Forever (74 page)

'I'm not surprised. Going without fresh air
is enough to drive anyone batty.' She tilted her head sideways and
frowned. 'What kind of a job did you fill?'

He grinned. 'I'm, er, a faecal
specialist.'

'Excuse me?'

'I feed the critters and swab out their
cages. If you want the official job title, it's assistant
zoologist.'

lYouT she sputtered. 'A zoologist? But how
on earth did you ever pass muster? Surely they checked your
references?'

He smiled. 'That's one of the nice things
about having a wide range of acquaintances.'

'Ah, yes,' she said, looking enlightened.
'I'd almost forgotten. Your friends do run the gamut.'

'Don't they?' he said cheerfully. 'Anyway,
one of my frat brothers is a zoologist in Maine. Did I ever tell
you about him? Works at a mouse-breeding farm?'

She shook her head.

'Well, he owed me a big favour from way back
when. Now he's returned it: for the time being, I'm him.'

'Just so I know what to call you, what's his
. . . your name?'

'Charles Conover,' he told her. 'And you
might keep in mind that Charles Conover has access to the
top-secret laboratories. Limited access, of course, since I'm
always accompanied by Colonel Klink, Dr Mengele, or, in their
absence, my direct superior, Dr Shirkant Jhanwar, head of
zoology.'

She gave him a strange look. 'Dr
Mengele?'

'You know, the munchkin.'

'Oh, you must mean Dr Vassiltchikov.'

'Whose accent, did you notice,' Johnny
added, shooting her a significant look, 'is not remotely Russian or
Polish, as her name suggests, but pure German? What she speaks is,
in fact,
Hoch Deutsch
, the purest, highest-class form of the
German language.'

'Hm.' Stephanie wasn't sure whether to be
pleased by his knowledge, or irritated that he'd come by it before
her. She looked at him narrowly.
'Was
she a Nazi?'

'I wouldn't doubt it.' He smiled wryly.

She looked at him thoughtfully. 'The
animals,' she said slowly. 'They wouldn't happen to be kept in the
building shaped like a cube?'

'The very one.' He nodded. 'Just beyond all
those phoney warning signs.'

'Phoney!' She stared at him. 'Are you
telling me there really aren't any biological or radioactive
hazards behind those doors?'

'Biological, yes. But radioactive? No.' He
shook his head. 'That's just a scare tactic. Those signs work
better at keeping curious people at bay than fifty armed guards
with drooling rottweilers.'

'I can imagine.' Stephanie sat back in
thoughtful silence. 'I suppose you've also found out in what areas,
specifically, they're doing their animal research?'

'That I have, lassie.'

'Johnny! You are a prince. So tell! Out with
it!' Stephanie sat upright with excitement. Perhaps she didn't need
to get into that lab, after all.

'Unh-unh.' He shook his head adamantly and
wagged a finger at her. 'We share and share alike, remember? Now
it's your turn to tell me what you've found out at your end. Then
I'll continue where I left off.'

'Trusting soul,' she murmured sourly.

'Just shows how much we have in common.' He
grinned brightly and winked. 'Now that you've got the soapbox, I'll
gladly hold my tongue. I'm all ears, Stephanie, all ears.'

Hearing her door buzzer sound, Eva Schenkein
figured it had to be that nice old gentleman who lived down the
hall. . . what was his name? . . . who liked to see if she needed
anything.

She couldn't remember Sammy Kafka's name for
the life of her, but being in the early stages of Alzheimer's
disease, she rarely knew her own.

The buzzer sounded again, and her cat was
already at the front door, meowing loudly.

Taking careful baby steps, she slowly
shuffled her way to the door. After a struggle with the locks, Eva
finally managed to get the door open. 'Yes?' She stared up at the
tall stranger.

' 'Afternoon, ma'am,' he said politely,
breathing through his mouth. 'My name's Myles Riley. I was
wondering if I could take a moment of your time?'

She peered up at him, her slack jaw working.
'Of course, sonny?'

He slid the stack of pictures Colonel
Valerio had faxed him out of the manila envelope he was carrying.
'I was wondering if you could identify this woman,' he said,
holding the first one up.

She squinted at the picture of Stephanie
with long curly dark hair and nodded. 'Yep! Suki was one of
Florenz's biggest stars. 'Course, she wasn't born Suki, that was
just her stage name. Her real name was Beulah Stites, but it wasn't
exactly a grabber, so Florenz made her change it.'

Myles Riley felt a thrill of excitement.
'Are you sure?'

'Of course I'm sure!' she cackled. 'We were
friends in the Thirties!'

Riley's excitement faded as quickly as it
had come. She's nuts, he thought, putting the picture on the bottom
of the stack.

'And what about her?' he asked, just to make
sure. 'Do you know her?'

He was holding up another picture of
Stephanie, this one with short blonde hair.

Eva gummed her lips. ' 'Course I do. That's
Nina Asch. She was real big in the Forties. Saw all her movies.'
She nodded emphatically.

Riley put the stack of pictures away. 'Thank
you very much, ma'am. You . . . you were very helpful,' he
lied.

Eva began to sing 'Tea for Two' in a weak,
warbly voice.

Christ, Riley thought, rolling his eyes as
he made a beeline for the elevators. Talk about loony tunes! Why
won't anybody else on this floor open their door? Why her?

He decided his next stop would be a bar. Any
bar. The first one he ran across. God knows I deserve a drink.

Stito da Veiga, Brazil • New York City

An hour had passed.

The champagne was gone and they'd broken out
a bottle of Pouilly-Fume.

Neither noticed its dry, assertive flavour,
nor did it lift their sagging spirits. For a long while they
brooded in silence.

Johnny was the first to break it. 'Christ!'
he exclaimed softly, shaking his head as though to clear it of
cobwebs, it's scary.'

'Yes, it is.' Stephanie nodded.

Their words hung in the still, artificial
atmosphere of the room. Filtered forced air blew noiselessly down
from the overhead grille, and the little built-in refrigerator
kicked in and buzzed quietly.

It sounded unnaturally loud.

'You know something?' Johnny said softly. He
was sitting hunched forward, forearms resting on his thighs, hands
wrapped around his wineglass, if I hadn't seen those animals for
myself, I'd say you'd gone off the deep end.' He raised his eyes
and looked over at her.

Stephanie smiled wih evident irony. 'Believe
me, I wish I had.'

'Yeah. So do I.' He stared morosely down
into his glass.

'You've got to believe me, Johnny. Lili
Schneider is alive and youthful and living as Zarah Bohm.'
Stephanie's face was sharp, judgemental, condemning. She paused and
added bitterly, i may not have concrete proof, but deep inside I
know that's why Grandpa was murdered! Somehow he found out about
it, and was silenced.'

She half expected him to argue; instead, he
nodded wearily. 'Makes sense,' he said. 'People've been killed for
a hell of a lot less. But immortality! He inhaled a sharp breath
and let it out slowly. 'Damn it, Stephanie! That's a tough one to
swallow!' He glared accusingly at her.

'Swallow it, Johnny,' she said quietly. 'I
heard Zarah - Lili! - sing. Didn't you just get through telling me
about the dated metal ear-tabs on the rats? Don't tell me you're
suddenly changing your tune and rationalising that they must have
been dated wrong - or that it's all a big mistake, or part of some
king-size scam?'

He sighed gloomily. 'I suppose I've got to
believe it. But that still doesn't mean I don't find it scary.'

She looked across the coffee table at him.
if you didn't, Johnny, there'd be something wrong with you.'

He lifted his glass and took a big swallow.
'What about the caballero?' he asked.

'The caballero,' she said severely, 'happens
to have a name. Eduardo.'

'He a part of this?'

'No!' Stephanie snapped. She sat forward and
set down her glass with a resounding bang. 'I can't believe he is!'
Then she sighed and slumped back limply. 'At least,' she said
faintly, 'I hope he's not. At this point, I'm really not sure about
anything any more.'

'So other than that, I guess the one
remaining question is, what's the secret formula? Genetics? Some
rare jungle plant with amazing properties? A mythical well spewing
forth the fountain of longevity?'

'I don't think it's any of those,' she said
quietly.

'Then what do you think?'

She frowned thoughtfully. 'I told you that
the medication arrives daily in a red thermoslike container. And is
packed in what I think is liquid nitrogen.'

'Right. And I told you that, like clockwork,
one of those containers leaves the hospital each and every
day.'

'Johnny . . .' Stephanie gave him a peculiar
look. 'Am I correct in assuming that the hospital here isn't
exactly overcrowded?'

'You are. It's hardly ever used - except by
the kids they fly in.'

'The fairy godmother flights!' she said
softly.

'Yeah. And they arrive day in and day out,
like a scheduled airline.' He stared at her and flinched as a
terrible realisation dawned. 'Ah, shit!' he swore miserably. 'Say
it ain't so, Stephanie.'

Stephanie felt the same outrage brewing in
her as brewed in him, but for the time being, she fought it down.
Now she needed more information, had to assimilate it, and act upon
it. There was time enough to come to grips with the entire
nightmare monster later.

'Johnny.' Her voice sounded strangled; she
cleared her throat and coughed into a clenched fist. 'As a rule,
how many children are brought here each day?'

'At least one, but usually two or
three.'

She sighed deeply. 'And as a rule, how many
leave aliveT

'From what I've seen, they have a mortality
rate of about . . . aw, no.' He rubbed his face. 'Shit, no . .
.'

'Johnny?' She felt a stitch of fear under
her heart and willed herself to look and sound composed and in
control.

'One a day,' he whispered hoarsely.

They stared at each other.

'I'm afraid we've found the ingredient of
the fountain of youth,' Stephanie said grimly. 'Only it's not a
fountain, nor is it derived from some rare exotic plant.'

'At least that explains why there's a whole
roomful of little coffins.'

'What? She sat up straight.

'Next to the hospital morgue,' he explained.
'There's a large storage area that looks like an undertaker's
warehouse. When I first stumbled across it, I thought it strange
that they were all child-size coffins. There wasn't a single
adult-sized one among them.'

'What I think,' Stephanie said quietly, 'is
that Dr Vassiltchikov has thrown ethics to the wind and has made a
quantum leap beyond ewe-cell injections and fresh placental
implants.'

'Yeah,' Johnny said angrily. He gave an ugly
laugh. 'Quite a jump from ewe cells to human babies, if you ask me!
Where did she train? Auschwitz?'

Stephanie felt her stomach contract. She
grabbed her wineglass, tossed back what remained in it, and hoped
it would do the trick and soothe her.

How stupid could I have been? she railed
silently. Christ, everything suddenly seems so obvious. Why has it
taken me so long to see it?

With hindsight, so many things became
crystal clear.

For instance, why did the de Veigas support
CRY so heavily? Of course they would. Where else could they find an
endless supply of young children nobody wanted? Or would miss?

A picture of the pathetic children on the
aeroplane and their pain-filled eyes flashed through her mind. And
to think they all came here with such hope! To them, it was the
place of last resort! How cruel to lead them on - and straight to
their deaths!

Who would have thought that the secret to
longevity was so simple. All it took was an inexhaustible supply of
fresh cells or enzymes or young live organs - maybe a combination
of all three - and Ernesto and Zarah needed only to lie back and
enjoy their daily IVs. Like some kind of futuristic,
twenty-first-century vampires, they feasted on other humans. On the
very young and very helpless and very innocent.

Stephanie reached for her purse and dug out
her address book. 'Later on, I've got to get a computer,' she told
Johnny. And she thought, I've got to see if Aaron Kleinfelder's
code still provides access to CRY's files. Then, before she could
forget, she got out her plastic key card and slipped them both in
her trouser pocket. That done, she got shakily to her feet and
started for the door.

Johnny's voice stopped her. 'Where are you
going?'

She looked over at him. 'Where do you think?
The hospital, of course! Well?' she demanded. 'What are you waiting
for? Let's go!

She offered up a silent prayer.

'God willing,' she said huskily, 'we might
still be in time - before they sacrifice another child!'

Myles Riley was seated on a barstool. He was
on his third Manhattan, and his eyes kept straying towards the
large flickering television set over the bar. The five o'clock news
was on, and on screen, a young brunette with an earnest expression
was speaking into a microphone. He strained to hear above the rowdy
noise of his fellow drinkers.

'Convicted serial killer Jed Savitt,' the
reporter was saying, 'accused of murdering twenty-eight young
women, is scheduled to die in the electric chair tonight at 1:05
Eastern Standard Time. His last death sentence was stayed at the
eleventh hour by the Supreme Court. Earlier today, Florida Governor
Matthew Perrault turned down a plea for clemency. Unless the
nation's highest court again stays tonight's execution, Savitt,
thirty-five, will end his life here in the chair they call "Old
Sparky".'