The Green Trap by Ben Bova

them.
    â€œMs. Sandoval, Dr. Cochrane,” he said in a deep, rumbling voice.
    â€œKensington,” Sandoval whispered.

Brain-Destroying Algae
    Blue-green algae (also known as cyanobacteria) are probably the most widespread and ancient life-forms on earth. They can produce a toxin called BMAA, which is biochemists’ shorthand for b-N-methylamino-L-alanine. BMAA is linked with nerve-wasting diseases such as Alzheimer’s and an illness similar to Lou Gehrig’s and Parkinson’s diseases.
    Ninety percent of the more than forty cyanobacteria species studied by an international team of microbiologists produce BMAA. The researchers believe that under the proper conditions all cyanobacteria might produce the nerve toxin. The neurotoxin has been found in blooms of cyanobacteria in the Baltic Sea and in ocean waters, which means that the microbes could be releasing deadly quantities of BMAA.
    Water pollution and rising global temperatures trigger such algal blooms (such as red tide) that can cover thousands of square kilometers. Scientists believe the health consequences for aquatic life such as fish and sea mammals, as well as humans, could be significant.
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S CIENCE M ONTHLY

ORACLE,  ARIZONA:
BIOSPHERE  2
    M r. Gould wants to see you,” Kensington said to Sandoval. Turning his slate-gray eyes to Cochrane, he added, “You come along, too.”
    â€œAnd what if we don’t want to see Mr. Gould,” Cochrane said, “whoever the hell he is?”
    â€œThat doesn’t matter.”
    â€œDoesn’t it?”
    Neither Cochrane nor Sandoval had stepped out of the elevator cab. She seemed frozen, like a small animal caught in the glare of a speeding car’s headlights.
    â€œLook, Doc, I don’t want to play games.”
    Kensington was a couple of inches taller than Cochrane, and he appeared to be solidly built. His face was hard, humorless, a stubble of beard darkening his heavy jaw. His hair was thick, jet-black, combed straight back off his broad forehead. He probably has a gun, Cochrane thought.
    â€œDo what he says, Paul,” whispered Sandoval. But she made no move to leave the elevator cab, as if she could not willingly take a step toward this dark, menacing man.
    On an impulse, Cochrane tried to punch the “close door” button, but Kensington’s reflexes were faster. He grabbed Cochrane’s wrist in an iron grip that shot a hot streak of pain all the way up his arm.
    â€œNo games, Doc,” Kensington said, his lips pulled apart in a grim rictus that might have been a smile.
    â€œMitsuo Arashi knows we’re here,” Sandoval said. “We were on our way to see him. If we don’t show up—”
    â€œArashi’s not going to worry about it,” Kensington said. “He’s past all his worries now.”
    â€œHe’s dead?”
    â€œVery.”
    Cochrane stood there, seeing the terror in Sandoval’s eyes as he tried to rub the pain out of his arm.
    â€œLet’s go,” Kensington said. “And remember: no games.”
    Cochrane followed Sandoval and Kensington to a blocky black Lexus SUV that was parked in a space marked DELIVERIES ONLY. He pulled the sliding rear door open and Sandoval climbed in. Cochrane followed and sat beside her. Kensington slid the door shut, then walked calmly around the truck and climbed into the driver’s seat.
    â€œFasten your seat belts,” he said, looking up into the rearview mirror. “Lotta crazy drivers out there.”
    They rode in silence up Campbell Avenue, then across to Highway 77 and northward.
    â€œWhere are you taking us?” Sandoval asked.
    â€œYou’ll see.”
    â€œWhat happened to Mitsuo?”
    â€œHe thought he was a kung fu master. I had to teach him otherwise. Guess the lesson went too far.”
    â€œWho’s this Mr. Gould?” Cochrane asked.
    â€œYou’ll see,” Kensington repeated.
    They headed