With a nod from Kierkegaard, Bridges went to a nearby computer terminal. After a few moments he stood back.
“There it is,” Mallory jumped to her feet and used the mouse pointer to show the others.
“Right next to her IUD, as we found it,” Bridges added. “But not in the first scan we did.”
“There you go,” Tamiko said. “We still don’t know how the original bombs were implanted, but that bomb launcher was placed sometime during those two days she was away from us.”
“Wait,” Gage interrupted. “There’s another possibility. Doctor, how about calling up all of the scans of that area?”
They soon saw what he was getting at. Arranged chronologically, the scans showed that the launcher had actually appeared several days after her arrival at the clinic, long before her recent two-day absence. It was placed so close to the IUD that it could easily have been taken for a part of it unless the view was magnified. That area of the body had received much lighter scrutiny than elsewhere.
“Damn! I shouldn’t have missed that,” Bridges said. “If we had only known. . . .”
“As Dr. Tamiko said, it makes all the difference when you know what to look for,” Kierkegaard replied. “None of us suspected a launching device that was still within the patient, and certainly not there. In hindsight, it was a brilliant move.”
“Not so brilliant,” Hunter said. “With these scans we can place it almost to the day that the thing was implanted. Surely you can find out who had that kind of. . . access to her during that time. Maybe if you interview the patient?” He looked at Kierkegaard.
“I will not,” the other replied forcefully. “I am not going to tell her the truth about what’s been done to her, nor anything that might start her guessing. She believes she has a rare condition, but a curable one.”
“No she doesn’t,” Hunter blurted without thinking, then felt the startled looks of the others. “I mean. . . how could she still believe that? Coming to a secret laboratory and clinic hidden in the middle of an air force base instead of Johns Hopkins, or the Mayo Clinic? She can’t be that oblivious.”
Kierkegaard gave him a strange look, but said only, “Checking the dates is a good idea. I’ll get someone on that.”
Something in his voice told them the meeting was over, and they slowly dispersed.
Bridges followed Kierkegaard into his office and closed the door.
“Are you seriously thinking her husband could have been involved in planting that launcher?”
“I don’t know what to think,” Kierkegaard answered testily. “But she hasn’t even been to a doctor other than our own in two months, and that was for an ear infection. The launcher was put in place within the past two weeks. You tell me who did it.”
Bridges sucked a breath. “That puts a hell of a twist on things.”
Kierkegaard slumped back in his chair. “It does indeed.”
44
Hunter had a chance to recharge while the lipid shield of the Primus was being repaired, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep in the middle of the afternoon. Instead, he found a portable cot and took it outside for a badly needed dose of sunshine. Life aboard research vessels and oilrigs had suited him well, but spending weeks in an enclosed laboratory was a recipe for depression.
Tamiko finally found him near a back corner of the building where he had a good view of the main runway.
“Not much of a socializer, are you?” she asked, standing over him. “Are you trying to avoid us? Would you rather I left you alone?”
He shielded his eyes. “No, No and… definitely No,” he answered, then swung his legs over the side of the cot and sat up. “I didn’t feel like hanging around, just waiting to go again. But don’t leave. It’s nice to have you here. Or were you sent to fetch me?”
She shook her head, and sat beside him on the cot as he made room. “There’s not much you can do at the moment. Kenneth and Lorelei are working with their assistants to analyze the bomb launcher, but it’s slow work. They don’t want to break it open yet because they don’t want to risk destroying the mechanism inside. Or any remaining bombs it might be carrying. There’s so much we need to learn from it, including who built the damn thing.” A flush of anger shaded her cheeks. “I’ve never been a big fan of the human race, but the monsters who did this...”
“I know,” Hunter agreed. “It gives me the creeps just being near the bombs.”
“Near them? I guess it must feel that way for you sometimes.” She brushed her face with a hand. “They’re a perversion… a perversion of science—of the best hope that humanity has. Have you seen Skylar lately? It’s hit him hard, as if his God turned out to be a two-bit huckster at a carnival sideshow.”
“I think I’m partly to blame for that. I mentioned that the Primus project probably got its development funding because the ship could be used as a weapon. I don’t think it had occurred to him before that.”
Tamiko looked into his eyes. “That’s something all of us have tried not to think about. But of course you’re right. Maybe future generations will think of us the way some think of Oppenheimer and the rest on the Manhattan Project, wondering how their consciences could allow them to create a threat like the atomic bomb.” She stared into the distance. On an impulse he took her hand.
“Maybe if we succeed with our mission, the Primus technology will be seen as a new miracle of modern medicine. Before they can make a weapon out of it.”
She gave a wan smile. “That’s what I like about you Hunter. Smart, but almost as naïve as Skylar. You still think they’ll let us tell anyone about what we’ve done.” She stood, but kept hold of his hand and pulled him up beside her.
“Come on. Let’s get something to eat.”
When he walked her back to her room later in the evening, and she invited him in, he was caught off guard.
“I feel so useless,” she chafed. “Skylar’s still working on the lipid shield. I wouldn’t be any help with the bomb launcher. What is there for a plain old blood specialist to do?” She dropped onto the edge of the bed. “I can’t even plan any more mission routes until we know more about the capabilities of that damn launcher, and whether we need to go back over old ground again.”
He managed a smile. “If you’re looking for sympathy, you’re looking in the wrong direction. I always feel like a fifth wheel. Class dunce among geniuses.”
Her face softened. “I think I can overlook that.” She pulled an unopened bottle of Glenfiddich and a couple of glasses from the bedside stand. Seeing the look on his face, she said, “You don’t get very far in R & D if you don’t learn how to drink with the boys, and it’s not convenient to have to mix a martini every time. There’s no ice—good stuff should be drunk neat anyway.”
Hunter sat beside her on the bed and took the glass she held out. “I’d almost think you had this planned.”
“Don’t think. Just drink.” The single malt was good and tasted like another. That would be his limit, he told himself. There would be critical work to do in the morning. He couldn’t mess up his head.
As it turned out, he hadn’t finished his second glass before they were locked in a long, lingering kiss.
She was very good at it, her full lips nibbling one moment and then boldly pressing the next. She tasted sweet and smelled wonderful. He felt firm, taut muscles as he ran his hands down her back.
A vision of children came into his head, laughing and dancing. Startled, he drew back.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Did I bite you?”
“No. No, nothing. I just had a memory… of a mission.” It was a bad explanation, and he knew it.
“I kiss you and you think about work? That’s not very flattering.”
“You’re a great kisser. I guess I’ve just been working too hard.”
“Maybe I’ll have to try a little harder,” she purred, and slid her hand along his thigh. They kissed again fiercely and fell back onto the b
ed.
For a long time there was nothing else in the world but lips and tongues and teeth, hot breath and frantic hands. Hunter pulled back for some air and let his eyes roam over her. Languorously, she began to unbutton her blouse, enjoying his attention. A twist of fingers released her bra, freeing her breasts for his approval. He did approve. They were fuller than he’d expected, and perfectly shaped. He hurriedly pulled his shirt over his head, pressed himself against her, and found her lips again.
Children and music. A placid lake through trees. A young girl’s bedroom, soft and tranquil and welcoming.
His fists clenched. Could they be Tamiko’s memories he was seeing somehow? Had he become a mind reader? No, the memories belonged to the patient—the first lady—he remembered seeing them before, while in Primus. Why were they coming to him now?
He sat up, dismayed at his own thoughts and the look of chagrin on Tamiko’s face. She waited expectantly.
He couldn’t tell her the truth. She’d think he’d gone off the deep end.
“Lucy.” He cleared his throat. “You’re gorgeous, and smart. Desirable. I… I’m just not sure what I’m doing here. I don’t see how this can work.”
“How what can work? Are you having a problem?” She ran her hand up his leg again.
“No, not like that. I mean… how can this work between us? We have nothing in common. We could never stay together for long.”
She surprised him with a laugh that came from deep inside.
“Of course we couldn’t. We’d drive each other crazy. Do you think that’s what this is about?” She shook her head. “I like you, Hunter—I don’t know why. I think we can be friends.” She smiled and looked down over her uncovered breasts. “But right now we have this sex thing getting in the way of that. You’re wondering what I’m like and I’m wondering what you’re like, and we’re not going to get past it until we find out.” She searched his eyes. “So what do you say we just let ourselves go for now, and then… we can get back to being friends again.” Her sly smile was irresistible.
They made love. Then they did it again. When morning came, they awoke in each other’s arms and were glad.
45
Hunter was on a streak. He was doing everything right, filled with fresh confidence and new understanding. His biggest obstacle all along had been his own reluctance to recognize the truth: the patient was guiding the doctor. He couldn’t explain it, and there was no point trying, for now. All that really mattered was to accept and make good use of it.
A search of the patient’s lungs was overdue. Blood clots there would cause serious damage, quickly interfering with breathing and putting a crippling strain on the heart. It was also possible that a thrombus formed in one of her arms or legs could have broken loose and lodged somewhere in the pulmonary arterial system.
Immersing himself fully in this inner-body world was a liberating experience. He could navigate effortlessly, without hesitation, as he improvised the course: bend after bend, twist after turn. He would call up an image from the latest scan, or paint the area ahead of him with radar. Then the shared abilities of patient and healer would find the targets without exception. Equally helpful, the patient’s inquisitiveness was kept at bay and the fragile blossoms of memory every few minutes remained as background instead of dangerous distraction.
They were both learning.
That was a great relief. From being an invader, he’d come to be accepted as a partner in her healing, which both explained and validated the closeness he’d begun to feel toward her—a strange friendship, perhaps even more than that.
It was unsettling to know that when he was about to make love to Lucy Tamiko, his thoughts had strayed to someone else. He wasn’t even sure that his own mind was to blame for that, which not only raised the question of how the patient viewed her relationship with her healer, but also how much her mind had infiltrated his.
Their connection hadn’t become any less confusing, but it was definitely more productive. By late afternoon, he’d destroyed his thirteenth bomb in ten hours. Damn near as many as all of the previous missions combined. The arteries of the lungs were heavily infested with the hideous things, and he had torched them as quickly as the ship could recharge, but his fatigue finally became too great to ignore.
He self-consciously framed the thought “Goodbye” and pulled the plug. A pang of regret took him by surprise.
As he entered the conference room, Mallory waved a bottle of white wine at him expectantly. He shook his head and spotted a case of Heineken beer—Kierkegaard’s private stock, he suspected. As he strode toward it, Skylar Tyson took his hand and shook it.
“Fantastic work, Hunter. Just fantastic. It makes me feel as if we’ve finally seen some light at the end of the tunnel.” The scientist grinned like a kid and took another bite of his pizza.
Hunter turned back to the beer, only to find that Lucy Tamiko was already holding an opened bottle out to him.
“I think you deserve this,” she said. “You had a good day.”
He smiled and took a long drink. Leaning wearily against the nearest wall, he said, “I hope it’s not premature to celebrate. But maybe luck has finally turned our way.”
Later, as he found himself in a corner of the room with Truman Bridges, Hunter was forced to admit that in his sessions with Bridges the man had been nothing but sincere and honest. He’d earned some trust that Hunter badly needed to give.
“I was on a roll today,” Hunter said. “Angels were on my side.”
“Angels? I don't see you as a religious man, Mr. Hunter.”
“Well, one angel, at least. Our patient. She’s helping me, Doctor. I don’t know how.”
Bridges surprised him by replying, “I believe you. Are you expecting me to explain it?” He laughed, and then took a long swallow of red wine. “I’ve always been fascinated by the role of patients in their own cure. My medical colleagues have all seen it—an ability that allows some people to help to heal themselves. We attribute it to a positive attitude, the power of prayer, biofeedback… but the simple truth is, we can’t explain it. We only know it exists because we’ve seen the evidence.”
“Are you saying everyone has the potential to heal their own body?”
Bridges’ dark face wrinkled in a frown. “I wish I knew. I’d love to believe that if I ever get cancer I have the capacity within myself to cure it, but the evidence is far from conclusive. From time to time we see miracles happen that we can’t explain scientifically. What stymies us is their inconsistency. When a phenomenon is completely unpredictable, we can’t draw any meaningful conclusions from it. My own feeling is that, given the right opportunity and a strong will, the human body will find any way it can to defend itself. To survive.” He gave a sly smile. “In which case, perhaps our patient found you, Mr. Hunter.”
# # #
“You’re a very considerate lover. Has anybody ever told you that?
Tamiko lay propped on one elbow, slowly stroking Hunter’s chest with a finger.
“Not that I can remember.”
“You pay attention… take the time to figure out what I like. You actually seem to care about your partner’s pleasure. Are you sure you’re a guy?”
“That’s hitting below the belt. Literally.” He raised himself in the bed to get a better look at her. “Accusing a man of being sensitive and considerate is bad enough without questioning his manhood.”
She smiled. “You have a knack. I just might let you stick around.”
“My last girlfriend didn’t see things that way. As for other women… ” He frowned. “None of them complained.”
Tamiko laughed. “Is that the best you can come up with?” She pushed herself into a sitting position, not bothering to pull the sheet up over her breasts.
“To tell you the truth, I hardly ever made love to a woman when I wasn’t half-crocked. The last one did complain about that, but I didn’t listen. As far as I was concerned, three
or four beers didn’t mean I was drunk. No big deal.”
He looked at his hands. “I guess I spent a lot of time that way, the past couple of years.”
“Well, you should have tried it sober a few more times. Maybe that’s the difference.” She leaned over and brushed his cheek with her lips, then rested her head on his shoulder with her eyes closed. “Or maybe you’ve just changed. Maybe you’re starting to grow up.” She chuckled as he gave her a mock shove.
“Funny lady.” He looked at her peaceful face and smooth skin, and said softly, “Maybe this is… something different. Something special.”
“Love?” She looked into his eyes, and pulled back a little. “No, it’s not. You’re not in love with me, Hunter—don’t try to convince yourself that you are. It’s OK. That’s not what we’re here for. I’m amazed we’ve even come to like each other. Don’t spoil it by pretending it’s something it isn’t.”
“How do you know?”
“That’s not something I can explain. I just know. You like me—you want to please me. I’m content with that. Sometimes being good friends is better than being in love.” Her voice grew softer. “A lot easier on the heart, too.”
It didn’t take a professional to sense the pain in that remark, but Hunter let it go. They were having a good time together. Better to leave well enough alone.
They slid apart and made themselves comfortable for sleep. Just before it grew too quiet to interrupt, she turned her head back to him.
“You know what I think it is?”
“What is?”
“Your new-found ability to please women. I think it’s because of the time you’re spending inside the body of a woman. Something has to rub off with the territory. You’re going where no man has gone before.” She laughed.
“Go to sleep,” he said. “That’s ridiculous.”
But he knew it wasn’t.
The Primus Labyrinth Page 25