"Yes." Eldon lowered his voice. "I'll tell you something else. I think I can make these viruses
race-specific.
"
Biddle blinked in disbelief. "This is Herman Kahn territory. Thinking about the unthinkable."
"Somebody has to do it. Or all our ancestors will have lived and died for nothing. The world will be inherited by—"
"Don't even say it," said Biddle. "In whatever discussions we may have in future—with whatever people—don't mention that side of it. The Darwinian side."
"Why not?"
"You don't have to. The right people will understand the implications."
Eldon leaned forward again. "I trust your instincts. So…now that you know what I'm offering, I'd like to hear how interested you are."
And what I'm willing to pay,
said Biddle's eyes. But his mouth said, "Obviously, I'm interested. But just as obviously, there are some issues."
"Such as?"
Biddle gave him a knowing smile, a shared look between equals. "You're ahead of your time, Eldon. You always were. You know that."
Tarver nodded but said nothing.
"But,"
Biddle went on, a note of optimism in his voice, "not nearly so far ahead as you once were. The regulatory climate has been hell since the Clinton years, but things are loosening up. Everyone's ramping up their primate-breeding capacity. They've finally realized that you can only go so far in the lower species."
"And of course China's far ahead of everyone else in that, too."
Biddle conceded this with a nod. "So far ahead that we're already doing some of our primate research there."
Eldon shook his head in disgust.
Biddle shifted in his seat. "Of course, when the other shoe drops—politically speaking—all those projects will be nationalized, and you'll be Cassandra vindicated. You'll look like the Messiah, Eldon."
"How long before that shoe drops?"
"No way to know. But that's not critical to our arrangement. As for getting you a new identity, I can take care of that in a few days. If you want money, real money—"
"I want what this technology is worth."
A look of slight surprise. "That will take longer."
"How much longer?"
"Hmm…three years? Maybe five?"
Anger and bitterness rose from Tarver's gut.
"It could be sooner," Biddle added, "depending on a score of factors. But I don't want you to be under any illusions. And after all, money was never your primary motivation, was it?"
"I'm fifty-nine, Edward. The world looks different than it did in 1970."
Biddle nodded. "You don't have to tell me. But think about this. You'll be going to work for a company that understands your particular needs. I'll be your sole liaison, if you like. You'll have a free hand with research."
"Can you promise that? No one looking over my shoulder?"
"Guaranteed. My concern, old friend, is the risk of waiting even one minute to move to the next phase. I want you to come with me now. Today. This minute."
Tarver drew back, his palms tingling with foreboding. "Why?"
"I don't want to risk anything happening to you before my people see your research. I want your data today, Eldon. All of it."
"We haven't agreed to anything yet."
Biddle looked hard into his eyes. When the TransGene man spoke, it was with the gravity of a soldier, not a corporate officer. His voice was edged with steel and brimming with heartfelt emotion. "Listen to me, Eldon. The money will come. Recognition will come, too, from the proper quarters. But what's most important is what you'll be doing for your country. You know what's coming. The fucking dragon is getting stronger by the day. He's already eating out of our bowl, and pretty soon—" A look of self-disgust twisted Biddle's mouth. "Shit, I'm not even saying we deserve to survive, given the way most Americans have pissed away their birthright. But those of us who remember what makes us great…it's up to us to insure our national survival. I've bled for this country, Eldon. You have, too, in your way. But you don't resent it, do you? I think you feel the same obligation I do."
Dr. Tarver looked down at his desk. There had never been any question of refusing, of course. He had merely hoped that the more tangible symbols of appreciation would come his way more quickly. But that was all right. With Andrew Rusk's diamonds added to what remained of his own, he would be comfortable for as long as it took TransGene or the government to compensate him fairly.
"All right, Edward. I'm on board."
Biddle's face split in an expansive smile. Then he wrung his hands together and said, "Let's talk timing. I'm serious about expediting this. I want to move you out of here today."
Eldon held up his hands. "We haven't seen each other for two years. I'm not going to step in front of a bus before tomorrow."
"You don't know that. A drunk could run you over. A punk could knock you on the head. Lightning could strike you—"
"Or I could find a richer bidder?" Eldon said bluntly.
His words hit Biddle like a sucker punch to the throat. "Are you looking for one?" he asked quietly.
"No. But I need a day, Edward. One day."
Suspicion clouded Biddle's eyes. "What kind of loose ends could possibly justify waiting?"
For a moment Eldon considered asking his old colleague to take care of Alex Morse for him. The TransGene director undoubtedly had military or intelligence contacts who could take her out and make it look like an accident. But if Biddle and the TransGene board perceived Eldon Tarver as a risk to the company, a man who had left a trail that could one day lead the authorities to their darkest secrets, they might decide to eliminate him as soon as they possessed the virus and its documentation. No, he needed to enter his new life clean, an unblemished hero to Biddle and his breed. Fucking Lancelot, for once in his life.
"You have to trust me, Edward," he said. "Tomorrow I'm yours."
Biddle looked far from satisfied, but he didn't argue further.
"How are you going to get me out?"
"Here's what I'm thinking," said Biddle. "TransGene is owned by the same parent company as the firm that's building the nuclear plant between Baton Rouge and New Orleans. If we—"
"I've wondered about that," Eldon cut in. "New Orleans already has one of the largest nuclear plants in the country."
Biddle smiled. "The power produced by the new plant will be routed across Louisiana to Texas. It's a lot easier to build a nuclear plant in Louisiana than Texas. There are laws, of course, but there's no organized resistance. Hell, there's nothing but blacks, white trash, Cajuns, and chemical plants on that whole stretch of river."
"Cancer Alley," said Tarver. "But how does that relate to me?"
"Your new identity papers will take two or three days to be processed. I'm going to airlift you to the plant construction site while we wait. Shouldn't take more than a couple of days, and you'll be very comfortable. You'll have your own trailer, like a Hollywood actor."
Tarver gave him a wry smile. "Who handles the new identity?"
Biddle answered equivocally, "It's a bit like the Witness Protection Program, only it's handled by the Pentagon."
Tarver chuckled. "It's good to be dealing with professionals again. I've felt pretty damn alone out here in the wilderness."
Biddle stood and shot his cuffs. "Speaking of that, how the hell have you managed to accomplish what you have?"
Feeling fully secure once again, Dr. Tarver finally let some of his pride show through, for inside he was as proud as Lucifer. "I'll tell you, it's more a matter of
will
than anything else. I could have done what I have twice as fast at a major research center, or at Fort Detrick. But the reality is, no one would have let me."
Biddle thought about this. "You're right. I just thank heaven we still have men like you working in the trenches."
Dr. Tarver basked in the glow of Biddle's praise; he knew from experience that it was not easily won.
"I assume we have some logistics to take care of?" Biddle said. "What do you need to bring out besides data? Special equipment? Biologicals?"
"No machinery. Too much risk involved in moving it out."
"Check. Biologicals?"
"I can bring the agents I need out in a single Pelican case, and my critical files can fit in a backpack."
"Excellent. The only question that remains is timing."
"Tomorrow, as I said. But I'd like you to be on call beginning now."
Biddle stared at him for a while. "Is there anything more I need to know, Eldon?"
Tarver dodged the meaning behind the question. "I'd like you to fly the helicopter. When I call, you come, and wherever I say."
Biddle scratched his chin. "Any risk of a hot extraction?"
Eldon smiled. He'd always loved intelligence jargon. "I don't anticipate that."
"I'd prefer not to even have an
observed
extraction. We don't want to put the company in a difficult position."
"Again, I don't foresee a problem."
"All right, then." Biddle grinned. "Hell, I'd love to fly this mission. I need to keep my hours up."
Biddle offered his hand, and Eldon took it. The old soldier's handshake was stiff, like a formal salute.
"Until tomorrow," said the doctor.
Biddle walked to the door, then turned back, his face grave. "Is it worth sticking around to handle unfinished business when you have an FBI agent poking around?"
Tarver regretted revealing Morse's true identity. "I'm afraid she's involved with that business."
Biddle's face darkened, but his cold blue eyes remained steady. "As long as you're clean as regards our business."
"Absolutely."
CHAPTER 45
Alex let herself into Room 638 as quietly as she could. Inside, it was as dark as the hotel's blackout curtains could make it. She moved carefully across the floor of the suite, trying to remember the furniture placement. As she felt her way around a chair, she heard a quavering voice.
"Ah-Alex?"
"Chris?"
"Yeah."
"Are you okay?"
"Th-think so."
As she felt her way along the bed, her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she picked out Chris's eyes in the shadows. He was lying on his back with the covers pulled up to his neck. His forehead glistened with sweat.
"My God. What's going on?"
"Typical initial ruh…reaction to virus. Your marrow spits out a ton of IgG to d-deal with the invader…tries to kill the virus with fever. Later on…different immunoglobulins…right now…classic symptoms." He shook his head angrily. "Don't think I'm critical right now…unless…poisoned. That hasn't…b-been the pattern…right?"
"No. But you need to get checked out anyway."
"I'll get Tom to p-put me through the mill."
"I think you're past that, Chris. I think it's time to charter a jet and fly up to Sloan-Kettering."
"Want someone I trust. We'll send out the tests. Everybody does fuh…for complex stuff."
Alex wanted to call 911. But Chris wasn't panicking, and he was the physician, not her. But was he thinking clearly? He was undoubtedly depressed given what had happened to him, and maybe even delirious. For all she knew, he might even be in shock.
"Don't worry," he said, smiling weakly. "I'll t-tell you when to panic."
She forced a smile in return. "Do you mind if I use my computer?"
He shook his head.
"The light won't bother you?"
"No."
She bent and laid her hand on his burning shoulder, but he jerked away. Anger and frustration surged through her. Never had she felt such impotence. Will Kilmer had been unable to catch the government car they had seen parked at Dr. Tarver's clinic. John Kaiser had called, but to her dismay, he had not been researching Eldon Tarver at all, instead remaining focused on Andrew Rusk. Most of what Kaiser had learned duplicated information Alex had uncovered weeks ago. Kaiser had also told her that the FBI agents tailing Rusk believed Thora Shepard was still inside the lawyer's office. Kaiser thought this would give him some leverage in trying to persuade the local SAC that Alex's suspicions were grounded in fact. She'd asked Kaiser to change his focus to Dr. Tarver and informed him of the Noel D. Traver alias. After Kaiser had promised to do what he could, she signed off.
Alex went to the hotel desk, took her laptop out of hibernation, and logged into the hotel's IP network. As the Internet portal loaded, she wrote what she had memorized at Tarver's clinic onto a hotel notepad.
Noel D. Traver, DVM
Entergy bill late—09365974
The first thing Alex learned when she tried to log into the NCIC computer was that her access code was no longer valid. The third time she tried, she got a message saying that a report was being sent to the NCIC security department. The cold fingers of exclusion reached deep into her chest. Mark Dodson was being thorough in his efforts to end her career. She could no longer check the government's national database of criminal records, a crippling blow to any investigator. She would have to go to Google, like any civilian. Cursing quietly, she did so, and typed "Eldon Tarver" into the search line.
The name returned over a hundred hits. The first twenty were abstracts of medical articles or Web announcements of various research incentives at the University Medical Center. As she moved deeper into the result pages, she found a few stories about Dr. Tarver opening his free clinic downtown. Several black leaders had praised him to the skies, and three years ago, one black citizens' group had given him their annual citizenship award. Tarver was listed as one of the top fifty physicians in the state of Mississippi. In that article, Alex learned that Tarver was board-certified in pathology and had been since 1988.
"Chris?" she said softly.
"Yeah?"
"Eldon Tarver is board-certified in pathology. Does that make sense to you?"
"Uh…not really. I figured hematology or oncology."
"He's certified in hematology, too, but that's much more recent. His first specialty seems to have been pathology."
"Weird." The bedclothes rustled. "Can you g-get me a towel?"