Whistleblower and Never Say Die (44 page)

Easy for Tyrone to say,
thought Black.
Tyrone had no conscience to bother him.

These thoughts had plagued him all day. Now, as Black packed up his briefcase, he felt desperate to flee forever this teak-and-leather office, to take refuge in some safe and
anonymous job. It was with a sigh of relief that he walked out the door.

It was dark when he pulled into his gravel driveway. The house, a saltbox of cedar and glass tucked among the trees, looked cold and empty and in need of a woman. Perhaps he should call his neighbor Muriel. She always seemed to appreciate an impromptu dinner together. Her snappy wit and green Jell-O salad almost made up for the fact she was 75. What a shame his generation didn’t produce many Muriels.

He stepped out of his car and started up the path to the front door. Halfway there, he heard a soft
whht!
and almost simultaneously, a sharp pain stung his neck. Reflexively he slapped at it; something came away in his hands. In wonderment, he stared down at the dart, trying to understand where it had come from and how such a thing had managed to lodge in his neck. But he found he couldn’t think straight. And then he found he was having trouble seeing, that the night had suddenly darkened to a dense blackness, that his legs were being sucked into some sort of quagmire. His briefcase slipped from his grasp and thudded to the ground.

I’m dying,
he thought. And then,
Will anyone find me here?

It was his last conscious thought before he collapsed onto the leaf-strewn path.

“Is he dead?”

Ollie bent forward and listened for Archibald Black’s breathing. “He’s definitely alive. But out cold.” He looked up at Polowski and Victor. “Okay, let’s move it. He’ll be out for only an hour or so.”

Victor grabbed the legs, Ollie and Polowski, the arms. Together they carried the unconscious man a few dozen yards through the woods, toward the clearing where the van was parked.

“You—you sure we got an hour?” gasped Polowski.

“Plus or minus,” said Ollie. “The tranquilizer’s designed for large animals, so the dose was only an estimate. And this guy’s heavier than I expected.” Ollie was panting now. “Hey, Polowski, he’s slipping. Pull your weight, will ya?”

“I am! I think his right arm’s heavier than his left.”

The van’s side door was already open for them. They rolled Black inside and slid the door closed. A bright light suddenly glared, but the unconscious man didn’t even twitch.

Cathy knelt down at his side and critically examined the man’s face.

“Can you do it?” asked Victor.

“Oh, I can do it,” she said. “The question is, will you pass for him?” She glanced up and down the man’s length, then back at Victor. “Looks about your size and build. We’ll have to darken your hair, give you a widow’s peak. I think you’ll pass.” She turned and glanced at Milo, who was already poised with his camera. “Take your photos. A few shots from every angle. I need lots of hair detail.”

As Milo’s strobe flashed again and again, Cathy donned gloves and an apron. She pointed to a sheet. “Drape him for me,” she directed. “Everything but his face. I don’t want him to wake up with plaster all over his clothes.”

“Assuming he wakes up at all,” said Milo, frowning down at Black’s inert form.

“Oh, he’ll wake up,” said Ollie. “Right where we found
him. And if we do the job right, Mr. Archibald Black will never know what hit him.”

It was the rain that awakened him. The cold droplets pelted his face and dribbled into his open mouth. Groaning, Black turned over and felt gravel bite into his shoulder. Even in his groggy state it occurred to him that this did not make sense. Slowly he took stock of all the things that were not as they should be: the rain falling from the ceiling, the gravel in his bed, the fact he was still wearing his shoes…

At last he managed to shake himself fully awake. He found to his puzzlement that he was sitting in his driveway, and that his briefcase was lying right beside him. By now the rain had swelled to a downpour—he had to get out of the storm. Half crawling, half walking, Black managed to make it up the porch steps and into the house.

An hour later, huddled in his kitchen, a cup of coffee in hand, he tried to piece together what had happened. He remembered parking his car. He’d taken out his briefcase and apparently had managed to make it halfway up the path. And then…what?

A vague ache worried its way into his awareness. He rubbed his neck. That’s when he remembered something strange had happened, just before he blacked out. Something associated with that ache in his neck.

He went to a mirror and looked. There it was, a small puncture in the skin. An absurd thought popped into his head:
Vampires.
Right.
Damn it, Archibald. You are a scientist. Come up with a rational explanation.

He went to the laundry hamper and fished out his damp shirt. To his alarm he spotted a droplet of blood on the lapel.
Then he saw what had caused it: a common, everyday tailor’s pin. It was still lodged in the collar, no doubt left there by the dry cleaners. There was his rational explanation. He’d been pricked by a collar pin and the pain had sent him into a faint.

In disgust, he threw the shirt down. First thing in the morning, he was going to complain to the Tidy Girl cleaners and demand they do his suit for free.

Vampires, indeed.

“Even with bad lighting, you’ll be lucky if you pass,” said Cathy.

She stood back and gave Victor a long, critical look. Slowly she walked around him, eyeing the newly darkened hair, the resculpted face, the new eye color. It was as close as she could make it, but it wasn’t good enough. It would never be good enough, not when Victor’s life was at stake.

“I think he’s the spitting image,” said Polowski. “What’s the problem now?”

“The problem is, I suddenly realize it’s a crazy idea. I say we call it off.”

“You’ve been working on him all afternoon. You got it right down to the damn freckles on his nose. What else can you improve on?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t feel
good
about this!”

There was a silence as she confronted the four men.

Ollie shook his head. “Women’s intuition. That’s a dangerous thing to disregard.”

“Well, here’s
my
intuition,” said Polowski. “I think it’ll work. And I think it’s our best option. Our chance to nail the case.”

Cathy turned to Victor. “You’re the one who’ll get hurt. It’s your decision.” What she really wanted to say was,
Please. Don’t do it. Stay with me. Stay alive and safe and mine.
But she knew, looking into his eyes, that he’d already made his decision, and no matter how much she might wish for it, he would never really be hers.

“Cathy,” he said. “It’ll work. You have to believe that.”

“The only thing I believe,” she said, “is that you’re going to get killed. And I don’t want to be around to watch it.”

Without another word, she turned and walked out the door.

Outside, in the parking lot of the Rockabye Motel, she stood in the darkness and hugged herself. She heard the door shut, and then his footsteps moved toward her across the blacktop.

“You don’t have to stay,” he said. “There’s still that beach in Mexico. You could fly there tonight, be out of this mess.”

“Do you want me to go?”

A pause, then, “Yes.”

She shrugged, a poor attempt at nonchalance. “All right. I suppose it all makes perfect sense. I’ve done my part.”

“You saved my life. At the very least, I owe you a measure of safety.”

She turned to him. “Is that what weighs most on your mind, Victor? The fact that you
owe
me?”

“What weighs most on my mind is that you might get caught in the crossfire. I’m prepared to walk through those doors at Viratek. I’m prepared to do a lot of stupid things. But I’m not prepared to watch you get hurt. Does that make any sense?” He pulled her against him, into a place that felt infinitely warm and safe. “Cathy, Cathy. I’m not crazy. I don’t want to die. But I don’t see any way around this….”

She pressed her face against his chest, felt his heartbeat, so steady, so regular. She was afraid to think of that heart not beating, of those arms no longer alive to hold her. He was brave enough to go through with this crazy scheme; couldn’t she somehow dredge up the same courage? She thought,
I’ve come this far with you. How could I dream of walking away? Now that I know I love you?

The motel door opened, and light arced across the parking lot. “Gersh?” said Ollie. “It’s getting late. If we want to go ahead, we’ll have to leave now.”

Victor was still looking at her. “Well?” he said. “Do you want Ollie to take you to the airport?”

“No.” She squared her shoulders. “I’m coming with you.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want to do?”

“I’m never sure of anything these days. But on this I’ve decided. I’ll stick it out.” She managed a smile. “Besides, you might need me on the set. In case your face falls off.”

“I need you for a hell of a lot more than that.”

“Gersh?”

Victor reached out for Cathy’s hand. She let him take it. “We’re coming,” he said. “Both of us.”

“I’m approaching the front gate. One guard in the booth. No one else around. Copy?”

“Loud and clear,” said Polowski.

“Okay. Here I go. Wish me luck.”

“We’ll be tuned in. Break a leg.” Polowski clicked off the microphone and glanced at the others. “Well, folks, he’s on his way.”

To what?
Cathy wondered. She glanced around at the
other faces. There were four of them huddled in the van. They’d parked a half mile from Viratek’s front gate. Close enough to hear Victor’s transmissions, but too far away to do him much good. With the microphone link, they could mark his progress.

They could also mark his death.

In silence, they waited for the first hurdle.

“Evening,” said Victor, pulling up at the gate.

The guard peered out through the booth window. He was in his twenties, cap on straight, collar button fastened. This was Pete Zahn, Mr. By-the-book Extraordinaire. If anyone was to cut the operation short, it would be this man. Victor made a brave attempt at a smile and prayed his mask wouldn’t crack. It seemed an eternity, that exchange of looks. Then, to Victor’s relief, the man smiled back.

“Working late, Dr. Black?”

“Forgot something at the lab.”

“Must be important, huh? To make a special trip at midnight.”

“These government contracts. Gotta be done on time.”

“Yeah.” The guard waved him through. “Have a nice night.”

Heart pounding, Victor pulled through the gate. Only when he’d rounded the curve into the empty parking lot did he manage a sigh of relief. “First base,” he said into the microphone. “Come on, guys. Talk to me.”

“We’re here,” came the response. It was Polowski.

“I’m heading into the building—can’t be sure the signal will get through those walls. So if you don’t hear from me—”

“We’ll be listening.”

“I’ve got a message for Cathy. Put her on.”

There was a pause, then he heard, “I’m here, Victor.”

“I just wanted to tell you this. I’m coming back. I promise. Copy?”

He wasn’t sure if it was just the signal’s waiver, but he thought he heard the beginning of tears in her reply. “I copy.”

“I’m going in now. Don’t leave without me.”

It took Pete Zahn only a minute to look up Archibald Black’s license plate number. He kept a Rolodex in the booth, though he seldom referred to it as he had a good memory for numbers. He knew every executive’s license by heart. It was his own little mind game, a test of his cleverness. And the plate on Dr. Black’s car just didn’t seem right.

He found the file card. The auto matched up okay: a gray 1991 Lincoln sedan. And he was fairly certain that
was
Dr. Black sitting in the driver’s seat. But the license number was all wrong.

He sat back and thought about it for a while, trying to come up with all the possible explanations. That Black was simply driving a different auto. That Black was playing a joke on him, testing him.

That it hadn’t been Archibald Black, at all.

Pete reached for the telephone. The way to find out was to call Black’s home. It was after midnight, but it had to be done. If Black didn’t answer the phone, then that must be him in the Lincoln. And if he
did
answer, then something was terribly wrong and Black would want to know about it.

Two rings. That’s all it took before a groggy voice answered, “Hello?”

“This is Pete Zahn, night man at Viratek. Is this—is this Dr. Black?”

“Yes.”

“Dr.
Archibald
Black?”