Unacceptable Risk

by David Dun

  "You're an incurable romantic."

  "Okay, so when do you think I knew?"

  "Some things dawn on us a little bit at a time."

  When she cried, he told himself that it was going to be like this with all the pregnancy hormones and the lactation and the ligaments turning rubbery and all the other transformations that went along with this business of making a baby. Since there were pills for erections and pills for anxiety and pills for depression and pills for sleeping, Sam wondered if there might be a pregnancy pill. Better yet, a relationship pill for nervous Indians.

  He waited for Anna's tears to turn to a mere glistening and resumed the conversation about her new movie deal. That worked for a minute. Then she got hungry for a pickle and a peanut butter sandwich.

  They pulled up in front of the bed-and-breakfast in a yellow cab with a driver who spoke with his hands, fingers, and a clipboard with preprinted messages. Sam was a bit uneasy, he supposed about leaving Bowden. It seemed these days that he could smell Gaudet, and he now wondered if it was really Gaudet or simply the conclusion that Gaudet would soon figure out Michael Bowden's whereabouts.

  There were gates of wrought iron everywhere along the sidewalk and it looked like a haphazard arrangement of barricades, as though made by kids for war games. Nobody seemed to agree on exactly how much of the sidewalk was public. On the street side of the cab Sam got out to go around to open the door for the new queen of his life, but she was already exiting, so he contented himself with taking her arm. His knowledge of her pregnancy had made her seem fragile.

  She laughed, obviously understanding her newfound status in the hierarchy of his brain.

  There were people on the street and in this part of town, as usual, relatively prosperous people; if there were holes in their blue jeans, they were the designer sorts of holes, raggedy white from machine washing. Some people needed to prove they could have holes and be cool.

  A man stood reading his newspaper, no doubt waiting for his wife's nails to dry. He seemed to be having trouble turning the pages with his black leather—no doubt fur-lined— gloves, and his heavy black glasses seemed to match purposely the black shoes and the black poodle dog.

  The buildings were many-storied and Sam glanced up and around as he reached out a hand for a gate. On their side of the street, in a window bay on the next building over and several floors up, his eye caught a glint of something, or maybe it was just that he suddenly supposed someone was behind the glass. It was a feeling like bricks falling to the pavement and he felt in himself a sort of startled response. Then the man with the newspaper jerked his head up, seemingly at the very second there was the sound of shooting— multiple shots in fairly quick succession. And then Sam felt himself lifted with a hit to the chest and crumpled to the sidewalk along with Anna. He was aware of the pain and thankful for the body armor, all in the same instant.

  He rolled over the top of Anna and covered her, trying to get every inch of his body over hers at exactly the same instant, and once that was done, he stuffed his hand inside his partially unzipped coat, reaching for his 10mm Smith & Wesson.

  People were rushing toward them, in what he suspected was the line of fire. Soon there were at least five people huddled round and he realized that whoever had fired the shot that had hit him was not likely to get another. And it was odd because it wasn't automatic fire. That struck him even as he lay on the pavement. It should have been automatic fire, but he had heard only a series of single shots and he was hit with only a single bullet. There was a reason for this, and he would work it out, and he hated himself for thinking it because he knew he should be thinking about Anna beneath him. And with that, he raised himself and looked down and saw blood oozing from the side of her head.

  "Ambulance!" he shouted. "Ambulance!"

  From the crowd came a soft voice: "Do you need anything?"

  Sam couldn't respond. He thought perhaps he was weeping but wasn't sure.

  Sam sat in a waiting area while they did the surgery. There had been flurries of activity around Anna since she arrived at the hospital, and mostly he couldn't get closer than about ten feet. Anna's mother, Carol, had come, but she had ignored him; obviously, there was an issue with her where he was concerned. Although he had begun explaining to her that he and Anna were to be married, Carol was like a cornered animal in her determination to hide from the truth. When he saw the pain and the fear in her eyes, he backed off and explained that he had been with Anna and that it was important that he stay with her at least until things stabilized. Carol had the durable power of attorney for health care and Sam was not consulted as to Anna's treatment. At the moment that was all right because he had satisfied himself that Dr. Prince, the attending neurosurgeon, was very competent and that Anna's mother truly cared for her.

  Sam had made it a point to befriend the nurses—one in particular, named Lydia. He told her briefly that he was Anna's security man, that he and Anna were great friends, and that he had even grown to love her. He did not explain about the engagement or that Anna had returned his affection. Given Anna's high-profile life, he explained that he was very vulnerable to the press and that it would be a great kindness if she told no one. Normally, he would have expected the nurse to talk, but this woman was serious, not given to careless gossip when it came to her duties, and he knew she would keep silent. She would be an ally. Even if the woman let it slip, he had to conduct himself as though Anna would live and, therefore in her own time, Anna would announce their love to the world. His anonymity would be gone forever. It would be a great and wonderful new beginning, but if possible, it was something he and Anna should do together.

  Exhaustion had set in for Sam, probably from resisting the depression. Sam needed to sit and experience his misery so that he could eventually escape it. But there was no time. It wasn't as if someone else could take over and carry on the work of stopping Gaudet. Anna lay in a coma and it seemed that if he could sit at her bedside, he might help her to get better. It was a torturous conflict whether to devote himself completely to the one, or try to save the many.

  He took a moment to call his mother. Sometimes she was more Talth spiritual leader than pyschologist, sometimes more psychologist than Talth, but she was always Mother.

  First he explained that Anna was pregnant, then what had happened, and that he was all right save for his weary sorrow. Of course he blamed himself. He should have had Anna surrounded with security so that a bullet could not have gotten to her. It was stupid to even be with her while he was fighting Gaudet and protecting Bowden. He should have made her see that. He told his mother all of this.

  "I will go to Universe Rock and make prayers."

  "I am trying to stop the man I told you about. I believe he has a very dangerous technology that could be used against many people. I don't know what he is doing with it."

  "This is the man that you have been hunting?"

  "Yes, this is the one."

  "And you are sure he will hurt many. Kill many people?"

  "I believe that, yes. I am convinced, although I don't have the proof yet."

  "Even Anna might suffer if he is not stopped?"

  "Yes. Definitely."

  "But you have fallen in love and she needs you," Spring reminded him.

  "Yes."

  "Who else is with her?"

  "Her mother. She doesn't much like me, but she is a good woman."

  "She doesn't know you. You are uncertain about marriage?" she sincerely asked.

  "I... I... don't think ..." That one stumped Sam. "I guess I'm not sure if I'm uncertain." He could sense his mother's smile at that one.

  "Anna has no Indian in her and I think it worries you that she will not accept you because you are Indian. Perhaps you question whether you will be good for her. You worry that you are not right for her world."

  "It's partly what I do for a living. Worry. I compare myself to Grandfather."

  "Grandfather's life force was very focused and it was focused on teaching yo
ung men and on understanding. Your life force is very focused as well."

  "Yes. It's focused on catching assholes being assholes. Perhaps that is why I can never be like him."

  "You can't conclude that you will never be like Grandfather. Each man has only so much he can give and he has to decide where he will give it," Spring advised.

  "My mother drops the whole load."

  "Normally, I would never drop the whole load as you put it, but you are on a cliff's face trying to decide which way to climb. You can't stop to cook a meal or build a house. This man you hunt kills your friends and your family and you are wondering ... where has God gone ... where is justice .. . and somehow you wonder if it is all because you haven't done it just right."

  "If I felt bad before, it's even worse now. But I don't think I'm a head case."

  "Your father killed himself and hid your heritage from you. And yet you are a very good man, a caring man, a strong man." Spring was consoling her child.

  "But a strange man."

  "You should know what you are up against. It is not just this evil fellow. It is what is inside you. I understand why you have called me. You need someone you respect to give you permission to leave Anna and to devote yourself to hunting this nemesis. You tell yourself that you are the only one that can do it. And it might be true. But maybe, you ask yourself, you are leaving her side because you are not strong enough to do the right thing. Many days from now, when Anna is better, and swollen with your child, when you look in her eyes and put your hand on her stomach ... will you know that you did the right thing and will she know it too?" Spring counseled.

  "That is what I don't know." Sam lost it for a few minutes and then put himself back together.

  Jean-Baptiste marveled at Benoit's self-assurance. Although he was on top, her legs were tightly gripping his thighs and her pelvis was perfectly fitted to his and she controlled the friction of their movements and the rhythm of their sex so that her excitation steadily mounted. Sweat from her belly felt good under his, and the strain and tension in her body had a sensuous quality that magnified his lust and it was all he could do not to climax as he observed her passion building. The woman was to sex as the Rolls-Royce was to automobiles. Then her breaths became very deep and her voice high pitched as she began to moan and mutter her incantation: "In ... in ... in ... in."

  Her back arched and she nearly screamed and it made him feel very much the bull man as he worked his way up to his own orgasm.

  They were back in the Hotel International, back in the same room with the same pastries. For a moment he wondered if it was bugged and then dismissed the idea.

  When she rolled off, he lay beside her, admiring her body and wondering at his good fortune while he tried to stifle the guilt. His life was becoming ever more confusing. He was a good public servant in the service of a government that was as soft as it was inept. He was a man of talent who had been passed over and now he was making sure that he was not entirely without good fortune. Like rules about monogamy and sex, which he was stretching some, he was also wreaking havoc with the rules of his profession. But it seemed necessary and not unlike the things done by other men who had escaped doormat status—a life spent under the boots of the arrogant and wealthy.

  She went to shower, and even when he was spent she fascinated him. He sat on the toilet seat and watched her, still thrilling at the sight of her lithe body. He never had enough of looking. It was possible to watch by pulling back the edge of the shower curtain and he enjoyed the water pouring over her skin and the droplets beading over her.

  "So, tell me about Gaudet. What will he do after Cordyceps?"

  "Plastic surgery. I'm sure he already has the new identity and no one really knows the old one. I know what he looks like, but that is about it."

  "What will it be like when I meet him?"

  "You won't really. You won't see him and you won't be close enough to touch him and he will disguise his voice. He will give you nothing of himself."

  "I can see why you worked for the company—why you practically ran it."

  "You know Thomas Edison, the American inventor? He said that people miss opportunity because it comes dressed in overalls and looks like work. That is the biggest component of success—work. But there is another component. When the Wright Brothers invented the airplane, the world was ready for a flying machine. When Edison invented the electric light, the world was ready to escape the soot. I am telling you the world is ready to master the body. I can see that you are a man with the vision to be part of that."

  "You know how to inflate a man's ego."

  "I can feel ambition in a man. I feel ambition in you. And you know that France will pay for Chaperone. Likewise, you know there are people who will make a killing when the market falls. You can take a big bite out of both apples. But now you need to ask the admiral to let me go to the United States."

  "You think I can just snap my fingers?"

  "Ask him or we are through. I will go back to the dungeon."

  "Relax. I will ask him. He will say no, but I will ask just the same. Benoit? What made you dream up this whole idea?"

  "Prison has a way of focusing your thoughts. Liberation is a powerful incentive."

  Baptiste nodded.

  "I will have to tell the admiral about Cordyceps and, of course, France will have to appear to try to stop it."

  Baptiste opened his mouth to protest.

  "Don't worry. The admiral can try all he wants, but he won't be playing with a full deck. I'll see to that."

  She stepped out of the shower and onto the tile floor. Moving the towel over her body was like a peep show. When she glanced down and saw his erection, she reached for it and pushed him back a bit; then she settled on him and she hunkered down very tight and began to move. In minutes the tightness of her and the softness of her aroused him near to orgasm. Her back became taut and he could feel the muscles like steel bands above her buttocks as she orchestrated the level of friction with her pubic bone. God, it was as if her body were a suction cup pulled tight to his. Her breathing became strong and he tasted the new sweat between her breasts. When her nipples were hard, and the size of thimbles, he took the right one in his mouth and used his tongue so that she shuddered and moved even harder down on him. The slickness of her made a giant quivering in his thighs and he could feel her perfect rhythm, now like a galloping horse hard onto the finish line, and then she moaned deep and long and he let himself come and he felt strong. So strong.

  Baptiste ordered security not to let Benoit contact anyone. He would do all the talking to the admiral that needed to be done. It was a dangerous career move, but the relief it provided him made it seem worth the risk. Preventing Admiral Larive from initiating a meeting with her would be more difficult. As he was thinking through how he would approach the admiral, his phone rang. It was Figgy.

  "Somebody just tried to kill Sam and got his girlfriend instead."

  "Why in the hell are we talking on an open line?"

  "Because I don't give a shit, and besides, nobody is listening and it wouldn't matter to me if they were."

  "There is actually a Sam?"

  "I said cut the shit," Figgy barked.

  "Who did it? Gaudet?"

  "I was worried it might be you or your boss."

  "No way. Get it straight. We want Sam to lead us to Chaperone. If someone is trying to kill him, it's no doubt Gaudet and we don't have a clue to his whereabouts."

  "You're sure."

  "I'm certain. Keep your eye on the ball. There is a lot of money to be made."

  Baptiste hung up. Now was the time to meet Gaudet. He would need an alibi—a way of legitimizing the meeting if someone found out. He went to the admiral.

  The man was smoking one of his cigars and that normally meant he was in a good mood. It was rare of the admiral to have a cigar in his office. The room was large, with a desk at one end and a more informal conference area at the other, and the office permitted a great deal of pacing on the
admiral's part.

  "I have a tip that Gaudet wants to talk," he began.

  The chief puffed extra hard on his cigar and Baptiste could see a brightness in the eyes.

  "How do you talk with Gaudet in the future?" the admiral questioned.

  "I dial a cell phone number."

  "Do you have it all down in the file?"

  "Oh yes."

  "What kind of a deal could the French government make with a man like Gaudet?"

  "Offer to buy Chaperone," Baptiste answered.

  "Yes, except I thought he doesn't have it."

  "But he's a dog in the hunt with a lot of inside information."

  "We haven't found Raval?"

  "Not yet."

  "And Sam?"

  "Figgy says not yet."

  "Sam brought down Grace Technologies so I know his organization is effective. What are they doing, then? That's what I'm getting at."

  "Trying to catch Gaudet."

  "We all claim to be trying to stop Gaudet. Where is Sam now?" the admiral inquired.

  "New York. Michael Bowden is there too, Figgy says."

  "We all need Bowden, that's sure. It alone is enough reason to go there. Now, how do you get Bowden on our side? Never mind. I don't need to know. You just need to do it. And get Chaperone. I have been told that France must win this race in the strongest possible terms. Do you understand me?"

  "Yes, sir," Baptiste said. "There is one more thing."

  "Yes?"

  "I don't want you to think I'm crazy, but I believe we should consider temporarily releasing Benoit Moreau to assist us."

  "You're right, I think you're crazy. Why?"

  Baptiste explained Benoit's plan for getting the technology for France in exchange for a pardon—Bowden's knowledge of the source of the molecule, Gaudet's knowledge of the vector technology, and Raval's knowledge of the Chaperone

  immune system process.

  "You actually think she could do all that?"