Read Whistleblower and Never Say Die Online
Authors: Tess Gerritsen
“Look, it’s late! What is it?”
“I don’t know how to tell you this, Dr. Black, but…” Pete cleared his throat. “Your double just drove through the gate….”
“I’m through the front door. Heading up the hall to the security wing. In case anyone’s listening.” Victor didn’t expect a reply, and he heard none. The building was a concrete monstrosity, designed to last forever. He doubted a radio signal would make it through these walls. Though he’d been on his own from the moment he’d entered the front gate, at least he’d had the comfort of knowing his friends were listening in on the progress. Now he was truly alone.
He moved at a casual pace to the locked door marked Authorized Personnel Only. A camera hung from the ceiling, its lens pointed straight at him. He pointedly ignored it and turned his attention to the security keypad mounted on the wall. The numbers Jerry had given him had gotten him through the front door; would the second combination get him through this one? His hands were sweating as he punched in the seven digits. He felt a dart of panic as a beep sounded and a message flashed on the screen:
Incorrect security code. Access denied.
He could feel the sweat building up beneath the mask. Were the numbers wrong? Had he simply transposed two digits? He knew someone was watching him through the
camera, wondering why he was taking so long. He took a deep breath and tried again. This time, he entered the digits slowly, deliberately. He braced himself for the warning beep. To his relief, it didn’t go off.
Instead, a new message appeared.
Security code accepted. Please enter.
He stepped through, into the next room.
Third hurdle,
he thought in relief as the door closed behind him. Now for the home run.
Another camera, mounted in a corner, was pointed at him. Acutely conscious of that lens, he made his way across the room to the inner lab door. He turned the knob and a warning bell sounded.
Now what?
he thought. Only then did he notice the red light glowing over the door, and the warning
Laser grid activated.
He needed a key to shut it off. He saw no other way to deactivate it, no way to get past it, into the room beyond.
It was time for desperate measures, time for a little chutzpah. He patted his pockets, then turned and faced the camera. “Hello?” He waved.
A voice answered over an intercom. “Is there a problem, Dr. Black?”
“Yes. I can’t seem to find my keys. I must have left them at home….”
“I can cut the lasers from here.”
“Thanks. Gee, I don’t know how this happened.”
“No problem.”
At once the red warning light shut off. Cautiously Victor tried the door; it swung open. He gave the camera a goodbye wave and entered the last room.
Inside, to his relief, there were no cameras anywhere—at least, none that he could spot. A bit of breathing space, he thought. He moved into the lab and took a quick survey of his surroundings. What he saw was a mind-numbing display of space-age equipment—not just the expected centrifuges and microscopes, but instruments he’d never seen before, all of them brand-new and gleaming. He headed through the decontamination chamber, past the laminar flow unit, and went straight to the incubators. He opened the door.
Glass vials tinkled in their compartments. He took one out. Pink fluid glistened within. The label read Lot #341. Active.
This must be it,
he thought. This was what Ollie had told him to look for. Here was the stuff of nightmares, the grim reaper distilled to sub-microscopic elements.
He removed two vials, fitted them into a specially padded cigarette case, and slipped it into his pocket.
Mission accomplished,
he thought in triumph as he headed back through the lab. All that lay before him was a casual stroll back to his car. Then the champagne…
He was halfway across the room when the alarm bell went off.
He froze, the harsh ring echoing in his ears.
“Dr. Black?” said the guard’s voice over some hidden intercom. “Please don’t leave. Stay right where you are.”
Victor spun around wildly, trying to locate the speaker. “What’s going on?”
“I’ve just been asked to detain you. If you’ll hold on, I’ll find out what—”
Victor didn’t wait to hear the reason—he bolted for the door. Even as he reached it, he heard the whine of the lasers
powering on, felt something slash his arm. He shoved through the first door, dashed across the anteroom and out the security door, into the hallway.
Everywhere, alarms were going off. The whole damn building had turned into an echo chamber of ringing bells. His gaze shot right, to the front entrance. No, not that way—the guard was stationed there.
He sprinted left, toward what he hoped was a fire exit. Somewhere behind him a voice yelled, “Halt!” He ignored it and kept running. At the end of the hall he slammed against the opening bar and found himself in a stairwell. No exit, only steps leading up and down. He wasn’t about to be trapped like a rat in the basement. He headed up the stairs.
One flight into his climb, he heard the stairwell door slam open on the first floor. Again a voice commanded, “Halt or I’ll shoot!”
A bluff,
he thought.
A pistol shot exploded, echoing up the concrete stairwell.
Not a bluff.
With new desperation, he pushed through the landing door, into the second-floor hallway. A line of closed doors stretched before him. Which one, which one? There was no time to think. He ducked into the third room and softly shut the door behind him.
In the semidarkness, he spotted the gleam of stainless steel and glass beakers. Another lab. Only this one had a large window, now shimmering with moonlight, looming over the far countertop.
From down the hall came the slam of a door being kicked open and the guard’s shouted command: “Freeze!”
He was down to one last escape route. Victor grabbed a chair, raised it over his head, and flung it at the window. The
glass shattered, raining moonlight-silvered shards into the darkness below. He scarcely bothered to look before he leapt. Bracing himself for the impact, he jumped from the window and landed in a tangle of shrubbery.
“Halt!” came a shout from above.
That was enough to jar Victor back to his feet. He sprinted off across a lawn, into the cover of trees. Glancing back, he saw no pursuing shadow. The guard wasn’t about to risk his neck leaping out any window.
Got to make it out the gate…
Victor circled around the building, burrowing his way through bushes and trees to a stand of oaks. From there he could view the front gate, way off in the distance. What he saw made his heart sink.
Floodlights illuminated the entrance, glaring down on the four security cars blocking the driveway. Now a panel truck pulled up. The driver went around to the back and opened the doors. At his command two German shepherds leaped out and danced around, barking at his feet.
Victor backed away, stumbling deeper into the grove of oaks.
No way out,
he thought, glancing behind him at the fence, topped with coils of barbed wire. Already, the dogs’ barking was moving closer.
Unless I can sprout wings and fly, I’m a dead man….
“S
omething’s wrong!” Cathy cried as the first security car drove past.
Polowski touched her arm. “Easy. It could be just a routine patrol.”
“No. Look!” Through the trees, they spotted three more cars, all roaring down the road at top speed toward Viratek.
Ollie muttered a surprisingly coarse oath and reached for the microphone.
“Wait!” Polowski grabbed his hand. “We can’t risk a transmission. Let him contact us first.”
“If he’s in trouble—”
“Then he already knows it. Give him a chance to make it out on his own.”
“What if he’s trapped?” said Cathy. “Are we just going to sit here?”
“We don’t have a choice. Not if they’ve blockaded the front gate—”
“We
do
have a choice!” said Cathy, scrambling forward into the driver’s seat.
“What the hell are you doing?” demanded Polowski.
“Giving him a fighting chance. If we don’t—”
They all fell instantly silent as a transmission suddenly hissed over the receiver. “Looks like I got myself in a bind, guys. Don’t see a way out. You copy?”
Ollie snatched up the microphone. “Copy, Gersh. What’s your situation?”
“Bad.”
“Specify.”
“Front gate’s blocked and lit up like a football field. Big time alarms going off. They just brought in the dogs—”
“Can you get over the fence?”
“Negative. It’s electrified. Low voltage, but more than I can handle. You guys better hit the road without me.”
Polowski grabbed the microphone and barked, “Did you get the stuff?”
Cathy turned and snapped: “Forget that! Ask him where he is.
Ask him!
”
“Holland?” said Polowski. “Where are you?”
“At the northeast perimeter. Fence goes all the way around. Look, get moving. I’ll manage—”
“Tell him to head for the east fence!” Cathy said. “Near the midpoint!”
“What?”
“Just tell him!”
“Go to the east fence,” Polowski said into the microphone. “Midpoint.”
“I copy.”
Polowski looked up at Cathy in puzzlement. “What the hell are you thinking of?”
“This is a getaway car, right?” she muttered as she turned on the engine. “I say we put it to its intended use!” She threw the van into gear and spun it around, onto the road.
“Hey, you’re going the wrong way!” yelled Milo.
“No, I’m not. There’s a fire road, just off to the left somewhere. There it is.” She made a sharp turn, onto what was little more than a dirt track. They bounced along, crashing through tree branches and shrubs, a ride so violently spine-shaking it was all they could do to hang on.
“How did you find this
wonderful
road?” Polowski managed to ask.
“It was on the map. I saw it when we were studying the plans for Viratek.”
“Is this a scenic route? Or does it go somewhere?”
“The east fence. Used to be the construction entrance for the compound. I’m hoping it’s still clear enough to get through….”
“And then what happens?”
Ollie sighed. “Don’t ask.”
Cathy steered around a bush that had sprung up in her path and ran head-on into a sapling. Her passengers tumbled to the floor. “Sorry,” she muttered. Reversing gear, she spun them back on the road. “It should be just ahead….”
A barrier of chain link suddenly loomed before them. Instantly she cut the lights. Through the darkness, they could hear dogs barking, moving in. Where was he?
Then they saw him, flitting through the moonlight. He was running. Somewhere off to the side, a man shouted and gunfire spat the ground.
“Brace yourselves!” yelled Cathy. She snapped on her seatbelt and gripped the steering wheel. Then she stepped on the gas.
The van jerked forward like a bronco, barreled through the underbrush, and slammed into the fence. The chain link
sagged; electrical sparks hissed in the night. Cathy threw the gears into reverse, backed up, and hit the gas again.
The fence toppled; barbed wire scraped across the windshield.
“We’re through!” said Ollie. He yanked open the sliding door and yelled: “Come on, Gersh! Come on!”
The running figure zigzagged across the grass. All around him, gunfire exploded. He made a last flying leap across the coil of barbed wire and stumbled.
“Come on, Gersh!”
Gunfire spattered the van.
Victor struggled back to his feet. They heard the rip of clothing, then he was reaching up to them, being dragged inside, to safety.
The door slammed shut. Cathy backed up, wheeled the van around and slammed on the gas pedal.
They leaped forward, bouncing through the bushes and across ruts. Another round of bullets pinged the van. Cathy was oblivious to it. She focused only on getting them back to the main road. The sound of gunfire receded. At last the trees gave way to a familiar band of blacktop. She turned left and gunned the engine, anxious to put as many miles as possible between them and Viratek.
Off in the distance, a siren wailed.
“We got company!” said Polowski.
“Which way now?” Cathy cried. Viratek lay behind them; the sirens were approaching from ahead.
“I don’t know! Just get the hell out of here!”
As yet her view of the police cars was blocked by trees, but she could hear the sirens moving rapidly closer.
Will they let us pass? Or will they pull us over?
Almost too late she spotted a clearing, off to the side. On sudden impulse she veered off the pavement, and the van bounced onto a stubbly field.
“Don’t tell me,” groaned Polowski. “Another fire road?”
“Shut up!” she snapped and steered straight for a clump of bushes. With a quick turn of the wheel, she circled behind the shrubbery and cut her lights.
It was just in time. Seconds later, two patrol cars, lights flashing, sped right past the concealing bushes. She sat frozen, listening as the sirens faded in the distance. Then, in the darkness, she heard Milo say softly, “Her name is Bond. Jane Bond.”
Half laughing, half crying, Cathy turned as Victor scrambled beside her, onto the front seat. At once she was in his arms, her tears wetting his shirt, her sobs muffled in the depths of his embrace. He kissed her damp cheeks, her mouth. The touch of his lips stilled her tremors.
From the back came the sound of a throat being cleared. “Uh, Gersh?” inquired Ollie politely. “Don’t you think we ought to get moving?”
Victor’s mouth was still pressed against Cathy’s. Reluctantly he broke contact but his gaze never left her face. “Sure,” he murmured, just before he pulled her back for another kiss. “But would somebody else mind driving…?”
“Here’s where things get dangerous,” said Polowski. He was at the wheel now, as they headed south toward San Francisco. Cathy and Victor sat in front with Polowski; in the back of the van, Milo and Ollie lay curled up asleep like two exhausted puppies. From the radio came the soft strains of a country western song. The dials glowed a vivid green in the darkness.
“We’ve finally got the evidence,” said Polowski. “All we need to hang ’em. They’ll be desperate. Ready to try anything. From here on out, folks, it’s going to be a game of cat and mouse.”
As if it wasn’t already,
thought Cathy as she huddled closer to Victor. She longed for a chance to be alone with him. There had been no time for tearful reunions, no time for any confessions of love. They’d spent the last two hours on a harrowing journey down backroads, always avoiding the police. By now the break-in at Viratek would have been reported to the authorities. The state police would be on the lookout for a van with frontal damage.
Polowski was right. Things were only getting more dangerous.
“Soon as we hit the city,” said Polowski, “we’ll get those vials off to separate labs. Independent confirmation. That should wipe any doubts away. You know names we can trust, Holland?”
“Fellow alum back in New Haven. Runs the hospital lab. I can trust him.”
“Yale? Great. That’ll have clout.”
“Ollie has a pal at UCSF. They’ll take care of the second vial.”
“And when those reports get back, I know a certain journalist who loves to have a little birdie chirp in his ear.” Polowski gave the steering wheel a satisfied slap. “Viratek, you are dead meat.”
“You enjoy this, don’t you?” said Cathy.
“Workin’ the right side of the law? I say it’s good for the soul. It keeps your mind sharp and your feet on their toes. It helps you stay young.”
“Or die young,” said Cathy.
Polowski laughed. “Women. They just never understand the game.”
“I don’t understand it, at all.”
“I bet Holland here does. He just had the adrenaline high of his life. Didn’t you?”
Victor didn’t answer. He was gazing ahead at the blacktop stretching before their headlights.
“Well, wasn’t it a high?” asked Polowski. “To claw your way to hell and back again? To know you made it through on nothing much more than your wits?”
“No,” said Victor quietly. “Because it’s not over yet.”
Polowski’s grin faded. He turned his attention back to the road. “Almost,” he said. “It’s almost over.”
They passed a sign: San Francisco: 12 Miles.
Four in the morning. The stars were mere pinpricks in a sky washed out by streetlights. In a North Beach doughnut shop, five weary souls had gathered around steaming coffee and cheese Danish. Only one other table was occupied, by a man with bloodshot eyes and shaking hands. The girl behind the counter sat with her nose buried in a paperback. Behind her, the coffee machine hissed out a fresh brew.
“To the Old Coots,” said Milo, raising his cup. “Still the best ensemble around.”
They all raised their cups. “To the Old Coots!”
“And to our newest and fairest member,” said Milo. “The beautiful—the intrepid—”
“Oh,
please,”
said Cathy.
Victor wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “Relax and be honored. Not everyone gets into this highly selective group.”
“The only requirement,” said Ollie, “is that you have to play a musical instrument badly.”
“But I don’t play anything.”
“No problem.” Ollie fished out a piece of waxed paper from the pile of Danishes and wrapped it around his pocket comb. “Kazoo.”
“Fitting,” said Milo. “Since that was Lily’s instrument.”
“Oh.” She took the comb. Lily’s instrument. It always came back to
her,
the ghost who would forever be there. Suddenly the air of celebration was gone, as though swept away by the cold wind of dawn. She glanced at Victor. He was looking out the window, at the garishly lit streets.
What are you thinking? Are you wishing she was here? That it wasn’t me being presented this silly kazoo, but her?
She put the comb to her lips and hummed an appropriately out-of-tune version of “Yankee Doodle.” Everyone laughed and clapped, even Victor. But when the applause was over, she saw the sad and weary look in his eyes. Quietly she set the kazoo down on the table.
Outside, a delivery truck roared past. It was 5:00 a.m.; the city was stirring.
“Well, folks,” said Polowski, slapping down a dollar tip. “We got a hotshot reporter to roust outta bed. And then you and I—” he looked at Victor “—have a few deliveries to make. When’s United leave for New Haven?”
“At ten-fifteen,” said Victor.
“Okay. I’ll buy you the plane tickets. In the meantime, you see if you can’t grow yourself a new mustache or something.” Polowski glanced at Cathy. “You’re going with him, right?”
“No,” she said, looking at Victor.
She was hoping for a reaction, any reaction. What she saw was a look of relief. And, strangely, resignation.
He didn’t try to change her mind. He simply asked, “Where will you be going?”
She shrugged. “Maybe I should stick to our original plan. You know, head south. Hang out with Jack for a while. What do you think?”
It was his chance to stop her. His chance to say,
No, I want you around. I won’t let you leave, not now, not ever.
If he really loved her, that’s exactly what he would say.
Her heart sank when he simply nodded and said, “I think it’s a good idea.”
She blinked back the tears before anyone could see them. With an indifferent smile she looked at Ollie. “So I guess I’ll need a ride. When are you and Milo heading home?”
“Right now, I guess,” said Ollie, looking bewildered. “Seeing as our job’s pretty much done.”
“Can I hitch along? I’ll catch the bus at Palo Alto.”
“No problem. In fact, you can sit in the honored front seat.”
“Long as you don’t let her behind the wheel,” grumbled Milo. “I want a nice, quiet drive home if you don’t mind.”