Hot As Ice

by Merline Lovelace

  Transferring her sacks to her right hand, she reached across her front and into her purse with her left. The clumsy maneuver allowed her to angle her shoulder a few degrees away from Goode. Not enough to block his view and panic him into pre­cipitate action. Just enough to brush her fingers against the watch strapped to her right wrist when she retrieved the key card. One quick jab on the stem activated the chronometer's transmitter.

  "You won't get away with this," she said, pitch­ing her voice loud enough to carry over the crashing waves and alert whoever was in the control center. She hoped it was Mackenzie. God, let it be Mac­kenzie! Fumbling the key into the slot, she threw a fierce argument over her shoulder.

  "If Major Stone and I die of Mycotoxin T-4 poi­soning, you must know suspicion will turn to you, Dr. Goode."

  He waited until she'd pushed the door open and reentered the cottage to reply. The plush gray carpet, warm woodwork, and cherry pink-and-green chintz didn't feel quite as welcoming as Diana and Charlie moved to the center of the sitting room. Ominously, Goode remained at the open door.

  "I see no reason why I should fall under suspi­cion," he answered calmly. "Although I assisted the army in development of T-2, I took no active part in the design of subsequent derivatives. If I'm asked about your deaths, I shall speculate that you were both grotesquely afflicted by the mutant bac­teria in Major Stone's blood."

  Anger flowed hot and fierce through Diana, melt­ing the ice that had formed in her veins. ''You knew about the mutant bacteria?''

  “ I spotted the irregularity two days after I arrived at the oceanographic station. It quite taxed my in­genuity to hide it from you and the others on the recovery team."

  "You bastard!" she spit.

  His gaze went to Charlie. Genuine regret showed on his aged face. "As much as it pained me to de­stroy a specimen nature had so miraculously pre­served, I couldn't allow you to live. I knew you were aware of the early tests I'd conducted on the effects of superoxygenation. I didn't know whether you were aware I'd continued the tests after the CIA officially terminated them."

  ''Harry Simmons had an idea something was go­ing on," Charlie said through clenched teeth.

  "Harry Simmons? Ah, yes, your friend, the Lock­heed engineer who worked with us in the initial test cadre. Such a shame a man of his considerable tal­ents developed Alzheimer's, isn't it?"

  "Harry wrote me in Turkey. Since the program was so highly classified, he couldn't come right out and say what he was thinking. Just suggested I check out the oxygen filtration system next time I had a chance."

  His jaw worked. The plastic trash sacks still gripped in his fists shook with the force of his anger.

  “I got the letter right before I took off on my last flight."

  "Then you went down and I ceased my experi­ments immediately,'' Goode said sadly.''You must understand I never meant to harm any of our pilots. Only to broaden our knowledge of how oxygen and nitrogen interacted at high altitudes with regard to human protein synthesis." He turned to Diana in a quiet plea for understanding. "Without that early work, we might never have unlocked the secrets of DNA and genetic sequencing."

  His monumental effrontery left her trembling with fury. "Don't you dare try to cloak what you did as research!"

  A touch of weariness entered his voice. "Please, no histrionics, my dear. They have no place in sci­ence."

  Diana's horrified gaze was locked on the arm Goode raised.

  "Wait!"

  "I'm afraid I cannot allow you to discredit my life's work," he said with genuine regret. "And as much as I hate to weigh my contribution to science against yours, you must see that a Nobel Prize win­ner—particularly one with as little time left as I— cannot spend his last, precious years answering questions about early experiments."

  "You're going to spend your last, precious years behind bars," Diana hissed, fully intending to in­form him that his every word had been transmitted to OMEGA's headquarters. Before she got out an­other syllable, Irwin Goode swung his arm.

  The trash sacks hit the floor. From the corner of one eye, she saw a blur of motion as Charlie dug into his gear bag and whipped out his Colt.

  The shot rang out at the same instant the frail scientist hurtled the glass vial in a high arc. Goode staggered back. Grabbed for the door handle. Stum­bling out, he jerked the front door shut behind him. The loud slam almost buried the tinkle of breaking glass.

  Paralyzed, Diana saw the vial smash against the wall dividing the kitchenette from the sitting room. Before she could breathe, before she could think,

  Charlie wrapped an arm around her waist, lifted her off her feet, and literally threw her into the bedroom. He dived in after her, kicking the door shut behind him.

  She scrabbled up like a frenzied crab. She didn't have to glance at the night-darkened windows to know they offered no escape. The rocky shore lay a sheer, fifty feet below. The deck, which might have allowed them to shimmy down its supports, opened off the sitting room. Panting, she turned to Charlie.

  "The door won't keep the virus out."

  "No, but it might delay the little sucker long enough for you to suit up."

  Falling on his gear bag, he tore at the zipper like a madman. In a blinding flash, Diana understood that he intended to save her if he could, with no thought for himself. In the same blinding flash, she recognized two immutable truths. She loved him with every atom of her being—which might or might not be invaded by a horrific virus in the next several seconds. More to the point, she had no in­tention of climbing into his pressure suit and watch­ing him die.

  "The rubber seals have disintegrated," he grunted, tugging at the heavy suit, "but maybe I can stuff your wet clothes around the helmet joint and..."

  "No!"

  Frantically, she grabbed at his hands. Shaking her off, he dragged out the one-piece suit. "Get in!"

  "No, Charlie! I've got a better idea! The trash sacks can protect both of us. Come with me."

  Swooping down, she snatched up the box of gar­bage sacks and raced for the bathroom.

  "Diana...!"

  "Grab two towels!"

  She lived a lifetime in the next few seconds. Two lifetimes. Hers and Charlie's together. If this didn't work... If she'd miscalculated the density of the plastic polymers... If they both wouldn't fit in­side...

  Yanking out two bags, she nested one inside the other.

  "We'll need two more! Hurry!"

  His jaw locked, he snatched out two bags. When he turned back, Diana was already in the tiled stall, standing with one foot inside the nested bags. Hop­ping, she got the other foot inside and held the edges out for him to join her.

  "Get in."

  "There's not room. You take it and..." "Get in, dammit."

  His heavy foot landed on her toe, but she didn't have time for pain. Lifting her other leg, she made room for his foot, then simply put hers down on top of his boot. As soon as he'd climbed in, the aero­nautical engineer in him took over.

  "Stick your knees between mine," he ordered, "then scrunch down. I'll pull the other sacks over our heads. If we draw the strings tight, we might have a chance."

  "Wait!"

  Hanging on to his arm with one hand, she reached down and scooped up the damp towels with the other. By some miracle, they didn't topple over.

  "We can hold these over our faces. Just in case. Now turn on the shower and pull the other bags over our heads."

  Without another word, Charlie wrenched the cold water faucet to full "on" position. Icy pellets nee­dled Diana's face and neck, then burst into a hard wash as she helped him drag the last two bags into place. She bent her knees as much as his body and the confined space would allow. He did the same, making sure the edges of the upper bags overlapped the lower ones before yanking on the plastic draw­strings.

  His abrupt movements almost sent them both to the tiles. As it was, they ended up mashed together at awkward angles. Her bottom rode his thigh. His shoulder jammed her ear. Grunting, he tried to mak
e more room for her.

  Despite the cold water drumming against the plastic, their dark cocoon heated almost instantly.

  Terror, Diana discovered, did a number on body temperature. Struggling frantically, she wedged an arm between their tight-locked chests and dragged up the damp knit tunic. "Cover your face."

  His fist closed over an end of the fabric. Before jamming it against his mouth and nose, he managed to plant a hard, swift kiss in the vicinity of her lips.

  "If this works," he growled over the pelting wa­ter, "remind me to ask you to marry me."

  "If this works," she got out between hiccups of pure, unadulterated panic, "I will."

  Diana had no idea how many seconds or minutes or years passed before she remembered the chro­nometer strapped to her right wrist. Mackenzie's high-tech wizardry had withstood the Arctic cold. Surely, surely it could withstand an icy shower.

  "Control!" she yelled through the wet cloth. "This is Artemis. Do you read me?"

  With her left hand occupied by holding the mask over her face and her right arm crunched behind her at an odd angle, she couldn't reach the transceiver to switch to receive. Nor did she dare try to wriggle her arm to the front. She might send them both top­pling over. Charlie, however, managed to slide a palm along her arm to her watch. His fingers fum­bled with the small knobs for a frustrating few mo­ments.

  "How does this thing work?" he asked, his voice muffled by the cloth pressed to his face.

  "Press the stem twice."

  The chronometer gouged into her wrist as he hit the stem with more force than finesse. Given the circumstances, she didn't complain. She waited, her heart in her throat, until Mackenzie's voice leaped through the darkness."

  "I've got you! I've had you the whole time. Are you two all right?"

  "For the moment. Send a biohazard decontami­nation team to the resort. Tell them to be prepared to wash down for..."

  "For Mycotoxin T-4. They're already on the way, Artemis. Hold on, okay? Just hold on!"

  Chapter 14

  The biohazard decontamination team burst into the bathroom just about the time Diana's knees were ready to give out. With a shout made tinny by the speaker built into the visored hood of his respirator, the team leader made first contact.

  "Dr. Remington! Are you in there?"

  "Yes!" Diana yelled above the force of the wa­ter.

  "Where's Major Stone?" "He's right here, with me." "We're coming in."

  The water cut off a moment later. Untangling their arms and legs, Charlie and Diana straightened and fought their way out of the trash sacks. A figure swathed from head to foot in a self-contained, sil­ver-coated decontamination suit stood on the other side of the shower door.

  "The readings in this room show only minimal toxin levels," he told them urgently, "but we're go­ing to zip you both into body suits and take you out of the cottage before we wash the place down with paraformaldehyde. Got it?"

  "Got it."

  "Step out of the shower one at a time."

  Feeling like a soggy moth sloughing off its plastic cocoon, Diana hopped out of the trash sacks and into the one piece suit held up by two other mem­bers of the decon team. Only a few square inches of their faces showed through the plastic visors, but she recognized one of the team members in­stantly... or thought she did.

  "Jack?"

  The former marine flashed her a grin through inch-thick plastic. "In the flesh, doll."

  "What in the world are you...?"

  The heavy weight of a hood dropping over her head cut off Diana's startled query. A second later, oxygen began hissing into the hood and Jack Car-stairs, code name Renegade, hustled her toward the bathroom door. She stumbled, clumsy in the protec­tive gear, and twisted around.

  "Charlie!"

  "He's being suited up," her fellow operative assured her. "Come on, woman, let's get you out of here."

  The scene that greeted her outside the cottage could have come right from a Hollywood disaster flick. Helicopters hovered overhead, their powerful searchlights illuminating the night. Police cruisers and fire trucks surrounded the Hawk, jamming the small parking lot. Blue and white strobes flashed. Uniformed personnel bellowed through bullhorns and warned onlookers to keep back.

  Jack directed Diana straight to a waiting chopper. It was ready to go, its blades already slicing the air.

  "There's a medical team aboard," Jack shouted, jerking off his hood. "They'll stay with you and Stone until you reach Edwards, then you’ll have to go into isolation."

  Diana knew better than to snatch off her own hood. Until nasal, skin, stool and blood samples confirmed the presence or absence of Mycotoxin T-4 in her body, the suit would contain any patho­gens she might have breathed in.

  "How did you get here so fast?" she asked, her voice resonating eerily through the mike in the hood.

  His white teeth gleamed. "I was in L.A. when Comm put out the call for a decon team. I spent a few hours in biohazard gear in the corps, so I hopped a ride up here with the team. My orders are to take it from here, Artemis. While you're in detox,

  I'll track down and settle matters with your friend, Dr. Goode."

  "The hell you will."

  The angry retort spun both Diana and Jack around. Charlie glared at them through the faceplate set into his hood.

  "I intend to settle with Goode myself."

  "Sorry, Major. You're going to be otherwise oc­cupied for a few days, if not weeks."

  "Is that right?"

  "Yes, sir."

  As Diana knew all too well, Jack Carstairs had left the marines under a cloud of disgrace more than three years ago, but nothing could obliterate the re­spect for military rank that had been hammered into him during his years in the corps. With his hair glis­tening dark as night from the heat generated by the protective gear and his back bayonet straight, he ad­dressed Charlie.

  "You'll have to accompany Dr. Remington to Edwards and go into isolation. After that..."

  "After that?" Charlie whipped out, making no effort to hide his displeasure.

  "After that, you might be busy with other mat­ters."

  Jack shot Diana a sideways glance. A look of pure devilry danced in his eyes.

  ''Comm relayed a message for you, Dr. Reming­ton. She said that if we got you two out of this, you're supposed to remind Major Stone to ask you to marry him."

  "She heard that little exchange, did she?"

  "Evidently Lightning did, too," Jack added with a sympathetic grin. "I understand Comm patched him in during your entire transmission."

  Oh, great! Nothing like dodging deadly viruses and accepting a quasi-proposal with OMEGA's di­rector listening in the whole time!

  "You two better climb aboard," Jack suggested. "The sooner you get through the isolation period, the sooner you can, ah, get busy with those other matters."

  From the tight cast to his face behind the plastic shield, Charlie looked ready to argue the matter. Jack stepped up to him, and a look of male under­standing on his handsome, rugged face.

  "Comm makes a backup tape of every transmis­sion from the field, Major. When she ran the shot you fired and the sounds that followed through a digital enhancer, it was clear you hit Goode. If the bastard's still alive, he can run, but he can't hide. I'll bring him down."

  "If you don't," Charlie promised, "I will."

  The isolation unit on the second floor of the Ed­wards Air Force Base hospital lacked any preten­sions to charm. Cream-colored institutional paint covered the walls, devoid of any ornamentation that could collect germs. The furniture was metal, gray and functional. The linoleum floor gleamed as bright as glass from its frequent swabbings with industrial-strength antiseptic.

  A set of double doors with an airlock in between separated the isolation rooms from the rest of the ward. The intercom provided the only direct contact with the outside world. It cackled at regular intervals with instructions for various personnel to report to their station or to patients.

  At leas
t the windows provided a glimpse of some­thing other than bland white walls. They looked down across the base and gave Charlie a bird's-eye view of the busy flight line dominated by its two massive hangars. He'd memorized every architec­tural feature of the two structures in the thirty-six hours since the decon team had burst into the ocean-side cottage.

  Hands shoved in the pockets of his blue hospital pajamas, he stood with legs spread and his gaze locked on the hangars. With each passing hour he'd spent at the window, he'd coiled a little tighter in­side. Not because of the samples extracted from his body by medical personnel covered from head to toe in protective clothing. And not because of the damned mutant bacteria, which preliminary reports indicated had all but disappeared from his blood.

  Because Diana was in the next room, similarly isolated. Every minute that passed, Charlie alter­nately prayed she hadn't breathed in any of the toxin and cursed Irwin Goode.

  Twelve more hours. They had to spend twelve more hours in isolation. The rest of today and part of the night. If neither he nor Diana showed evi­dence of pathogenic invasion by that time, the docs would feel comfortable giving them both a clean bill of health. In the meantime, worry for Diana was devouring Charlie from the inside out.

  He should have trusted her earlier, he thought savagely. Told her about the disintegration of his life support systems while they were still at the oceanographic station. By keeping silent, he'd lulled Goode into a false sense of security—a security Di­ana had shattered when she'd initiated her inquiries about the scientist's early work. With the perfect clarity of hindsight, Charlie damned himself for keeping his suspicions to himself and trying to go it alone.

  No wonder his few communications with the woman in the next room these past thirty-six hours had been brief and focused solely on his medical condition. Despite her isolation, Diana had taken charge of the entire operation, directing the tests, discussing the results with the docs, reverting to her professional role with a vengeance. The warm, will­ing woman who'd tumbled into his arms during those stolen hours at the cottage had vanished, leav­ing Dr. Diana Remington in her place.