"Continue."
"I have tissue and blood samples taken from each accident victim and I've already started working on a gene blocker. Once a vaccine is perfected, let the public find the Dakotans for us. I'm certain a nice reward for information on the whereabouts of Dakotan carriers will open mouths. In the interest of public safety, of course."
"Do you think a half million dollars would be adequate for such a reward?"
"For half a million dollars, there's not a person out there who won't come forward, including Dakotans. Perhaps especially Dakotans. After all, they will receive two benefits: the vaccine will cure them of the deadly curse they pass to their children, and they'll have enough money to disappear forever."
"So will Ellery Jensen, if she ever gets wind of this."
She didn't answer, but the darkening of her eyes told him that she understood what he wasn't saying.
Almost there, he thought. The Dakotan memory still had to be dealt with, but Bianca's vaccine would take care of that. As for the rest of the plan, the Pittman Scrolls were firmly entrenched. The City of the Dead was even now being filled with the influential of the world; as executor of their estates, the Church coffers were overflowing. Global unrest had escalated into isolated military skirmishes; it would require little to set off a full-scale war.
He would need Halloran's help in getting the Neutrality Pact for the City of the Dead ratified by the Transnationals. The Saharan project must be accepted as a neutral zone by all nations before the final phase of the project could be implemented.
All except the Eastern Bloc had signed, but they would. Their money sources would undergo in-vaulting on Tuesday and the Church had included a special clause in the Treaty agreeing to match any funds those outside donations would have provided—as long as the Neutrality Pact was signed and honored.
He picked up Bianca's phone and dialed Washington.
"Senator Halloran's office."
"This is Pope Munoz. Let me speak to the Senator." Holding his hand over the phone's speaker, he said, "I met with certain ambitious men privately last month. They were most anxious to cooperate in having the City ratified as a neutral zone once I assured them that the Church will stand in solid support of their nominations to the seats of power."
His hand jerked away from the receiver; he listened. "No, that won't be necessary. Tell him I'll be arriving in Washington tomorrow to discuss a matter of grave importance to the Transnationals." He frowned into the phone. "You give him my message when he returns. I don't care how late it is. I'll be in Washington tomorrow and at his office no later than nine a.m. He'll be there, I assure you. Yes, I would suggest his other appointments be canceled for the day." Munoz chuckled into the speaker. "You may tell the Senator I took the liberty of rearranging his calendar. He'll understand. You have a good day, too, sir." Still chuckling, he replaced the phone. The smile disappeared from his face as he turned toward Bianca.
"Is your assistant prepared?"
She nodded. "He knows the dry procedures. In fact, he's almost better at it than I am. It was Mace's idea to incorporate natron into the process. Once Dane Wyland schools him on the freezing vaults, he'll be ready."
"You trust him to carry out the plan, to recruit a committed successor?"
She answered the question with one of her own. "You've established the fund for eternal guardianship of the City?"
"Of course."
"Can it be challenged, declared invalid?"
"Never. The trust conditions are specific."
"Need I say more? Relax, Raphael. If you were Mace, would you tamper with the source of a quarter billion dollars and a VIP in-vaulting? That's powerful motivation." Her shoulders lifted, relaxed. "Think of it this way, if he doesn't train his own replacement—with the same commitment to the plan that he has—he'll never get one finger on the money because his resurrection in our future will be nothing more than wishful thinking. Unfortunately, by that time you and I will be in-vaulted and we'll never know, will we?" Her laugh rang through the laboratory. "On the other hand, if he does adhere to your plan, you've spent—"
The soft chime of the wall intercom interrupted their conversation. Bianca jumped up from her chair, sauntered to the paneled wall, and buzzed the door open. "It's about time," she said as Dane stepped through the opening. "We were beginning to get a little worried."
Munoz eyed the young man's sweat-streaked face. "Problem, Dane?"
"No," the engineer said, shaking his head. "It got too warm in there, that's all."
"You've taken all the measurements you'll need?" Munoz said.
"I may have to make a few adjustments later on, but right now I have all I need." He turned to Bianca. "About portable, Doctor Raborman—there's no way. Not and do everything else you've requested. Do you still want to go ahead with this?"
"I'm disappointed it can't be done. I had hoped to use the container as a transport cage also." She paused, then said, "Build the container, Mr. Wyland."
Dane pulled the notepad from his pocket and handed it to her. "If you can get these materials gathered together for me, we'll have George in a new house within the next ninety days."
Bianca scrutinized the list. "The supplies will be here day after tomorrow. What are your plans for the rest of the day?"
"Back to San Francisco."
"Do you have friends in the city?" Munoz asked.
"No, sir." Dane thrust out his hand to Munoz, then to Bianca. "It's off to the beach, for me. I've got water to splash in."
"Brrr!" Bianca said. "That water's icy cold."
Dane grinned. "Yeah—isn't it great?"
Watching the young man stride away, Munoz said, "You ought to try developing a serum for perpetual youth, Bianca. There's nothing as robust as young energy."
Chapter 55
Ellery
The woman who opened the door this time wasn't the same one who had answered his persistent ringing the night before. Although her face was pale and drawn, her blue eyes sparked with life and her silvered hair was swept back into a thick bun. Her step was swift as she led him toward the kitchen where pots bubbled on the stove and succulent odors wafted from the oven. This woman was Doctor Ellery Dakota Jensen.
It's good to have him here, she thought, seeing his smiling approval.
On the countertop, cooling, three pies piled high with sugary meringue beckoned his finger into a swipe. Sucking the glob of sweetness from his finger, he peered over her shoulder as she basted a pork roast with orange marmalade.
"My favorite!"
Ellery covered the roast, shoved it back into the oven, and closed the door. "I know," she said, reaching for the controls that turned down the oven temperature. "That pie with part of its topping missing is lemon pecan. Another favorite as I recall."
Sniffing in the cooking fragrance, Dane patted his belly. "I feel like a kid, again, Doctor Jensen. It wouldn't surprise me a bit if Vickie came charging down those stairs in there."
He strolled to the arched entry and looked up the stairs. Ellery watched a play of emotion cross his face. Was he seeing Vickie's long legs leaping the stairs toward him, her face filled with bright welcome, her voice already calling to her mother, wheedling for a sleep-over? Nostalgic memory brought a wistful smile to her face. How many times she had witnessed that scene?
"She misses you, too, Dane," Ellery said.
He turned, leaned against the wall. "How is she, Doctor Jensen?
"She's safe."
"Safe?"
She saw the pulse in his neck begin to pound. "A figure of speech. I didn't mean to alarm you. I'm still jittery over Matthew's death," she added smoothly.
He glanced toward the far wall of the living room. His face clouded.
"He was cremated this morning."
"Why didn't you tell me? I would have been there."
"That's why I didn't." She turned, crossed to the sink, and began rinsing lettuce.
After a moment, the young man strolled up beside her. Reaching into
the colander, he picked out a piece of lettuce heart and munched casually.
"What do you need to know, Dane?"
"Nothing, Doctor Jensen. I'm just watching."
"Uh-huh. I know the sound of that munch. You want to ask me a question and aren't sure how to start." Her head swiveled in his direction. "Call me Ellery. You're a grown man now. Doctor Jensen is just too formal for this house." A smile turned her lips up. "Now—out with it. What do you want to know?" she said, shaking the lettuce dry.
"Did you know about the creature in Doctor Raborman's laboratory?" he blurted. "Is that why you left Tartarus?"
Her hands stilled, her eyes bored into his. It was now or never. She knew Dane Wyland. He was nearly as close mouthed as she herself when it came to discussing confidential information. If she said no . . .
"Yes," she said. "Among other reasons which I don't intend to go into." Turning back to the stove, she lifted a pot lid. "Hand me that spoon, will you?" Her hand reached out. "My rice is sticking." He handed her a wooden spoon with a long handle. "Anything else?" she said, stirring the rice.
"No. Not right now."
"Then go sit down while I dish up."
Forty-five minutes later, Dane leaned back and rubbed his stomach. "I'm so stuffed I could pass for a Christmas goose."
Ellery poured coffee, folded her arms casually on the table, and leaned forward. "Now that you're well fed and comfortable, and since you broached the subject first, I have a question for you."
Dane looked up. "Fair enough."
"What does George Kayman look like now?" she came straight to the point. Before he could reply, she held up a hand, palm out. "Wait, don't answer. I'm going to tell you what I think he looks like. You simply answer with yes or no." Her mouth twisted at one corner. "As long as you're working at Tartarus, I don't ever want to put you into the position of lying to Bianca Raborman. She'll know if you do," Ellery said. "My way, you've never recounted a thing."
Detail by detail, Ellery described the man creature sequestered in Bianca's laboratory. As she talked, Dane's eyes opened wider and wider with the accuracy of her portraiture. "Am I right?" she finally asked.
"To a tee. Except for one thing. How did you know?"
"I saw the formulas. Too late to change the outcome, unfortunately."
His jaw dropped. "It wasn't an accident?"
"No. George Kayman is Bianca's perverted attempt to create a new species. Pray she never succeeds. Now, what did I miss?"
"The buttock nub. I'm not exactly sure if that's going to grow into anything or not."
Ellery frowned. "Hmmmm. That would indicate a tail is forming. That's interesting." She sat lost in thought for a moment.
"It's intelligent, too." Like a child caught with chocolate smeared around its lips, he slapped his hands to his mouth.
Her eyes jerked to his. "Are you certain?"
Dane's head moved up and down. "Absolutely. Why?"
"The serum should have destroyed the cognitive brain," Ellery muttered more to herself than to him. "A tail nub and intelligence." She sat silent once more. There shouldn't be a tail formation, she thought, and certainly no thinking ability. "My God," she whispered, eyes bright with astonished revelation. "His DNA is creating its own instructions, not following a preset chromosomal pattern. That's the only explanation."
"What are you talking about, Ellery?"
"A genetic theory, Dane. It was postulated by my grandfather shortly before he died. DNA, as with any blueprint, must be unfolded before it can be read. Just as a cut and paste procedure can rearrange the parts of a structural design, DNA base ends can be snipped off and small packets of new DNA information inserted. Like any blueprint alteration, once the change instructions are incorporated a new framework emerges. A highly simplified explanation, but you get the idea. Basically, that's what Bianca did with George.
"Papa Victor's theory states that just as evolutionary mutations can occur when the external environment undergoes a major change, so too will they develop if the internal environment is drastically altered. He proposed that when gene coding sequences are severely traumatized, the overwhelming number of correction requests causes the body's check and balance system to shut down. Survival is the key word here. Intron splicing codes are switched off, foreign plasmids are modified, and the DNA builds itself. It mutates. It sounds simple, but the process is incredibly complex."
Dane's eyes had taken on a glassy look. He said, "Your grandfather—he could make this happen?"
"Two of his experiments with lower life forms seemed to support the hypothesis, but he died before completing his work. Unfortunately, Papa Victor was a secretive man when it came to his ideas of a scientific breakthrough. He was not one to put all of his results, or his thought processes for that matter, into concrete terms until he'd thought through potential rebuttals. It's never been possible to prove his theory, but it's the only explanation for what's happening to George Kayman. It's called organism adaptation."
"I don't understand genetics, Ellery, but what I'm hearing you say is that George's DNA is both the design architect and the builder. It works like I do on my job—starting with imagination and playing through what-if possibilities."
"Well put, Dane."
He beamed at her compliment.
"The implications of this creature are staggering," she said. "It may have started out as George Kayman but it's become a being in its own right now. You tell me it's intelligent. Tell me how you know that and forget anything I said before. You may have to learn how to lie—without showing so much as an eye twitch."
"You've never lived with the Bedouins, Ellery. They may not lie, but believe me, if they don't want you to know what they're thinking, you aren't going to know." He explained all that had transpired in Bianca's laboratory.
Ellery's face grew increasingly pale as he talked. Her thoughts flicked to the night she had sneaked into Bianca's lab and the screeching rage George had exhibited, the repeated thrusting of his head in the direction of the open panel. Her stomach knotted as understanding came. Deliberate. The head thrusting was deliberate. He had warned her of Bianca's arrival in the only way he could.
She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. "This animal . . . man . . . whatever it is, is exceedingly dangerous, Dane," she whispered. "It has retained George Kayman's rage at Bianca's betrayal. Worse, it has demonstrated a shrewd cunning in the way it hides what it knows. From the reaction you saw to an unspoken thought, I suspect there is at least a rudimentary telepathic ability at work. Did you tell Bianca what happened?"
"No. I was just glad to get out of that room and away from the island."
"She evidently has the animal under control, so I would suggest you don't say anything at this time. If the creature can pick up your thoughts, it will know. Since you're going to have to work in the same room with it, the less threat you present, the safer you will be."
Ellery rose from her chair and paced the floor. Pausing, she stared out the dining room window. In the near distance, a faint fluorescent line rolled and disappeared, rolled again. Ellery tipped her head to the side. Pucker lines creased her forehead as if she were straining to hear the sound of waves.
Damn! If Jack Harmon would stop being such a pigheaded, obstinate . . . She slammed her hand onto the tabletop.
"If only I could get into Tartarus, find out what Bianca's planning to do with that monstrosity she's created." She sighed with frustration. "But I can't and that's that."
"You can't, but I can," Dane said.
Ellery shook her head. "It's too dangerous. You're on an island. There's no escape if she finds out."
"I'm a grown man, Doctor Jensen," he said. "Not only am I Vickie's best friend, I'm also a Dakotan—by osmosis." he added softly.
Ellery searched his face, his eyes. He returned a calm confidence. "So you are," she said at last. "As such, you deserve to know the whole story. Let's make ourselves comfortable. The dishes can wait."
He followed her into th
e living room, sat in the wide recliner he and Vickie had shared so many times while they read the same book or solved the same puzzle. He listened with unflagging interest as Ellery spoke. Dawn light streamed through French doors when she finished.
"That, my dear Dane, is why Vickie is gone and we can't take the chance her whereabouts will be tracked. There can be nothing available for prying eyes to see. Not even a beloved photograph."
"The picture. That was hay."
She met his startled gaze and nodded. "If you were searching for someone, would hay tell you where to look?"
"There are many places it could bring to mind, but my initial assumption would be somewhere in the Midwest. Nebraska, Kansas, Oklahoma. Those would probably be my first choices. I'd circle out from there."
Again Ellery nodded. "Exactly. I had to destroy the photograph because of that. Do you understand?"
He nodded. She stood and he followed suit.
"Thanks for dinner, Doctor Jensen, and don't worry. We'll lick this together."
"Yes. We will." She hugged him tightly then opened the door. He strode toward his car. Midway down the sidewalk, he snapped his fingers and whirled back to the door.
"I almost forgot," he said coming closer. "Your Dakotan list. Were there any located in the Sahara?"
"None that I know of. Why?"
"In one of the camps. A little boy with purple eyes like Matthew's. He had a twin sister."
Ellery's hand flew to her chest. "Two more Dakotans!" The exuberance faded from her face. "I'll never be able to get to those two, Dane, but thank you anyway for remembering to tell me," she said.
He nodded and walked away.
Chapter 56
Sefura
"What are you reading?"
Sefura looked up from the open book on her lap as Dane dropped down beside her. "Actually, I'm trying to decipher. It's a project I've been working on for His Holiness in-between helping Bianca organize her notes on a new vaccine."
"A vaccine?"
"Uh-huh. To block the BH gene. It's something only Dakota children are born with, but if it turns sour, a perfectly dreadful disease develops, one anybody can catch if they're exposed."
Shadows in the House With Twelve Rooms Page 36