V - The Original Miniseries (17 page)

 

Kathleen smiled gratefully at him. "Thank you, Abraham. We can never repay you for this."

The old man smiled, waving aside her gratitude. "I will bring supplies, when everyone is asleep. Sheets, and soap, towels. There is a bathroom in there, used only when they have pool parties. And with this curfew ... there are no more parties."

Kathleen had a sudden, vivid memory of Eleanor's party the night she'd first seen the Visitors, and sighed. Robin blundered into a cobweb and jumped back with a little shriek. "Daddy!" She lowered her voice, but Kathleen knew Abraham's hearing was excellent. "It's grody! Gross! We can't live here ... It's filthy!"

"We'll clean it up," Kathleen said. "It will be fine." But there's no way it's ever gonna look decent-"

"Robin! That's enough!" Robert snapped, then turned to Abraham. "I apologize, Abraham. My daughter isn't usually so rude. It's just that ..."

"It's all right, I understand," Abraham said graciously. "I'm afraid I don't," said Stanley Bernstein, peering in. "Father, can I talk with you? Outside?"

They walked a few paces away from the cabana, but Kathleen could still hear the conversation, Abraham's low, accented tones contrasting with Stanley's shriller, accusing ones.

"I really don't believe you brought them here, Father!" "They have nowhere to go. Their home is being watched, to see if they try to return there."

. "But so is ours! Daniel's here whenever he isn't off with his alien buddies! Tell the Maxwells we're sorry ..."

 

"Stanley, son, you don't understand. They have to stay. They need a place to hide, and we are the only place-"

 

"But Robert Maxwell is a scientist, and therefore suspect! And now he's a fugitive scientist! That makes him doubly dangerous."

Abraham's voice held a dogged, quiet persistence. "They have to stay." "And I am telling you to get them out of here before-" "I won't!" Stanley turned back to the pool house. "Then I will!" Abraham exploded. "No, you won't!"

Kathleen had never heard kindly little Mr. Bernstein use that tone before. She flinched back involuntarily from the fury in it-even though it wasn't directed at her. Stanley Bernstein stared at his father in shock.

Abraham began to speak in a monotone that was all the more passionate for its very lack of expression. "We had to put you in a suitcase. In a suitcase! An eight-month-old baby. And that's how the underground smuggled you out. But they couldn't help the rest of us ..."

Stanley made an uncomfortable movement. "I know this story, Father."

"No, you don't!" His voice returned to a low monotone. "You don't, Stanley. Your mother ... auv shalom ... your mother didn't have a heart attack while we were in the boxcar. No. She made it to the camp with me. I can still see her ... standing naked in the freezing cold, ice on the ground ..."

He took a deep breath. "Her beautiful black hair was gone. They'd shaved her head. I can see her ... waving to me, as they marched her with the others-all those people-to the showers. The showers with no water, you understand."

The old man's eyes were focused only on the past. "And perhaps ... if somebody had given us a place to hide ... she could still be alive today." He looked back at Stanley. "They have to stay, you see? Or else we haven't learned a thing ..."

Stanley Bernstein rubbed wearily at his face, then made an inarticulate little sound in the back of his throat, nodding. He blinked, his lips moving, but there was no sound. Abraham nodded past him, reassuringly, toward the cabana. Kathleen smiled back, clutching Robert's hand, trying to blink away the tears in her eyes.

"BUT ELIAS, WE REALLY NEED YOUR HELP!" BENJAMIN TAYLOR SAID, lengthening his strides to keep pace with his brother.

Music, remotely of Hispanic origin, blared from loudspeakers along the row of shopfronts. The Visitors were sponsoring an International Day in the shopping districtfestivities (food, dancing, and exhibits) were going on around the corner. Ben had noted grimly that the proportion of Visitor attendees to human was almost two to one.

Elias gave a shudder of mock shock and surprise. "What? The great big doctor needs my help? How come it is, Ben my man?"

 

Ben swallowed, realizing Elias was baiting him. "'Cause you've got contacts here on the street." His brother's lips drew back in a wolfish grin. "Damn right I do! But listen, brother Benjamin, ain't you the one who is always putting down my 'street contacts' and how I come by them?" "Yeah. Look, Eli, the times have changed." Ben tried to look as humble as he could, despite the anger bubbling inside him. Elias's help in this could make all the difference.

 

"Well, the streets ain't changed. There's just a different man to be The Man. Fact is, the streets is doin' fine right now, better than before. Man can make a whole lotta money out here right about now." Ben nodded grimly. "Black market." "You should pardon the expression, Ben," Elias said. "You know how much fresh fruit is goin' for? And beef?" He laughed shortly. "I make more sellin' hamburger these days than I do pushin' reefer!" "Well, you can keep on doing all of that you want, Elias, but there's a group of us who're trying to fight this thing-"

 

Elias broke in. "That's no never mind to me, man. Why fight it? It don't affect me none-'cept to line my pockets."

 

Ben put a hand on his arm, swinging Elias around to face him. "Eli-what is happening to this country ... this world ... is wrong."

"Says who?" "We need your help." Elias glared at him, dropping the street jive in his intensity. "Where were you when I needed yours?" "Elias, I was always there for you!" "But just a little unapproachable ... Golden Boy." "That's only in your head, man!"

"Shit!" Elias's dark eyes flashed. "I heard once I musta heard a thousand times, 'Why can't you be like Brother Benjamin, da doctuh?'" He took a fierce step forward and Ben stepped backward in reflex. "Huh? And now you need my help?!"

Ben nodded, his voice low. "That's right."

Elias took a quick little shuffling step sideways, away from his brother, his "jivin' mask" dropping over his features again. "Well, gee man, I'd sure like to help you out, but I gots to go up to the medical libraree-study mah anatomee .. He turned away. "Catch you later, Bro!"

Ben watched his forced, jaunty walk, feeling tired, guilty, and sad. He'd never realized before the depth of his brother's jealousy and anger.

MIKE DONOVAN HESITATED IN THE DARKNESS, LOOKING UP AT THE balcony of Kristine's loft apartment. A vaguely human shape crossed the frosted glass of the window, deciding him. His meeting today with Tony had been unsuccessful-Leonetti had walked down the street toward their favorite Italian place just at noon, right enough, but as Mike loitered on the street corner, then shuffled toward him, Tony's almond-shaped eyes had flicked quickly to the side, his lips forming a silent "no." Then Mike saw the shock troopers patrolling behind Tony-just before they'd seen him. He'd managed to elude them (thank goodness the layouts of human cities seemed to baffle them still), but at this point he was so famished that he knew another day without food would make him easy prey.

The rungs of the fire escape quivered beneath his weight as he climbed, the metal harsh and cold beneath his hands. Thunder muttered overhead, and then a quick flash of lightning showed him he was almost to the fourth floor. He reached the balcony, swung over the rail, then crouched for long seconds in the gathering threat of the storm. The shape silhouetted by the light moved again, within, and Donovan reached out and tested the balcony door. Locked-of course. He crouched, then sprang, putting his weight against the bolt, and the French doors sprang inward.

Mike went through them with a rush, hearing a horrified gasp-a woman's voice, thank God, and human. Then, blinded by the sudden light, he fell over a row of potted plants sitting before the doors.

He looked up, heard Kristine's voice. "Mike! My God, you scared the hell out of me!" She bent down to help him up, and as his eyes adjusted to the sudden light, he realized she was damp and wearing only a pale green towel, held loosely across her breasts. As tense as the moment was, Donovan couldn't help noticing that the view was impressive.

"What are you doing here?" she asked. "I'd like to say it's just to take another shower with you, but I need help. You got any money? Please, Kris. I haven't eaten in two days."

"Jesus, you look it." She turned, went to her purse, and bent over, fumbling in it. The towel slipped further. She came back and handed him a wad of cash, which he stuffed in his filthy jeans. Her nose wrinkled.
Donovan grinned. "A mess, aren't l?"

"Yes," she agreed frankly, grinning, "but I'm so glad to see you I don't care." She leaned toward him and their lips met in a long, warm kiss. Donovan touched her shoulder, pulling her to him, and her arms went around him. With one part of his mind, Mike realized that the closeness of their bodies was all that was keeping the towel up at all. He checked the slippage factor again, his fingers gentle on her skin.

But even in his rising excitement, the reactions of a fugitive were still with him-his eyes roamed around the room behind her head, noting the furniture, the television set, the peacefulness, and he listened ...

Sensing his distraction, she stepped back, grabbing quickly for the towel. "I've been so worried for you!"

Mike smiled grimly. "I've been worried for me too." "Why are they so hot to capture you?"

He stared directly into her green eyes-oddly, they were almost the exact shade of his own. "Because I've seen their faces."

 

"What? What faces? What do you mean?"

"They aren't human, Kris. I shot a VTR of them eating small animals whole-alive. Then, while I was trying to get off the Mother Ship, one of 'em spotted me-their real eyes must be able to see farther into the infrared than we do-or maybe they just have better night vision-but this guy saw me, dragged me through a ventilation grille one-handed, and did his damnedest to kill me. During the fight I tore at his face-and the mask came off. They're reptiles of some sort, Kris." He shivered at the memory. "I got it on film. Greenishblack skins, and red-orange eyes. Tongues this long"-he measured off a space with his hands-"that spray some kind of venom."

She was shaking her head. "Mike, honey-" "You don't believe me, do you?" "Well, it's so incredible ... reptilian? With tongues thatI want to believe you, but-" "It's all true! I've seen it, Kris!" "I really do believe you think you've seen it-" "Think I've- Damn it, Kris!"

They glared at each other, and the sound of their breathing was loud in the quiet room. "Mike, I work so closely with these people, every day ... It's hard to-" She hesitated.

 

"Be objective?" he said sarcastically. For long moments they stared at each other, then he turned back to the window. "I guess this was just a waste Of time. Thanks for the loan. I'll get it back to you someday-with interest."

She came after him, grabbing him by the arm. "No, don't 'leave yet, Mike." "Why?" He turned back to her. "If I could see the tape you shot ..." "It's hidden."

She moved closer to him, her hand sliding up his arm to his shoulder. "Listen, Mike. It's possible you're right. I may have gotten closer to them than I should." She grimaced wryly. "It's funny, you're the one I always wanted to get closer to ..."

Her open admission took him a little off-guard. "You've got a funny way of showing it, Kris," he said. "I'd really like another chance," she said, then laughed selfdeprecatingly. "That seems to be my favorite line."

She kissed him again, and again Mike wanted to lose himself in the kiss-in her warmth-and again, that sentry inside him wouldn't sleep. He opened his eyes mid-kiss, seeing the darkened glass of Kristine's television set. And in it-the reflection of a uniformed shock trooper crouched on the balcony. The alien was taking aim with a stun rifle.

Donovan swung around, pushing Kristine away so roughly that her towel fell completely off. Donovan was too busy to look; grabbing a barstool, he swung it viciously at the French doors and they exploded outward, showering the Visitor with glass.

Simultaneously the apartment door resounded with a crescendo of thuds and reverberating demands to open up. Donovan gave Kristine a disgusted glance, wondering if she had set him up. "Thanks," he said, his voice harsh.

He headed for the shock trooper who was struggling to his feet on the balcony. "Mike!" she called.

Donovan ignored her. Grabbing the still-dazed alien's weapon, he headed for the fire escape-when suddenly he felt arms grasp him from behind. Whirling, he brought the butt of the alien weapon up, chopping hard at the trooper's head. The alien went staggering backward, hit the balcony rail, and went over.

Donovan felt vaguely sick, but had no time to spare. He swarmed down the ladder, hearing the ruckus in Kristine's apartment above him.

A shot from a stun rifle struck barely two feet from him, flaming and slagging the ground where it hit. Donovan looked up, saw a figure momentarily outlined by a sullen flare of lightning, stationed on the roof of the opposite building, then awkwardly tried to aim the weapon he held. He pressed a stud, saw a flare of blue from the muzzle, smelled the ozone. A clean miss-but the bolt sheared off a metal air duct on the roof, which fell, striking the Visitor on its way down. Mike heard the creature give a peculiar ululating cry as it staggered, lost its balance-then the thud as the trooper hit.

Donovan raced for the gate of the apartment complex, still clutching the Visitor's gun, as several shots resounded from Kristine's balcony. Reaching the gate, he bolted through, turning and twisting to avoid the shots-but the aliens were losing his range. His breath choking in his throat, Donovan forced himself to keep running, and soon even the faint echoes of his footsteps were gone.

A DARK-GARBED FIGURE WITH A GLEAM OF BLONDE HAIR ROSE from the bushes beside Kristine's building, slipped through the gate, then closed it behind her.

Juliet Parrish darted off into the night, hearing the pulse of a stun gun behind her. Looking back, she saw the latch on the gate sizzle and flame brightly. One of the Visitors was taking out his anger at missing his quarry on the wrought-iron fence. Juliet shook her head. She'd recognized the man who had darted away from Kristine Walsh's balcony-his picture had been flashed on wanted bulletins often enough lately. Mike Donovan.