Disaster for Hire (8 page)

JENNY TURNED AWAY from watching the dark forest roll by. "We have some things in common," she said.

"I know," Frank answered simply. "We both believe in our fathers."

"Yes." Jenny folded her hands in her lap, lowering her head. "I want to make certain his reputation doesn't get tarnished. It's important to me. And I want to see that whoever is responsible for killing him gets caught."

"I'm hoping my father and brother are both still alive," Frank said, slowing the car. "We're about a half mile from that roadblock," he said. "There's a clearing just off the road up ahead. We can leave the car there."

"Good idea."

He guided the car off the road and over the ground. Parking near a stand of high pines, he cut the engine. "Your father must have told you more than he told us," he said.

"Not that much. He had a lot of suspicions, for several weeks—before he died. Yet he didn't want to act without proof."

"Suspicions about Dr. Winter?"

"Yes, and at least two other of his colleagues in the biotech department," Jenny answered. "He was convinced that the three of them, with Winter apparently in charge, were running a secret project in the lab. He believed they did most of the work nights and weekends, when he wasn't there."

"They were making this bacteria that's destroying the Selva timber?"

"Is that what they're doing with it? I wasn't sure."

"We've talked to somebody at Selva. A lot of their trees are suddenly dying." Frank eased out of the car, then opened her door. "Whatever it is they've cooked up, it isn't stable. We think Crosscut is shut down because the bacteria is turning out to be harmful to people too."

Jenny got out of the car and stretched. "That could happen, especially if you don't take all the precautions," she said.

"By the way," Frank asked, "Are you really friends with Fawcette's daughter?"

'Yes, we're friends. And Beth is very upset about her father's part in all this."

"Let's start moving through the woods toward Crosscut," Frank said. "It'll take a while to get there on foot at night."

They crossed the mossy ground, moving in among the dark trees and the soft cushion of pine needles. "Maybe you could tell me more about Fawcette," he went on.

"Beth believes her father is deathly afraid of Ray - sort of scandal," Jenny said.

"You mentioned pressure on him before."

Jenny nodded. "He's been getting a lot of visits from a rich big-shot on the alumni board, Ray Garner. I think they're all trying to keep it quiet.

Fawcette's hoping it will eventually be forgotten."

As the night closed in, the sounds of the forest increased. Birds called and fluttered unseen, animals stirred and prowled. A hunting owl shook the branches high above them. Then it swooped to attack. A small animal shrieked.

Moments later Frank and Jenny became aware of voices off to their right.

'We're getting near the roadblock," Frank 'whispered.

They carefully picked their way through the dark forest.

"I don't like it all that much myself," Sheriff Yates was saying. "But who's left? Carl's down with it, and so is Johnny."

"So's my wife. I don't enjoy putting in two shifts out here."

"I've been here most of the day myself."

"None of this is right. We ought to get in touch with somebody in Seattle, tell them what's going on—"

"How could we do that, Ralph? We'd have to admit we let them use the old Wheelan place for their lab. We let them test that awful stuff in the forest."

"But it's going to kill us all, and that'll be the end of the story. Just because you and that halfwit Mayor O'Malley got so greedy."

"You all got a share, remember? And they said there wouldn't be any danger."

Frank tapped Jenny. They started moving on again. When they were safely beyond the roadblock, Frank said, "That explains a few things."

"And it means things are as bad as you suspected." Jenny shuddered.

The nighttime town was quiet, with no traffic. It wasn't a large town, less than a dozen square blocks. There were lights showing in many of the small, one-story houses, but all the shops and stores were dark and locked.

Jenny and Frank had emerged from the forest on a grassy hillside. Cautiously they headed downhill and into Crosscut itself. A chilly wind hit them as they started along a silent street.

On their left was a two-story wooden building. A weathered sign next to the boarded-up door identified it as the town hall.

"Things aren't exactly booming in Crosscut," said Jenny.

Frank's lips thinned. "Which is one reason they made their deal with Dr. Winter."

"Frank, how could people be so greedy that they'd risk a whole forest for a few dollars? Even if he told them it was safe, they — " She stopped still and grabbed his arm.

"What is it?"

"Over on the bench at the town hall." She pointed. "Someone's sitting there, watching us."

Frank narrowed his eyes. "You're right. Wait. I hear a groan."

He left her on the sidewalk and went running over to the figure on the bench.

"Careful," murmured Jenny.

It was a boy of about fourteen, slumped on the bench. He was clutching at his midsection, and his breath came in shallow pants. "I shouldn't ... have snuck out."

"What's wrong?"

"I guess," the kid gasped, "I've got it too."

Frank sat beside him. "The illness that's been going around?"

"Yeah. Worst kind of flu. My father's got it, been in bed ... three days." The kid's eyes seemed glassy in the dim light. "Usually ... never sick ... "

"How come you're out here?"

"Me and a couple of my friends ... going to get together," came the groggy reply. "Just hanging out. Got this far, but got dizzy ..." The kid groaned again, pressing his hand flat against his stomach. His face was dotted with perspiration.

"How far from here do you live?"

"Just two blocks, over on Lombard Street." The kid took a deep breath. "Do you know where that is?"

"We can find it." Frank took hold of the sick boy's arm. "Think you can walk?"

"If we go really slow." The kid sounded embarrassed. "And somebody helps me."

"I'll do that." Frank took most of the weight as the kid wobbled to his feet.

The boy swayed, rubbing at his sweating forehead. "Still pretty dizzy—" His panting was worse, too.

Cautiously, Jenny came closer, stopping about five feet from them. "He's got it too?"

"I'd say so."

The young boy stared at the girl, his eyes getting sharper. "Who are you folks?"

"Visitors," she answered.

"They don't allow visitors. We're quarantined," he said. "It's Dr. Winter's idea. He's working on a cure. Dad thinks ... get outside help ... won't let us."

"Can't you phone out?"

"The lines are down."

"Let's get you home. What's your name?"

"S - Sean."

"I'm Frank, this is Jenny." Slowly, Frank helped the boy walk to the street. "Which way?"

"We take this street—over toward the Wheelan house."

Frank shot a look at Jenny. "The big house up there on the hill?" he asked.

Sean nodded. "Then we go off to the right. Boy, I just got it all of a sudden." His voice sounded almost dreamy. "Just like my dad. Mom's okay, so far, but her friend—old Mrs. Ferguson — she died."

Their progress was slow. Sean didn't seem to see where he was walking. He nearly fell twice in the first block. The second time, Jenny grabbed his arm to save him. She supported him on the other side.

Frank asked, "Is Dr. Winter up at the Wheelan house?"

"Sometimes. He's supposed to be helping us, but that's not all he's doing."

"What do you mean?"

"Me and my friend Jayce, we followed him one time." Sean's panting got worse. "On our bikes ... he didn't know it. There's a fair road ... runs from the mansion to the old mill. It's about ... Boy, I'm getting dizzier. About twenty miles east of here ... the old mill."

"Why does Winter go there?"

"Has a big lab. Can we stop a minute?" He swayed dangerously, even with Frank and Jenny holding on.

Jenny said, "We've got to get help for these people. As soon as we find Joe and your father."

Sean's voice was dreamy again, almost muttering. "Doc's got big lab ... computers ... all sorts of stuff... we looked in window."

Very slowly they made their way along another block when the boy said, "My house is next."

"We'll see you to your door," Frank told Sean, "but we won't wait around."

"Sure. You don't want to be seen. Anyway, thanks — couldn't have gotten here without help."

Inside the white frame house a dog started barking.

"That's Gus — dumb name for a dog. My stupid sister named him."

Frank guided the boy to his front door and rang the bell. "Good luck, Sean."

He and Jenny hurried away into the night.

A block away a battered Jeep came roaring up, jerking to a stop across the street from them.

A husky man in a plaid mackinaw grabbed up a medical bag and jumped from the vehicle.

He was running up across the lawn when the front door was yanked open.

"Doc, hurry! She's hardly breathing," cried a thin man framed in the light. "She's dying, she's dying."

"Easy, Andy. We'll save her."

The thin man was sobbing. "But she's hardly breathing."

The doctor hurried in, the door was shut and the light cut off.

"This is worse than I figured," said Frank.

"It's exactly what my father was afraid of," whispered Jenny.

Frank and Jenny continued toward the three-story wooden mansion, climbing around the hillside to hit it from the rear. The night wind grew stronger. Dry leaves swirled down from the scratching tree branches.

"No signs of guards," said the girl.

Frank carefully scanned the shadows. "They might figure the sheriff's keeping all strangers out of town."

They reached the edge of the woods. The large old house, with its towers and slanting shingle roofs, rose up about a hundred yards away.

"Not many lights showing at the back here," Jenny whispered.

"So we ought to be able to get across the lawn unnoticed," said Frank. "Then we can try that door at the top of those back steps."

Jenny took in a deep breath. "Ready?"

"Let's go."

They stepped free of the woods, and side by side ran through the overgrown lawn.

Up the stairs they skipped silently. Frank was just reaching for the doorknob when the sound of shouting broke out from upstairs.

Then the window above him shattered, raining down jagged shards of glass.

JOE HAD BEEN CARRIED to a second floor bedroom about an hour earlier. Washburn had dumped Joe on a swaybacked four-poster bed.

"Doc's pretty sure he's got a cure this time," he'd said to Joe. "So you probably won't die after he infects you." Then he left.

It took Joe nearly five minutes to roll to the edge of the bed and elbow himself up to a sitting position.

There was a carved-wood nightstand next to the bed. Bouncing along, he turned his back to it and tugged its drawer open with his bound hand.

He pulled too hard and the drawer came all the way out. Falling to the floor, it spilled its contents.

Joe turned, looking down at the stuff scattered over the faded Persian rug.

He saw a small pair of scissors among the many contents. They were only small silvery nail scissors, but they might work to cut through the ropes.

Grunting, Joe worked himself to a standing position. Then he lost his balance, teetered, and fell over on the floor. He landed on the empty drawer, cracking one of its sides. Great. Lots of noise, he thought.

But apparently no one heard it.

Twisting and rolling, Joe groped around on the floor, his hands still tied securely behind his back.

"Ouch!" he said into his gag when his palm closed on a pincushion.

He did better on his next try, locating the scissors.

Because of the way his hands were tied Joe couldn't use the scissors in the usual way. He worked one blade as a saw and started slicing through the plastic line.

There was a gilded clock on the mantelpiece across the room. It chimed every fifteen minutes. Joe knew he'd been working on the cord for half an hour.

Just after the chimes died, he heard footsteps approaching outside the room. If someone came in here now it would spoil everything. But the steps passed on.

When the clock chimed again, Joe's hands were free. Sitting up, he massaged his wrists for a moment, undid the gag, and started on his ankles.

After he was completely free, Joe stood up and walked back and forth a few paces until his legs began to feel fairly reliable.

Scanning the room, he settled on an old straightback chair against the wall. He turned it upside-down on the bed, then twisted off a sturdy leg. It would make a good club in case he needed a weapon.

Joe went over to the door, the improvised club in his left hand. After listening for a moment, he took hold of the brass door handle and slowly turned it. The door wasn't locked.

Joe pulled it in a few inches and stood listening again. Then he stepped out into the stretch of carpeted hallway. Two wall-bracket lamps provided a faint orange glow.

At the end of the hall was a high, wide window. Joe was halfway to it when the black-clad Leon came around a bend to block his way.

"Here, here, this won't do, mate." Leon whipped his .38 snub-nosed revolver from beneath his jacket.

Dodging to one side, Joe hurled the club at Leon's gun hand. It caught the thug on the wrist, deflecting the gun, which bounced off to smash through the window. Splinters of glass flew out into the night. An instant later the gun went off, smashing the top of the window.

Joe sprinted and tackled Leon.

The .38 went off again.

Frank tore the back door open, and he and Jenny charged into the house.

"Upstairs," the girl said.

They ran flat out along the empty downstairs hallway. No one came to slow them down, but the stairway ahead echoed with the sounds of a fight. Someone upstairs was grunting in pain. Was it Joe?