Matt was just turning to help Lyle when Larry shot the man again, this time in the chest. Lyle, who had been up on one elbow, slumped back onto the gravel and was still. Comfortable with his handiwork, the killer turned the gun on Matt.
"I've been waiting for this chance," he said. "You'll never know how much I've been waiting."
Matt felt his heart stop as he saw the man's sausagelike finger tighten on the trigger.
"No!" he cried.
"Larry, wait!" Hal ordered. "I'll tell you when."
Matt felt his knees about to buckle, but beside him, Ellen stood her ground defiantly and even put her arm through his.
"Killing us won't solve any of your problems," she said to Hal. "Too many people know."
"Would you care to give me a list of them, Mrs. Kroft? I didn't think so. But please, don't worry. I can take care of myself. Matthew, I'm sorry about this, really I am. You know I care for you a great deal. Always have. But this is business, and you have become a definite liability. As you see, my man Larry, here, is very much alive. Believe it or not, I conjured up that murder-incineration story on the spot, with you hanging on the other end of the line and Dr. Solari about to visit the FBI. Brilliant, don't you think?"
"You're sick," Matt said.
"Now, Larry, here, is very anxious to shoot you, but I am a sporting man, as well as one who doesn't want bodies with bullet holes floating around in the lake. That wouldn't appear very accidental. So, I am perfectly willing to have you and Mrs. Kroft step over that fence" — he indicated the split-rail fencing that paralleled the side of the drive — "and step off the edge. Who knows, maybe you'll miss the rocks."
"Give it up, Hal," Matt said, regaining a modicum of composure. "There're way too many loose ends that are all tied to you. You know, you can still come off looking like a hero in this business by telling the police you are blowing the whistle on Lasaject in order to save all those unborn children from spongiform encephalopathy."
At that moment, out of the corner of his eye, Matt saw movement from the direction of the truck. Lyle!
"The bullet or the drop, Matthew?" Hal was asking. "Your choice."
Frantic to stall and keep Hal's and Larry's attention fixed on him, Matt rejected the notion of some sort of outburst in favor of pandering to Hal's ego.
"Hal, tell me one thing," he said, "that was you who slipped that note about the toxic dump under my door, wasn't it?"
Hal sighed and nodded with exaggerated modesty.
"If you really must know, yes. I am aware of pretty much everything that goes on around here, and I knew about that unusual — um — storage facility almost as soon as it was established. I sent the note to you figuring that as long as you were chasing after your vendetta against the mine, you were no threat to my interests. Brilliant, no?"
Lyle had moved under the open door of the truck and was pulling himself inside. Matt took a step toward his uncle. Larry moved forward to intervene, his pistol ready.
"Oh, give me a break," Matt cried, raising his voice angrily. "You're not nearly as brilliant as you think. You've made one miscalculation after another." He laughed loudly. "Man, you must have swallowed your gum when Nikki Solari arrived in town. That's where you and Grimes blew it. You should have just let her go back to Boston. You got worried that if somehow word got to me about Kathy Wilson, there was every chance I'd start looking for explanations other than the mine, and figure out the truth. So you went after her. That was a mistake, Hal. A big mistake."
More movement. Somehow Lyle had found the strength to drag himself inside the cab.
"Big words for someone in your position," Hal said, no longer cheery, "but words for which I have no patience. Now make your choice. Larry, if they don't choose the drop, I want Mrs. Kroft shot first, please." He pointed to a spot just above his own ear. "Right here from two feet."
"You killed all those people for money?" Matt asked stridently, wondering if Lyle was lying dead on the seat of the Ford.
His uncle's smile was coldly patronizing.
"Not for money, nephew," he said. "For a great deal of money. I have owned more than forty percent of Columbia Pharmaceuticals for years and I was running out of funds to continue losing on the accursed company. Can you imagine what it's like being my age with my tastes and no money? With what we're being paid per dose of Lasaject, my financial concerns are about to be over. That's over with a capital 'O.' Now, sir, I have things to do. You have not behaved at all like a respectful godson, and so, from this moment, you have ten seconds to choose your punishment… nine."
"Hal, no, please!" Matt screamed at the moment the truck's engine rumbled to life. "Stop!"
Larry and Hal whirled toward the noise. Lyle, his eyes virtually closed, the bridge of his nose resting on the steering wheel, threw the Ford into first, floored the accelerator, and popped the clutch. Spewing gravel, the truck shot ahead, straight at Larry. Mouth agape, the massive gunman fired off three shots. The Ford's windshield shattered, and it looked to Matt as if at least one of the bullets had hit Lyle in the forehead. But nothing short of a cement wall was going to stop the truck now. The front bumper caught Larry at the knees. His gun spun to the ground as he was lifted up onto the hood, his moon face not two feet from Lyle, who looked to Matt to be unconscious or dead. Still, Lyle's foot held the gas. The Ford shattered the rail fence, sped through ten feet of shrubbery, and hurtled off the edge of the precipice like a hang glider taking flight. Then, in what seemed like slow motion, the nose of the truck tilted downward, spilling Larry into the void before disappearing. Moments later there was a loud explosion from the rocks below.
By the time Hal Sawyer turned back from the scene, his godson was standing there calmly, with Larry's gun leveled at him.
"Business is very bad, Uncle," Matt said.
CHAPTER 37
Matthew, please, you're not thinking of the greater good. Omnivax will save hundreds of thousands of lives every year. If you block the release of the vaccine, think of all the blood that will be on your hands. Why, you don't even know for certain that Lasaject caused any of those deformities. You're guessing, assuming…"
Hal Sawyer ranted on nonstop as Matt and Ellen used lengths of clothesline to lash him tightly, facedown, on his bed. If someone happened to show up at his home and release him before they had the chance to report things to the state police, so be it. Grimes was gone for good, so were Sutcher and the other killers, Larry and Verne. Hal might try to run, but he wouldn't get very far.
"Darn it, Matthew, this is no way to treat your own flesh and blood!.. Who's going to visit your mother if I'm not around?… Your mother!.. This is going to break her heart, and it's all your fault… For crying out loud, Matthew, I'm your godfather… Ellen, Ellen, you're more my generation, explain to my nephew the importance of family. I'm his uncle — genetically, that makes us twenty-five percent of each other. Twenty-five percent! That's like selling out a quarter of yourself…"
"We can't make it," Ellen said, checking Matt's watch. "We're not even going to be close."
"We can only do our best," Matt replied, tightening the cord a bit more than it needed to be. "We have a shot, depending on the traffic. It'll be closer than you think."
"Can you do the rest of this yourself?"
"Sure, why?"
"I need to make a phone call before we leave. My friend Rudy will be worried sick about me. Also, he knows people. Maybe there's someone he can call."
"Quickly, though. I have just another minute or two here, then I want to be on the road. Listen, Hal's girlfriend, Heidi, lives here. Why don't you make a quick rummage through her things for some warm clothes. It can get chilly on the bike."