The Furies (27 page)

He clenched his hands. She was threatening him. “So why haven't you killed me yet? I'm sure Conroy would be happy to do the job.”

“Oh, it's definitely under consideration. But my sister Elizabeth and I are prudent leaders. Before we take any irreversible steps, we need to determine if you could be useful to us in other ways. That's why I came to see you tonight.”

“And is that why you're asking about Ariel's research? You want me to spy on her?”

“Now that Lily knows the formula for the catalyst, it's her duty to share it with the council. But she has refused to do so. Because she leads our research efforts she feels entitled to keep this information from us. Elizabeth and I have tried to reason with her since she returned to Haven yesterday, but Cordelia has taken Lily's side, and the girl has supporters among the researchers and Rangers.” Margaret frowned. “So we've been forced to consider other measures.”

John studied her carefully. She was hiding something, no doubt about it. “Why do you want the formula so badly?”

Her frown deepened. A pair of vertical lines appeared above the bridge of her nose. “I'm not going to explain our reasons to you, paramour. All you need to know is that your life hangs in the balance. Elizabeth and I control the council. We can overrule Cordelia and order your execution.”

“Do you want the formula so you can hand it over to Sullivan?” He mentioned this possibility only because he couldn't think of anything else. “Are you going to surrender to him?”

“Surrender?” Margaret's voice fell so low he could barely hear it.

“Yeah, maybe you've decided to give in to his demands. Maybe you think working with him is less dangerous than fighting him.”

Margaret slowly rose from the bed. Wincing, she limped toward John and pointed a trembling finger at his face. “That bastard just killed two of my sons. You saw it happen, you saw his men slaughter Hal and Richard. Do you think I could ever work with such a man?”

“I don't—”

“He murdered one of my daughters as well. Three of my girls served in the Rangers, in the Transport squadron that flies our researchers to the tropics. Six months ago Sullivan's men ambushed their plane at the St. Ignace airfield. They fired their carbines at the aircraft, then rode off on their motorcycles. My Veronica was unhurt, but the Riflemen wounded my Gwendolyn. And they shot my Gilda in the heart.”

Her whole body shook with anger now, quivering inside her crimson gown. But John was angry, too. He was tired of being threatened. “Look, I'm sorry about what happened to you, but I had nothing to do with it. The only reason I'm here is because I wanted to help Ariel. She's the one I care about, so I'm not gonna start spying on her.”

Margaret scowled, scrunching her plump cheeks. “How long were you in bed with her before Sullivan attacked? Ten minutes? Five? And you value those minutes more than your life?”

John forced himself to remain calm. He wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of seeing him fly off the handle. He smiled and leaned forward, lowering his face until it was only a few inches from hers. “We have a saying in Philadelphia: I think you've mistaken me for someone who gives a shit.”

Her green eyes flashed hatred. For a second he thought she was going to haul off and slug him. But instead she pulled away from him and sneered. “Then you're a fool. And so is your little harlot. You'll both be in Hades before the week is over.” She abruptly turned toward the door. “Conroy! I'm ready!”

The guardsman opened the door instantly, as if he'd been clutching the knob ever since he closed it. Margaret marched out of the room without looking back. Then Conroy slammed the door shut and locked John inside.

EIGHTEEN

Archibald crouched beside a massive pipe rising from the floor of the geothermal plant. This section of the plant was usually deserted at night, and he was hidden by the crisscrossing maze of smaller pipes that surrounded the massive vertical one. But he was still terrified that someone would see him.

Getting down on his hands and knees, he rapped his knuckles on the linoleum floor tiles around the base of the pipe, which was more than five feet in diameter. He crawled around the thing twice but couldn't find the loose tile that Sullivan had assured him would be there. Sweat streamed down his neck and soaked the back of his shirt. Waves of heat radiated from the pipe, warming the floor so much it scorched his palms. He could hardly think because of all the noise coming from within the pipe, the thunderous gushing of high-pressure steam.

He couldn't do this. He was starting to panic. He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself by picturing something pleasant, but all he could see were Sullivan's fingernails, caked with filth.

Archibald took a deep breath. Pushing Sullivan out of his mind, he opened his eyes and stared at the gray pipe in front of him. He didn't know all the technical details of the geothermal plant, but he had a basic understanding. He was looking at the uppermost part of the main intake pipe, which descended six thousand feet below Haven. In those crystalline depths, a plume of magma extended from beneath the earth's crust and heated an underground reservoir, creating vast pockets of steam. The intake pipe was like a long chimney, allowing the steam to surge upward. After its mile-long ascent, the rushing vapor turned the turbines of the geothermal plant, generating enough power to light a city. Then the plant's machinery cooled and condensed the steam, turning it back to water. Some of this water was used for Haven's needs, but most was injected back into the depths of the earth. Because the water cycled back and forth between Haven and the deep reservoir, the entire operation was invisible from aboveground. But Archibald was going to break that seamless cycle.

Feeling a bit calmer, he resumed his inspection of the floor. After another minute he finally discovered the loose tile and pried it up, exposing a foot-deep hole adjacent to the pipe. He didn't know who'd dug the hole—Sullivan wouldn't reveal the names of his other spies—but the fellow had done an admirable job. The device in Archibald's backpack fit the hidden space perfectly. He set the device's timer and put the tile back into place. Then he grabbed his empty backpack, crawled out of the maze of pipes, and walked away. It was that simple.

But as he strode past the machinery in the turbine room and headed for the exit, he began to panic again. There were other things Sullivan had refused to tell him. Archibald didn't know how powerful the explosive device was, or how much damage it would cause. If people were working in that section of the plant when the device exploded, would they be injured? Or killed? He had no idea. His anxiety intensified, tightening his throat and twisting his stomach. And then, just as he left the turbine room and approached the pair of swinging doors at the plant's exit, he heard footsteps behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Claudia Fury—Gower's mother, the director of the geothermal plant! She was less than six feet away.

He thought about running, but what good would that do? If she called for the guards, they'd apprehend him before he could escape from Haven. No, it would be better to feign innocence. If Claudia asked him why he'd come to the plant, he'd simply give her a good reason. Earlier that evening, in fact, he'd prepared several believable excuses. But at the moment he couldn't recall any of them. Panic had erased everything in his head. He stopped in his tracks, frantically trying to remember.

Then Claudia walked right past. She didn't even look at him. She stepped through the swinging exit doors and turned left, briskly striding away. Archibald hung back for a few seconds, then followed her outside. She was heading for the old asylum at the far end of the cavern, where the madwomen lived. In all likelihood, she was going to see Octavia, her mother. Although visiting hours were long over, the nurses made exceptions for high officials like Claudia.

Archibald frowned. He should've been relieved but instead he was furious. The stupid woman hadn't noticed him. Of if she had, she'd immediately dismissed him as inconsequential. Like most of Haven's women, she either ignored the community's men or treated them as servants. They were too short-lived to be taken seriously.

He stared at Claudia until she entered the asylum.
Your world is about to change, woman
, he thought.
And it will happen at exactly noon tomorrow.

NINETEEN

John was back in Ariel's laboratory the next morning, lying on a gurney she'd parked beside one of the lab tables. He lay faceup with his shirt unbuttoned and watched her scurry from one table to another, collecting everything she needed for the test. She didn't need to use her crutches anymore. She wasn't even limping. Her legs appeared to be fully healed.

After she readied all her equipment, she hooked him up to an EKG machine so she could monitor his heart rate. While she connected the machine's wiring to half a dozen suction cups pressed to John's chest, he told her about his conversation with Margaret Fury the night before. To his surprise, Ariel seemed unconcerned about Margaret's threats. She rolled her eyes when John mentioned the “little harlot” comment.

“Margaret is hardly one to talk. She has five daughters in Haven and another two serving in the Rangers.” She positioned another suction cup on his breastbone and pressed it down firmly. “And she would've had far more if she hadn't joined the council. Our Elders are forbidden from venturing outside Haven to seek paramours.”

John was puzzled. “Then how did Margaret give birth to Hal and Richard?”

“She used artificial insemination. One of her daughters in the Rangers obtained some donor sperm from a fertility clinic and brought it back to Haven.” Ariel stuck the last suction cup on John's chest, then turned on the EKG machine. “Mother also used donor sperm to become pregnant with Basil. Frankly, that's one of the reasons why I refused to consider artificial insemination for myself.” She frowned, probably thinking of Sullivan again. Then the screen on the electrocardiograph came to life, displaying a green line that spiked with each of John's heartbeats. She cheered up as she looked at it. “There, you're all set. Now I'll know if Fountain puts any stress on your metabolism.”

She stepped toward the lab table and picked up a vial full of yellowish fluid. This was the Fountain protein she'd painstakingly extracted from the pints of blood donated by Haven's women. John squirmed a bit as she opened the vial and dipped the needle of a syringe into the fluid. He felt an urge to change the subject. “Can we get back to Margaret for a second? I don't think you're taking her seriously enough. She really hates you.”

Ariel kept her eyes on the syringe. She pulled up the plunger, slowly drawing the yellowish fluid into the tube. “That's nothing new. Margaret's been sniping at me for over a hundred years.”

“She said you'd be dead within a week. I think that's a little more serious than ‘sniping.'”

“How is she going to kill me? She doesn't even know how to fire a gun.” Ariel shook her head. “You have to understand, John, we've been having the same arguments for centuries. For the past two hundred years I've told Mother and Margaret that our family needs to become more democratic. But they don't want to change. They think we're in a never-ending war with the outside world, so we have to run our community under martial law, forever.”

“But now you really
are
at war. You're in a civil war against Sullivan, and the Elders are getting desperate. At least that's the way it looks to me.”

She finished filling the syringe. Holding it with the needle pointed upward, she flicked her index finger against the tube and pushed the plunger a tiny fraction to remove any bubbles from the fluid. Then she stepped toward John. “You're right, this is a crisis. And Mother wants to control everything, including the formula for the catalyst, because that's the way she always handled crises in the past.” Ariel leaned over his gurney and gently tapped the underside of his forearm, searching for a suitable vein. “But a crisis can also be an opportunity. If we handle the situation carefully enough, we can take a step forward. Our family may finally be able to emerge from hiding.”

Lifting her chin, she stopped inspecting the veins in his forearm and looked him in the eye. Her cheeks were flushed, pinkish at the center. She was breathing fast, as if she were winded from talking too much. And her eyes were wild with hope. Their irises were a brighter green than John remembered, shining like crystals under the lab's fluorescent lights.

Then she lowered her head and slipped the needle into one of his veins.

She pushed the plunger into the syringe, ever so slowly. John felt a burning sensation in the crook of his arm and then a cool swelling as the yellowish fluid flowed into him. Ariel narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth, her whole body focused on the task, and the silence in the lab was so absolute that John could her breath whistling between her parted lips.

It took her almost half a minute to complete the injection. Then she removed the needle from his arm and set the empty syringe on the lab table. “Just relax now. Your circulatory system will distribute the protein to all of your cells. When I injected Sullivan, he said he felt no effects at all during the first half hour. But he could've been lying, of course.”

John still felt the coolness in his arm but it was starting to fade. While Ariel turned to the EKG machine and stared at the spiking green line, he took a deep breath and lay back on the gurney. It was impossible to relax, though. His mind was racing. “So you're planning to reveal the existence of Haven?”

She grabbed a nearby chair and moved it next to the gurney. Then she sat down beside him. “Let's talk about something else, all right?”

“But that's why you're doing this test on me, isn't it? You want to know if Fountain will stop outsiders from aging. That's the first question people will ask after they learn about your family, and you want to be able to answer it.”