After dinner, Lewis excused Lucy. Then the three men returned to the living room. Settling into the plush furniture, they enjoyed another drink before Lewis broached the main subject.
“So it seems the investigation had the desired effect?”
“That it did! She bolted sometime late last night. This morning, the cameras caught her on the street with the Fallen. We lost her after they left the park together. She’s with them. We know that for sure. The only problem is we seem to have lost Ramirez, too,” Bowen said.
Lewis pondered this new information, thrilled with how it played into his plan for the quarterly meeting. “This is good,” he said. “This is very good.” Turning, Lewis asked Isaac to share his part in the story.
“Vanessa came to me like she usually does when her driver is rough with her. I comforted her with the old religion. Then I sent her home. A short while later your detective came to visit. He was bright and observant. I had not yet put away my implements and he noticed the candles and incense immediately. Surprisingly, he did not object. It would seem he has religious views of his own. He left my home happy and I suspected he would go to Vanessa. His faith and sense of duty made it easy to steer him toward her. The rest you know. Do you think the administrators will agree to the final tests?”
“Of course I can’t be certain, but it’s quite possible that now they’ll see the necessity, especially once Harry knows Vanessa has gone missing. That and the disappearance of a seasoned detective demonstrate instability on the streets. I think they’ll at least agree to the purge and, perhaps, the implementation of Phase II. The purge will give me the specimens I need to finish the testing. The workers won’t suspect anything and we’ll leave enough people behind to maintain the necessary level of fear,” Lewis replied.
“And the new Priscilla? Is it ready?”
“Oh, yes. It’s ready and, Isaac, I have you to thank for it. If you hadn’t pulled the right strings, we might never have discovered it. Truly, that little girl’s skeleton was priceless. Without it, I’d never have figured it out. Those ancient bones and your Israeli connections made it all possible. How did you manage to convince them to let go of their technology. The DNA testing they came up with is, frankly, worth a fortune.”
“If God had not wanted us to have them, he would not have provided them. We are part of His plan, do you not think?” Isaac asked. Lewis spread his perfectly manicured fingers in front of him and smiled.
“Well, I don’t know about that, but I do know Priscilla 279 will achieve everything we’d hoped. It spreads rapidly and doesn’t depend on as many environmental controls.”
“What was your inspiration this time?” Isaac asked.
“Bees, if you can believe it.”
“Really, how?” Bowen asked.
“In a hive, all the workers are genetically identical, but the bees have different functions. Some bees are food gatherers. Others are nurses. Research demonstrates that when the food gatherers are removed, the nurse bees divide. Some of them become gatherers to fill the void. When the gatherers are brought back, those that mutated revert to their earlier roles. The transformation is almost instantaneous. The bees turn certain genetic markers on or off, depending on circumstances and the survival needs of the hives.”
“Fascinating. But what’s to stop humans from reverting to their original functions?” the rabbi asked.
“I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve, Isaac. Too complicated to explain over a good whiskey, but trust me, Priscilla 279 is what we’ve been waiting for. We’ve just got to release it before things get out of control. We’ve tipped the scales too far and there’s not enough food on the streets to support the increasing numbers of the Fallen. If we don’t move soon, I’m afraid there’ll be an uprising,” Lewis said.
“Then I am glad we did not wait. If what happened to Vanessa and the detective can convince the others, you will be able to move swiftly?”
“Yes, I’m prepared, though honestly, I’m surprised you agreed to the plan, Isaac. Vanessa is dear to you, too.”
“Very dear. That is why this must happen. She has suffered enough. Now, only death or Priscilla will provide her the comfort I cannot.”
Lewis fought to control his expression. Isaac’s barb made him seethe. The treatment of women in the order had long been a point of contention between them, but this was neither the time nor place for another discussion on the subject. He forced a smile.
“Isaac, will you be able to see Harry before the meeting?”
“Of course. And he will do what is necessary. Unfortunately, love is the easiest emotion to manipulate.”
“Good. I’ll coordinate the purge. Bowen, I want to be ready as soon as we have the go ahead from the others.”
“No problem,” Bowen promised. He took a final swallow from his drink and tapped Isaac on the shoulder. “We’d better get going before it gets too late.” They stood and moved to the door.
“Thank you both for taking the time. We’ll have more to celebrate soon. And when we do, Isaac, I’ll break out the really good stuff. It makes the whiskey we had tonight taste like swill!” Lewis clapped Isaac on the back and laughed. Isaac showed his yellow teeth briefly before stepping away from the one man in the NSO he truly despised.
When Bowen’s car was out of sight, Lewis returned to the living room, ruminating on Isaac’s remarks. From his perspective, Vanessa Kovalic could never suffer enough for the humiliation she had caused him. He would have his men search for her when he instigated the purge. If alive, they would find her and he would finally be able to levy the punishment she so richly deserved.
When she had come to work for him, he had been delighted. Lush, exotic, and full of the pride so unbecoming to women, she had been difficult to train. He had savored the lessons, sure of his inevitable domination, but the bitch never broke completely. Instead, her screams and cries faded first to silence and then to something worse.
One morning, she had lain on the polished, wooden floor of his sleek bedroom and laughed at him. No matter how many times he had hit her, she did not quit. The audacity of her mirth had finally rendered him impotent. Her eyes gleamed in triumph as she pointed out his failed thrusting. He had only managed to control his hatred out of necessity. Had it not been for Harry and Isaac, he would have killed her then.
Lewis picked up his whiskey, drained it, and hurled the empty glass across the room. It shattered against the marble fireplace. His mouth curled into a tight snarl. Seizing the bottle off the bar, he went in search of Lucy. He found her in the den, curled up in front of the TV, where she watched an old movie on DVD, a half empty glass of water and a wadded up tissue on the table next to her. He sidled closer. The sight of her small, bare feet further enraged him. Grabbing a handful of her hair, he dragged her off the couch and across the floor. Her screams enhanced an already powerful arousal.
In the bedroom at the top of the stairs, he threw her against a wall and snatched a pair of handcuffs from an assortment on the bureau. “Grab the ring, Lucy,” he growled. Turning to face him, she stumbled, her blue eyes wild and her powdered face streaked with tears. “Grab it,” he commanded again. This time she reached for the ring suspended from the ceiling. He cuffed her wrists to the heavy, metal loop and ripped the shimmering, lilac dress off her body. Then he instructed her to turn around.
CHAPTER 17
After Bowen’s car was out of sight, Isaac slipped into the alley behind his modest Brownstone, turned right, and followed the narrow path between buildings until he arrived at the abandoned bakery. He reached inside a broken window and pulled a string to unlock the heavy door.
Pushing it open, he eased into the black interior and made his way from memory to the staircase. The climb was laborious and his heart pounded with every step. At the fifth floor landing, he bent over the railing, heaving. Then he turned and followed the corridor to a small utility closet at the far end.
He removed a key from his pocket, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. With pr
obing fingers, he felt along the edge of a metal shelf until he grasped the item he wanted. Finally, he closed the door and sat down with his back against it. When his breathing returned to normal, he opened the case, inserted the freshly charged battery, and pressed a button on the object in his hand. The satellite phone’s tiny screen illuminated the darkness. Isaac punched the number he knew by heart and waited. When his call was answered, he spoke.
Though the voice on the other end of the line pressed for details, he didn’t elaborate. It was difficult to betray his lifelong friends and he grieved for what had been lost. He had never wanted the Design to be what it had become, but he had sworn allegiance to it. His heart conflicted, his explanation was brief. The airborne version of Priscilla would soon be released. Capable of genetically modifying all who remained unvaccinated, it would change the world forever by eradicating greed, ambition, pride, lust, and every other known behavior that contributed to strife. Using a global network already in place, the designers were preparing to shepherd a new flock of innocents. Those infected would pass the mutation to their children. He finished speaking, turned off the device, and cradled it in his lap.
He sat for a long time, caught in a tangle of emotions too complex to unravel. In the beginning, the cause had been worthy of his highest endeavor. Then the early tests had gone wrong. The designers had moved too quickly and the effects of their meddling had proved irreversible. He had personally witnessed the devastation some of their mistakes had caused and had resigned from his beloved temple to seek refuge in retirement. Part of him still prayed for the Design’s success. The other part wished he could stop it. If young people like Vanessa and Michael lost their spark, fight, and independence, what was the point? The effects of the genetic modification were worse than the ills they sought to eradicate. Priscilla 279 would be death to everything that made mankind worth saving.
When his aching bones finally demanded movement, Isaac struggled to his feet and shuffled out the door. He locked it behind him, pulled himself down the stairs, and out of the bakery. Instead of returning home, he continued to the cell’s sanctuary. Isaac would make sure Vanessa was truly safe. He could not live with himself if she were raped again.
At the Gate, his soft whistle was instantly returned, signaling the all clear for him to enter. He sidled into the crack and counted his paces until he reached the basement door. Inside, Mariah greeted him.
“How did you know to come? Michael’s been asking, but we couldn’t spare anyone to send for you,” she said.
“What do you mean Michael’s been asking? Where is he? If he wanted to see me, why didn’t he come himself?”
Mariah frowned. “I’m sorry, Isaac. Since you’re here, I just assumed you knew. Michael’s had a serious accident. He’s in the infirmary.”
“Can I go to him?”
“I’ll take you.” Mariah placed her hand on his arm. On the way, she explained the day’s events. Isaac withered under the weight of what he had done. To save a life, he had inadvertently compromised the well being of at least five others.
It was his curse. Every time he had tried to do the right thing, his actions brought unintended pain and events spiraled out of control. There was no such thing as a straight line, a pure heart, or a good deed. He had thought he knew the minds of men, but he only knew the carnival funhouse of his own desires. Deep in the maze, the distorted reflections mocked him. Who was he to save anyone?
When Mariah parted the privacy curtains, Isaac couldn’t stop his eyes from welling. He shuffled across the room and took Michael’s hand in his.
“My dear, dear boy,” he said. “I am so sorry.” Michael did not respond and Isaac threw an inquisitive glance at Mariah.
“He’s been going in and out. He might not wake for awhile,” she whispered.
“May I sit with him?”
“Of course.” Mariah pulled a chair close to the bed, helped Isaac into it, and left him alone. He was exhausted and his creaking bones ached. He trained his moist eyes on his young friend, noting the plaster cast, bruised head, and sallow complexion. He could not lose Michael now. Grief made him cold and his teeth chattered. He hugged himself, trying to squeeze the shivers away. Then he took Michael’s hand in both of his and prayed.
Eventually, his fervent mumbling ceased. He closed his eyes, dozing to the steady rise and fall of Michael’s breathing. A little while later, Isaac jerked awake and bolted from his chair screaming, “Run, Michael! Take Vanessa and run!” Then he grabbed his chest and fell to the floor. His legs twitched. A dark, wet stain appeared around the crotch of his pants. Deep in his own dreamless world, Michael did not stir and the rabbi died alone.
CHAPTER 18
Vanessa stood frozen in the doorway. A few feet from her, Jeremy quivered with exhaustion and worry. Next to him were two sentries, tense and alert. Ramirez sat in a wooden backed chair, his arms loose at his sides. Overhead, a fluorescent light dangled from chains, casting the small, cinderblock room in unnatural light. The scene was unreal. As if encased in a plastic bubble, Vanessa could see, hear, and smell, but she could not feel.
Ramirez leapt from his chair, crying her name. Then he was holding her in a tight embrace. This she felt. His arms were strong and warm, his breath was hot against her cheek, and he smelled of sweat and dirt.
Jeremy yelled and the other men flew toward them. They grabbed Ramirez’s shirt and hauled him backward. Cool air rushed between their bodies and Vanessa shivered. Then Ramirez was on the floor with the men standing over him. He started to rise, but one of sentries stepped on his chest. Jeremy pointed the confiscated gun at Ramirez’s face.
“Don’t!” Vanessa shouted, putting her body between Ramirez and the gun. “Don’t hurt him! He hasn’t done anything!” Babbling, the words tumbled from her at a pace of their own. “He saved me. Don’t you understand? He saved me! He tried to save the girl. Your Ashley. He went after her. And he came back. He came back for me. Jeremy, he’s good. I promise you, he’s good!”
Jeremy lowered the gun. “It’s okay, Vanessa. We’re not going to hurt him.” He motioned to the guards and they stepped back. Ramirez climbed to his feet and sat heavily in the chair. The tension went out of the room like air out of a balloon.
She wiped away tears, turned to Ramirez, and touched his head. His hair, soft and bristly, was like the elk hide that had covered the floor of her father’s study.
“You came back,” she said.
“I didn’t want to leave you. I had no choice.”
“Did you…” Her voice trailed away. She did not want to know if Ashley was dead.
Ramirez’s face tightened. “If these people would stop fucking around, we might be able to get her back.” At his words, Jeremy’s chest sunk. “Talk,” he said. Ramirez shifted his eyes from Jeremy to Vanessa. She nodded and he relayed his adventure. Jeremy didn’t hesitate.
“Mark, bring Vanessa back to the basement and get Paul, Greg, and Jon. Jim, you and Ramirez come with me.” He started toward the door and stepped down hard on his injured foot, wincing in pain. Ramirez grabbed the crutches and thrust them at Jeremy.
“You can’t come. You’ll slow us down too much,” Ramirez said. Jeremy raised a hand in protest and then dropped it.
“You’re right. I’ll wait for you at the Gate.”
Mark took Vanessa’s arm. Together, they hurried into the tunnel. In the basement, he called for the men and they came running. They grabbed baseball bats and pipes from an umbrella stand near the door and dashed away, leaving Vanessa by herself in the big, quiet room. Avoiding the curious stares of other cell members, she searched for a familiar face.
Mariah was in the kitchen, stirring something in a cup. Vanessa moved toward her, keeping her as a beacon while she wound her way across the living room. When she arrived, Mariah did not ask about the commotion. Instead, she focused on concerns of her own.
“I was going to bring Isaac some tea. Well, it’s not really tea, just water and spice, but it does the trick. Do
you want to come?” she asked.
Vanessa’s heart skipped a beat. Could it be her Isaac? No, that was impossible. Isaac was at home, where he belonged. She accepted Mariah’s invitation, grateful for the distraction.
“Do me a favor and carry this. I want to bring a basin of water, too,” Mariah continued. After she had filled a large bowl with warm water and soap, Vanessa followed her through the curtains at the rear of the enormous room. The tea smelled good and Vanessa relished its warmth in her hands.
At the infirmary, Mariah parted the long, white sheets with her backside and sidled through, careful not to spill the water. Vanessa was right behind her when she shouted, “Oh my god!” Dropping the bowl, she ran. Michael lay on a cot at the end of the narrow, rectangular room. A man’s body was sprawled on the floor next to him. Wasting no time, Mariah dropped to her knees and put her ear against the man’s chest. She cursed then began CPR. At one point she pleaded, “Come on, Isaac! Come on!”
Rooted in place, Vanessa watched the scene from a distance. When Mariah collapsed on top of the man and sobbed, Vanessa took slow, cautious steps across the floor until she stood over them. The light in the room was dim, but the figure on the floor was unmistakable. The teacup Vanessa carried slipped from her hands and shattered. She fell to the floor and pressed her hands flat against the cold concrete. Like a dog howling at the moon, she cried, “No, Isaac. No. Please, Isaac. Please!” while unchecked tears streamed down her face.
When a groan broke through the din of Vanessa’s wails, Mariah raised herself from Isaac’s body. Michael was sitting up and groggily shaking his head. Mariah snatched a blanket off the floor and threw it over Isaac. Then she stood, placing her body between the two men. Vanessa’s chest heaved and her body shook. She could not contain her grief.
Pipe Dreams Page 8