"Know whar the key ta yer bike is, Doc?" Lyle asked.
"In the kitchen on the counter."
"Jes in case, Ah'll wait round 'til Ah'm sure ya foun it."
"Thanks, pal. So, Ellen, what's our plan once we get to D.C.?"
"I don't really know. The community health center is in the Anacostia section of the city. I suspect security will be exceedingly tight, what with the First Lady there and everything else that's been going on since nine-eleven. I don't know anyone I could call, and I don't think phoning someone would accomplish anything in time. But once the people at the clinic see that I'm no menace and hear who I am, and assure themselves that the wild man who's with me is no threat, I imagine they'll let me speak with someone in authority. Whether whoever that is believes us in time or not is another story. There's a heck of a lot of votes at stake here, and I'm sure the last thing the Marquand camp needs is something that looks like a screwup on their part."
"Maybe you can get in front of the cameras to explain what's happening."
"I doubt it, but I suppose anything's possible. The bottom line is, we've got to get there in time to find someone who'll listen to me."
"If we don't, doctors all over get the green light to start shooting Omnivax."
"Four days to two weeks old," Ellen said. "That's the age range where Secretary Bolton says they're going to start administering the inoculations. But soon, Omnivax will be available to all."
"Oh, that's just great."
"They're justifying that decision by stating that except for those who are allergic, there's no evidence that being overimmunized is dangerous."
"And every single man, woman, and child in this country should be grateful for the protection against Lassa fever."
Ellen laughed sardonically. "Exactly," she said.
"But nobody's ever studied the adverse effects of vaccinations over the long term."
"Not in any organized study that I'm aware of."
"I feel like I've been such a medical ostrich about this stuff."
"Believe me, you have company. It's not that on balance vaccinations do more harm than good. It's just that no one really knows."
"Well, then, let's get us to Washington. Lyle, that's Grandview Road, right there. Hang a left. The house is at the very end. Wait until you guys see my uncle's place. You won't have any trouble understanding why they named the street Grandview."
The road remained paved throughout. Hal's house was at the end of a long, gravel driveway that cut through a peninsula covered with low-lying shrubs and scattered pines.
"I'm sure coming here like this will be hard for you," Ellen said.
"I still can't believe this has happened. Hal's always been very good to me and my mother. I'll miss him, and I know she will, too."
Matt decided against going into any details about his mother's deteriorating mental state.
The thin woods gave way to a broad, beautifully landscaped lot, at the end of which was Hal's expansive lodge, perched on a promontory two hundred feet above a large, pristine lake.
"Magnificent," Ellen whispered reverently. "Just beautiful."
"Wait! Stop!" Matt cried.
Lyle skidded to a halt.
"What is it?" Ellen asked.
"There, parked in the driveway on the side. That's my uncle's car."
"So?"
"Something's wrong. He drove us to the mine last night. If he's buried there, how did the car get back here? Lyle, do you have your gun? I left mine with Lewis so that we wouldn't have any trouble with the security people in D.C."
"Frank's got m' pistol, but they's a shotgun in the back."
"Bring it, please."
Cautiously, the three of them approached the lodge.
"Look!" Ellen exclaimed in a loud whisper.
Through the broad living room window, they could see a man polishing a vase.
"That's Hal! That's my uncle," Matt said. "Lyle, stand over there and keep the door covered. I… don't know what's going on."
His confusion did not last long.
He was moving toward the front door when it opened. Hal, nattily dressed in white trousers and a light blue button-down shirt, stepped out onto the low front porch. At the sight of the man, showered, relaxed, and clear-eyed, Matt knew.
"Matthew! God, I'm so relieved to see you. I've been worried sick about you since the explosion. I've called the police and — "
"Pardon me for saying it, Hal, but you don't seem very frantic. In fact, you look downright rested — not at all like someone who's spent the last twelve hours trying to get his nephew rescued from a mine explosion."
"I've made many desperate phone calls for help, Matthew. I — "
There was no sincerity in his words. Matt's lingering disbelief vanished.
"Can it, Hal," he snapped. "You're demeaning yourself. You know what's been bothering me ever since we figured out that the Lassa vaccine was really behind those deaths? Grimes. That's what's been bothering me, Hal. He's not exactly a dope, but he's no Einstein, either. I couldn't understand how a man like that could have gotten involved with the manufacture of Lasaject in the first place. Then he goes and masterminds an epidemic to get his vaccine included in Omnivax; then he discovers that the vaccine has a fatal flaw; and finally, he sets about systematically destroying all the evidence of that flaw. That make any sense to you, Hal, that he was capable of doing that?"
Hal looked as if he was about to issue another denial, then he shrugged nonchalantly.
"Grimes is a jerk," he said. "A violent and avaricious jerk, and therefore quite useful to me, but a jerk nonetheless."
Hearing his uncle openly admit what he had done brought Matt a wave of sadness. "When did you first learn about the prion disease?" he asked.
"Not that long ago, really. Would you please tell your friend to stop pointing that thing at me?"
"No. Go on."
"Well, two cases were brought to me for autopsy a couple of weeks apart. One had killed herself, the other had been shot in a bar fight. I recognized the names from our initial field trials and began to suspect that was the connection. Then you got involved with that miner, Rideout, and I was certain. Lasaject was too close to being included in the supervaccine to allow anyone to stumble on the connection, so I simply had to identify those unfortunates who had the side effect and send the late Mr. Grimes and his people to deal with them. I assume he is late."
"Actually, he's very much alive and talking to the state police right now."
"Nephew, nephew, you never were a very good liar. And Mr. Sutcher?"
"Well, let's just say things got a little rocky for him."
Matt glanced over at Ellen.
"Ah," said Hal, "the redoubtable Mrs. Kroft, yes?"
"A lot of people are dead because of you," Ellen said icily.
"Life can be very hard sometimes."
"Jesus, Hal, who in the hell are you?"
"Just a guy trying to make ends meet. You want to come in for some tea? Of course, I don't allow shotguns in the house. Or better still, why don't you all just leave."
"Hal, we're not going anyplace until you're tied up and waiting for the state police."
"Well, I simply can't permit that," Hall said, with disturbing, singsong confidence. "So I suppose I'm going to have to dispose of you all, beginning with your friend who insists on pointing that gun at me. You're a Slocumb, I presume?"
"Ah surely am," Lyle said proudly.
The words were barely past his lips when a shot exploded from where Hal's car was parked, driving Lyle backward into the fender of the truck, clutching his belly. He managed a single, wild shot before he dropped the shotgun, stumbled, and fell heavily on his side.
Standing by the garage, smirking, was Larry, the massive killer Matt was supposed to have murdered, then incinerated.