Hatched

Chapter Ten

June 29th, 2021

2130 hours

Robyn gripped her steering wheel in agitation, furious for how the scene had played out back at the lab. She had been unable to keep the high ground, and, after all attempts to thwart the inevitable, the dolphin had been loaded up in a high-security transport vehicle to an equally guarded facility. Likewise, all her notes and evidence had been confiscated, much to her protest.

That agent was insufferable: she loathed him with her entire being. She was far beyond infuriated. Quinn had assured her access to the remains, not to mention her participation in the necropsy and pending assessment. But then, he was FBI, and as such, allowed to do whatever the hell he pleased.

So, after promising, though not in so many words, that Robyn would be allowed to oversee the proceedings, he'd unceremoniously commandeered the dolphin and shipped it off quickly. Robyn, shocked and speechless, had stood stiffly in the room as suited hazmat agents pillaged her belongings. Books, pictures, x-rays and scans, samples: they were all shepherded into large, secure containers and taken. Right before her eyes, her research gave her the middle finger and exited the premises. Disbelief had rooted her to the spot, all the while Quinn leaning against her desk, a small, victorious smile on his full lips. After moments, only her unused medical instruments remained, plus a few scraps of inconsequential paper.

At this point, though she would only recall the event through George's recount, Robyn had calmly strolled over to Quinn and decked him. Embarrassed as she was, it hadn't been her finest hour, neither had it phased Quinn. That really pissed her off. Robyn never heard such obscenities come from her own mouth before, and was quite unaware where she'd come up with them all, but she'd given Quinn such a berating that the queue of scientists had reemerged from the lounge and gawked in disbelief.

She was vaguely aware that some were jotting down fevered notes, no doubt giving her terrible reviews for unprofessionalism, but she didn't care. Something about that extremely dashing, self-made, infuriating excuse of a gentleman really pissed her off, and she intended to make it well-known how unwelcome he was.

Which had embarrassed her more, since yelling at him seemed to have no effect. He'd stood there, arms crossed and still leaning casually, though now on a pillar, little more than demure placidity masked on his face. When she finished her cursing rant about government stooges, who blindly followed a baseless power that was more showmanship than justice, he had simply laughed.

Finally, Robyn left willingly, unable to bear his presence any longer, dragging George along with her to one of the records rooms in the attic. Then, understandably, she'd spouted a tirade about how unethical the whole ordeal had been. Poor George endured this for a good hour while she blew off steam. He'd had the foresight to order a food delivery, which she graciously accepted, once she noticed how irate her stomach was. They'd tucked in to the best Asian food Robyn thought she'd ever had, while carrying on a discussion about insufferable government officials. Hours passed as they stuffed themselves with chow mien and egg rolls, having been rendered famished by the day's events.

By that point, the team Quinn had called in to seize the contents of the lab were gone, but not before she made a mental note in what direction they left. It wasn't in her nature to just roll over and take such presumptuousness; she would go down swinging. Robyn knew they couldn't go far, and began immediately preparing a list of buildings on the island she imagined could house a secret government facility. The list narrowed down to a couple options when she weighed in the equipment required for a proper necropsy. Given the time provided, it was unlikely the FBI had time to ship in their own machines, so they would need a facility that was already equipped.