal and unethical animal testing. An employee outed them by leaking their activities to a young investigative reporter whose story broke their operation wide-open.”
“Let me guess,” Gray said. “The part where they were still trying to make animals into good spies.”
“Yes, that was part of it,” Slash confirmed. “They were apparently testing extreme behavior modification techniques as well as electronic implants. Anyway, about ten years ago, Tango Bio Research Solutions, which was still hanging around, bought back what was left of Vision Zone Technology. Though they aren’t a government contractor anymore, Tango allegedly does mostly cutting-edge medical technology research and development. So, they folded Vison Zone’s biomedical mission, assets, and personnel into their own at their facility in New Jersey.”
I sighed. “I see where you’re going with this, Slash. Long story short, you think Ginger might be a Cold War sequel.”
“Maybe. Just keep her close for now,” he said. “And stay quiet. We’ll stand by for any additional information requests. Just text us when you get to the house and are safely inside. And if anything starts to go down, call the police. If we need to, we can get at the lab in other ways, you know that. So, promise me you’ll be smart about this.”
“I’m always smart about these things,” I said.
He paused for a moment. “Are you still having fun?”
I looked down at Ginger, who had somehow managed to wedge her head onto my lap and was gazing up at me like I personally controlled the supply chain for treats. I absently scratched behind her ears.
“Sure,” I said. “I’m sitting in the back seat of Gray’s car with a stray who thinks I’m her emotional support human, heading to a beach house without my bathing suit in November. I’m having so much fun.”
“That sounded dangerously close to sarcasm.”
“Close. But, before you ask, the bet is still on, and the girls are in on it.”
That got his attention. “Ah, I see. So, the girls are playing now?”
“Very much so,” I said. “How’s the guys’ weekend going? Are you actually winning any real money or are you relying on your suave Italian charm and good looks again?”
He chuckled. “Ouch. That hurt. If you must know, cara, I’m doing fine. Being wildly lucky, fortunately.”
From somewhere in the background, my brother Rock’s voice floated through the line. “He hasn’t lost a hand all night, and he keeps reminding us of it like a public service announcement.”
“That’s only because I haven’t had any bad hands yet,” Slash protested, but I could hear the humor in his voice.
