Chapter 45
Bianca
On Pelican Island, in the hidden laboratory, George Kayman lay drugged and bound in a black iron cage; his feverish moans echoed into the front lab where Munoz and Bianca stood beside a stainless steel sink. Warm water, tinged red by the blood dripping from deep cuts on Bianca's arm, whirlpooled down the drain.
"Antibiotic?" Munoz said.
"In the drawer, white container." Bianca pointed to one of the lower cabinets. "Bandages and tape are in the next one."
Munoz shook a fluid-filled can, held it above Bianca's arm, and sprayed a thin film that quickly set into a sheer, cellophane-like covering. The open wounds slowly pulled together and the bleeding stopped. With deft twirling, he bandaged her arm from shoulder to wrist and taped it firmly.
"Are you sure you can handle that creature you've created, Bianca? I've never seen such rage. I'd swear he was trying to kill you."
"He was," she said, shrugging her shoulders, "but that will pass. A few stints with the rod will cool his fervor."
"I don't know," Munoz said.
"You've seen the ape. She tried a few times. She doesn't anymore. I was careless, Raphael. I wanted a species that could think and analyze, but now I see that was a mistake. George convinced me he was unconscious. That won't happen again. A small adjustment to the serum and his mind will be no different from that of any other dumb animal. Hate and rage will give way to fear and survival."
Turning off the water, she swabbed the sink thoroughly with disinfectant and flipped up the sterilizing switch. Soft rays of pale blue light bathed the stainless steel. For a split second, Bianca held her bandaged arm beneath the rays that, like the healing solution, Ellery Jensen had developed. Even here, in her own lab, she couldn't get away from the woman. Her face contorted with anger.
"I think we have a more serious problem to concern ourselves with, don't you?"
"Perhaps," he said thoughtfully. "Matthew Jensen is on the environmental committee headed up by Senator Halloran. I think I'll give the good senator another call, see if he can shed any light on this memory ability. If it's as infallible as that news article seemed to indicate, Halloran must have seen it in action."
"I thought he was the senator that keeps the Transnationals informed of United Americas' new policies. Wouldn't alerting him to our concerns be dangerous?"
"Halloran is a fool," Munoz spat. "A useful fool, though. He'll never question my interest."
"If he confirms the memory?"
"The solution is simple," he said, black eyes glittering.
"That is?"
Munoz rocked gently heel-to-toe. "They will have to be eliminated." He glanced at his watch. "The Senator is probably sound asleep by now." His shoulders lifted, relaxed. "Your phone?"
"Telescreen?"
"No. I don't want every satellite in the country picking up my call. Don't you have a dedicated line?"
Bianca strolled to the credenza behind her desk, slid a top panel to the side, and retrieved the instrument.
Grabbing the arm of her desk chair, he rolled it next to the credenza and sat down. He picked up the phone and dialed. Bianca leaned against the desk, watching his face.
"Senator! Pope Munoz, here. I'm sorry to wake you. I would have waited until tomorrow, but I'm in a meeting right now and have to make an immediate decision about a new request that's been submitted to Tartarus. We need an experts opinion about a young man in the environmental division, the one who does all of the cause and effect projections with such unerring accuracy." He listened, then nodded his head. "Yes, that's the one. Matthew Jensen."
Munoz shook his head at the phone. "Trouble? Not at all. Tibor Gombocz says he's the right man for this project, but I'm not so sure. Tartarus doesn't need the kind of projective computing ability Mr. Jensen displays so much as they need someone with good visual and verbal memory. Someone who has the ability to spontaneously recall facts. Accurately."
How easily he draws particulars from others, Bianca thought. Halloran's reticence to impart information unless he gained useful details in return was well known in diplomatic circles, as was his loyalty to The Transnationals. Yet, here he was, apparently speaking freely without a question being asked. Is it because he's speaking to the Pope or did the man think Munoz had unwittingly revealed private information because of name-dropping references? She could feel her forehead wrinkling as she studied her consort's face. God. How many times had he drawn her out in just the same way? Too many she supposed, but it wouldn't happen again. A valuable lesson this—one she too could use.
Munoz listened intently for several minutes, occasionally murmuring an uh-huh or an I see into the mouthpiece. "Well, thank you, Senator. I appreciate your input. I'll get back with you later if everyone agrees he's the right man. Yes, I will, and you too, Senator. Good-bye. Sorry again about disturbing your night." He laid the receiver into its cradle; his hand briefly rested on the instrument.
At last he swiveled to face Bianca. "During the committee meetings last week, young Jensen and Senator Gorban got into a shouting match over some major environmental agreements approved by the Transnational's Policy Conference a few months back. Gorban made a snide remark that set young Jensen off. First time Halloran had ever seen Matthew lose his diplomatic control."
Munoz closed his eyes and leaned back into the chair. Silence gathered throughout the room. With his eyes still closed, Munoz spoke.
"You probably don't know this, but all committee meetings are circuit taped. Halloran broke up the confrontation and sent everybody home for a week to cool off. He was curious, though." His eyes snapped open. "He compared the policy meeting tapes with Matthew Jensen's quotes."
"And?" A flame glowed deep in her eyes.
"Eliminate them," he said harshly.
"All of them?" The flame leapt higher.
Munoz stared into the space across Bianca's shoulder. He finally spoke. "All except Ellery Jensen and her family. She is the core of the Dakotan gene, the prime celebrity. The responses you received from the families you contacted tells me that they are afraid of her, afraid of what she might do with her talent, afraid that they—or their descendants—may be on the receiving end of more Dakotan experiments in the future." He studied the ceiling. "The longer she lives, the greater that fear will become. Especially if it appears she and hers are receiving preferential treatment. I think that fact will be useful to us in the future. As for Ellery's sons, I require their talents and until ceases to be the case, they are not to be touched."
"You know her daughter is expecting, don't you? Victoria should be going into labor in another month or so."
"That shouldn't be a problem, Bianca," he said keeping his gaze fixed on the laboratory ceiling. "Hospitals do experience stillbirths now and then. Our hospitals are no different."
Already her mind was racing with a plan. She would bring Ellery Jensen to her knees, but it wouldn't be by killing Dakotans. That would be too easy. A few would have to die, of course, to keep Raphael satisfied; they would be the lucky ones. I will destroy what the great Victor Dakota created in my own way, she thought. When it is done, Doctor Jensen, your genetic genius will crumble and fade before the glory that will be mine. Bianca smiled at Munoz as a sudden rush of moisture dampened her panties. With the drum roll of victory beating through her mind, she dropped the chemise from her shoulders.
Tongue flicking, he gathered her naked body to him, meeting her need with his own.
Chapter 46
Ellery
Ellery awoke with a start. Staring around her darkened bedroom, she half expected to see nameless forms lurking in the corner shadows. Her eyes focused on the glow of the clock sitting on her dresser.
Five-thirty.
Listening to the silence of the house, she closed her eyes and tried forcing herself back to sleep. Matthew's in Washington, Vickie and the baby are safe in Kansas, and John? She turned onto her side. Somewhere in the Amazon Basin fighting for a cause he believes in. Three months no
w since Matthew managed to get a message through to a known party member. Whether it reached John's hands or not, only God knew. She rolled onto her opposite side. Go back to sleep. You have no reason to get up so early.
But her mind wouldn't rest. Why hadn’t the Pope responded to her request for a private audience? Surely he is curious, she thought. It was not like Munoz to let an opportunity to gather information slip by. Something was wrong. Unable to quiet her troubled thoughts, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat quietly for a moment.
Five-fifty.
Sighing, she slipped on her robe and padded to the light switch. Since she couldn't sleep, she might as well work on the DNA analysis. After the joining, she had taken blood and tissue samples from those of the Dakotan descendants who would agree, as well as from Vickie, the baby, and Matthew. She had even drawn a sample from her own arm for analyzing. So far, she had found nothing that could have produced the Dakotan anomaly. Even Papa's journals had given no clue. She sighed. It was there, the singular essence of the BH, and when she found that, she would find the gene.
Knowing the effects Bianca's serum would have on George, Ellery feared that somehow Bianca would find a way to introduce the horror into the Dakota strain. She didn't like to think about what kind of consequences such a mutation could produce. Brushing her hair, a mental picture of unspeakable creatures with impeccable memory rushed into her thoughts. Her jaw tightened at the idea. Her arm slowed its rhythmic movement.
"You're letting your mind run rampant, Ellery Jensen," she said, shaking her finger accusingly at her reflection. "You have more important things to do." She turned off the light and strode down the hallway to her working wing. Six-forty wasn't a bad hour to begin, she thought, now that she was awake.
Seated at her console, she turned on the power and reached for the speech pad. Her hand stopped in midair as her eye caught the small silver blip on her view screen. It spiked twice.
"Oh, no," she cried. Only a life-threatening urgency would have broken Leann's silence. Her fingers brushed the voice pad.
"My friend Jerico called," the console droned. "It's urgent. Do you want to read the message or do you want me to speak it?"
"Read," Ellery shouted. Words flashed on screen. You and yours in terrible danger. Swe . . . swe . . . swe . . . The message, broken by static, repeated over and over.
"Decipher static," Ellery intoned. She watched tracers of light cross the screen.
"Signal shut down, Doctor Jensen. Message unable to complete," the computer hummed.
"Voluntary or involuntary?" Ellery squeezed her hands into tight fists as she waited for the answer. If Leann shut down because her screen was in danger of being seen, the signal would so indicate.
"Involuntary shutdown, Doctor Jensen. Involuntary shutdown." The screen glowed red.
"Dear God in Heaven. She was caught sending." Ellery glanced upward. "Please, help her to escape. Send her to me." Slowly, she retraced her steps to the door and made her way downstairs to the kitchen. With unseeing eyes, she prepared breakfast and set it on the table, watched it grow cold.
Sometime later, the flat shape of the morning paper lying on the lawn caught her attention as she stared vacantly out the kitchen window. News, any news, was better than this awful waiting.
It was on the second page.
Staring into Ellery's eyes, Leann's picture—a dimpled smile on her lips. "Long time Tartarus staff member drowns in trip-and-fall accident," the story began. With tear-misted eyes, Ellery skimmed through the article, then crumpled the sheets into a tight ball.
The time she had invited Leann to see the foam tunnels from the cliff overhang flashed into her mind; the terror on the girl's face, the sound of her voice. Even as she adamantly refused, she had smiled that smile of hers that brought the deep indentations to her cheeks.
No way, she thought. Leann would never have gone out on that overhang, much less trip on some damned rock. Her thoughts, whirling in and out of possible alternatives, settled on one. She knew it was right: someone pushed Leann off that ledge. Or threw her off. Either way, she was murdered.
Her lips pulled to a thin line. What had the girl discovered that was so important she broke the silence? The message replayed in her mind. Danger—swe—static. Word combinations peculiar to Leann's vocabulary raced through her mind as she vocalized the sound. Sweeeee . . . ping! Sweeping out the Coliseum.
Her hand flew to her chest. They're going after the Dakotans! That could only mean one thing. They knew Dakotan males had photographic memories. No wonder Pope Munoz hadn’t responded. There was nothing she could tell him that he didn’t already know, except for the one thing she had planned to reveal in hopes it would remove Bianca from Tartarus. He had no way of knowing about the perpetual continuity of that memory and now, he would never know.
Their next step would be what? Death for all was the logical answer, but Bianca's mind didn't work that way. Her way would be—exquisite. She shuddered at the images invoked. Whatever their intention, it had cost Leann her life and would cost Dakotans theirs unless she acted quickly. Of that, Ellery had no doubt.
She called Matthew. After a terse explanation, she said, "You know the drill, son. Be careful."
"You too, Mom," he said. "You too."
Placing the phone into its cradle, she turned to the window and watched a gull wheel against the horizon. With wings folded, it dove to the ocean waters, then lifted smoothly, holding a fish in its beak. How beautifully the gull takes the wind, she thought. But so deadly when it strikes the water. Munoz is like that. Ellery whirled around. The man had started his dive, but his fish wouldn't be waiting for the strike. She'd see to that.
After a quick call to each of her sisters, Ellery gathered a handful of round, green stickers bearing the slogan "We Care About Breathing—Ride A Bike." She placed one on the porthole garage window facing the street and another on the French doors facing the beach. Pulling on an old sweater, she let herself out of the house. In other parts of the city, she knew that her sisters, too, were putting on sweaters and gathering stickers.
When she returned, her small green stickers had been strategically placed: the all-night newspaper stand that carried major city dailies, the neighborhood convenience market, the Ocean Beach Library, and the branch post office in the squat brown building behind the library. Last, the funds depository at the back of the souvenir shop five streets south. The depository had been specially set up for the city's antique buffs and was visited daily by hundreds of tourists and San Franciscans.
The slogan signal had been agreed upon by the Dakotans after the joining. Even though all had acknowledged that such a course of action would more than likely never be needed, no possibility could be overlooked where Munoz and Bianca were concerned. The signal would be seen, the word would pass, and by this time next week, Bianca Raborman would think Dakotan descendants were nothing more than figments of her imagination.
There was one more thing she had to do. She felt certain that Bianca's habit of putting her thoughts in writing would extend to journalizing the plan for a Dakotan hunt down.
She had to know what that plan was.
Rummaging through her dresser drawer, she found the smooth white disc that would get her into Tartarus and into Bianca's lab. Jack Harmon would try to talk her out of it, but in the end, she would prevail. Tonight, she would be on board the Pelican when it crossed to the island.
Just like old times.
Chapter 47
George
George stirred in his sleep as the faint sound of the incoming launch, Pelican, penetrated his slumber. For Captain Harmon to be coming over, Bianca must have left the island, he thought vaguely, adjusting his arm position. He was drifting in a dream of normalcy when a new scent eddied into the room.
Topaz eyes jerking open, he raised his head and sniffed the air. Someone was coming. A stranger. The vibrations whispering along his limbs told him that the someone was small and light on their feet. Wide awake now,
he shifted his position, wincing at the sharp stabs of pain when he pulled his legs tight to his chest. As he hunkered into the corner of the black iron cage, he heard the faint click of the outer lab door. His mind reached out and slipped into hers.
The stranger's thoughts were tight and controlled—and directed. Bianca's desk. Journal. Plan. Nothing more. He listened to the rustling sounds of papers being turned, the soft thump of drawers being closed. Footsteps registered, then the panel slid open. He almost let a sound escape his mouth when he saw the woman slip through the opening.
Ellery Jensen! After all these years.
Peering closer, he felt mild surprise. She looked much older than he remembered. How the hell did she get a key to Bianca's office? he wondered. What's she looking for?
Ellery turned on a small palm light and made her way to the desk across the room.
George drew a thin film of tissue down across his eyes. He didn't like looking through the film, but it cut the glare. She would need the light, of course. Her eyes weren't designed to see in the dark—his were. He couldn't help the chuck-chuck sound he made when she flashed a small disc across the desk lock, then opened the drawer. Bianca had that lock specially constructed. Without her print key, nothing short of blasting beams should have opened it.
Ellery whirled and played the light across the cage. Coming closer, she squatted near the side and stared through the iron bars, a look of horror on her face.
This time, her mind wasn't controlled and tight.
What a terrible payment to perverted genius, it said. Bianca is even more sadistic than I imagined. If she can do this to a human being she didn't know, what will she do to the Dakotans? There was a tinge of fear in the question and yet, a touch of clinical appraisal as well.
Shadows in the House With Twelve Rooms Page 32