Unacceptable Risk (49 page)

"You bastard," he muttered. "You miserable piece of shit."

Flipping the M-4 on automatic, he leveled it at the men hiding in the forest. Without caring who saw him, he walked forward. Grady screamed. His angle ensured his gunfire wouldn't hit the campfire area. He pulled the trigger. Shadows moved, men screamed; he marched on, spewing death. Five or more were down. A new shadow jumped into the forest. Without hesitation he sprinted, crashing through the snowy bushes. A massive-caliber gun roared behind him. Yodo must have shown up. The forest filled with thunder from all sides, but Sam kept after the one. He stopped. Everything was black. Then he heard something running through the trees. Without thought he ran and flicked on his headlamp. A head moving through six-foot huckleberry electrified him. He knew it was Gaudet.

Sprinting, he tried to hold the beam of light on the target. He filled his lungs and ran with huge strides. Then he was on him and grabbed him by the neck, pulling him down. Sam let out a guttural cry and Gaudet turned. They clawed at each other in wild combat. His teeth snapped at Sam's head, even as his knees churned, trying to find the groin.

Sam's light wobbled crazily, filling the forest with a weird shadowy half-light. He swung with an uppercut, connecting to the ribs. Gaudet growled and gouged at Sam's eyes and face, ripping the skin off his cheeks and bruising his eyes. For once, Sam fought not with deliberation but with rage. He clawed back at Gaudet and grabbed his throat. In turn, Gaudet's hands clamped on Sam's throat and they were staring into each other's eyes.

As they squeezed one another for death, Sam's years of training took over. He released Gaudet's neck and brought his joined hands up under Gaudet's chin with a fierce strike, breaking Gaudet's hold. Sam used a palm to splinter Gaudet's nose, which sprayed blood and had him wobbling. He threw an elbow into the floating ribs, intent on piercing a lung.

Gaudet fought like a man possessed, hitting Sam in the head and body, fighting back only to be pounded in the solar plexus.

The blow crumpled Gaudet, but before Sam could move in, Gaudet managed to rise and free his knife. Blood ran down his face, covering him, but Sam saw life in his eyes as he held the knife in front of him expertly.

Sam waited. Gaudet lunged but missed. Once again Sam waited, and Gaudet jabbed, nicking Sam's arm. With lightning speed Sam grabbed the knife hand at the wrist and struck the back of the elbow with an open hand, breaking it clean. Gaudet screamed and Sam took out a knee. He threw the knife into the trees. Gaudet crawled on the ground like a cornered animal.

"Hold it." It was Figgy. A light shone from his hand. "I'm afraid I need to take him for the French government."

"I don't think so, Figgy."

"I'm taking Raval too. The French got screwed in this deal."

Sam shook his head at the audacity of the allegation.

"You and Baptiste and Admiral Larive, and nobody else, screwed the French government and the Free World. You were going to let Cordyceps happen and reap the profits. This isn't about governments. It's about a few crooks. I'll prove that."

"No. I don't think you will." Just before Figgy shot, Sam leaped at him. Figgy shot probably at the head but missed. The second shot hit the Kevlar vest dead center. Sam slapped away the gun, which tumbled into the darkness. Gaudet and Figgy came at him at once, both desperate. Sam went for the uninjured Figgy first. A kick to the knee connected. Then both men were on Sam, trying to take him down. They hit the ground in a tangle, fighting like animals, tearing, biting, going for anything vital.

Sam struggled to roll free of the melee. Somebody had a hand on his throat. He didn't have long. Sam found a throat, grabbed the Adam's apple, and pulled with all his strength. Someone gasped, and the hand on his throat loosened. He punched blindly where the throat had been and connected with a face. Lifting his right leg over Gaudet, he caught his head and squeezed with a scissor lock. Gaudet bit into his thigh, and it became a contest of pain and endurance. Sam yanked on Gaudet's neck once, then twice, then clamped down viselike once more. At last, like a dying dog, Gaudet let go with his teeth and sank back.

Figgy was still choking. He didn't seem to have any fight left.

"Think about the upcoming throat surgery. It'll be a bitch."

The gunfire on the mountain had long since ceased. Sam shouted for Yodo, got up, and found his emptied M-4. Then he slapped Gaudet awake, yanked him up on his crippled leg, and did the same for Figgy, who couldn't stop choking. Carefully Sam checked Gaudet for weapons.

"So, you take me down. I got thousands or millions of your fellow citizens. I'm going to an American jail until the appeals run out."

"Would you like to hear the bad news?"

It took hours to get everybody that hadn't escaped back to the cabin site that was now covered with snow-frosted debris from the torrent. Both cabins were obliterated. Yodo and three men were left, plus Raval, Michael, Sam, and Grady. Raval, who had managed to escape into the woods, had taken up arms during the firefight. Grady was okay, but for a couple of nasty burns on her thigh and a badly bruised breast. Gaudet was a mess, his face swollen nearly beyond recognition, one broken elbow, a broken knee, and a badly sprained ankle. Figgy couldn't eat and could barely drink and would need an IV soon.

As soon as they were at the cabin site, now a mess of mud and wood, Sam called Jill.

"We're all okay." "Grady too?"

"They abused her, but no rape. She's tough and she'll heal."

"Thank God."

"What happened with the vector?" "We got all the copters and all the cement trucks. It was a miracle and took three thousand law enforcement personnel, but that did it. There were some boats. They tried to evacuate everybody, but there were stragglers and some homeless that remained. It wasn't pretty. The homeless murdered each other in gruesome ways. Lost maybe fifty to a hundred people. Still counting. Those that survived the fighting died from the immune response. It could have been a horrible disaster involving millions."

"The antivirus on the Internet?" "They say it worked." "Benoit?"

"Doing okay. She's going to need your help, Sam. A lot of angry Frenchmen here."

"I'm coming as fast as I can." "We're waiting."

It was twenty-four miserable hours later that the sheriff and National Guard and FBI made it to the hillside. They used inflatable rafts to cross the river—the cable across the river was gone—and then rope ladders and lines for gurneys to retrieve everyone. With the storm raging, helicopters remained impossible.

Sam went with everyone to the hospital. Just before leaving he got a call from the director of the FBI.

"Pretty damn gutsy of me, approving that antivirus without any testing."

"That's real leadership," Sam joked. "Maybe you should write a book."

"How come you never want to take credit for anything or be associated? It might be good for business."

"I like my privacy. And I'd appreciate it if the Bureau would support me in that. Tell the
People
magazine crowd and the rest that this was the work of my good friends, Ernie and Dennis."

Sam chose silver gray hair for the occasion, along with a mustache and horn-rimmed glasses. He watched from behind a one-way mirror. Benoit Moreau was present with her attorney, Jefferson Peakum, a Tennessee trial lawyer hired by Sam. They sat at a big table with about twenty other people.

"This is an informal get-together to try to mediate an agreement," the fellow from the State Department began.

"We'll begin with Benoit's legal counsel, Jefferson Peakum."

"I'd like to say," he began in his Southern drawl, "that Miss Moreau has been granted asylum for her outstanding role in saving us from a considerable calamity with which you are all familiar. She's grateful for that, and I think no one quibbles that said asylum was well deserved. Initially we had some arguments about the rules concerning asylum, but we're here today to make our case to the French that the government of France should grant a pardon making asylum unnecessary. We are certain that once the fair-minded French have fully considered the matter, such a pardon will be granted."

He looked pointedly at the French, who suddenly all looked like their neckties might be too tight.

"There has been some concern that the French bought a pig in a poke from a French citizen of ill repute by the name of Devan Gaudet. Now a pig in a poke is a Southern term for a farmer's acquisition of unknown livestock. And that's like the French. They didn't check the pedigree. Chaperone, which is the pig in my little analogy, is a process centered on a molecule, and this process was developed by one Georges Raval, another Frenchman, at a time when he was an independent contractor for Grace Technologies. Now, in your notebooks I have supplied you with a copy of that contract with Mr. Raval that specifies his independent contractor status at the time of his discovery of Cordyceps and at the time of his development of the process, and I have also verified with the French trustee that, in fact, this document is in the official minute book of the corporation duly attested by the secretary, Benoit Moreau. It is dated 1999. The Grace Technologies corporation took back a royalty-free license to use the invention when it executed the independent contract."

"That was all done by Benoit Moreau," the French diplomat interrupted in a shout.

"It was done in 1999 and the full board signed off on it." "I doubt the board even understood...." "Were you there? Benoit was there. Why not ask someone who was there?"

The Frenchman was red-faced but did not continue the debate. "Also attached are the notes of the American attorney wherein he records that Benoit Moreau raised the issue of Raval's employment and further indicates that the French bankruptcy lawyers represented that they would look into the matter of Raval's employment status at the time of the invention."

"Yes, we know this now. She fooled us," the senior French diplomat said. "The French bankruptcy lawyer was tricked. He did not understand the significance, so he overlooked the investigation, but Moreau knew all of this. She knew he was failing in his duty."

"You opened an escrow with an impeccable Swiss escrow agent. It says in the instructions that there are no promises or covenants between the parties, except those expressed in the escrow documents. Is that agreed?"

The French were silent.

"I take your silence to be similar to that of Pontius Pilate."

"It says that in the instructions, but that is no license for fraud," the French diplomat shot back.

"Certainly. Let us go further. It says in there, does it not, that Georges Raval was the inventor?"

More silence. "I won't keep referencing the murderer of our Savior in the same breath with the French position, but once again I take your silence to mean agreement."

"It says that, but once again—"

"It is not a license for fraud, and we would agree. Neither is it a license for stupidity, is it? So, if we continue to follow the beauty of logic and undertake the glories of wisdom, we get to the affidavit of Georges Raval. It says that this description of Chaperone is from the official records of Grace Technologies. And then Raval says that he cannot personally vouch for the efficacy of the science, as presented in these papers, but only that these are the official documents of Grace Technologies."

"This is merely legal jargon to protect him in case, for some reason, it doesn't work as expected."

"Precisely. And as I understand it, this doesn't work as expected."

"But he held back the real thing."

"No, he held back the version that he kept personally as the inventor. He states he is the sole inventor. Had he given you his version, he would
not
have met your demand. Your demand was for the
official
Grace Technologies documents."

"You're saying that Grace paid for all of this and has nothing."

"Absolutely not. They have a license by contract and Mr. Raval, or rather the foundation to which he has transferred the patent, will honor that perpetual royalty-free license. The French can use the Chaperone recipe without royalty. You obtained all of the vector technology from Gaudet. And I might add you got most of your money back."

"But this foundation can also sell Chaperone to the world and reap all the benefits," the French countered.

"Yes. That sometimes happens when you buy a pig in a poke. Now I agree that Mr. Gaudet as the seller could have done more to research the matter, but he did not, and you allowed him to close and dropped your demand to review the matter and voluntarily gave up your opportunity to ensure that you understood the species in your poke. One would think that you would be grateful that the foundation is going to honor your royalty-free license and actually give you the right pig."

"We are not happy with the asylum. Benoit Moreau knew what she was doing."