Jack ignores him for a few blocks but then the guy has the nerve to hit his siren. Just a single woop but it sets off a rage bomb in Jack. Time to set this fool straight. Instead of slowing, Jack speeds up. Not too fast—doing forty in a twenty-five—but enough to make it plain that this big black Mercedes is giving Offissa Pupp an automotive single-digit salute.
Jack can't see the cop's face but he's got to be pissed because he's cranked his siren up to full blast now and not only are his flashers doing the dervish but his headlights are strobing like it's disco time as he crawls up the butt of Jack's Mercedes.
You like driving close? How's this?
Jack presses back against the headrest as he slams on the brakes and is jolted as the cop car plows into his rear bumper. Jack pauses long enough to see the cop disappear behind a billow of white; then he roars off, laughing.
Eat hot flaming air bag, Deputy Dawg!
But a mile or so farther on he's got another wooping flashing Glen Cove policemobile on his tail and it doesn't seem to matter that Jack's in Monroe now; the cop keeps coming. Jack speeds up, hoping to catch this guy same as the last, but Cop One must've put out the word because Cop Two hangs back. Jack's slowing down and speeding up, trying to reel him in, and maybe just maybe he's paying too much attention to the rear-view, because when he focuses back through the windshield during the next speedup he sees this Pacer driven by an Oriental dude turning in front of him so he stands on the brake and hauls the steering wheel left and skids across the road and everything would be fine except this brand new Chevy Suburban the size of Yonkers is barreling down the other lane and it catches him broadside like a high-velocity ninety-thousand-caliber hardball, flipping the Merc onto its side and bouncing Jack in half a dozen directions at once around the front compartment. He's a human pinball between a set of power bumpers and as he sees the front right windshield post coming in fast for a face kiss he remembers the seat-belt warning light with sudden wistful fondness; then memory and consciousness take a breather…
6
Luc fidgeted anxiously in his chair in his book-lined study and decided he could put it off no longer. He'd stayed home today but had been checking the employee sign-in list at the GEM offices via his home computer. Nadia's name was still absent.
He glanced at his watch. Almost eleven. If she hadn't signed in by now, she wasn't going to. Time to call the clinic. He punched in the number.
"Diabetes clinic," said a woman's voice.
"Yes. Is Dr. Radzminsky there?"
"No. She's gone for the day."
"Do you know when she left?"
"Who's calling, please?"
"This is Dr. Monnet. She works for me as a researcher."
"Of course. She's mentioned you."
Has she? I wonder what she said.
"Well, she hasn't shown up for work yet and I was wondering…"
Luc listened patiently while the receptionist related how Dr. Radzminsky was upset because of her fiance's disappearance and so on, and he made properly sympathetic noises. The important thing here was to establish his concern for a missing employee.
After learning that Nadia had left later than usual—almost nine-thirty—Luc told the receptionist to ask her to please call his office immediately should she return.
He leaned back and sipped his coffee and thought of Nadia's coffee. Undoubtedly she'd drunk from her NADJ mug by now and was presently wandering about somewhere, firmly in the grip of Loki madness.
Luc sighed with relief and a touch of regret as he wondered where she was and what she was doing. He confessed to a certain professional curiosity as to what behaviors the Loki would bring out in a sweet, even-tempered person like Nadia. He remembered reading about a meek mousy little housewife who, after taking a heavy dose from a well-meaning friend, cut her abusive husband to ribbons. Nothing so gory from Nadia, he hoped. Just enough to get her arrested and charged… and her credibility ruined.
He rose and returned to the living room. He surveyed the crates of wine neatly stacked and ready for shipment. He'd personally packed every one of them. Only four more to go.
He glanced at the television and saw that Headline News was replaying the Dragovic videotape. Luc had already seen it three times but he sat down now, eager for a fourth viewing. He could not help grinning at the close-up of Dragovic firing wildly at the Coast Guard helicopter. Oh, this was delicious, utterly delicious.
He tried to imagine how small, how utterly humiliated Dragovic must feel right now and could not. He wondered who was behind this marvelous prank. Whoever he was, Luc could kiss him.
Much as he would dearly love to search the channels for more replays, he had to keep moving. The calendar on this, his last day in America, was pretty well filled. He had to finish packing the very last of his wine before the shippers arrived at three. Once the cases were safely on their way to France, he would have an early dinner, his last in New York, and then head out to the airport. A tingle of anticipation ran up the center of his chest. He was booked first class on the ten o'clock to Charles de Gaulle. A mere eleven hours and—
The phone rang. Luc checked the caller ID. If it was anyone from GEM, especially his partners, they could talk to his voice mail. His heart dropped a beat when he saw "N. Radzminsky" on the readout. He snatched up the receiver.
"Hello?" His suddenly dry mouth made his voice sound strange.
"Dr. Monnet, this is Nadia. I tried your office but—"
"Yes, Nadia. How are you?"
The question was not conversational routine—he truly wanted to know.
"I'm terrible," she said, her voice edging toward a sob. "I just got back from Brooklyn after spending an hour in the Eighty-fourth Precinct talking to the police. They've got no leads on Doug."
She sounded upset, her voice quavering, but she was undeniably rational. How could mat be? The Loki…
"I'm so sorry, Nadia. Is there anything I can do?"
"Yes," she said, a hint of steel creeping into her voice. "I just got off the subway and I'm two blocks from you. I've got a few things I want to talk to you about."
Dear God! Coming here? No, she couldn't! She'd see the boxed-up wine, she'd guess—
"I-I was just leaving. Can't we—?"
"This isn't going to wait." Her voice grew more sharply edged. "Either I get answers from you or I have my new friends at the Eight-four do the asking."
Luc dropped into a chair, his heart thudding, the living room spinning. Was this the way her dose of Loki was taking her? Whatever the case, he could not allow her up here.
"I don't understand this. You sound so upset. I'll meet you outside. We can talk while I wait for a cab."
"All right," she said, then cut the connection.
Luc was wearing a light sweater and slacks. He threw on a blue blazer and hurried to meet her. He reached the sidewalk just as Nadia arrived. She wore a shapeless beige raincoat and looked terrible—puffy face, red-rimmed eyes—but not deranged.
But just in case…
"Walk with me," he said, taking her arm and guiding her up Eighty-seventh, away from his building. "What do you think I can tell you?"
"You can tell me if you had anything to do with Doug's disappearance."
Luc almost tripped. His first attempt at speech failed. On his second he managed, "What? How… how can you ask such a thing?"
"Because Doug knew things. He hacked into your company computers. He found out where your R and D funds were going."
"I had no idea!" Did he look surprised enough? "Why on earth—?"
"And I know things too. I know that Loki is being sold on the street. And I know you're involved with Milos Dragovic."
He glanced around at the lunchtime crowds beginning to fill the streets. "Please, Nadia. Not so loud!"
"All right," she said, lowering her voice a trifle. "But tell me… let me hear it straight from your lips: did you have anything to do with Doug's disappearance?"
"No! Absolutely not!"
Panic sent his thoughts caroming through his brain. Oh, dear God, she knows about Dragovic, about Berzerk and all the rest! How can this be happening? Not now! Not when I am almost free!
"How about Dragovic?" she said.
Think! Think! Think!
"Nadia, one of the downsides of going public is that anyone can buy your company's stock. Unfortunately, Mr. Dragovic owns a large block of ours and—"
"What's his relationship with you?"
Luc felt as if he were on the witness stand, being grilled by a prosecutor.
"It is very complicated, and I will explain it in full to you someday if you like, but suffice it to say that Mr. Dragovic could not be involved in Douglas's troubles because I doubt very much he even knows Douglas exists."
A long pause. They'd reached the corner of Lexington; he guided her left… downtown… toward her home… away from his neighborhood.
Finally she said, "I think I'm going to have to go to the police about Dragovic."
No!
Luc fought to keep the panic out of his voice. "Please don't be precipitous, Nadia. You will cause much misery and embarrassment for many people, and none of it will bring back your Douglas one minute sooner."
"I'm not so sure about that."
"Please give it a little more time, Nadia—at least until tonight, I beg you. Milos Dragovic is a vile, vile man, but I swear to you by all I hold holy he has no connection to Douglas. And if you've been watching the television at all, you must know he's had other matters on his mind."
Another pause, longer this time, then Nadia closed her eyes and breathed a deep, tremulous sigh. "Maybe you're right. I don't know. I'm so worried, so frustrated, I feel I've got to do something!"
"Wait. Just give it until tonight. I'm sure you'll hear something by tonight. If not, then do what you must. But give the police just a little more time."
"All right," she said, her voice barely audible. "Till tonight."
She turned and, without another word, continued walking downtown on Lexington.
Luc stepped to the side and leaned against the front of an appliance store. Somehow Nadia hadn't been dosed with the Loki. Or if she had she was resistant to its effects. Whatever, she was out and about and more dangerous than ever.
His eyes drifted to the TVs in the front window of the store where the Dragovic footage was playing again. A moment ago he'd tried to imagine how small and utterly humiliated Dragovic must feel. If Nadia went to the police… he had visions of stepping off the plane and finding officers of the Surete waiting for him, of returning to New York in manacles, walking a gauntlet of photographers… He would no longer need to imagine how Dragovic felt… He would know firsthand.
He turned, found a public phone, and called a number he knew by heart. After three rings, Ozymandias Prather's deep voice echoed through the receiver.
"Prather, it's me." He needed to be discreet here. "I need your services again."
"Who is it this time?"
"A researcher. The fiancee of the last one. She suspects."
An odd laugh. "Do you warn people when you hire them that they might not have a future with your firm—or any future at all?"
"Please. This is an emergency. She could ruin everything."
"Really. That's a shame."
"Can you do it? Now?"
"In daylight? Out of the question. Too risky."
"Please!" He loathed begging this man but had nowhere else to turn. "I'll double the usual fee."
"Double, ay? And you say it's the fiancee of the last one. That presents possibilities. I'll need some information…"
Flooded with relief, Luc gave Prather what he wanted: name, address, phone numbers, whether or not she lived alone. When he was finished…
"I will send someone by within the hour to pick up the payment."
"I'll have it ready." He'd pay for this himself, draw out the money immediately.
"Excellent. And since you're such a good customer, I believe I can work this one to cover for the last as well."
"Really? How?"
"You will see. Remember: money in an hour."
Luc hung up and headed for the nearby Citibank. Most of his money had been transferred to his Swiss account, but he still had more than enough left to pay Prather.
He stopped and took a few deep breaths. This is what he got for trying to find a humane solution. If he'd put Prather on it in the first place, he wouldn't be in this state.
He glanced his watch. Noon. Ten more hours. Maybe he could find an earlier flight. As soon as he settled with Prather he'd call his travel agent. New York was becoming too dangerous for him.