Daniel thought for a moment.
"Mr. Briggs left a message on my answering machine. He said there was a new development in the Insufort case. He wanted to talk to me about it tonight. I'm supposed to meet him at a cottage off I-84 on the Columbia Gorge. Do you have any idea why he wants to see me or why he wants me to meet him at this cottage instead of his office?"
"No, but Arthur was excited about something today. This is a good sign, isn't it? Maybe he's going to rehire you."
"Yeah, maybe," Daniel answered thoughtfully. "Look, if Mr. Briggs phones in would you ask him to call me?"
"Sure."
"Thanks."
Daniel hung up and called Kate, but she was not in. He leaned back and stared at the wall. What would he do if Briggs offered him his job back? He'd convinced himself that he didn't want to work at the firm anymore, but did he really mean it? Working for Reed, Briggs had been his dream job.
Daniel made a decision. He wasn't certain that he wanted his job back, but he did want to hear what Arthur Briggs had to say. And he was very curious about the new development in the Insufort case that Briggs had mentioned. Maybe he had convinced Briggs that there was something wrong with the drug and Briggs was now on his side. The only way to find out was to meet with the man who had just fired him.
Chapter Nineteen.
Dr. Sergey Kaidanov huddled like a hunted animal in a copse of cottonwoods and watched the cottage as daylight faded. Kaidanov had not had a decent sleep since fleeing from the lab. A damp, uncombed beard covered the lower half of his face and his clothes looked a size too big on his emaciated frame. The woods were damp and the cruel wind blowing off the Gorge chilled the fugitive, but running for his life had inured Kaidanov to hardship and made him cunning and cautious. He was also desperate.
The newspapers said that someone had died in the lab. If it hadn't been for the monkey, the police would have found two bodies. Then there was his escape in Las Vegas. His car had been parked in the shadows of the motel lot. He had been about to start it when another car driven by the same person who'd attacked him in the lab pulled into the space in front of his motel room. Kaidanov had watched until his pursuer was inside. He had only been a few blocks from the motel when he figured out that he must have been traced through his credit card. It took another moment to remember that he'd told the whore that he was taking an early flight. Kaidanov had skipped his flight and used his credit cards sparingly since Vegas, living on fast food and sleeping in his car. He smelled and he was unshaven, but he was still alive. After tonight, he might even be safe.
Headlights lit up the cottage. Moments later a Mercedes parked out front. Kaidanov checked his watch. It was 7:29. Arthur Briggs had arranged to meet him at 7:30 so they would have time to talk before Briggs's associate arrived.
The lights went on in the cottage. Kaidanov scurried across the road. He'd checked out the cottage earlier and he knew that there was a back door. He made a wide circle around the house. There was a farm next to the cottage, but the land directly behind the house was heavily wooded. Kaidanov raced from the cover of a stand of trees and knocked on the back door. A moment later Arthur Briggs let him into a small kitchen.
"Dr. Kaidanov?" he asked.
The scientist nodded. "Do you have something to eat?" he asked. "I haven't had any food since breakfast."
"Certainly. There's not much, but I can make you a sandwich."
"Anything. A drink would help."
Briggs motioned toward a kitchen table and started toward the refrigerator. As he passed the kitchen door Briggs saw someone enter the front room. He stopped, puzzled, then walked out of the kitchen. Kaidanov stood, tense as a startled deer. He heard Briggs say, "What are you doing here?" He was out of the back door before Briggs screamed, "Run!" and shots rang out.
Kaidanov plunged into the woods as the kitchen door slammed open. He had planned his escape route earlier and he never slowed. He could hear branches snap and the underbrush crackle behind him. He made a sharp turn and circled back toward his car, pausing briefly before racing on to make sure his pursuer kept going straight ahead. Through a gap in the trees, Kaidanov saw someone of average height dressed in a black windbreaker. A hood concealed the killer's face, but there was no doubt in the Russian's mind that this was the same person who tried to kill him at the lab.
Kaidanov had parked his car half a mile up a side road where it could not be seen from the street that ran in front of the cottage and could not be discovered without a thorough search. The engine started right away. Kaidanov left the headlights off until he was on the highway headed east. He had no idea where he was going. All he cared about was that he was still breathing.
Chapter Twenty.
I-84 runs along the Columbia Gorge and is one of the most scenic highways in the United States, but Daniel could barely see the magnificent vista created by the Columbia River and the high cliffs on either side of it because the sun had nearly set. Twenty minutes after leaving the city, he took an off-ramp and found himself on a two-lane road in sparsely populated countryside. After he had traveled two miles, he began to look for Starlight Road. The high beams of a speeding car blinded Daniel for a moment and he almost missed the street sign. Three-quarters of a mile later he spotted a modest cottage that was set back from the road.
A Mercedes, similar to one that Daniel had seen Arthur Briggs drive, was parked on the gravel driveway near the front door, but the house was dark. Daniel wondered why. He remembered the speeding car. Had it come from Starlight Road? He couldn't remember. Daniel parked his car facing the road in case he had to get away in a hurry. He left the motor running and walked toward the cottage.
Daniel paused on the doorstep and listened, but he heard no sounds inside. The night air was cool and a wind whipped through the trees. Daniel hunched his shoulders against the chill and rapped on the front door. It swung open slightly.
"Mr. Briggs," Daniel called into the dark interior. All he heard was the sigh of the wind. Daniel pushed the door open and was about to call out again when he saw someone stretched out on the floor. He knelt beside the body. It was Arthur Briggs. Blood had pooled around his ex-boss and Daniel was careful to avoid getting any of it on him. There was a bullet hole in Briggs's forehead and two more entry wounds in his torso.
Daniel started to reach out for Briggs to check for a pulse when he heard a car driving toward the house and headlights lit up the front room. Daniel leaped to his feet and raced out of the house. The headlights swung in his direction, illuminating his face. Daniel flung up his arm to block the driver's view and dove into his car, then he floored the accelerator and drove away like a madman.
Chapter Twenty-One.
Arthur Briggs was not the first murdered man Daniel had seen, but it had been years since his first encounter with violent death. Daniel was fifteen when he ran away from home for the second time. After two evenings of sleeping in doorways, he had spent his third night with two other runaways under the Broadway Bridge in an encampment created by the homeless. The sounds made by traffic passing overhead and the voices of the river were impossible to shut out, but most disturbing were the unfamiliar noises of the camp. Drunks wept softly and the insane raged at things others could not see. Daniel feared being beaten and robbed or worse, so he tried to stay awake. When he did nod off, the slightest noise near his bedroll would jerk him into full consciousness, knife in hand.
Around two in the morning Daniel had passed out from exhaustion only to be awakened by the sounds of two men fighting over a bottle of screw-top wine. He had looked on wide-eyed as the men struck each other with insane energy. When the fight was over the winner was covered in blood and the loser lay curled in a ball, moaning in pain. The wine bottle had been destroyed early in the struggle and the liquid victory prize had seeped into the dirt of the battlefield.