The Delta Factor (30 page)

Cochise shook his head, his eyes staring hard up ahead, as though trying to see around corners. “I just got the feeling this place is waiting for an explosion to go off.”

“So let's go see,” Cliff said, climbing the final stairs. “What lab did she say, two-oh-one, is that right?”

They stopped before the door and knocked. A muffled voice answered from inside. Cliff opened the door, shook his head as Cochise hung back, scanning the hall. “Afternoon. Is Dr. Givens around?”

“Just stepped out.” The guy made more noise sipping from his cup than Cliff would have thought possible. “You from Pharmacon?”

“Sort of. Do you know where she went?”

“She'll be back. Can't have gone far, her purse is still here.” Another slurp. “I thought you were probably from her lab. I saw James Whitehurst down there a minute ago, didn't I?”

The pieces fell into place with an almost audible click-click-click. “What?”

“Whitehurst. Did you come up with him?”

“Whitehurst is here?” Cliff wheeled around, ready to shout for Cochise, when a scream floated up through the open window.

The big man blew into the room, scaring the guy at the desk so badly he poured coffee down his lab coat. Cochise held one woman's shoe in his hand. He pushed Cliff away from the window, craned, searched, pointed, shouted, “There!”

Cliff left the room a half step behind Cochise, caught up with him on the stairs by jumping the banister's curve, led by two strides when he slammed through the front doors. He took all eight entrance stairs in one bound, spotted Blair pointing across the lawn to where Deborah was being bundled toward a car, and roared.

Whitehurst thrust his face within inches of hers. “Take a last long look at the real world, Doctor. The one you scientists never get around to understanding.”

The blond guy carried her with the ease of one whose muscles did not bulge. Her hands were tied, her mouth stuffed with Whitehurst's handkerchief. They had taken the stairs with caution, Whitehurst up ahead to make sure the coast was clear. But it was summer, and the weekend, and the place was almost deserted. They scampered under the receptionist's window and through the doors, made another check, then hustled across the lawn.

But the need for speed did not stop Whitehurst from railing at her. “I can buy brains like you on every street corner,” he rasped. “All I have to do is snap my fingers and say the magic words, sterile lab, and they're mine. You all are.”

The blond man was more frightening because of his silence. His eyes scattered everywhere, checking in all directions, watching for the first sign of danger, paying Whitehurst's tirade no mind at all as he hustled her across the lawn.

“You people hide in your ultraclean little rooms because you're terrified of real life.” Whitehurst's words tumbled out in the effort of trying to speak and jog at the same time. “There's a basic rule of real life you never bothered to learn, doctor scientist lady. You take care of business. You do whatever works. You deal with what's there. And if anybody gets in your line of fire, hey, there aren't any white flags in the real world.”

He stopped by the car and caught his breath and fumbled for his keys. “So you can just kiss—”

“Heellllp!” The scream was so high as to sound disembodied. “Clifff! Cochiiisse! Poollliiice!”

Whitehurst whirled about, and was shocked into a moment's stillness by the sight of Blair Collins jumping up and down and pointing in their direction.

The roar behind them galvanized the blond man into action even before the sound had registered in Deborah's ears. He slammed her into Whitehurst so fast and so hard it knocked them both to the ground. Then he turned and made two blades of his hands.

Cliff saw the man turn and crouch and raise his hands like he knew what he was doing. But Cliff was too fired up with too much anger to stop. He put his head down and charged.

But the man was no longer there.

Then Cliff was flying through the air, his right arm flailing at an uncertain angle.

And then he hit. Hard.

“That's one of them!” Whitehurst's voice was almost incoherent. “Do it!”

The blond hair was a white frame for eyes that held no expression, no feeling, no concern whatsoever as they appeared over him, the fist cocked back for the final blow.

Then the blond man simply disappeared.

There was a moment of shouting and feet scuffling and a whanging sound of something being rammed repeatedly into the side of a car. Then a pair of figures were suddenly laid out beside him, resembling a pile of wadded up clothes more than James Whitehurst and a blond man.

Then the sky was replaced by a very big man, who puffed, “That sure was dumb.”

Cliff tried to rise, found his arm wasn't responding to orders. “I think I'm hurt.”

“Did you study to get that dumb, or does it come natural?”

The pain hit him then. “I think I'm hurt bad.”

“Serves you right.”

The Indian was replaced by a very pale Blair, who cradled his face in two very cool hands and asked, “Where does it hurt?”

“Everywhere, but mostly my arm.”

She ran fingers over his neck and spine, then turned to Cochise and said, “Lift him gently, and let's get him over to the hospital.”

“Let me bind up the riffraff here.” Cochise picked up Whitehurst and the blond man by one heel each, and dragged them off across the lawn.

Cliff swiveled his head, found Deborah leaning up against the side of the car. “You okay?”

“Never been better.” She looked from one to another and said, “I'm not going to try and thank any of you.”

Cliff managed a smile. “Oh, go ahead.”

Then the Indian was back, sliding his hands under him, scooping him up. And with the motion came the pain, a great roaring wave of it that came crashing down on his head, blacking out all light, all sound, all thought.

22

Deborah found herself unable to pay attention to what the minister was saying.

Sunlight played through the old church's side windows, making golden pillars in which dust motes danced and flickered like tiny angels. The minister's words washed over and through her, lighting her up inside, even though she was unable to focus, concentrate, use her special talent to delve and seek and understand. No, today the effort was too great, her happiness too strong. It was enough to sit and rest and be home.

The news conference had blown away like smoke in the wind, along with Congressman Larson's noisy threats. Ralph Summers had moved into high gear after they had found him late Sunday evening, sat him down, and gone through the entire story. Harvey Cofield had contributed little except confirmation that yes, the rapeweed pollen had been genetically altered, and yes, he did agree with Deborah's assessment that the cause was the recombinant DNA, and yes, Whitehurst and an accomplice were in custody in Norfolk. The calls and discussions had carried on long into the night, while Deborah dozed in Summers' guestroom.

Monday afternoon Cliff had found himself not only reinstated, but promoted. His victory was sweetened by the news that his former boss, Sandra Walters, had been placed on administrative leave pending an investigation of her role in the affair.

Cliff's new title was to be Assistant Director for Consumer Affairs, but first he was to complete a temporary assignment as the FDA onsite controller at Pharmacon's Edenton facility. He had traveled back down to Edenton with Deborah and Cochise and Blair, a very bemused young man. What's the matter? Deborah had demanded during the journey, isn't this what you want? Cliff had replied with a shrug and the words, I suppose so. Deborah had grinned and said, better watch out, Junior, or you might get what you wish for.

The condition of her legs had not improved. From time to time there had been occasional tingles, enough to have her holding her breath and hoping that the feeling was about to return. But nothing more. Yet. Deborah was nothing if not determined. She had refused to give in to the dark despair of resignation.

Ralph Summers' renewed backing had been sufficient to obtain a court order, and on Tuesday the sheriff's department and the Highway Patrol had mounted a raid and cleared out the hippie camp. The court order had stipulated that all law enforcement officers were to wear protective gear and take every possible caution. Still two of the officers had been dumb enough to pluck off their masks and wipe at sweat; the result had been enough to sober up all of their company. The camp had been deserted by midnight.

Wednesday the fields had been doused with kerosene, set alight, then bulldozed under—all but a dozen bags of samples. Deborah had then stopped by the Jones homestead. She had explained what had happened, apologized, and promised that they would be compensated for all their troubles. She had left them both troubled and relieved.

Thursday the first series of tests came back. The entire lab resources of Pharmacon were now at her disposal, and things moved faster than even she would have thought possible. Friday the initial results were confirmed. The genetically altered pollen was not regenerative. The hallucinogenic effect was restricted to that generation of plants and could not spread beyond plants actually brought into contact with the altered viroid.

With that verdict, Deborah had felt as though a thousand-pound load had been lifted from her shoulders. She had slept through the entire night for the first time in a week and awakened with the feeling that there might really be light at the end of the tunnel.

She had deliberated about what to do personally, and had finally come to the decision that she would stay at Pharmacon. The drug remained a good one—great, in fact. Anything that could assist the body in fighting off viral infection was a major step forward.

Even Harvey Cofield had asked her to stay, and had promised her everything except his own job.

The key now was to find a way to produce the compound synthetically, so that there was no possibility of further harm to the environment. Deborah sat and reflected on the peace that filled the little church and corrected herself. No, that was just the external key.

The internal key proved harder to grasp, yet equally vital. But she began to get a glimpse of it now, sitting here in her wheelchair, drawn up in the aisle beside Cochise.

The big man looked uncomfortable in the way of one not accustomed to wearing a tie. But he had remained by her side throughout the entire period, silent and solid and always ready for her to draw from his incredible strength. In those long and tiring days, Deborah had grown very close to the quiet man and his steady ways.

Beyond Cochise sat Blair and Cliff, the pair so wrapped up in their newfound love that the rest of the world might as well disappear. Her gaze returned to Cochise. The man loomed tall and utterly still, his brow furrowed with concentration as he listened to the sermon. Deborah felt a flood of tenderness wash over her. She reached over and settled her hand into one of his.

The big man started, utterly surprised by the action. He glanced down at her fingers, then his dark eyes turned toward her face. He studied her a long moment. Deborah did not flinch. There was no need. She held his gaze and let her heart show through her eyes.

A tension flowed out of the big man, one there so long she did not truly recognize it until she watched it dissolve. His features relaxed, then relaxed some more. Eyes the color of agate looked at her with such tenderness she felt as though her heart was going to burst. He swallowed her fingers within a grasp as gentle as his gaze.

Deborah turned back toward the front, her world complete.

Yes, the internal key. She as a scientist was tapping into God's creation, she saw that now. It was her gift, this ability to fathom some of the depths of the invisible universe. But she was also human, finite, fallible. She had to take care, great care, greater care than ever as she launched herself farther and farther into the unknown. She had to ask for help and guidance at every step.

The realization that she had both understood and accepted the responsibility filled her with such a feeling of lightness and well-being that for a moment she lost contact with where she was. Then the service was over, and Cliff was standing and stepping behind her chair and reaching for the handles to steer her out. But the intimate peace and power stayed with her, and strengthened, then strengthened even more.

Deborah reached a hand over her shoulder and stopped him. “Thank you, dear friend,” she said, rising to her feet. “But I think I will walk.”

Epilogue

Owen MacKenzie stood at the reception room's solitary window and stared out over the sprawl of Sao Paulo. His face gave nothing away as he silently decided, this place is the eyesore capital of the globe.

The sound of a door opening spun him around. The slender man with the bandaged head said, “Mr. de Cunhor will see you now.”

“It's about time,” Owen MacKenzie growled, reaching for his case. “I've been cooling my heels out here for almost an hour.”

The young man did not reply, merely stood by with eyes downcast. He seemed strangely subdued, this man. Probably still bothered by whatever it was knocked him upside the head.

As Owen passed, he gave the man a closer inspection. The bandage fit him like a turban, covering the entire top of his skull and fitting down over one ear. One eye was swollen shut. Yessir, whoever did that got in a couple of good ones.

Fernando de Cunhor played it hard and tight and tough, because that was what was expected. But both men knew the deal was done long before Owen MacKenzie arrived in Sao Paulo.

Fernando de Cunhor's rigid negotiating tactics were as much show as MacKenzie's anger over being made to wait. Show and not show. A weaker man would have been eaten alive, but not Owen MacKenzie. This American had proven himself to be a survivor. He knew when to cut his losses and retreat, to return and fight another day.