Part 4 (2/2)

”And what's this about others'?”

”Naturally,” said Wolfe, beginning to rummage through Henderson's desk, ”if it works out with you, there will be further attempts. That was always the Society's plan.” ”But that's not quite what he said, is it? Are there others in the works?” Careful, thought Wolfe. This man's senses are at their peak, and even before he could always smell an outright lie. ”In the works? No. You're the only one, Peter, I swear.” Under a pile of Soldier of Fortunes in Henderson's drawer he found a fifth of Jim Beam. ”Eureka,” Wolfe said. He took a brief swig, then offered it to Peter, who shook his head. ”This body didn't drink.'

”But your brain does. Come on, I miss my old pub-crawling pal.” Relenting, Peter took the bottle, drank, and winced. ”Christian Barnard or Mengele?” ”I'm sorry?”

”Which doctor are we, Freddy? How will we be remembered?” ”Oh” said Wolfe, savoring the bourbon rush, ”I thought it was something like that.” ”And I know what you're going to say. If we stopped every time we got cold feet, we'd still be living on a flat earth without penicillin.” The liquor burned in his gut, but his head felt a nudge of relief. ”Praying to the savage G.o.ds,” said Wolfe, ”atop b.l.o.o.d.y ziggurats. Actually, I wasn't going to take that tack-” ”You ever read Gulliver's Travels?”

”Not since I was ten years old.”

”You remember the Studbugs? Or the Struldbruggs, or some d.a.m.n thing?” He accepted the bottle one more time, what the h.e.l.l. He had his own fond memories of drinking with Wolfe in the old days. ”Anyway, Swift had Gulliver find this place where people were born every so often who wouldn't die. The only difference between them and everyone else was that they had a red dot on their foreheads and they lived forever. And what happened was that everybody who had a normal life span grew to despise the Studbugs. Everybody got born, lived and died, but the d.a.m.ned red-dot ones stayed around forever.” ”As I recall,” said Wolfe, ”they made them their leaders.” ”You're thinking of some other book,” said Peter. ”Everybody hated them because they hogged everything. They never died or left their land or money to anybody; they never gave up the business to the son, or disappeared so that the daughter could a.s.sume the full mantle of adulthood. Oh, and they stank after a while, too. You see what I'm saying?” ”Actually, I don't.”

Peter looked at him. Could he be this out of touch with what now seemed to be an obvious truth? ”Species need to refresh themselves, Freddy, not be thrown into artificial stasis! We're trying to do an end run around two billion years of evolution.” Wolfe emitted a sharp laugh. He leaned across the desk. ”We're two billion years of evolution, you sap! It's the Entopic Principle, Peter-the laws of nature exist because our brains can imagine them. And improve upon them. We're evolution's quantum leap. We labored through trial and error for millions of years until we invented ourselves! We go from biplanes to lunar-landing craft in a single lifetime now, and if it can be thought of it can be done. And will be done. Period.” Peter took that in for a moment, then countered, aiming for the sole weak spot he thought Wolfe might have. ”What's Alex up to?” ”What?” said Wolfe.

”Why is he sending out e-mails?”

”E-mails? I don't know what you mean,” he said. ”My impression is that Alex is back on board. Is there something I should know?” he asked, watching Peter carefully. The frightened look had come back into Peter's eyes-the same look as when Henderson had threatened his so-called love toy-and it occurred to Wolfe that maybe there was someone. Well, if there was, she shouldn't be that difficult to find. ”I'm sorry, Peter, I'm not following,” he said. ”I think you follow more than you want me to know,” Peter said. ”And why, by the way, have you been seeing so much of Beatrice?” Somebody has to, thought Wolfe, realizing with a start that he had almost said it out loud. ”You've behaved badly to Beatrice,” he said stiffly, putting the bottle down. ”If I try to console her, I consider I'm doing three people a favor.” This seemed to chasten Peter. He took a long pull from the whiskey; this time it felt good. ”In any case, thank you for calling off your dog,” he said. ”Henderson isn't my dog,” said Wolfe, ”so there's no way I can call him off. If you get my drift.” ”I do,” said Peter.

”It's serious business, Peter. Many lives are at stake.” ”Including mine.”

”I'm afraid so, yes. This is not something you opt out of. You've signed on for life.” ”And beyond.”

”Exactly.”

”I appreciate your candor,” said Peter. ”And you're right about evolution.” ”Am I? I'm glad to hear that.”

”And actually,” Peter added, rising unsteadily, ”that little bit of freedom you've given me? I swear it's increased my brain's output. I think we're almost home.” ”Really, Peter?”

”Really. We're on the verge of actually a.s.sembling the weapon.” ”Lethality equal to what we saw on the range? I want to pa.s.s this on to Henderson.” ”More. No residuum at all. Adversaries will simply vanish by the battalion,” said Peter, sweeping an arm through the air. ”The trick will be limiting the killing, not trying to heighten it.” ”So we're home?” said Wolfe, watching Peter carefully. ”I'd say so.”

”Remarkable,” said Wolfe. They were home, so Peter was expendable. Henderson had been more right than he knew ”It's strong enough to wipe out every living thing within five miles, plus break down the atomic structure of the larger molecules. Carbon molecules, for instance, might just fly apart. That might make rocks turn into miniature nuclear grenades, for all we know. And Freddy, the best part? This will confirm everything you told them the Fountain Society could deliver. You're going to be able to write your own ticket after this. You can tell Henderson to take a hike, have the funding to do whatever kind of experiments you want to do. Take us all into the twentyfirst century.” ”And no more doubts?”

”No more doubts. Except now I have to pee. ”Well,” said Wolfe, ”I'm glad these little talks are helping.” They both laughed, gripping hands in a firm handshake. At the door they even embraced. Wolfe watched Peter walk down the hall toward the rest room, then closed Henderson's door. He really thought he was giving a performance, Wolfe thought. Charming the pants off me. And all for what, to buy a little time with your inamorata? Peter, dear deluded fool, I could always talk rings around you, couldn't I? And now I know that I can drink you under the table as well. He recapped the Jim Beam, stowed it back in the drawer and pushed the b.u.t.ton that reexposed the surveillance monitors. A video screen picked up Peter leaving the rest room, dabbing at his mouth with a paper towel. Wolfe grinned, realizing that Peter had gotten sick from the liquor. And then the most pleasant realization he had had in a long while struck him: one day very soon he, Frederick Wolfe, would truly have it all.

Later that afternoon, Peter lay on his bed staring at the ceiling's acoustical tile. His head ached from the bourbon and his senses felt minutely dulled, but he could still feel the woman as if she were lying beside him, the texture of her hair, the touch of her hand, the taste of her mouth. For several days he had practiced fending off the memory of their night on the beach, not always with success, but now, with Henderson's threats ringing in his ears, he found he could think of nothing but the woman. End up on the sc.r.a.p heap. You and your love toy. Did that mean Henderson was already aware of her existence on the island? Had Alex Davies somehow tipped him off? Not willingly, no, he couldn't imagine that being the case. Of all the people on the base, Wolfe included, Alex was least adept at concealing his contempt for the military. But with Alex, anything was possible. Whose side, for instance, was he on, if anybody's? He couldn't ask Alex directly without further implicating himself and the woman as well. Then what was he supposed to do? Warn her-tell her to take the next plane back to wherever she had come from. No. The threat was real and his duty to the woman was clear, whatever his emotions. He had promised to see her again, and now there was every reason in the world to go. For another few minutes he lay on the bed, trying to calculate how he could slip away and return without inviting any more suspicion. A key turned in the lock.

Peter bolted upright, half-expecting to see Henderson, but instead it was Beatrice. He saw the anguish in her face and it made him instantly heartsick. ”I'm sorry,” she said. ”I a.s.sumed you'd still be at the lab.” He gave a halfshrug, feeling utterly sheepish. ”The thoughts weren't flowing,” he said.

”I'll only be a moment,” she said. ”I left some things behind.” He watched her cross the room, brus.h.i.+ng past the Erlenmeyer flask of dried flowers to open the drawer of a scarred blond bureau. Watching her graceful movements, seeing the pain in her eyes, he felt a sudden urge to confess, to share his own pain and confusion. Beatrice, I'm in trouble, I need your advice. ”What have you been working on?” he said gently. She shot him a look: how quickly they forget. ”Use of genetically altered blood,” she said tonelessly. ”In combat trauma.” ”Yes, of course, I'm sorry.

She nodded, just barely, but it was enough for him to feel encouraged. ”I feel terrible,” he said.

”Yes? About what?”

If Henderson knows, she surely suspects, he thought. ”About the way,” he said, experimentally, ”we ye grown apart.” ”Only six inches or so, I'd say. But it does make a difference.” At this flash of wit-which seemed to imply ignorance of any third party to their difficulties-Peter took heart, rising from the bed and going to his wife. She moved away, but not toward the door, which further gave him hope. ”I was told we're going back to White Sands soon,” he said. No, he was wrong, she was angrier than he had a.s.sumed-she was staffing to empty her drawers, packing a small suitcase. ”You really feel you're ready to travel?” ”Of course I am,” he said.

She turned and looked at him, moving a strand of hair from her eyes. ”Or would you rather stay here?” He tightened. ”Why would I want to do that?” She hesitated a moment, keeping her back to him. ”For the sake of your recovery,” she said. Her voice sounded hollow-as though she were trying to convince herself there was nothing more than his health at stake. As she dropped some toiletries into her bag, Peter moved closer and touched her hair. She pushed his hand away. ”Please, don't condescend.” ”To want to touch you, B., is not condescension.” ”And don't call me B. That's what my husband used to call me. Beatrice will do just fine, thank you.” Peter sank.

”Beatrice, please? Don't abandon me because I'm different now. I need you. ”Do you, Peter?”

”Yes,” he said. His voice, echoing back to him from the blank walls, sounded choked and puzzled. He felt like a child watching an adult weep at a funeral, knowing he couldn't possibly understand the pain around him, yet the tears were welling up in spite of his confusion. Turning, she saw that he was about to cry and he felt her break inside. If I can still feel that, he thought, there's hope. ”I'm still me. You're still you. We knew there would be adjustments-a few changes-” ”A few changes!” she said. ”Jekyll and Hyde are slouches compared to you!” He had to laugh. And then so did she, though with less ease. But she let him take her in his arms, and as soon as he did, she began to cry Silently he stroked her hair. ”It's been h.e.l.lish,” he said. ”Has it? I'm glad.” She wiped a tear from her cheek. ”Would you care to be more specific?” He didn't know how to begin. ”Wondering who's in control.” ”You or your body?”

”It's driving me crazy It's frightening. And the doubts are coming back. In spades.” ”Tell me.” She folded her hands in her lap as though trying to hide the wrinkles. ”I'm not old anymore. I don't have an old man's thoughts. Old men are much more comfortable making weapons of ma.s.s destruction,” he said, relieved for the moment to be taking the high road. ”But you were young, Peter, when you went into weaponry ”Maybe so. But why does it feel so different now?” ”And why is the sky blue? And why is there something rather than nothing? You tell me, Peter, because I don't know anymore. You bought this body with your career, so there we are. ”Yes, here we are.” He held her tighter. ”I've missed you so much.” ”Have you really?” She was near breaking again. ”Yes,” he said, kissing her. Her hands trembled as they moved to his chest, then slid down his s.h.i.+rt, over his trousers and to his crotch. He felt no pa.s.sion. None whatsoever.

He looked away guiltily. She took her hand away. ”Beatrice, I'm exhausted, that's all it is.” She pursed her lips. ”In spite of your youth.” ”Don't turn your back. Give me a chance.” ”Peter, is there someone else?” She was looking at him from the corner of her eye. This is it, he thought. ”Because really, I don't care if it's just your body jumping over the fence like an alley cat. Under the circ.u.mstances, I could forgive that. But if it's you doing the jump-ing... if there's someone that means something to you.. . That's what I'm asking.” He lifted her chin, turning her face toward him. ”Beatrice, there never was anyone but you. Her gray eyes froze. Was?”

”And never will be.”

”You swear?”

No, there was a wall beyond which he could not pa.s.s. He couldn't lie to Beatrice, the way he had lied to Wolfe. He was aware in full measure that if he did, his soul would indeed be lost forever. And then he lied anyway.

”I swear,” he said, wanting with all his heart to believe it was true. ”You're lying,” she said.

G.o.d help me, thought Peter.

”And you're a wretched liar, too, you s.h.i.+t.” Helpless, he watched her s.n.a.t.c.h up her handbag, walk briskly to the door and out of the apartment. Then, even before he could move, she was back, tears in her eyes. But now there was a terrible fury as well. ”What the h.e.l.l am I doing? she asked no one in particular, and threw down her bag. ”You get out!” She threw open the door and stepped back. The power of her rage was overwhelming. There was a primal force in her eves, more devastating than any weapon he could dream of devising. It smashed into his very being and exposing his selfishness in all its squalor. He walked out, and heard the door slam behind him.

Outside in the corridor, his feet seemed glued to the tile. Voices were drifting in from the breezeway one of them Henderson's. Prying himself loose and m.u.f.fling his footsteps, he hurried in the opposite direction, out the side exit and across the stretch of weed-choked sand toward the palm grove, barely acknowledging the guard who was posted on the path to the beach. Within minutes he reached the water's edge and started running toward the lights on the horizon. A half-hour later he was at the base boundary, about to cross over to Phosph.o.r.escent Bay. From there he could walk or hitch a ride to Esperanza and the woman who was waiting for him at the Casa del Frances, unaware of the dangers swirling around them both. Except there was a naval guard, a Seal at the fence between the two beaches. ”Dr. Jance?”

”Yes, that's right.”

”This is as far as we're authorized to let you run, sir.” Peter held on to his composure. ”I know that. Just thought I'd say h.e.l.lo before turning back. Pretty bay over there, isn't it?” The Seal glanced back over his shoulder at the luminous blue water and shrugged. ”Yeah, I guess. G.o.d knows what kinda s.h.i.+t's in there to make it glow like that. Probably radioactive runoff from the base.” Peter nodded, then turned back the way he had come. He ran, panic rising as he put more and more distance between himself and his goal. At the far end of the beach he stopped. Another guard, a quarter mile ahead. He looked left, he looked right, and then he looked out to sea. You can do this, he thought.

Removing his shoes, he slung them around his neck and waded into the water. He'd been a strong swimmer in his youth, but then he instantly realized this body hadn't learned the same skills. It struggled through the surf, having to focus with all his strength, literally teaching his muscles and limbs how to navigate the water. It took a good fifteen minutes to find any semblance of the crawl stroke he had won swimming meets with in college. A hundred yards out into the open sea he turned right and swam parallel to sh.o.r.e, fighting a considerable crosscurrent. For an hour he churned on in this manner, each exhausted pause sending him drifting backward, cursing his clumsiness and plunging forward in renewed desperation. In the second hour, he experienced severe cramping and, despite the warmth of the water, his extremities began to grow numb. And then something b.u.mped him, something big. Peter swore and kicked out in panic, flas.h.i.+ng on all the varieties of shark that were endemic to these waters. When his foot hit metal, he realized he had collided with the buoy that marked the channel into the marina in Sun Bay He clung to it until he regained his breath, then struck out for sh.o.r.e. In another twenty minutes he was washed up on the beach. He had lost his shoes, and was chilled to the bone, shaking so hard he could barely see straight. Stumbling to the road, he flagged down a car of astonished German tourists and told them his sailboat had sprung a leak. They bought his story and kindly drove him to Casa del Frances, even giving him a pair of tennis shoes that, unbelievably, fit. Thanking them profusely, he staggered toward the inn. Despite his exhaustion, he had never felt so purely in the momentlike Byron swimming the h.e.l.lespont. Or-and his mood darkened at the thought-like a salmon fighting its way upstream to sp.a.w.n and die. You hypocrite, he fumed, you didn't have to go to all this life-threatening trouble. You could have found some other way to warn her. A phone call would have sufficed. No, they must be monitoring all my calls by now, he thought. You would have put her life in even greater danger. You're doing the right thing. He rang the bell at the hotel's gate. Inside the guard's shack, a white-haired old man with a scarred, sunken face sat dozing on a folding chair; steadying himself, Peter beaned him with a well-aimed pebble from the driveway. The man snapped awake, shuffled over and let Peter through. Peter tipped him a soggy ten-spot and, fighting for breath, asked for the American woman with blond hair. The old man beamed and pointed at the lighted window. ”Ole,” he said, waving this strange gringo whose body shook like a leaf in a hurricane inside the hotel. 12 Elizabeth heard the tap on her window twice before she realized it was him trying to get her attention. Her heart leapt as she raced down the tiled stairway to the lobby. There she found Peter, disoriented, soaked and s.h.i.+vering, face pale as paper, eyes glazed. And he had also lost the power of speech. It was all she could do to get him up to her room and strip off his soggy clothes. She dried him with a towel and rubbed some color back into his hands, then helped him into her bed, pulling the covers over him. She sat beside him, finally having the time to be astonished at his condition. ”What happened, Hans? Sweetheart, you can tell me. What's going on?” At the sound of the endearment, Peter's whole body started shaking again and he held on to her for dear life. He was terrified-and not just of losing his mind. As a result of his exertions, his entire left side had gone numb, just as it had blanked out after the operation. Both his hearing and eyesight were blinking on and off like Christmas lights. The strain of the swim, following Henderson's stranglehold, might well have dislodged one of the sensitive splices of nerve at the back of his throat. His heart was pumping harder than it ever had before, as though desperately trying to force enough blood through the still-brittle, seventy-six-year-old vessels in his brain. He was an accident waiting to happen, an old man riding a fiery stallion and he couldn't let go of his fear. When he could finally form a sentence, he found he was afraid to speak. ”That kid you saw. At the Azure Horizon. Did he have wild blond hair? Looked rather strange?” ”Yes.”

Okay, it was Alex. ”Was there anyone with him?” ”Not that I saw.”

”No military man? A colonel? Ham-faced, big jaw, bulging temples? Brutallooking guy? Doesn't ring a bell?” She stared at him, a terror in her warm gray eyes. The same color as Beatrice's, he realized, the irises bright, the white clear, the way his wife's eyes used to be. Her voice, too, was a throaty alto. And then he thought: Cod help you, Jance, that's the oldest dodge known to man. Beatrice, I just couldn't help myself, she reminded me so much of you. No, you weasel, that's your hard-on talking. In that respect, his circulation was working perfectly. ”This colonel, does he know I'm here? At this hotel?” ”If he doesn't,” said Peter, ”he'll figure it out pretty quick.” ”How? Why? Hans, what is this all about?” He couldn't tell her, but he could prepare her. ”You would hate me if you knew. And I don't want you to hate me.” ”Why not?”

It was out before he could censor himself. ”You mean too much to me.” You b.a.s.t.a.r.d, he thought. Tell her she's got to leave-that's what you came to do, not lead her on. He was starting to shake again, and she was squeezing his hand. She looked at him, took a breath, then asked ”Hans, are you CIA?” All right, he thought, you can buy some time here. ”If you think I'm CIA” he said, attempting a smile, ”then the Agency has a bigger image than they think.” ”Those photos of your corpse, those were faked, weren't they? The accident?” ”More or less,” he said, feeling his soul slipping through the fingers of this half-a.s.sed lie. ”And your mother? She doesn't know, does she? Or was she lying to me?” ”She doesn't know.” Cod, he thought, how many other people are at risk here? ”Hans, she's suffering.”

”I know,” said Peter doggedly. ”I couldn't tell her. It would have put her in jeopardy.” And that's why you have to go, he thought, but still couldn't bring himself to say it. ”Do you want to get out? Is that why you're in trouble?” ”Yes,” he said. This finally was the truth, even if it was one he had been afraid to fully admit to himself. And why this fear? Because Beatrice was still loyal to the cause? Perhaps, he thought, it would be n.o.ble to think this was the only reason. But at that very moment, he heard himself blurt out another. ”I've fallen in love with you,” he said. She kissed him on the forehead. ”I know, Hans,” she said with a wonderful tenderness. ”Your mom told me.” He pieced that together as best he could. But a subtle s.h.i.+ft was taking place. He no longer wanted to know more about Hans. Now he wanted to know more about this woman. ”Won't they start to miss you at home?” ”Yes, sure, the career, I guess. And Annie.” ”I would think so,” he said. ”You really should go back.” She shrugged, as if it were already too late. ”My agency, they've lost interest. After you died' I went to pieces. Lost some bookings.” An actress? A singer? A model? She was studying him gravely. ”I even slept with somebody else,” she said. He felt a stab of jealousy and it thrilled him. ”Listen, I understand, I disappeared on you-” ”I did it to find you. Because,” she said, ”I love you, too. Incidentally.” His heart swelled. ”You took an awful chance.” ”Story of my life. Hans, did you mean what you said just now? About getting out?” She was in front of him, cross-legged, excited, sweeping back her hair. ”Yes.”

”Then why don't we? I can't stand it any more if you're not there. I think about you nonstop. Back in St. Maurice I wasn't sure about us. I was starting to think I was some sort of m.a.s.o.c.h.i.s.t for staying with you. But everything feels so different now-” ”The danger,” he said.

She gave him a peculiar look. ”No. It's not just the danger. It's you. I feel so close to you now. Before, you were so impossible.” ”Maybe I still am,” said Peter. Tell her. Now. ”No. You've changed. I can feel that we'll make it work now. I don't care who you are or what you've done, if you really want to be with me, that's all that matters.” Her brow furrowed. ”Do you have your pa.s.sport with you?” Pa.s.sport. ”Not on me.”

”Where is it? Are you in a hotel? I could go get it if you're still feeling woozy. ”You can't. It's on the base.”

She remembered that razor-wired gate, the armed guard, and felt a chill. ”Is it safe to go back there? Maybe you shouldn't.” ”I have to. My traveler's checks, my pa.s.sport, everything's back there.” Come on, he thought, you owe her this much: ”This isn't going to be easy. There's someone else on the base.” She stopped. He could feel her defenses come up. ”A woman?” she asked. ”Well, yes.”

”Is Yvette here with you?” she asked, as if it all might be one vast conspiracy now, involving even his wife. ”No,” he said. ”lt's not that. Not Yvette...” He paused. He was getting in way over his head. ”You don't know her, believe me. But I can't just abandon this person, there's too much danger.” ”Someone involved in this thing with you?” she asked almost shyly. ”Yes. Extremely involved. Very much at risk. And you, you're already in danger-” She nodded slightly, trying to make sense of it. ”The man you mentioned? This colonel?” Peter took her hand. Looked in her eyes. About this he could speak the truth. ”He wields a lot of power-I can't begin to describe it,” he said, seized in the instant with a sense of his own mortality and with a frightening realization that his coming to her that night was completely rash. The project was all that Henderson or any of them cared about. No one was indispensable, including him, especially with his half-drunk boast to Freddy Wolfe that the success of the new weapon was a fait accompli. In doing that, he now realized, he had put himself fatally at risk. Inside, he laughed bitterly at himself. The irony was that he had been trying to convince Wolfe of his loyalty, as if his words might speak louder than his actions. ”How much money do you have? Enough to rent a boat?” ”Sure, with my faithful Visa.”

”Do you know how to handle one?”

”I'm sure I could figure it out, but why-” ”Because they may be watching the airport. Do you understand how serious this is?” She nodded, undaunted, even excited. ”And you're coming with me?” He steeled himself. ”That remains to be seen. ”I understand,” she said, eyes dimming with disappointment. ”You're keeping your options open.” ”I'm thinking about your safety,” he said firmly. ”As well as mine. Tomorrow, midnight, four hundred yards off the coast, halfway down the southern stretch of the military zone, just past that bioluminescent bay where we met.” Where we met again, he thought, wincing to himself. But she hadn't picked up on it. Her gray eyes were bright. ”Midnight. I'll be there.” ”The boat has to be big enough to get us to Puerto Rico.” ”Then what?”

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