"The aggregate, yes—it's ruthless and will do anything to protect itself, but the individuals are innocent. They didn't ask to be infected. You heard Jeanette before she became fully integrated—she was terrified, pleading for help we couldn't give her. I'm sure they all felt that way but couldn't tell anyone. You can't kill innocent people, Jack."
Oh, yes, Kate, he thought, in this case I can. They threaten your existence. A choice between eight of them and one of you is no choice at all.
"Are you worried about them all, or just one?"
"Maybe I'm especially worried for Jeanette—I've lost her and I want her back. And I know her well enough to know she'd rather be dead than exist as she is now. But think, Jack: What if CDC or NIH test the virus and discover what to do? Jeanette and Holdstock and the rest can all be returned to their former selves. But not if they're dead. Could you live with that on your conscience, Jack?"
"One hell of a what-if, don't you think?"
"Maybe. But I know this, Jack: If you do something awful to them I will never speak to you again."
And if I don't, he thought with a deep pang of worry, you might never speak to me again anyway… because you'll be gone.
But to save her and then face her loathing…
At least she was sounding more like herself. She'd regained her composure, and the moral authority of an older sister.
Jack sighed. Might as well temporize. As if he had a choice. He was in no condition now to take any sort of action. In fact, just walking himself back to his bed would be an accomplishment. He'd need a day, maybe two to get his legs back. Question was, What could he do in the meantime?
"All right," he said. "I promise, nothing 'awful,' okay? But I've got to do something."
"Leave that to NIH and CDC."
Yeah, right.
"Holdstock seems to be the leader," he said. "Maybe—"
"You have to understand, Jack, there is no leader. That's why it calls itself the Unity—it's one mind and… oh dear, I just realized something. I had a dream shortly after I was infected, a landscape of coins with only the tail sides showing."
"Reverse—the head is the obverse side, the tail is the reverse." He stopped as he noticed her staring at him. "I know coins."
"Okay, only reverse sides showing, so that everywhere I looked I saw 'e pluribus unum'."
"'One from many'."
"Yes. I guess something in me knew what was happening even then."
"Back to Holdstock: you say he's not the leader, but he is the one who killed Fielding."
"His body was sent to kill Fielding. He had no say. He's an appendage, a tentacle on an octopus."
"Okay." He held up his hands, palms out. "You've made your point. What I want to know is why him?"
Kate opened her mouth, then closed it. She bared her teeth as if in pain.
"Kate! Are you all right?"
"The Unity… doesn't want me… tell you about this."
"What can I do?"
Jack held back a roar of frustration, wanting to grab and throttle whatever was mauling Kate's mind. But how do you tackle something you can't see?
"Because physically he's the largest member," she blurted, then gasped before continuing. "I've got it now."
"You're sure?"
She nodded jerkily. "Yes. They needed a body with the strength to overpower Fielding, and Holdstock was it."
"Why not just shoot him or stab him?"
"The idea was to leave as little evidence as possible. No noise, no bullet, no weapon, no bloodstains. Arrive, strangle him, leave, dispose of the electrical cord and wooden handles in separate locations on the way home."
"They told you all this?"
Kate shook her head, her expression bleak. "No. They didn't have to. I just… know."
Good plan… simple… grimly efficient. If the target knows you and doesn't fear you, it's perfect.
"Holdstock didn't touch anything?"
"No. Fielding opened the doors for him going in and he put on a glove going out."
"Think carefully, Kate. He touched nothing?''''
"It all happened so quickly, I don't—wait." She winced and closed her eyes for a few seconds, then spoke through her teeth. "When he rose from the floor after the struggle with Fielding, he used the dining room table for support."
"Touched it with his bare hand, not his forearm or his elbow?"
"Put his hand flat on the tabletop—I'm sure."
"Well, well, well," Jack said.
A whole handprint, fingers and palm. Beautiful.
"Can you use that?"
"Can't say just yet." Telling Kate would be telling the Unity.
Jack couldn't guarantee that his newly conceived scheme would work but, short of executing eight people, it was all he had right now. Holdstock might not be the leader, but his murdering Fielding made him vulnerable. If Jack couldn't eliminate the Unity, maybe he could distract it, and maybe that would buy Kate time.
"Can I ask you, Jack," Kate said, her face grave as she stared at him, "why you have so many guns?"
"Because I can. Because I want to. Because they expand my comfort zone."
"You're not one of those NRA gun nuts, are you?"
"No." He smiled. "Those are citizens."
"I hate guns. Ron bought one back when we were still together. He said he hated them too but he figured some day he might not be allowed to buy one, so…" She shrugged.
"Smart man. I don't pretend to know the answers, Kate. I'm not in the business of solving society's problems, but trying to control violence by disarming potential victims strikes me as whacked-out insane."
"Is this some sort of Second Amendment thing with you?"
Almost laughed. "Not likely. Amendments, Second or otherwise, don't apply much to me. If it's any sort of 'thing,' Kate, it's a bad-guy/ good-guy thing. As long as there's bad guys out there ready to stab, rape, shoot, bludgeon, and torture to get what they want, then their potential victims need a decisive way to respond. Guns weren't called 'equalizers' for nothing. The frailest woman with a gun in her hand is a match for any rapist."
"So I take it, then," Kate said slowly, "that if all the bad guys went away, magically disappeared, you'd give up your guns?"
"Not a chance."
Kate nodded. Didn't smile, but her eyes said, Gotcha.
Using an arm of the recliner for support, Jack pushed himself to his feet.
"Right now I'm too pooped to argue. Maybe after a nap…" Shuffled back to his bedroom and collapsed on the bed. After resting a moment, he picked up the phone and punched in a number. He'd checked his voicemail before leaving the bedroom and found two messages from Sandy Palmer, boy reporter. Jack would call Gia, let her know he was feeling better and see how she was doing, then it would be time for Superman to call Jimmy Olsen and get him involved in something more productive than amnesty for the Savior…
4
Meet me at noon at the bar where you were told how to find me. I need your help.
The words bounced around the inside of Sandy's head. Especially the last four: I need your help.
He felt light and giddy, ready to laugh aloud as he hurried up Broadway. The Upper West Side was taking advantage of the sunny Sunday morning: dinks brunching al fresco, yuppie couples herding their kids along the sidewalk toward church or the latest IMAX offering.
Look at me! he wanted to shout. Last night I was shoulder to shoulder with the ultraglitterati, and this morning I'm answering a call from the mystery man the whole country is talking about, and he wants me to help him out. Don't you wish you were me? You all know you do! Say it!
This was so cool. Who'd ever dream life could be this cool.