Whistleblower and Never Say Die (43 page)

“You’re not thinking straight.”

“I am. I’m thinking I want to stay alive.”

“And that’s exactly why I have to do this.” He took her face in his hands, trapping it so she could look nowhere but at him. No longer was he the lover, the friend—his voice now held the cold, steady note of authority and she hated the sound of it. “I’m trying to keep you alive,” he said. “With a future ahead of you. And the only way I can do that is to blow this thing wide open so the world knows about it. I owe it to you. And I owe it to Jerry.”

She wanted to argue with him, to plead with him to go with her, but she knew it was useless. What he said was true. Running would only be a temporary solution, one that would give them a few sweet months of safety, but a temporary one just the same.

“I’m sorry, Cathy,” he said softly. “I can’t think of any other way—”

“—But to get rid of me,” she finished for him.

He released her. She stepped back, and the sudden gulf between them left her aching. She couldn’t bear to look at him, knowing that the pain she felt wouldn’t be reflected in his eyes. “So how does it work?” she said dully. “Do I leave tonight? Will it be plane, train or automobile?”

“Ollie will drive you to the airport. I’ve asked him to buy you the ticket under his name—Mrs. Wozniak. He’ll have
to be the one to see you off. We thought it’d be safer if I didn’t come along to the airport.”

“Of course.”

“That’ll get you to Mexico. Ollie’ll give you enough cash to keep you going for a while. Enough to get you anywhere you want to go from there. Baja. Acapulco. Or just hang around with Jack if you think that’s best.”

“Jack.” She turned away, unwilling to show her tears. “Right.”

“Cathy.” She felt his hand on her shoulder, as though he wanted to turn her toward him, to pull her back one last time into his arms. She refused to move.

Footsteps approached. They both glanced around to see Ollie, standing a few feet away. “Ready to go?” he asked.

There was a long silence. Then Victor nodded. “She’s ready.”

“Uh, look,” Ollie mumbled, suddenly aware that he’d stepped in at a bad time. “My car’s over by the boathouse. If you want, I can, uh, wait for you there….”

Cathy furiously dashed away her tears. “No,” she said with sudden determination. “I’m coming.”

Victor stood watching her, his gaze veiled by some cool, impenetrable mist.

“Goodbye, Victor,” she said.

He didn’t answer. He just kept looking at her through that terrible mist.

“If I—if I don’t see you again…” She stopped, struggling to be just as brave, just as invulnerable. “Take care of yourself,” she finished. Then she turned and followed Ollie down the path.

Through the car window, she glimpsed Victor, still standing on the lake path, his hands jammed in his pockets, his shoulders hunched against the wind. He didn’t wave goodbye; he merely watched them drive away.

It was an image she’d carry with her forever, that last, fading view of the man she loved. The man who’d sent her away.

As Ollie turned the car onto the road, she sat stiff and silent, her fists balled in her lap, the pain in her throat so terrible she could scarcely breathe. Now he was behind them. She couldn’t see him, but she knew he was still standing there, as unmoving as the oaks that surrounded him.
I love you,
she thought.
And I will never see you again.

She turned to look out. He was a distant figure now, almost lost among the trees. In a gesture of farewell, she reached up and gently touched the window.

The glass was cold.

“I have to stop off at the lab,” said Ollie, turning into the hospital parking lot. “I just remembered I left the checkbook in my desk. Can’t get you a plane ticket without it.”

Cathy nodded dully. She was still in a state of shock, still trying to accept the fact that she was now on her own. That Victor had sent her away.

Ollie pulled into a stall marked Reserved, Wozniak. “This’ll only take a sec.”

“Shall I come in with you?”

“You’d better wait in the car. I work with a very nosy bunch. They see me with a woman and they want to know everything. Not that there’s ever anything to know.” He climbed out and shut the door. “Be right back.”

Cathy watched him stride away and vanish into a side entrance. She had to smile at the thought of Ollie Wozniak squiring around a woman—any woman. Unless it was someone with a Ph.D. who could sit through his scientific monologues.

A minute passed.

Outside, a bird screeched. Cathy glanced out at the trees lining the hospital driveway and spotted the jay, perched among the lower branches. Nothing else moved, not even the leaves.

She leaned back and closed her eyes.

Too little sleep, too much running, had taken its toll. Exhaustion settled over her, so profound she thought she would never again be able to move her limbs.
A beach,
she thought.
Warm sand. Waves washing at my feet…

The jay’s cry cut off in mid-screech. Only vaguely did Cathy register the sudden silence. Then, even through her half sleep, she sensed the shadowing of the window, like a cloud passing before the sun.

She opened her eyes. A face was staring at her through the glass.

Panic sent her lunging for the lock button. Before she could jam it down, the door was wrenched open. A badge was thrust up to her face.

“FBI!” the man barked. “Out of the car, please.”

Slowly Cathy emerged, to stand weak-kneed against the door.
Ollie,
she thought, her gaze darting toward the hospital entrance.
Where are you?
If he appeared, she had to be ready to bolt, to flee across the parking lot and into the woods. She doubted the man with the badge would be able to keep up; his stubby legs and thick waist didn’t go along with a star athlete.

But he must have a gun. If I bolt, would he shoot me in the back?

“Don’t even think about it, Miss Weaver,” the man said. He took her arm and gave her a nudge toward the hospital entrance. “Go on. Inside.”

“But—”

“Dr. Wozniak’s waiting for us in the lab.”

Waiting
didn’t exactly describe Ollie’s predicament. Bound and trussed would have been a better description. She found Ollie bent over double in his office, handcuffed to the foot of his desk, while three of his lab colleagues stood by gaping in amazement.

“Back to work, folks,” said the agent as he herded the onlookers out of the office. “Just a routine matter.” He shut the door and locked it. Then he turned to Cathy and Ollie. “I have to find Victor Holland,” he said. “And I have to find him fast.”

“Man,” Ollie muttered into his chest. “This guy sounds like a broken record.”

“Who are you?” demanded Cathy.

“The name’s Sam Polowski. I work out of the San Francisco office.” He pulled out his badge and slapped it on the desk. “Take a closer look if you want. It’s official.”

“Uh, excuse me?” called Ollie. “Could I maybe, possibly, get into a more comfortable position?”

Polowski ignored him. His attention was focused on Cathy. “I don’t think I need to spell it out for you, Miss Weaver. Holland’s in trouble.”

“And you’re one of his biggest problems,” she retorted.

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Polowski moved closer, his gaze unflinching, his voice absolutely steady. “I’m one of his hopes. Maybe his only hope.”

“You’re trying to kill him.”

“Not me. Someone else, someone who’s going to succeed. Unless I can stop it.”

She shook her head. “I’m not stupid! I know about you. What you’ve been trying to—”

“Not me. The other guy.” He reached for the telephone on the desk. “Here,” he said, holding the receiver out to her. “Call Milo Lum. Ask him what happened at his house this morning. Maybe he’ll convince you I’m on your side.”

Cathy stared at the man, wondering what sort of game he was playing. Wondering why she was falling for it.
Because I want so much to believe him.

“He’s alone out there,” said Polowski. “One man trying to buck the U.S. government. He’s new to the game. Sooner or later he’s going to slip, do something stupid. And that’ll be it.” He dialed the phone for her and again held out the receiver. “Go on. Talk to Lum.”

She heard the phone ring three times, followed by Milo’s answer “Hello? Hello?”

Slowly she took the receiver. “Milo?”

“Is that you? Cathy? God, I was hoping you’d call—”

“Listen, Milo. I need to ask you something. It’s about a man named Polowski.”

“I’ve met him.”

“You
have?”
She looked up and saw Polowski nodding.

“Lucky for me,” said Milo. “The guy’s got the charm of an old shoe but he saved my life. I don’t know what Gersh was talking about. Is Gersh around? I have to—”

“Thanks, Milo,” she murmured. “Thanks a lot.” She hung up.

Polowski was still looking at her.

“Okay,” she said. “I want your side of it. From the beginning.”

“You gonna help me out?”

“I haven’t decided.” She crossed her arms. “Convince me.”

Polowski nodded. “That’s just what I plan to do.”

F
or Victor it was a long and miserable afternoon. After leaving the lake, he wandered around the campus for a while, ending up at last in the main quad. There in the courtyard, standing among the buildings of sandstone and red tile, Victor struggled to keep his mind on the business at hand: exposing Viratek. But his thoughts kept shifting back to Cathy, to that look she’d given him, full of hurt abandonment.

As if I’d betrayed her.

If she could just see the good sense in his actions. He was a scientist, a man whose life and work was ruled by logic. Sending her away was the logical thing to do. The authorities were closing in, the noose was growing ever tighter. He could accept the danger to himself. After all, he’d chosen to take on Jerry’s battle, to see this through to the end.

What he hadn’t chosen was to put Cathy in danger.
Now she’s out of the mess and on her way to a safe place. One less thing to worry about. Time to put her out of my mind.

As if I could.

He stared up at one of the courtyard’s Romanesque arches and reminded himself, once again, of the wisdom of his actions.
Still, the uneasiness remained. Where was she? Was she safe? She’d been gone only an hour and he missed her already.

He gave a shrug, as though by that gesture he could somehow cast off the fears. Still they remained, constant and gnawing. He found a place under the eaves and huddled on the steps to wait for Ollie’s return.

At dusk he was still waiting. By the last feeble light of day, he paced the stone courtyard. He counted and recounted the number of hours it should’ve taken Ollie to drive to San José Airport and return. He added in traffic time, red lights, ticket-counter delays. Surely three hours was enough. Cathy had to be on a plane by now, jetting for warmer climes.

Where was Ollie?

At the sound of the first footstep, he spun around. For a moment he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, couldn’t understand how she could be standing there, silhouetted beneath the sandstone archway. “Cathy?” he said in amazement.

She stepped out, into the courtyard. “Victor,” she said softly. She started toward him, slowly at first, and then, in a jubilant burst of flight, ran toward his waiting arms. He swept her up, swung her around, kissed her hair, her face. He didn’t understand why she was here but he rejoiced that she was.

“I don’t know if I’ve done the right thing,” she murmured. “I hope to God I have.”

“Why did you come back?”

“I wasn’t sure—I’m still not sure—”

“Cathy, what are you doing here?”

“You can’t fight this alone! And he can help you—”

“Who can?”

From out of the twilight came another voice, gruff and startling. “
I
can.”

At once Victor stiffened. His gaze shifted back to the arch behind Cathy. A man emerged and walked slowly toward him. Not a tall man, he had the sort of body that, in a weight-loss ad, would’ve been labeled Before. He came up to Victor and planted himself squarely on the courtyard stones.

“Hello, Holland,” he said. “I’m glad we’ve finally met. The name is Sam Polowski.”

Victor turned and looked in disbelief at Cathy. “Why?” he asked in quiet fury. “Just tell me that.
Why?”

She reacted as though he’d delivered a physical blow. Tentatively she reached for his arm; he pulled away from her at once.

“He wants to help,” she said, her voice wretched with pain.
“Listen
to him!”

“I’m not sure there’s any point to listening. Not now.” He felt his whole body go slack in defeat. He didn’t understand it, would never understand it. It was over, the running, the scraping along on fear and hope. All because Cathy had betrayed him. He turned matter-of-factly to Polowski. “I take it I’m under arrest,” he said.

“Hardly,” said Polowski, nodding toward the archway. “Seeing as he’s got my gun.”

“What?”

“Hey, Gersh! Over here!” Ollie yelled. “See, I got him covered!”

Polowski winced. “Geez, do ya have to wave the damn thing?”

“Sorry,” said Ollie.

“Now, does that convince you, Holland?” asked Polowski. “You think I’d hand my piece over to an idiot like him if I didn’t want to talk to you?”

“He’s telling the truth,” insisted Cathy. “He gave the gun to Ollie. He was willing to take the risk, just to meet you face-to-face.”

“Bad move, Polowski,” said Victor bitterly. “I’m wanted for murder, remember? Industrial espionage? How do you know I won’t just blow you away?”

“’Cause I know you’re innocent.”

“That makes a difference, does it?”

“It does to me.”

“Why?”

“You’re caught up in something big, Holland. Something that’s going to eat you up alive. Something that’s got my supervisor doing backflips to keep me off the case. I don’t like being pulled off a case. It hurts my delicate ego.”

The two men gazed at each other through the gathering darkness, each sizing up the other.

At last Victor nodded. He looked at Cathy, a quiet plea for forgiveness, for not believing in her. When at last she came into his arms, he felt the world had suddenly gone right again.

He heard a deliberate clearing of a throat. Turning, he saw Polowski hold out his hand. Victor took it in a handshake that could very well be his doom—or his salvation.

“You’ve led me on a long, hard chase,” said Polowski. “I think it’s time we worked together.”

“Basically,” said Ollie, “what we have here is just your simple, everyday mission impossible.”

They were assembled in Polowski’s hotel room, a five-
member team that Milo had just dubbed the “Older, Crazier Out of Tuners,” or Old COOTS for short. On the table in the center of the room lay potato chips, beer and the photos detailing Viratek’s security system. There was also a map of the Viratek compound, forty acres of buildings and wooded grounds, all of it surrounded by an electrified fence. They had been studying the photos for an hour now, and the job that lay before them looked hopeless.

“No easy way in,” said Ollie, shaking his head. “Even if those keypad codes are still valid, you’re faced with the human element of recognition. Two guards, two positions. No way they’re gonna let you pass.”

“There has to be a way,” said Polowski. “Come on, Holland. You’re the egghead. Use that creative brain of yours.”

Cathy looked at Victor. While the others had tossed ideas back and forth, he had said very little.
And he’s the one with the most at stake—his life,
she thought. It took incredible courage—or foolhardiness—even to consider such a desperate move. Yet here he was, calmly scanning the map as though he were planning nothing more dangerous than a Sunday drive.

He must have felt her gaze, for he slung his arm around her and tugged her close. Now that they were reunited, she savored every moment they shared, committed to memory every look, every caress. Soon he could be wrenched away from her. Even now he was making plans to enter what looked like a death trap.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Then, reluctantly, he turned his attention back to the map.

“The electronics I’m not worried about,” he said. “It’s the human element. The guards.”

Milo cocked his head toward Polowski. “I still say ol’ J. Edgar here should get a warrant and raid the place.”

“Right,” snorted Polowski. “By the time that order gets through the judge and Dafoe and your aunt Minnie’s cousin, Viratek’ll have that lab turned into a baby-milk factory. No, we need to get in on our own. Without anyone getting word of it.” He looked at Ollie. “And you’re sure this is the only evidence we’ll need?”

Ollie nodded. “One vial should do it. Then we take it to a reputable lab, have them confirm it’s smallpox, and your case is airtight.”

“They’ll have no way around it?”

“None. The virus is officially extinct. Any company caught playing with a live sample is, ipso facto, dead meat.”

“I like that,” said Polowski. “That ipso facto stuff. No fancy Viratek attorney can argue that one away.”

“But first you gotta get hold of a vial,” said Ollie. “And from where I’m standing, it looks impossible. Unless we’re willing to try armed robbery.”

For one frightening moment, Polowski actually seemed to give that thought serious consideration. “Naw,” he conceded. “Wouldn’t go over well in court.”

“Besides which,” said Ollie, “I refuse to shoot another human being. It’s against my principles.”

“Mine, too,” said Milo.

“But theft,” said Ollie, “that’s acceptable.”

Polowski looked at Victor. “A group with high moral standards.”

Victor grinned. “Holdovers from the sixties.”

“Sounds like we’re back to the first option,” said Cathy. “We have to steal the virus.” She focused on the map of the
compound, noting the electrified fence that circled the entire complex. The main road led straight to the front gate. Except for an unpaved fire road, labeled
not maintained,
no other approaches were apparent.

“All right,” she said. “Assume you do get through the front gate. You still have to get past two locked doors, two separate guards and a laser grid. Come on.”

“The doors are no problem,” said Victor. “It’s the two guards.”

“Maybe a diversion?” suggested Milo. “How about we set a fire?”

“And bring in the town fire department?” said Victor. “Not a good idea. Besides, I’ve dealt with this night guard at the front gate. I know him. And he goes strictly by the book. Never leaves the booth. At the first hint of anything suspicious, he’ll hit the alarm button.”

“Maybe Milo could whip up a fake security pass,” said Ollie. “You know, the way he used to fix us up with those fake drivers’ licenses.”

“He falsified IDs?” said Polowski.

“Hey, I just changed the age to twenty-one!” protested Milo.

“Made great passports, too,” said Ollie. “I had one from the kingdom of Booga Booga. It got me right past the customs official in Athens.”

“Yeah?” Polowski looked impressed. “So what about it, Holland? Would it work?”

“Not a chance. The guard has a master list of top-security employees. If he doesn’t know the face, he’ll do a double check.”

“But he does let some people through automatically?”

“Sure. The bigwigs. The ones he recognizes on—” Victor suddenly paused and turned to stare at Cathy “—on sight. Lord. It just might work.”

Cathy took one look at his face and immediately read his mind. “No,” she said. “It’s not that easy! I need to see the subject! I need molds of his face. Detailed photos from every angle—”

“But you
could
do it. You do it all the time.”

“On film it works! But this is face-to-face!”

“It’s at night, through a car window. Or through a video camera. If you could just make me pass for one of the execs—”

“What are you talking about?” demanded Polowski.

“Cathy’s a makeup artist. You know, horror films, special effects.”

“This is different!” Cathy said. The difference being it was Victor’s life on the line. No, he couldn’t ask her to do this. If anything went wrong, she would be responsible. Having his death on her conscience would be more than she could live with.

She shook her head, praying he’d read the deadly earnestness in her gaze. “There’s too much at stake,” she insisted. “It’s not as simple as—as filming
Slimelords!”

“You did
Slimelords?”
asked Milo. “Terrific flick!”

“Besides,” said Cathy, “it’s not that easy, copying a face. I have to cast a mold, to get the features just right. For that I need a model.”

“You mean the real guy?” asked Polowski.

“Right. The real guy. And I hardly think you’re going to get some Viratek executive to sit down and let me slap plaster all over his face.”

There was a long silence.

“That does present a problem,” said Milo.

“Not necessarily.”

They all turned and looked at Ollie.

“What are you thinking?” asked Victor.

“About this guy who works with me once in a while. Down in the lab…” Ollie looked up, and the grin on his face was distinctly smug. “He’s a veterinarian.”

The events of the past few weeks had weighed heavily on Archibald Black, so heavily, in fact, that he found it difficult to carry on with those everyday tasks of life. Just driving to and from his office at Viratek was an ordeal. And then, to sit down at his desk and face his secretary and pretend that nothing, absolutely nothing, was wrong—that was almost more than he could manage. He was a scientist, not an actor.

Not a criminal.

But that’s what they would call him, if the experiments in C wing ever came to light. His instinct was to shut the lab down, to destroy the contents of those incubators. But Matthew Tyrone insisted the work continue. They were so close to completion. After all, Defense had underwritten the project, and Defense expected a product. This matter of Victor Holland was only a minor glitch, soon to be solved. The thing to do was carry on.