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attack?”
    “But what if her finding nothing fails to make her back off?”
    “Then our client will arrange that she disappears.”
    Three Weeks Later
    Sullivan recognized most of the reporters sitting around the long conference table from their visit to Agrenomics together. The woman representing
Environment Watch
, who’d challenged her on the lack of research findings relating directly to humans, rose to her feet. “So what were your test results, Dr. Sullivan?” she demanded.
    “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to my laboratory,” Sullivan replied, pointedly ignoring the question. “Before we get down to business let me introduce the newest member of our team, Azrhan Doumani, our chief resident, who is with us on scholarship from the University of Kuwait and doing his graduate thesis on the effects of naked DNA. I figured that since he did the testing you want to discuss, he should be here.”
    The young man sitting beside her at the head of the table smiled nervously and nodded, his dark features in brilliant contrast to his lab coat.
    “And to his right is a special guest I invited to join us today whom some of you may already know, CEO of the Blue Planet Society, environmentalist Steve Patton, a longtime friend and colleague.”
    A distinguished-looking gray-haired man in a dark suit seated beside Doumani rose to his feet. His lean physique and tanned features lent him the healthy aura of an outdoorsman at odds with the sallow complexions and doughy body shapes that predominated among those reporting the nature beat. “Glad to be here,” he acknowledged, grinning broadly.
    “And I won’t be puttin’ up with any rudeness to these two gentlemen from you lot,” Sullivan added, punctuating her lilting admonishment with a pointed finger and the flash of her own well-known smile.
    Everyone laughed except the grim spokesperson for
Environment Watch
. “Really, Dr. Sullivan,” she began, raising her voice over the chuckling of her colleagues, “we didn’t come here to hear you act cute—”
    “
You
requested this interview, not me!” retorted Sullivan, her eyes all at once shooting flares of emerald fire at the woman. “Any point in my asking who tipped you off about my extracurricular activity at Agrenomics?”
    Silence.
    “Ah, yes, never reveal a source. Well, as long as you’re here, we might as well talk.”
    “So you admit you surreptitiously took samples from the grounds of the laboratory?” inquired a man seated opposite her.
    “Of course.”
    Her reply set off a flurry of questions.
    “Why?”
    “What did you take?”
    “How did you test them?”
    She surveyed their expectant faces for a few seconds and then replied, “I’ll begin by reminding you what I explained three weeks ago back at Agrenomics—that genetic engineers create vectors of naked DNA to jump genes from one species to another, and how afraid I am that these agents, once they are released into the environment, will infect other organisms, including humans. I figured one way of demonstrating their infectiousness would be to demonstrate traces of them in the plant life growing near the outlet vents at a facility using genetic vectors.”
    More questions erupted.
    “What did you find?”
    “You’ve confirmed your suspicions?”
    “Are we in danger?”
    “First let me outline what I did,” she shouted above the noise, “and then I’ll conclude with my results.” She immediately held up a green binder with a handwritten title in black ink which read,
DNA Fingerprinting for
Veggies
.
    Everyone at the table burst into laughter, including the austere woman from
Environment Watch
.
    “Some wag in our lab did the label, but it’s not far off,” Sullivan continued when the room grew quiet again. “What forensic scientists can do to bloodstained gloves in L.A., we can do to pine needles, roots from Kentucky bluegrass, and bits of soil. Except I’m looking for man-made strands of naked DNA vectors that