Scorpion's Advance (23 page)

The euphemism seemed to make the implications all the worse for Anderson. 'It would mean,' he said, 'that Sam Freedman, the brilliant Sam Freedman, the respected Sam Freedman, was t
he brain behind the whole nightmare.' Anderson's voice was dull with shock. 'And Myra?'

'She too,' said Anderson flatly. 'God, what a fool I've been. It was she not Cohen who set the acid trap for me. She came in that morning "to set up something for Strauss", she said. Cohen must have suspected as much and challenged her when they were working together, so she killed him with a hypodermic full of toxin.'

'But Langman, the CIA man?'

Anderson shook his head in despair. He said haltingly,
‘I thought she was my friend. I told her just about everything. I told her that there was an American in my apartment block who kept asking questions about the Klein affair . . . I even told her that I was going to see Shula Ron. I sentenced that kid to death . . .’

'And Professor Strauss?' asked
Mirit softly.

'When I told him that Cohen had been murdered he must have deduced that the cloning had been done by the
Freedmans. That's what he was going to tell me when he phoned, but they got to him first. All these people, killed through my meddling interference.' Anderson put his fingertips over his eyes for a moment. Mirit put her hand on his arm. 'Not your fault, Neil. You were only doing what was logical. How does the CIA involvement fit?'

'It fits,' said Anderson. 'The
Freedmans were American citizens until three years ago when they came here. Sam Freedman would be the "prime target" they wouldn't tell me about. Myra, his wife, would be the secondary. Langman was using me to keep tabs on Myra Freedman.'

'And the accounts you saw?'

'Must have come from here, the Kalman Institute. The restriction enzymes for DNA work, the payments to the Jan Kouros Hospice ... it all fits.'

'But what are they doing in there?' asked
Mirit.

That's what we still have to find out,' said Anderson with bitterness in his voice.

They settled down in a crevice behind a boulder to watch the rear of the Institute. Anderson noted that in the building itself only the basement lights were on. He remembered that Sam Freedman had told him on his tour of the place that that was where their maximum containment suite was situated and how they had no occasion to use it. 'Bastard,' he said under his breath. Mirit heard but did not enquire.

'Something's happening,' said
Mirit.

Anderson saw the back door of the building open and a group of robbed figures emerge to shuffle back across the grounds to the gate. The truck driver put out his cigarette and prepared to see them on board while his erstwhile companion opened the gate. The driver secured the back of the truck and shouted something to the guard.

'What did he say?' whispered Anderson.

'He said, see you tomorrow,' replied
Mirit.

The heavily laden truck groaned and stuttered away up the desert track, and Anderson and
Mirit watched as the guard checked the gate and disappeared into the building.

'What are our chances of breaking in there?' asked Anderson.

'Not good,' said Mirit. 'The man on the gate and the large open space between the fence and the building are the problems.'

Anderson thought for a moment before asking, 'How many patients would you say were in the group tonight?'

'Fifteen? Twenty? Hard to say. Why?'

‘I
was thinking that, in a group that size, two more or less might not be noticed . . .’

'Go on.'

'We know that the truck parks outside the fence and the patients go in through the gate and walk across to the building. If somehow, wearing our robes, we could tack ourselves on to the group, we could get into the Institute that way.'

Mirit
considered the idea for a few moments before conceding that it was a possibility. 'We would need a diversion to distract the driver and the guard while we joined the group, and what if one of the lepers raised the alarm?'

'We'll just have to risk that,' said Anderson. 'Do we try?'

'We try.'

They discussed possible diversion tactics for the following night.

'Can't we talk about this on the way back?' said Anderson, as the wind started to moan and the sand around their feet showed signs of movement like ripples on a pond.

'It's best we do it now while we can see everything,' insisted
Mirit. Anderson pulled up his collar and agreed reluctantly.

'What we need is some kind of natural diversion,' she said, looking about her for inspiration.

'I don't understand,' said Anderson.

'If we start a fire somewhere or cause a small explosion it will certainly create a diversion, but the wrong kind. People will come running from all over the place, alarms will start ringing and suddenly everyone will be on their toes. That's the last thing we want.'

'I could sneak out and stick a knife in one of the truck's tyres,' suggested Anderson.

'You'd break the knife,' said
Mirit.

'Only a suggestion,' said Anderson, pretending to take offence.
Mirit broke her concentration and smiled. She didn't say anything. Anderson crouched down behind one of the boulders as he felt sand whip up into his face. He sat down and leaned his back against the rock, moving slightly as he felt a sharp piece dig into him. It gave him an idea. 'The boulders!' he said. 'What if one of these boulders should roll down the dune and hit the fence? It could happen quite easily and the guard and the driver would be sure to have a look at it.'

'But it wouldn't cause any alarm . . . Perfect!' said
Mirit. 'A natural diversion. No need to inform anyone inside the building immediately. Just one of those things. Something for Maintenance to deal with in the morning.'

They set out to look for a suitable boulder for their purpose and decided on one. It would have a clear roll down the dune and would hit the fence some thirty metres along from the gate. The problem now was to ensure that it could be persuaded to move at the right moment.

'We'll have to excavate most of the sand from the front of it tonight,' said Mirit.

Anderson nodded. 'I thought you'd say that.' The night suddenly seemed much blacker as the last light in the basement of the Institute went out. It was followed shortly by the sound of two cars leaving the front of the building,
and then all was quiet. ‘I’ll get the spade,' said Anderson.

They undermined the ground in front of one half of the boulder at a time, using a smaller stone as a wedge under the first half in case they should misjudge it and the boulder should topple early. When Anderson had finished cutting the
vee for the remaining section he packed it lightly with brushwood and added pebbles to the top. Mirit spread the material he had removed so as to make the area appear natural. 'The sand will do the rest,' she said as another cloud enveloped them. Till tomorrow then.'

Neither of them slept much that night. It was a relief when dawn broke and sounds came from the streets to distract them from thoughts of all the things that could go wrong.

'What would you like to do today?' Mirit asked.

Anderson looke
d up at the ceiling and said, 'I would like to lose myself in old Jerusalem with you. See the colours, hear the sounds, eat where we ate before, those sorts of things.'

Mirit
leaned over and kissed him lightly on the forehead.

From their position up on the dunes, Anderson and
Mirit saw the lights go on in the basement of the Kalman Institute shortly before midnight. Anderson took this as his cue to leave Mirit and move along to the boulder they had primed to fall. He had just wriggled up behind it when a door at the back of the Institute opened and yellow light spilled out on the sand. A man stood framed there for a moment before he closed the door again and walked slowly across the compound to the gate. As he came nearer, Anderson could see it was the guard from the night before. The man looked at his watch and lit up a cigarette, flicking the match away in a lazy arc over the gate before turning his back and leaning against it.

Ande
rson began clearing away the pebble and brush camouflage from the leading edge of the boulder, his face muscles tightening as he concentrated on the need for silence. The vee was now clear apart from the smaller rock that he had inserted as a wedge. He circled his arm round the stone and pulled it slowly away from the boulder's path, hugging it into his chest. He had just begun to relax when he heard the first sounds of the truck approaching.

It seemed to take an age before the truck finally appeared from behind the dunes and drew to a halt where it had stopped the night before, beside the gate. The driver got down and slammed the door behind him before walking over to the guard, his hands deep in his pockets. They exchanged a few words and laughed together while the gate was opened.

As the driver opened up the back of the truck and the patients started to climb out, Anderson put all his weight against the back of the boulder. It didn't move. The patients were now all out and congregating beside the gate. Anderson felt panic threaten. Timing was everything. Once more he put his back to what was beginning to feel like a cathedral and strained until the veins stood out on his forehead. He was at maximum exertion, on the knife-edged interface between defeat and victory, when he felt the boulder loosen its grip on the dune. He only had to maintain his effort for a few seconds more before gravity freed him from all responsibility.

T
he boulder began its run down the slope and Anderson rolled over the crest of the dune and scrambled back to join Mirit. From the blind side he heard the boulder hit the fence and the startled cries from below. He rolled back over the crest and slid down to where Mirit was crouching.

'Are you all right?' she whispered, only managing to pick out the word hernia from the string of expletives that came in reply. Together they saw the guard and the driver walk along the fence to inspect the damage, while the leper patients remained in a group between the truck and the fence.

'It worked,' hissed Anderson. 'Come on.'

Adrenalin coursed into their veins as they pulled up the cowls on their robes and half crawled, half slid, down the slope to the shadow of the truck. From along the fence they could now hear laughter as the two men thought what they were
supposed to think. Mirit was about to circle round the back of the truck when Anderson tugged at her sleeve and drew her round the front. He edged out and saw that he was right. From this side the patients had their backs to them. Silently they moved out and casually stood at the back of the group, hoods well forward, and faces looking down.

The guard came back and led them across the compound, keeping at what he obviously felt was a safe distance. Although he felt reasonably sure that the group would not be counted, for they were patients not prisoners, Anderson was still glad to see that the group did not string out in single file. Amorphous huddles of people were less likely to attract numerical curiosity.

The guard knocked on the door of the Institute and it was opened by another man who took over, indicating that they should enter and follow him along the tiled corridor they were now in. Anderson and Mirit made sure that they were the last in line to enter, and Anderson risked a look back to ensure that they were not being followed from behind. The hallway was empty.

As the group passed a corridor leading off the main one, Anderson shot out his hand and gripped
Mirit's shoulder, steering her off to the right. They stood absolutely stock still, listening to the shuffling footsteps receding, faces pressed against the white tiles. Anderson let out his breath slowly. Mirit gave a tight, nervous smile.

Their relief at being free of the group was quickly replaced by feelings of vulnerability at standing still in a well
-lit corridor. They sought refuge in the nearest darkened room and closed the glass-fronted door behind them. The light from the corridor was reflected in rows of gleaming trays lying on a long wooden table. 'Surgical instruments,' whispered Anderson. Mirit wrinkled up her nose at the smell in the air.

'Ether. They're running some kind of clinic.'

They took off their robes and stuffed them out of sight in a cupboard under a sink. 'What now?' said Mirit.

'We find the stairs leading up to the main building. I want to get into Freedman's office, find written evidence about what's been going on.'

They took a few moments longer to compose themselves before gingerly opening the door and stepping back out into the corridor. They approached the main hallway on tiptoe and peered out, Anderson to the right, Mirit to the left. Anderson signified that he had seen the bottom of the stairs and pointed to the left-hand side, halfway along. Mirit nodded. Anderson asked her with his eyes if she was ready and she nodded again. They ran along the thirty metres of open corridor and ducked into the relative darkness of the stairwell, once again flattening themselves against the wall and taking time to calm down. Mirit led the way up the stairs, cautiously pausing each time they came to a blind turn to peer round before committing herself. Anderson constantly glanced back, but more out of nerves than caution. They found their way barred by a locked door. Mirit tried the handle both ways, then the original way again. She shook her head. Anderson felt his stomach become weightless. He placed both palms against the door and appreciated just how solid it was. Double mortise locks denied them the other option.