Robin Cook

by Mortal Fear

  “Did.he say why he wanted those heads?”

  “He didn’t and I didn’t ask,” Stooky said. “He was payin’ and I figured it was his business.”

  “And just fishheads—nothing else.”

  “Just fishheads.”

  Jason left the porch frustrated and mystified. The idea that Hayes had come three thousand miles for fishheads and marijuana seemed preposterous.

  Carol spotted him at the edge of the dock and waved at him to join her.

  “You have to try this, Jason,” she said. “I almost caught a salmon.”

  “The salmon don’t bite here,” Jason said. “It must have been a trout.”

  Carol looked disappointed.

  Jason studied her lovely, high-cheekboned face. If his original premise was correct, the salmon heads had to have been associated with Hayes’s attempts to create a monoclonal antibody. But how could that help Carol’s beauty as Hayes had told her? It didn’t make any sense.

  “I guess it doesn’t matter whether it’s trout or salmon,” Carol said, turning her attention back to her fishing. “I’m having fun.”

  A circling. hawk plunged down into the shallow water and tried to grasp one of the dying salmon with its talons, but the fish was too big and the bird let go and soared back into the sky. As Jason watched, the salmon stopped struggling in the water and died.

  “I got one!” Carol cried as her pole arched over.

  The excitement of the catch cleared Jason’s mind. He helped Carol land a good-sized trout—a beautiful fish with steely black eyes. Jason felt sorry for it. After he’d gotten the hook out of its lower lip, he talked Carol into throwing it back into the water. It was gone in a flash.

  For lunch they walked along the banks of the widened river to a rocky promontory. As they ate, they could not only see the entire expanse of the river, but the snow-capped peaks of the Cascade Mountains. It was breathtaking.

  It was late afternoon when they started back to the Salmon Inn. As they passed the cabin they saw another large fish in its death throes. It was on its side, its glistening white belly visible.

  “How sad,” Carol said, gripping Jason’s arm. “Why do they have to die?”

  Jason didn’t have any answers. The old cliché, “It’s nature’s way,” occurred to him, but he didn’t say it. For a few moments they watched the once magnificent salmon as several smaller fish darted over to feed on its living flesh.

  “Ugh!” Carol said, giving Jason’s arm a tug. They continued walking. To change the subject, Carol started talking about another diversion the hotel had to offer. It was white-water rafting. But Jason didn’t hear. The horrid image of the tiny predators feeding from the dying larger fish had started the germ of an idea in Jason’s mind. Suddenly, like a revelation, he had a sense of what Hayes had discovered. It wasn’t ironic—it was terrifying.

  The color drained from Jason’s face and he stopped walking.

  “What’s the matter?” Carol asked.

  Jason swallowed. His eyes stared, unblinking.

  “Jason, what is it?”

  “We have to get back to Boston,” he said with urgency in his voice. He set off again at a fast pace, almost dragging Carol with him.

  “What are you talking about?” she protested.

  He didn’t respond.

  “Jason! What’s going on?” She jerked him to a stop.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, as if waking from a trance. “I suddenly have an idea of what Alvin may have stumbled onto. We have to get back.”

  “What do you mean—tonight?”

  “Right away.”

  “Now wait just a minute. There won’t be any flights to Boston tonight. It’s three hours later there. We can stay over and leave early in the morning if you insist.”

  Jason didn’t reply.

  “At least we can have dinner,” Carol added irritably.

  Jason allowed her to calm him down. After all, who knows? 1 could be wrong, he thought. Carol wanted to discuss it, but Jason told her she wouldn’t understand.

  “That’s pretty patronizing.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ll tell you all about it when I know for sure.”

  By the time he had showered and dressed, Jason realized Carol was right. If they’d driven to Seattle, they’d have gotten to the airport around midnight Boston time. There wouldn’t have been any flights until morning.

  Descending to the dining room, they were escorted to a table directly in front of the doors leading to the veranda. Jason sat Carol facing the doors, saying she deserved the view. After they’d been given their menu, he apologized for acting so upset and gave her full credit for being right about not leaving immediately.

  “I’m impressed you’re willing to admit it,” Carol said.

  For variety, they ordered trout instead of salmon, and in place of the Washington state wine, they had a Napa Valley chardonnay. Outside, the evening slowly darkened into night and the lights went on at the docks.

  Jason had trouble concentrating on the meal. He was beginning to realize that if his theory was correct, Hayes had been murdered and Helene had not been the victim of random violence. And if Hayes was right and someone was using his accidental and terrifying discovery, the result could be far worse than any epidemic.

  While Jason’s mind was churning, Carol was carrying on a conversation, but when she realized he was off someplace, she reached across and gripped his arm. “You are not eating,” she said.

  Jason looked absently at her hand on his arm, his plate, and then Carol. “I’m preoccupied, I’m sorry.”

  “It doesn’t matter. If you’re not hungry, maybe we should go and find out about flights to Boston in the morning.”

  “We can wait until you’re through eating,” Jason said.

  Carol tossed her napkin on the table. “I’ve had more than enough, thank you.”

  Jason looked for their waiter. His eyes roamed the room and then stopped. They became riveted on a man who had just entered the dining room and paused by the maître d’s lectern. The man was slowly scanning the room, his eyes moving from table to table. He was dressed in a dark blue suit with a white shirt open at the collar. Even from the distance, Jason could tell the man wore a heavy gold necklace. He could see the sparkle from the overhead lights.

  Jason studied the man. He looked familiar, but Jason couldn’t place him. He was Hispanic, with dark hair and deeply tanned skin. He looked like a successful businessman. Suddenly, Jason remembered. He’d seen the face on that awful night when Hayes had died. The man had been outside the restaurant and then outside the Massachusetts General Hospital emergency room.

  Just then the man spotted Jason, and Jason felt a sudden chill descend his spine. It was apparent the man recognized Jason because he immediately started forward, his right hand casually thrust into his jacket pocket. He walked deliberately, closing the distance quickly. Having just thought of Helen Brennquivist’s murder, Jason panicked. His intuition told him what was coming, but he couldn’t move. All he could do was look at Carol. He wanted to scream and tell her to run, but he couldn’t. He was paralyzed. Out of the comer of his eye, he saw the man round the nearby table.

  “Jason?” questioned Carol, tilting her head to one side.

  The man was only steps away. Jason saw his hand come out of his pocket and the glint of metal as his hand covered the gun. The sight of the weapon finally galvanized Jason into action. In a sudden explosion of activity, he snatched the tablecloth from the table, sending the dishes, glasses, and silverware flying to the floor. Carol leaped to her feet with a scream.

  Jason rushed the man, flinging the tablecloth over his head, pushing him backward into a neighboring table and knocking it over in a shower of china and glass. The people at the table screamed and tried to get away, but several were caught in the tangle of overturned chairs.

  In the commotion, Jason grabbed Carol’s hand and yanked her through the doors to the porch. Having managed to break his panic-filled paralysis, Jason
was now a torrent of directed action. He knew who the Hispanic-looking businessman had been: the killer Hayes claimed was on his trail. Jason had no doubt his next targets were Carol and himself.

  He pulled Carol down the front steps, intending to run around the hotel to the parking lot. But then he realized they’d never make it. They had a better chance running for one of the boats at the dock.

  “Jason!” Carol yelled as he changed direction and dragged him down the lawn. “What’s wrong with you?”

  Behind them, Jason could hear the doors to the dining room crash open, and assumed they were being chased.

  When they reached the dock, Carol tried to stop. “Come on, dammit,” Jason shouted through gritted teeth. Looking back at the inn, he could see a figure run to the porch railing, then start down the stairs.

  Carol tried to jerk her hand free, but Jason tightened his clasp and yanked her forward. “He wants to kill us!” he shouted. Stumbling ahead, they raced to the end of the dock, ignoring the rowboats. Jason shouted to Carol to help untie three of the rubber boats and push them off. They were already drifting downstream by the time their pursuer hit the dock. Jason helped Carol into the fourth boat and scrambled after her, pushing them away from the dock with his foot. They too drifted downstream, slowly at first, then gathering speed. Jason forced Carol to lie down, then covered her body with his own.

  An innocent-sounding pop was immediately followed by a dull thud somewhere in the boat. Almost simultaneously there was the sound of escaping air. Jason groaned. The man was shooting at them with a silenced pistol. Another pop was followed by a ringing sound as a bullet ricocheted off the outboard motor, and another made a slapping sound in the water.

  To Jason’s relief, he realized the rubber boat was compartmentalized. Although a bullet had deflated one section, the boat wouldn’t sink. A few more shots fell short, then Jason heard a thump of wood against the dock. Jason lifted his head cautiously and looked back. The man had pulled one of the canoes from the rack and was pushing it into the water.

  Jason was again gripped with fear—the man could paddle much faster than they were drifting. Their only chance was to start the motor—an old-fashioned outboard with a pull cord. Jason shifted the gear lever to “start” and tugged the cord. The engine didn’t even turn over. The killer had already boarded the canoe and was starting toward them. Jason pulled the cord again: nothing. Carol lifted her head and said nervously, “He’s getting closer.”

  For the next fifteen seconds, Jason frantically jerked the starter cord over and over. He could see the silhouette of the oncoming canoe moving silently through the water. He checked to make sure the lever was at “start,” then tried again without success. His eyes drifted to the gas tank, which he prayed was full. Its black cap appeared to be loose, so he tightened it. Just to its side was a button he guessed was to increase pressure in the tank. He pushed it a half dozen times, noticing that it became increasingly harder to depress. Looking up again, he saw the canoe was almost to them.

  Grasping the starter cord again, Jason pulled with all his strength. The motor roared to life. Then he reached for the lever and pushed it to “reverse,” as they were floating downstream backward. He jammed the throttle forward and threw himself back onto the bottom of the boat, pinning Carol beneath him. As expected, there were several more shots, two of which hit the rubber boat. When Jason dared to look out again, the gap had widened. In the darkness, he could barely see the canoe.

  “Stay down,” he commanded to Carol, while he checked the extent of the damage. A section of the right side of the bow was soft, as was a portion of the left gunwale. Otherwise the boat was intact. Moving back to the outboard, Jason cut the throttle, put the motor into “forward,” then angled the tiller to head downstream, steering out to the center of the river. The last thing he wanted to do was hit rocks.

  “Okay,” he called to Carol. “It’s safe to sit up.”

  Carol rose gingerly from the bottom of the boat and ran her fingers through her hair. “I really don’t believe this,” she shouted over the noise of the outboard. “Just what the hell are we going to do?”

  “We’ll head downriver until we see some lights. There’s got to be plenty of places along here.”

  As they motored along, Jason wondered if it would be safe to stop at another dock. After all, their pursuer might get into his car and drive along the river. Maybe there’s a light on the opposite side, he thought.

  From the silhouettes of the trees lining the lakelike expanse of the river, Jason could gauge their speed. It seemed to be about a fast walk. He also had the feeling the river was again gradually narrowing, especially when it appeared that their speed was increasing. After a half hour, there were still no lights. Just a dark forest bordering a star-strewn, moonless sky.

  “I don’t see a thing,” yelled Carol.

  “It’s okay,” reassured Jason.

  After traveling another quarter hour, the bordering trees closed in rather suddenly, suggesting the lakelike expanse was coming to an end. When the trees were closer, Jason realized he had misjudged their speed; they were moving much faster than he’d thought. Reaching back he cut the throttle. The small outboard whined down. As soon as the sound of the outboard fell, Jason heard another more ominous noise. It was the deep growling roar of white water.

  “Oh, God,” he said to himself, remembering the falls upriver from the Salmon Inn. He pushed the small outboard to the side and turned the boat around. Then he gave it full throttle. To his surprise and consternation, it slowed, but did not stop their rush downriver. Next he tried to angle the boat toward shore. Slowly, it moved laterally. But then all hell broke loose. The river narrowed to a rocky gorge, and Jason and Carol were unwittingly sucked into it.

  Around the top edge of the rubber boat was a short rope secured at intervals by eyelets. Jason grabbed a hold on either side, spanning the craft with his outstretched arms. He yelled for Carol to do the same. She couldn’t hear over the roar of the water, but when she saw what he was doing, she attempted to do the same. Unfortunately, she couldn’t quite reach. She held on to one side and hooked a leg under one of the wooden seats. At that moment, they hit the first real turbulence, and the boat was tossed into the air like a cork. Water came into the boat in a blinding, drenching sheet. Jason sputtered. The darkness and water in his eyes made it all but impossible to see. He felt Carol’s body hit up against his and he tried to anchor her with his leg. Then they thudded into a rock and the boat spun counterclockwise. Through all this violent activity, Jason kept seeing the image of the falls, knowing that at any second they could plummet to their death.

  Jason and Carol clutched at the ropes in utter terror. They bounced from side to side and end to end, in rapid gyrations, completely at the mercy of the water. At every moment he thought they were going over. Water filled the cockpit. It was stingingly cold.

  After what seemed like an eternity of hell, the water smoothed out. They were still spinning and careening downriver, but without the sudden violent upheavals. Jason glanced out. He could make out the sheer falls of rock on either side. He knew it wasn’t over.

  With a tremendous upward surge, the violent dubbing recommenced. Jason could feel his fingers begin to pain him; a combination of constant muscular contraction and the cold was having its effect. He gripped the rope holds with all his strength, trying to tighten his hold on Carol with his legs. The pain in his hands was so intense that for an instant he thought he’d have to let go.

  Then, as suddenly as the nightmare began, it was over. Still spinning, the boat shot out onto relatively placid water. The thundering noise of the rapids lessened. The sides of the river fell away, opening up a clear view to the starry sky. Inside the boat there was a half foot of icy water, but Jason realized the outboard was chugging as smoothly as if nothing had happened.

  With shaking hands, Jason straightened the boat and stopped its nauseating rotation. His fingers touched a button just inside the transom. He took a chanc
e and pressed it; the water in the boat slowly receded.

  Jason kept his eye on the silhouettes of the bordering trees. Ahead, the river bent sharply to the left, and as they rounded the point, they finally saw lights. Jason steered to shore.

  As they approached, he could see several well-lit buildings, docks, and a number of rubber boats like their own. He was still afraid the killer might have driven down to intercept them, but he knew they had to land. Jason pulled alongside the second dock and cut the engine.

  “You sure know how to entertain a girl,” Carol said through chattering teeth.

  “I’m glad you still have your sense of humor,” Jason said.

  “Don’t count on it lasting much longer. I want to know what in heaven’s name is going on.”

  Jason stood up stiffly, holding on to the dock. He helped Carol out of the boat, got out himself, and tied the line to a cleat. The sound of country music drifted from one of the buildings.

  “It must be a bar,” said Jason. He took her hand. “We have to get warm before we get pneumonia.” Jason led the way up the gravel path, but instead of going inside, he walked into the parking lot and began looking in the parked vehicles.

  “Hold on,” said Carol with irritation. “What are you doing now?”

  “I’m looking for keys,” Jason said. “We need a car”.

  “I don’t believe this,” said Carol, throwing up her hands. “I thought we were going to get warm. I don’t know about you, but I’m going in that restaurant.” Without waiting for a response, she started for the entrance.

  Jason caught up to her and grabbed her arm. “I’m afraid he’ll be back—the man who was shooting at us”.

  “Then we’ll call the police,” Carol said. She pulled out of Jason’s grasp and entered the restaurant.

  The Hispanic was not in the restaurant, so, following Carol’s suggestion, they called the police, who happened to be a local sheriff. The proprietor of the restaurant refused to believe that Jason and Carol had navigated Devil’s Chute in the dark—“Nobody ain’t done that before,” he said. He found chef’s smocks and oversized black and white checkered kitchen pants for them to change into, and a plastic garbage bag for their wet clothes. He also insisted they have steaming hot rum toddies, which finally stopped their shivering.