"Just hang in there, Joe. A week ago we had no hope of ever seeing this guy again. Now we've got him in our sights."
"Ka-powT Joe said, grinning.
"Ka-pow is right. We—hey, isn't that him?"
Yes. Definitely him. And he wasn't alone. He had his arm around a blonde.
"Shit," Joe said softly as they pressed back against a wall. "He's got a babe. Ain't that sweet."
"If she's a live-in, bro, we may have found his crib. But let's keep on him, just to be sure."
"Oh, yeah," Joe said, grinning as he rubbed his scarred hand with his good one. " 'Cause we want to be sure."
Stan watched the couple turn and head for Sixth Avenue. This was kind of fun. And the best part was that he hadn't seen Joe enjoying himself this much in years.
11
"All I can say," Dr. Fielding said, spreading his hands in a helpless gesture, "is be patient."
Kate watched the light glisten off his gelled black hair as he sat behind his desk in his cluttered office on the third floor of the Solomon and Miriam Brody Center for Clinical Research. Kate knew the marble halls of this two-story, brick-faced building well. She'd been here enough times with Jeanette.
Fielding had looked rattled when they'd barged in—Jack had not accepted any excuses from the receptionist—but had settled back into his self-assured role of physician-priest. Kate was familiar with the type; she'd met enough of them in her work.
He'd sworn he'd been in touch with NIH daily, and that he was as anxious as Kate for their help.
"But she's getting worse by the day," Kate said, keeping her voice calm though she wanted to scream.
"I know, I know." He shook his head mournfully. "But we're dealing with a bureaucracy the size of the Pentagon."
An overstatement, Kate knew. So did Fielding, apparently. He glanced at Jack—something he'd been doing repeatedly. Maybe because Jack had announced upon entering that his sister had some questions and hadn't said a word since. He'd simply sat and stared at Fielding. Kate found his basilisk act unsettling; she could only imagine how Fielding felt.
Abruptly, Jack came to life. He slapped his hands on his thighs and stood.
"Well, I guess that's it then." He extended his hand to Fielding. "Thanks for your time, Doc."
Fielding rose and they shook hands. "I'm sure we'll have this all straightened out soon."
"One more question," Jack said, still holding Fielding's hand. "Why are you lying?"
"What? How dare—"
Jack's grip shifted and suddenly he was holding Fielding's thumb, bending it, twisting it. Fielding groaned as his knees buckled.
"Jack!" Kate said, stepping toward him. "Dear Lord, what are you doing? Stop it!"
"I apologize for the strong-arm stuff, Kate," he told her. "If we had time I'd find another way. But since time is tight—"
"I'll call security!" Fielding gasped. He brought his free hand up to try to break Jack's grip but that only allowed Jack to trap his left thumb as well. "The police!"
"Fine." Jack spoke softly, calmly, as if giving a passerby directions to the nearest subway. "But that won't stop me from dislocating both your thumbs and putting a three-sixty twist on each of them. You're a doctor. You figure out how long it'll be before you can use them again, if ever. The cops may come, but you'll have to live without opposable thumbs. A lower life form."
"Jack, please!" She'd never imagined her brother like this—an irresistible force, implacable, glowering with the threat, the promise of violence. He was frightening, terrifying. "He doesn't—"
"Truth!" Jack said, voice rising as he gave both thumbs a quarter twist. "You haven't called NIH, have you. Not even once. Am I right?"
Fielding whimpered as sweat beaded his livid face. Finally he nodded.
"You bastard!" Kate said.
Jack looked at her. "The B-word?"
Kate ignored him and stepped up to Fielding's desk. Just a heartbeat ago she'd felt sorry for the man—she hated seeing anyone hurt—but now she wanted to grab his brass pen set and brain him. It had taken Jack a mere thirty seconds to melt away Fielding's mask, reducing him from distinguished colleague to weasel.
"Why not?" she cried. "Explain!"
"Please?" he panted, nodding toward his trapped hands.
Jack released the left, but kept a grip on the right. "We're waiting."
Fielding took a deep breath. "The vector virus didn't mutate."
Kate was stunned. "But if there's no mutation, why—?"
He looked away. "It's a contaminant."
Now she understood.
"So what?" Jack said. "Either way, Jeanette's got the wrong bug in her brain, so—"
"He can't be blamed for a wild mutation," Kate told him. "Not unless he exposed the virus to ionizing radiation. But a contaminant… he's wholly responsible for that. No excuses there. A contaminant makes him look very bad."
"You slug," Jack growled. "Just for the hell of it I ought to—"
"No… please…" Fielding whined.
"Jack, don't."
Jack shoved Fielding's hand away, sending him back into his chair where he cowered.
Kate closed her eyes and gave herself time to pull her turbulent thoughts together. She knew the next question but hesitated to ask it, feared the answer. But someone had to.
"What is the contaminant?" she said.
"That's just it. I don't know. It's unlike any virus I've ever seen. Seems to be in a class by itself."
Oh, no. Kate's stomach lurched. "How did this happen?"
"I'm baffled," Fielding said. "We keep all the cultures under lock and key, with a sign-in, sign-out procedure."
Jack said, "You mean someone would want to steal a virus?"
"No, of course not. It's simply to insure that only authorized personnel—people who know the protocols of handling viruses—come in contact with the cultures. It's designed to prevent the very thing that happened: contamination."
"Looks like your people need a refresher course," Kate said.
She noticed an uneasy expression flash across Fielding's face.
"What's wrong?"
"Wrong?" Fielding said. "Nothing."
"Tell her," Jack said. He interlaced his fingers and popped his knuckles. Fielding jumped at the sound.
"We had, er, something of a breach in the security procedures."
Jack leaned closer. "What kind of something?"
"An unauthorized person gained access to the viral cultures."
Kate felt sick. "Some sort of terrorist?"
"I doubt that. I might never have known if I hadn't learned about the contaminant. I went back and checked the sign-in records and found a name that didn't belong."
"Anyone we know?" Jack said. "Like Holdstock, maybe?"
"No. I found only one entry, dated months ago." He sifted through the papers on his desk and came up with a Xerox of a sign-in sheet. He pointed to an entry he'd circled in red. "There. 'Ms. Aralo.' But we have no one named Aralo in the institute, let alone with clearance to the viral lab."
"Wait a minute," Jack said, grabbing the sheet and staring at it.
"What's the matter?" Kate asked. "Do you know her?"
He shook his head. "Never heard of her. But something about that name…" He stared awhile longer, silently mouthing the name, then handed it back. "Forget it. Whatever it was, it's gone. Probably nothing."
But Kate could see it still bothered him.
"Well, if you remember anything, please let me know immediately. No one here remembers a thing about this person, not even who allowed her to sign in."
"Do you think this Aralo woman contaminated them?"