A Girl Like You: a Donovan Creed Novel

35.

The Asprins have been situated. Callie’s gone to bed. Doc Howard and I are with Sherry Cherry, in a windowless examination room. He’s drawing blood from her arm. When we’re done, she’ll be put in a room with padded walls and flooring.

“What kind of information is worth a hundred million dollars?” I say.

“The chip.”

“What chip?”

“This is a little awkward for me.”

“Give it your best shot.”

“Okay. You remember when you were my patient here at Sensory?”

“Of course. They made you give me a new face.”

“They also made me put a chip in your brain that can be accessed by satellite.”

“What? You’re shitting me!”

“It’s not the sort of thing I would joke about,” Doc Howard says.

“Can you prove it?”

“I don’t have to. You can get a CAT scan from anyplace you choose. You’ll see it.”

“So what does this mean? They can find me wherever I go?”

Doc Howard removes the needle from Sherry’s arm and holds a cotton tab to it for twenty seconds. Then he tapes the tab in place and wraps the tape around her arm to keep it tight.

“I assume you want these results ASAP?” he says.

“Yes. And no other eyes get to see it.”

“No problem.”

“How many hours will it take?”

“Not hours. Days.”

“What? How many?”

“Three. And trust me, that’s a blisteringly fast turn-around.”

I had to trust him. What do I know about analyzing blood?

“Not to stray from the subject, Doc, but about this chip in my head. They want to know where I am at all times?”

“No. This particular chip is programmed to heat when activated.”

I grab his throat with my thumb and index finger. If I squeeze a little harder, he dies. Doc Howard’s eyes are bugging out.

“Is this the cause of the headaches I’ve been experiencing? Did you do that to me?”

He tries to respond, but can’t. I release him.

“Jesus, Creed. That happened in less than an eye blink!”

“Try to remember that, next time you fuck with me.”

Doc Howard rubs his throat. “Now I know how the mouse feels when the snake strikes.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“Yes, I’m responsible. The first time was a test. The second was to confirm.”

“Test and confirm what?”

“If I had the right information, and if it worked.”

“So you’re saying what, they can torture me? How hot will this chip get when they flip the switch?”

“I’ll paint you a picture. Have you ever shot a guy and the bullet remained in the body?”

“For the sake of argument, let’s assume I have.”

“In such a case, the bullet is red hot. Molten-fire hot. So hot it boils the surrounding tissue until the blood itself cools the bullet.”

I’m pretty good with pain. If he’s talking about the pain a boiling bullet would make in my brain, I can probably handle that. Have, in fact, handled it twice. And the second time was a little easier.

But then Doc Howard says, “The chip I installed is ten times worse. They flip the switch, you’re dead within a minute.”

“From heat?”

“With every passing second, the chip gets hotter. It will take less than a minute to liquefy your brain.”

“Well, how nice of you to put that in my head! Were you ever going to tell me?”

“It’s Darwin’s news to tell,” he says.

“The way I see it, you’ve given me the information, but I haven’t paid you yet.”

“True.”

“So what’s the hundred million dollars for?”

“Ask me if I can remove the chip from your brain.”

“Can you?”

“No. And no one else on earth can, either, without killing you. Even if I could remove it, Darwin would know.”

“I wonder why he’s kept it a secret from me,” I say.

“I don’t know. What I do know is they’ve got a huge amount of time and money invested in you. But they fear you. Darwin probably considers this the ultimate insurance policy.”

I can certainly understand it in those terms. I’ve already got an enormous amount of money on deposit that’s generating a hundred million dollar-a-year income for Darwin. He knows if something happens to me, the monthly flow of money stops. So Darwin should think twice before flipping the switch. On the other hand, Darwin’s got plenty of money, so maybe it wouldn’t be such a hard decision for him. Then again, why kill the golden goose? My best guess, I’m probably safe from Darwin. But I don’t like the idea my brain could liquefy at any given moment.

“Is Darwin the only one who can flip the switch?”

“I honestly don’t know,” he says.

“How vulnerable am I?”

“They can only kill you via satellite, so if you’re living, say, forty feet below the earth, you’d probably be safe.”

“Good to know.”

“You’ve had it in there more than a year,” he says.

“So?”

“You’ve lasted this long, you’re probably safe.”

“Unless the wrong person gets a hold of the switch,” I say.

“It’s not like an actual switch,” he says. “There’s a code.”

“Who created it?”

“I’m not sure. But I installed the device.”

“Ah,” I say.

So Doc Howard knows the code. I wonder if I should simply beat it out of him and save the money. But then I remind myself that Doc Howard’s a brilliant man. The kind who would have anticipated my first instinct, and have a counter-measure prepared.

Doc Howard says, “I can reprogram the code so that it can’t be activated.”

“So I’d be paying you to change the code.”

“That’s right.”

“And Darwin will never know.”

“Unless he’s watching you while he types it in.”

“Which is unlikely.”

“Here’s the best part: if we do this, you’ll be able to tell if he ever does punch in his code.”

“Very valuable piece of information,” I say.

“You can see why, right?”

“Of course. Darwin will think I’m dead, and I’ll know he tried to kill me.”

“Exactly.”

“But what prevents you from re-setting the code after I pay you?”

“When I verify you’ve wired the money to my offshore account, I’ll show you how to set the code. We’ll set a new one together. After that, you can change it whenever you wish.”

“Burglar alarms use codes,” I say.

He frowns. “They do. What’s your point?”

“You can assign me a personal code that will get me in your house without setting off the alarm. And each of your family members can have a different code.”

“So?”

“So, what if there’s more than one code?”

“I doubt there’s more than one access code,” he says, “because Darwin would want sole control over your demise. But for the sake of argument, let’s assume there’s more than one. It doesn’t matter, because before you and I can change the code, we have to disable the chip. When that happens, the previous codes are wiped out. It’s like pressing the factory reset button on your cell phone.”

“What keeps you or Darwin from disabling the chip next week and re-setting the code?”

“Well, you’ve got me there,” Doc Howard says. “I’m positive the only way to disable the chip is to have the current code. But I can’t prove it. Still, you’ll know if someone has done that to you, because when the chip is disabled, it buzzes. It will be very uncomfortable. If you ever feel the buzz, you’ll know someone has disabled the chip. When the buzzing stops, you’ll know they’ve set up a new code.”

“At which time I can deactivate the chip again?”

“Precisely.”

“Is there a way to prove you’re giving me the right code?”

“How many brain-burning incidents have you experienced?”

“How many do you think I’ve had?”

“I’m hoping you’ve had two. The first was Darwin’s code, which I attempted to access. The second was mine. The third was Darwin’s again, and if I’m right, that one shouldn’t have worked.”

“So you’ve proven it to your satisfaction,” I say. “Can you prove it to mine?”

He smiles and gestures to the chair by the bed. “Have a seat.”

“I’d rather stand.”

“Please,” he says. “I’m afraid when the pain starts, you might lash out at me, and if that happens, I might not be able to over-ride the sequence in time. My intention is to have you experience as little pain as possible, while proving the lethal nature of the chip.”

I frown, then take a seat. “How long are you going to let it run?”

“You won’t be able to stand more than two seconds.”

“How long could you run it before there’s permanent brain damage?”

“I don’t know. Maybe ten seconds.”

“Run it for nine,” I say.

“Donovan. You don’t understand. This is not some Army test weapon that’s been used on an actual human being. I could be wrong about the ten seconds.”

“Doc, look at me.” He does. “You expect me to fork over a hundred million dollars based on two seconds’ worth of pain?”

“Two seconds should be more than sufficient. And anyway, I’m trying to protect my investment. If your brain turns to mush, you won’t be able to wire the money.”

“Give me nine seconds. I want my money’s worth.”

Doc Howard sighs. “Very well.” He takes what looks like a fancy wristwatch from his pants pocket, studies it a moment, then presses a button. The face opens up, and he says, “You’re going to feel a slight burning sensation.”

“Funny.”

He taps the device four times and I feel a bomb go off in my head. The pain is excruciating. No, it’s worse than that. It feels like…no. There are no words to express it. Example. Example. Example. Okay. If you lay me down on the floor, and take the largest drill you can find, say an inch in diameter, and you and drill a one-inch hole in the center of my forehead until you’ve created a deep cavity, then jam a funnel into it, and pour enough molten lava to fill the cavity, then take a hammer, and pound the lava till it’s cooled. Then heat two ice picks until they’re as hot as branding irons, and use the hammer to pound the red-hot ice picks into each of my eyes until they’ve gone all the way to the hilt—do all that, and you might have an inkling what the first second feels like.

The next eight are much worse.

When I come to, Doc Howard and I look at each other a minute. Then he says, “I can’t imagine how you endured that.”

I clear my throat, try to speak. Nothing comes out. I swallow a couple of times. Then say, “Is that all you got?”

He laughs. “You’re one of a kind, Donovan.”

“As you are,” I say.

“So what do you think about my offer? Is a hundred million a fair price?”

“It was a rough ride,” I admit. “But the pain was manageable. A few more seconds and I wouldn’t have felt anything anyway, so it’s not the worst way I can think of to die. But what I can’t abide is letting Darwin kill me any time it suits him, from anywhere in the world. If you can help me prevent that, then your offer is a bargain.”

“No hard feelings?” he says.

“You’re screwing Darwin, not me. And if he finds out you reset his code—”

“If he finds out, you’ll know it, and I’ll trust you to deal with it,” Doc Howard says.

“You better hope I do.”

“I’m betting my life on you.”

In a strange way, I’m flattered. I mean, sure, he’s gaining a hundred million dollars. But he also thinks I can handle Darwin, and all of Darwin’s resources, which makes me feel like the owner of Seabiscuit, going against War Admiral, knowing the fans have bet their life’s savings on the underdog.

“Doc, I’m not happy you put the chip in my brain, but I understand why you did it. I know you’re feathering your nest at my expense, but the truth is, I’m only giving you a small portion of the money I stole from someone else. So how can I blame you? We’re probably both getting tired of doing some of the things we’ve done. But I still need you to help me save Rachel, and I know there’ll be a hundred things I’ll need from you in the future. So I’d like to consider this payment a cost of doing business with you.

“Honestly?”

I shrug. “All honesty is contextual. But if you do everything I ask of you with regard to these Asprin people, especially the one we’re calling Paula, and you keep these results between the two of us, I’ll wire the money to your account.”

36.

It’s 9:00 p.m., and the only sleep I’ve logged since Sam’s “reveal” occurred at altitude as I criss-crossed the continent. Fourteen hours have passed since Doc Howard burned my brain for nine full seconds, and I’m still feeling the after-effects.

Callie and I are standing in the eighth-floor hallway of the Lucian-Jevere Hotel and Conference Center in Chicago. After checking for cameras, I stand out of view while Callie knocks on the door of Roger Asprin’s suite. It’s late, and Chicago’s a dangerous place, but Callie is Callie, and of course, Roger opens the door. She punches his throat hard enough to keep him from crying out, then pushes him back into his room as she enters. I slip in behind them and lock the door.

It’s just like old times. Roger can’t scream because I’ve injected his vocal chords with an anesthetic. I’ve got a tracheal tube kit open and ready to use in the event his neck swells enough to impair his oxygen supply.

“I know you can’t speak,” I say, “but you can hear and feel things.”

He shakes his head as if to indicate I’m wrong. Callie kicks him in the nuts and his eyes roll up in his head. He’d kick us if he could, but I’ve got his legs tied to either side of the desk chair I’ve placed in the center of his bedroom. Unlike Hector, Roger’s wearing underwear. He also sports a t-shirt, though not for long. I rip it off.

“You know what really hurts?” I say.

Then I show him.

Ten minutes later, tears are streaming from Roger’s bloodshot eyes. I say, “Roger, I know you’re in pain, probably the worst you’ve ever had to endure. But I promise you, everything I’ve done so far will seem like a day at the spa compared to what I will do, if you refuse to cooperate.”

I look at Callie. “You hungry?”

“I could eat a bite,” she says.

“Roger, we’re going to order room service. By the time we’re done, you’ll be able to whisper some answers.”

I’m not wild about the in-room dining options on the menu, but the Baked Penne Arribiatta looks okay. Callie wants the Caesar Salad, until I explain it includes white anchovies and a boiled egg.

“I don’t like hairy fish,” she says, “and boiled eggs do not belong in a Caesar salad.”

“I agree about the egg,” I say, “but I think you’ll like the anchovies.”

“Why’s that?”

“They’re marinated in white vinegar instead of salt cured and packed in oil, like regular anchovies. Of course, fresh are best, but where are you going to find those?”

“They can keep their albino anchovies,” she says. “Their little pink eyes give me the creeps.”

I wonder if I should explain these aren’t albino anchovies, then realize, who gives a shit? She doesn’t want the salad.

“How about the Braised Pork Shank and Black Forest Mushroom Risotto?” I say.

“Lips that touch pork shank shall never touch mine,” Callie says.

I hand her the menu. She reads it, frowning, until she suddenly smiles.

“What have you found?” I ask.

“The Kid’s Menu.”

“Chicken fingers? Pizza?”

“Nope. Strawberries and Rice Krispies. Call it in, Coleman.”

“Coleman?”

“From Trading Places.”

“Ah. Winthorpe’s butler.”

After the room service guy leaves, I open the door so we can keep an eye on Roger.

We enjoy our food in silence. When we’re finished, Callie says, “What sort of name is Asprin?”

“Nordic.”

“You are so full of shit.”

I shrug. “Busted.”

From the next room, Roger makes a hissing sound. His mouth is moving up and down like a fresh-caught bass out of water.

“Is that our cue?” Callie says.

“It is.”

37.

“Who are you? What do you want? Why are you doing this to me?” Roger Asprin whispers.

“I’m going to answer your questions in the order you asked them,” I say. “Who are we? I’m Donovan Creed, and this is Callie Carpenter. What do we want? Rachel Case.”

Roger’s eyes grow wide. He starts to speak. I hold up my hand to stop him. “Why are we doing this to you? Because you’re the only person in the world who can help us get Rachel back. But the real question you should be asking is this: what are we willing to do in order to get what we want? Because here’s the thing, Roger: we’ve got your wife. Callie, show him the video feed.”

Callie holds her cell phone where Roger can see Jane in the hospital bed at Sensory.

“You see how she’s fighting against the straps? She’s really angry, Roger. But soon she’s going to be very frightened, instead. You can save her, or you can watch her die a slow, painful death.”

“You don’t understand,” Roger whispers. “We’re saving mankind.”

“You don’t kidnap and kill people to save mankind,” I say. “You killed Rachel’s doctor. You tried to kill her caretaker. You want to save the world? Fine. Ask?”

“Ask?”

“Yeah, that’s right, asshole. You could’ve asked Rachel to help you.”

Roger swallows, clears his throat. His voice is starting to come back, but it’s hoarse.

“Cough a couple of times,” I say. “That should help.”

He does. “There are—” his voice cracks.

I hold up my hand again. “Take a minute. We can’t understand what you’re saying.”

He coughs a couple more times. Then says, “There are people in the world who would use her as a weapon. They could literally wipe out a significant percentage of the earth’s population.”

“Our government could do the same.”

“No. We’re saving the world. You have no idea. This is the breakthrough we’ve sought for more than 70 years.”

“Is curing the Spanish Flu worth dying for?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Is it worth watching your wife tortured to death?”

“If that’s your plan, I’d rather you kill me first. But yes, it’s worth Jane’s suffering. Except that it’s pointless.”

“I’m listening,” I say.

“There’s nothing I can do to help you, even if I wanted to.”

“Which you don’t.”

“Of course not.”

Callie and I exchange a glance. She accesses Bernard’s live feed, then positions it where Roger can see.

“Your son, Bernard,” I say.

“What’s happened to his leg?” Roger yells.

“We cut it off. Shall we lop off one of his arms while you watch?”

Roger starts to cry.

“Callie, show him the Atlanta feed.”

She punches some keys on her cell phone. When the video comes up, she holds it in front of Roger’s face.

“That’s your daughter, Ellen’s house. Your son-in-law’s out of town on business. Ellen’s taking a bath right now, listening to music. Your granddaughter, Bug, is upstairs in her crib, sleeping soundly. A simple phone call changes all that.”

“Kill them all,” Roger says. “And kill me, too.”

“You’re not serious,” I say.

“I’ve devoted my entire life to finding a cure,” he says, through his tears. “You can torture, maim, and kill every person I hold dear. But I wouldn’t help you rescue Rachel Case even if I could. Because no matter what you do to me, or those I love, the greater good demands that a cure be made available to mankind. You have no idea what this disease will do when it resurfaces.”

“I like you, Roger, I really do. It’s dedicated people like you that help keep us safe. You make the world a better place. But make no mistake, I am going to kill you if I don’t get Rachel back. After I force you to watch your loved ones die. Because Rachel doesn’t deserve this. And neither do her unborn children.”

“How do you know about that?”

“Rachel’s husband is a genius. I told him about Rachel’s blood test, and about how your people killed her doctor, and within hours he came up with the answer.”

“Mr. Creed,” Roger said.

“Yes?”

“Sam Case works for us.”

38.

I can’t get my cell phone open fast enough.

“Lou! Where’s Sam?”

“Bluemont, Virginia.”

“What? Why?”

“You said to take him where he wanted to go.”

“Fuck!”

“What’s wrong?”

“Hold on.”

I give Roger Asprin my most menacing look. “Where’s Rachel? Tell me and I’ll spare one of your family members. You have my word.”

“I-I can’t.”

“Callie, tell Jarvis to kill Ellen. Drown her in her tub.

“No!” Roger cries.

“And tell Jarvis I want a video feed. Have him hold her under with one hand and video her with the other. I want Roger to see what he’s forced us to do.”

Callie punches a button on her speed dial.

“After he kills Ellen, tell him to go upstairs and stand outside Bug’s room and wait for further instructions.”

To Roger I say, “This is your last chance. You don’t even have to name the place they’re holding Rachel, because I already know. All you have to do is verify it. She’s at Mount Weather, isn’t she?”

Callie says, “Jarvis? It’s showtime.”

Roger says, “Wait!”

I hold up my hand.

Callie says, “Just a minute. Mr. Creed might grant a stay of execution.”

Roger says, “She’s in the hospital at Mount Weather.”

“Callie,” I say, “Tell Jarvis to stand down.”

“Sorry, Jarvis,” she says. “You’re going to have to wait awhile.” She ends the call.

To Roger I say, “Does Sam have access?”

“Access?”

“Clearance. Whatever you call it.”

“I’m not sure I—”

I slap his face. “Is Sam able to gain entry into Mount Weather?”

“Yes, of course.”

To Lou I say, “What do you know about the facility at Mount Weather?”

“No more than you, I expect,” he says.

“Ever been inside?”

“No. You?”

“No.”

We’re silent awhile, realizing what we’re up against. Finally Lou says, “We’re screwed.”

“Not yet,” I say.

39.

Here’s what I know about the facility at Mount Weather: it’s more than a hundred years old. There’s an underground bunker the size of a small city, built to withstand repeated direct strikes from nuclear weapons. It’s where the top government officials were taken by helicopter after the 9/11 attacks, because their lives are so much more valuable than those of us who elected them. I also know this: there has never been a security breach at Mount Weather.

Lou calls me back after doing a quick computer search and adds the following details: “There’s an above-ground section of more than 400 acres, called Area A. The underground bunker, Area B, is more than 600,000 square feet in size, and contains a hospital, crematorium, dining and recreational facilities, self-contained power plants, and is equipped to broadcast TV and radio.”

I was suddenly worried that Sam might be able to determine how close Sensory Resources is to Mount Weather.

“What route did you take to get him there?” I ask. “You didn’t just drive him straight to Bluemont, did you?”

“Of course not. We blindfolded him, sedated him, flew him to Atlanta, stopped, woke him up, drove him to Macon, sedated him again, then flew him back to Sensory, and drove him to Bluemont, still blindfolded.”

“What about his cell phone?” I had removed the battery because I didn’t want him using his GPS system to determine where he was. But he could always get another battery.

“We destroyed the cell phone. But Sam’s a bright guy. He could figure out a way to contact people without it.”

“True. But he wouldn’t be able to tell where he’s been.”

“Well, at least our location appears to be safe.”

We’re both trying to keep from stating the obvious. That Sam is in the bunker with Rachel, and for now, there’s nothing we can do about it.

“Thanks, Lou. You did everything right. But we both know he’s in there with her.”

“Do you have a plan to get her out?”

“I do.”

“How can I help?”

“For now, sit tight.”

To Roger I say, “When did Sam start working with you?”

“Let my family go, and I’ll tell you everything I know.”

“Why the sudden change of heart?”

“Because killing my family won’t help you get what you want. And when I tell you everything I know, you’ll see that I can’t help you, either.”

“I’ll spare Bug if you tell me what you know about Sam. Or I can kill Ellen while you think about it.”

“I have your word about sparing my granddaughter?”

“You do. Unless I catch you in a lie, in which case she’ll be the first to go.”

“I’ll tell the truth, as I know it.”

“Go ahead, then.”

“I don’t know when these events first occurred,” Roger says, “but Sam made his deal after the first kidnapping.”

“What kidnapping are you talking about? Dr. D’Angelo?”

“Is that Rachel’s doctor?”

“He was her doctor.”

“Well, you say he’s been killed, but I don’t know anything about that.” He takes a breath, fighting to make his voice clear. Then says, “All I’ve heard is that Rachel Case went to a doctor and gave blood for the first time in her life. When our computers generated a match, the Department of Health contacted whoever they contact for such matters of national security, and they went to Rachel’s home to extract her.”

“That’s ancient history. What’s all this about the first kidnapping?”

“When Rachel filled out the forms at the doctor’s office, she used her old address, from when she lived with Sam. That’s where the security team went to find her, but of course, she was living somewhere else. Sam agreed to cooperate, on the condition we put him in the loop. When he learned why we wanted her, and where we planned to keep her, he gave the team her new address, and even provided a key to her apartment.”

His comment about the key hits me hard. If Roger’s telling the truth, Rachel’s been in contact with Sam, and gave him a key. I think about that a moment. No. She wouldn’t give him a key. Like Lou said, Sam’s a clever guy. He found a way to get a copy of Rachel’s house key. I don’t know how, but I’m certain she didn’t give him a key.

“Did he go with the team to kidnap Rachel last Monday?”

“I don’t know. I do know that Sam’s only condition for helping us was that he be allowed to live in Area B as long as Rachel was there. We agreed, because he’s her husband, and because he’s brilliant. He plans to work full-time to help us develop a synthetic gene, based on Rachel’s blood cells. Of course, being her husband, it makes sense that he live there, because he and Rachel can raise their children together.”

“Rachel is an unwilling participant in this scheme.”

Roger Asprin smiles wearily. “Aren’t we all?”

“So Sam’s plan is to buddy up to her, and manipulate her into getting back with him. Meanwhile, he gets to work on the synthetic gene that can cure the Spanish Flu, at which point he’ll be a hero. You guys will release them both, and he will have saved her and their children.”

“You think he can do all that?” Roger says.

“I don’t give a shit. I want her back. And I’m willing to kill your family to get her.”

“How will killing my family bring Rachel back?”

“It won’t. But using them as a bargaining chip might. I’ll spare your family, and your life as well, if you tell the scientists you were wrong about Rachel’s blood.”

“But I wasn’t wrong.”

“I understand that. But if you tell them you made a mistake, they’ll have no reason to hold her there. Especially if it means keeping the heat off the government.”

“What heat?”

“Ever hear of WikiLeaks?”

“Of course.”

“They’re one of more than a hundred international sources I plan to use to announce what’s happening in Area B with Rachel, and how you plan to harvest her eggs and keep her children hostages forever.”

“Not forever. Just until we can develop a synthetic form of the gene.”

“How long will that take?”

“Ten years, give or take.”

“That’s unacceptable.”

“Is this your plan?” Roger says.

“It is.”

“It won’t work. “The government will discredit your announcement as so much nonsense. They’ll call it the latest conspiracy theory. In the absence of any hard evidence to back up your story, your information sources will quickly pull your comments, to avoid looking foolish. Not only that, but the idea of a human conduit to the Spanish Flu virus is so unimaginable, I doubt the respected news stations will even broadcast your story.”

“I don’t buy that, and when it comes down to watching us put a knife to your children’s throats, I think you’ll choose to let your family live. All you have to do to save them is tell your people that Rachel’s blood cells don’t match after all.”

“That’s the other part of your plan that won’t work.”

“Why not?”

“You’re too late,” Roger says.

“What do you mean?”

“I already gave them the go ahead, based on the preliminary tests. That’s why we allowed Sam to enter the facility yesterday. The project has been given a green light. As a bonus, Rachel has already given us an egg to test.”

Crestfallen, I look at Callie for support.

“I’m sorry, Donovan,” she says. “But that sounds like game, set and match. We can still kill his kids, though.”

“Wait here,” I say.

I leave the room, take the elevator to the parking garage, and get my duffel bag from the trunk of my rental car. When I get back to Roger’s room, I open the case and remove a metal cuff. After attaching it to Roger’s left ankle, I say, “You’re going to wear this until I personally remove it. In the meantime, you’re going to continue hosting the conference, and I’m going to be fifteen feet away from you, day and night, until it’s over. In addition, you’ll have no use of your cell phone, and I’ll be in your room, to monitor your calls.”

“You can’t just show up at this conference. It’s by invitation only. The world’s greatest scientists are there. Government officials. Ministers of Health from around the world—”

“And me.”

“How can I possibly explain your presence?”

“Tell them I’m your government-appointed body guard.”

He thinks about it. Then says, “What about my family?”

“I’ll hang onto them awhile longer.”

“You’ve cut off my son’s leg. How do I know he’s receiving proper treatment?”

“You’ll have to trust us on that.”

“What about the private meetings I have to attend? The one-on-ones? You can’t be privy to those exchanges.”

“I can and I will. You’ll have to think up a way to explain my presence.”

He sighs. “What’s the ankle band for?”

“It contains an explosive device. If you so much as hint that something’s amiss, I’ll detonate the cuff. When I do, it’ll take out everything in a twelve-foot radius.”

“What do you hope to achieve by doing this?”

“I intend to rescue Rachel.”

“But I’ve already explained. That’s impossible.”

“Plan A might be impossible. But I’ve got a Plan B.”

40.

“What’s Plan B?” Callie asks. We’re sitting in the parlor. Close enough to see Roger lying on the floor in the bedroom, far enough to keep from being heard.

“Plan B is a shot in the dark. A last-second buzzer beater.”

“Care to be more specific?”

“You remember the crack whore I put on the jet in Atlanta? The one I put in a padded cell?”

“Of course.”

“That’s Rachel’s mother.”

“What? I thought her mother was deceased.”

“Everyone thinks that. But I lived in Rachel’s attic for nearly two years, watching her every move. I went through all her papers. I listened as she talked in her sleep on the nights I drugged her. I came to realize Rachel’s mother was dead to her, but very much alive. If you can call it living. I spent months searching for her, and finally found her. I sat with her until she was coherent, spoke to her about her daughter, and put her in rehab, hoping to reunite them.”

“What happened?”

“She relapsed the same day. But I bought a house she could live in, until I decided to make another run at cleaning her up. I just haven’t gotten around to doing it till now.”

“If Rachel suspected her mother was alive, why didn’t you tell her you’d found her?”

“Rachel hates her mother for abandoning her. As far as she’s concerned, her mother’s dead. She’s listed both her parents as deceased on all paperwork she’s filled out as an adult. Not only that, but she’s told everyone who’s asked, that her mother killed herself with drugs. If I’d told Rachel I found her mother, but she’s back on smack, it wouldn’t have been much of a reunion.”

Callie and I are quiet a minute. Then she says, “I don’t understand how getting Rachel’s mother sober will help you save Rachel.”

“It won’t. Unless her blood contains the gene.”

Callie smiles. “Has she never given blood either?”

“Obviously not. Or if she did, it wasn’t picked up by the government’s computers.”

“Or maybe she wasn’t a match.”

“Also possible,” I say.

Callie frowns. “If Plan B fails, what’s left?”

“I’ll have to offer them something so politically valuable, they’ll be willing to walk away from a cure for the Spanish Flu.”

“What could possibly be that valuable to them?”

“I don’t know. What if I bring them Bin Laden?”

“Excuse me?”

“I know it sounds desperate…”

“Crazy, it what it sounds. Tell me you don’t know where he’s hiding!”

“Of course not. But how hard could it be?”

“Are you shitting me?”

“Look, I haven’t discarded Plan B yet.”

“How can I help you?” Callie says. “With Plan B, that is.”

“I’ll handle it from here. I’ll have Lou get you back to L.A. so you can pick up your car.”

“I don’t mind staying.”

“I know, and I appreciate it. But for now, all I can do is wait for Sherry’s blood tests to come back.”

“Doc Howard?”

“Yup.”

“And of course, his computers won’t be linked to a different branch of the government.”

“Darwin would never allow it.”

“Well, I hope it works. If it doesn’t, are you still going to kill Roger and his family?”

“What type of hit man would I be if I didn’t?”

41.

For the next three days I’m on Roger Asprin like his shadow. The only breaks I take are to check on Nadine, who has been released and is back in Rachel’s apartment. At night, in his hotel room, Roger and I talk. He’s a decent guy who loves his wife and kids. I feel terrible that his wife is cheating on him, but it’s not my place to tell him about it. On the other hand, Roger’s being very forthright with me, hoping, I assume, that if we’re friends, I’ll let his family go. On the third night, I ask, “Tell me how this harvesting works.”

Roger looks up from the notes he’d been studying and says, “Rachel’s eggs?”

I nod.

“It involves in vitro fertilization. Now that she’s given her first egg, they’ll administer a series of fertility drugs to stimulate her ovaries to produce a number of eggs at the same time. Removing the eggs from her ovaries will require minor surgery.”

“It’s unnatural.”

“Everything about this science is unnatural,” Roger says.

“Who fertilizes the eggs? A sperm donor? Who carries the babies to term? A surrogate?”

“You’re not going to like this.”

“Say it anyway.”

“Since Sam is Rachel’s husband, they’ll mix his sperm with her eggs in the hospital’s laboratory. If embryos develop, they’ll be grown in a lab dish until one or more are placed into the uterus of the surrogate.”

“The babies would belong to the surrogate, though,” I say.

“Under normal circumstances, they would. But in this case, they’ll belong to the government, though I expect Rachel and Sam will be allowed to raise them and keep them, after the synthetic gene is created.”

Before I have a chance to comment, my cell phone rings. Doc Howard says, “I’m not sure what we’re looking for, but you were right about the blood tests.”

“How’s that?”

“They show substantial contamination.”

“All three?”

“All three.”

“Can your fax be traced?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then send them to me.”

“Where?”

“I don’t officially have a room here, so fax them to Roger Asprin.” I give him the name and phone number of the hotel. Moments later, Roger’s phone rings. I tell the front desk lady I’m sending Donovan Creed down to pick it up. The first thing I do is check to make sure there’s no phone number or point of origin on the pages. Once satisfied, I go back to Roger’s room and hand him one of the pages.

“Where did you get this?” he says. There’s alarm in his voice. Or maybe it’s excitement.

“Is it a match?” I say.

“It’s Rachel’s blood work,” Roger says.

“There are two more,” I say, handing him the other results.

“Who gave you these?”

“A new donor.”

“This must be a trick of some sort.”

“It’s no trick,” I say. “It’s Plan B.”

“What’s Plan B?”

“These blood tests came from Rachel’s mother.”

“Rachel’s parents are deceased. We checked. And there are no siblings.”

“The papers in your hand suggest otherwise. Anyway, I’m willing to exchange her for Rachel.”

“What?”

“You need the gene, Rachel’s mother has it. I’ll trade you the mom for the daughter.”

“She’d be willing to do that?”

“Who gives a shit? I can deliver her. That’s all you need to know.”

Roger shakes his head. “It won’t work.”

“Why not?”

“Because they’ll want both of them. They won’t give one up for the other, especially not the daughter for the mother. Her mother is almost certainly too old to produce eggs.”

“True.”

Roger says, “You must have realized that all along. I mean, surely you didn’t think we’d accept such a trade.”

“I did and still do.”

“It won’t work. And now that we know about Rachel’s mother, it’ll be impossible for you to hide her.”

“I don’t need to hide her.”

“What do you mean?”

“Plan B isn’t just about trading Rachel for her mom. It’s about keeping her in the U.S.A. You might have Rachel, but if you refuse to trade, I’ll sell her mother to the highest bidding enemy. Who knows what type of mutant virus they might be able to produce and unleash on the world.”

“You wouldn’t do that.”

“I would and I will. So here’s Plan B: I let you live, let your family live, and trade you Rachel’s mom for Rachel. Which means our government, and not our enemies, will have Rachel’s mom. In addition, I’ll put the lid on the world-wide announcement I’m prepared to make about what’s going on at Mount Weather. Now that I have proof of a genetic code, the world will take me seriously.”

“You don’t understand. We need Rachel’s eggs.”

“You can keep her long enough to get one more.”

“We’ll want at least a dozen embryos.”

“You’ve already got one.”

“We have an egg, Donovan. Not an embryo.”

“I’ll personally deliver her eggs to you until you get a dozen embryos. After you let her go. On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You have to keep Sam in Area B for the rest of his life. So he, along with his mother-in-law, can care for his children. I’m sure the children will benefit from having not only their father, but their grandmother as well.”

Despite the gravity of the discussion, Roger had to smile. “You’d stick that poor man in a hole with his mother-in-law for the rest of his life? After removing his wife?”

I shrugged. “What do you think?”

42.

It makes sense to let Rachel stay underground long enough to produce a few eggs for the scientists. After all, Sherry Cherry will be in no condition to travel for at least a couple of months. I know the government won’t want this deal, but Roger will be very persuasive that it’s a good one. I’m counting on him to make a passionate argument for the deal, since everyone he loves will die if he doesn’t.

43.

Some people might question what kind of person would kidnap Rachel’s mother and force her to live in an underground hole for years and possibly the rest of her life to be a guinea pig for science. The answer is, I’m the type who’d do that, and I’d do it without hesitation. I’m not happy about the idea of Rachel’s kids being imprisoned for the next ten years or more, but I don’t know them, and apparently they’ll be Sam and Rachel’s kids, or the government’s, so I’ll have to deal with it.

44.

It takes eight days before the deal is struck, during which time Sherry Cherry’s blood work results are passed around the scientific community like panties in a prison yard. Seven of the days were spent trying to figure out where I’m hiding Sherry, and whether or not they can kill me before I turn her over to some radical enemy group. Roger was right, I’d never do that, but over the years I’ve developed a reputation with the government that leads them to believe there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do.

45.

In the end, I don’t get everything I want, but I do get Rachel back.

In six months.

Roger was right about Uncle Sam wanting at least a dozen embryos, and for some reason, they didn’t trust me to deliver the balance of them. I agreed to let them harvest all the eggs they can for the next six months, and that should give them enough to work with. In the meantime, I’m certain a genius like Sam could cut the ten-year time table for creating the synthetic gene to two or three. He’ll have the built in motivation of wanting to escape from the hole. Six hundred thousand square feet of living space will seem awfully small after a few years of living with his mother-in-law!

That’s the other part I didn’t get in the bargain. They refuse to hold Sam against his will for the rest of his life. They also refuse to deny him access to Rachel, which is the part that upsets me the most. But they do allow me to call her once a week, to keep her spirits lifted.

The first time I called she said, “I have no idea who you are.” Then she hung up. The next week she said, “I was just kidding.” Then she hung up. I can’t wait to hear what she says next week when I call. But that’s Rachel, ever unpredictable, still keeping me off my game.

46.

I’m not thrilled about what’s going on in Area B, but I’m glad to know dedicated scientists like Roger are working day and night to protect the world from the Spanish Flu. I hate to wait six months to hold Rachel in my arms, but I know the government will take good care of her. I expect they’ll even provide a qualified therapist to work on her mental health.

The six months gives Sherry plenty of time to get better, too. I’m pretty sure Rachel will be upset when she learns I stuck her mother in the hole for however many years she’ll have to stay there, but she won’t know about it until Sam gets out and tells her. By then, maybe her mother will also be released, and she’ll be clean and sober to boot. Rachel might end up having a relationship with her mother after all, in which case I could come out of this whole situation smelling like a rose.

Of course, I had to clear it with Darwin. There’s no way I could keep Sherry Cherry’s whereabouts a secret without his help. In return, he expects me to go back to work for him full-time, killing suspected terrorists for Uncle Sam. I’m willing to do that, since I miss the excitement. Not to mention it’s what I do best.

Now that I’ve got my deal, the first order of business is to pay off Doc Howard and get the code, so I can protect my brain in case Darwin decides to renege on our deal.

It will all work out.

Roger’s happy. He got his family back. He was thrilled to learn that Bernard’s leg is still attached to his body. That bed with a hole in it has gotten a lot of use these past few weeks.

Back at Sensory, Doc Howard and I re-program the chip. Then I re-program it again, on my own. Then Lou and I meet to discuss Sherry Cherry.

“In a few months not only will Sherry be drug-free for the first time in twenty years, she also gets the opportunity to watch her grandchildren grow up,” I say, putting a positive spin on things.

“Lucky Sam,” Lou says, chuckling.

“Maybe they’ll bond,” I say.

The next day I escort Jane and Bernard—still sedated—back to L.A. Roger helps me get them in his house, and I leave it to him to come up with an explanation for what’s happened to them over the past ten days.

I get a hotel room on the beach in Santa Monica and take two full days to recharge my batteries. Then I order a jet to fly me to New York City for my date with Miranda. On the way there, I call Billy “the Kid” King.

“I’m on my way to New York,” I say, cheerfully.

“I’m carrying a gun,” he says.

“What kind?”

“Smith & Wesson, .357 Magnum.”

“The four-inch?”

“I don’t know. Whatever it is.”

“Well, I think you’ve made a good choice,” I say.

“Yeah, why’s that?”

“Revolvers are simple. They don’t jam, so they’re reliable. They’re small enough to carry, powerful enough to stop a man. Make sure you’ve got it with you when I see you.”

“Why?”

“I can always use another gun in my collection.”

There is dead silence on the phone.

“Billy? Are you still on the line?”

In a very small voice, Billy says, “How can I make this stop?”

“I thought you’d welcome the opportunity to see me again. Prove to your friends I was lucky the first time.”

“You weren’t lucky. I just want to be left alone.”

I think about it a minute.

“You really want me out of your life?”

“More than anything.”

“Miranda’s trying to put herself through school.”

“So?”

“If you write her a check to cover her next semester, I’ll leave you alone.”

“I can’t write a check to a hooker! What if she takes it to the police? Isn’t that what happened to Jerry Springer? I’d lose my broker’s license!”

“You make a good point. Pay her in cash. Fifty grand.”

“What? That’s insane!”

“No, seriously. Tuition, books, study materials—I don’t know how parents do it these days. Student loans, I guess. But Miranda’s trying to avoid all that.”

“By shaking me down.”

“You’re the one that punched her, Billy.”

“We were being playful. Things got out of hand.”

“Right.”

We were quiet a moment. Then I said, “So, you want me to pick it up personally?”

“Can we do it another way?”

“You know Guy at the gym? Z’s friend?”

“Yeah.”

“Put the cash in a duffle and give it to him.”

“I don’t want the guys in the gym to know about this.”

“That makes sense. Tell you what. I’m staying at the Pierre. Put the cash in a box, wrap it like a birthday present, and leave it at the front desk for me.”

“How do I know you’ll give it to the hooker?”

“Does it really matter?”

“What if you take the money and claim I never brought it?”

“Billy, listen to me. I’m a billionaire. I’d rather break your nose every time I come to town than steal your money. You asked what it would take for me to go away, and I’ve told you. But there’s one caveat.”

“What now?”

“You have to promise to stay away from her.”

“No problem.”

“I’m serious, Billy.”

“Me too.”

“No running into her, no booking her under an assumed name, no following her around.”

“The bitch is nothing but trouble. I never want to see her again.”

“In that case, we’ve got a deal.”

“What time should I bring the box?”

“Anytime tomorrow before five p.m. Surprise me.”

“You trust the front desk?”

“Billy. It’s the Pierre.”

“Okay.”

47.

Miranda Rodriguez looks like a million dollars. Then again, I love watching a gorgeous girl dig into a sixteen-ounce prime strip steak and a side of skillet potatoes and onions.

“Are we really going to see Jersey Boys tonight?” she says.

“We are.”

“That is so cool!”

Cool. Sometimes, when I forget I’m twice her age, she brings me back to reality with a single word like “cool.” She’s trying to say the right thing, but “awesome” is what she’d say if I were her age. “Cool” doesn’t sound right, coming from her twenty-year-old throat. I catch myself wondering what Rachel would have said, and come up with nothing. Because the fact is, Rachel is exactly what she claimed to be that very first day we had sex: unpredictable.

We’re at Del Frisco’s in Midtown, and my favorite waiter, Rob, is working hard to make me look good in front of my date. He brings us a couple of pineapple-infused vodka martinis. Miranda takes a sip and swoons.

“Oh…my…God!” she says. “This is to die for!”

She’s wearing the low-cut burgundy petal dress I bought her earlier this afternoon. After spending an hour trying to find matching shoes, I talked her into a pair of black (“goes with anything”) triple-platform strappy sandals with 5 ¾ inch heels that make her six feet tall.

“Do your feet hurt yet?” I ask.

“If they start to, I’ll deal with it,” she says, with a wink.

Normally I wouldn’t put a lady in such a pair of shoes. But the way her eyes lit up this afternoon when lifting the display shoe to inspect it, rendered me incapable of saying no.

“There are only so many years you can wear something like that,” I say. “May as well enjoy it while you can.”

Miranda doesn’t know it yet, but there’s a comfortable pair of black sandals in the box Billy left for me at the front desk. I opened it earlier, to check the contents, and tossed the shoes in as an afterthought. I’ll give her the present after the show, when her feet are killing her. The fifty grand should have a soothing effect as well.

“You’re pensive,” she says. “Anything wrong? Please say no!”

I smile. “That dress looks fantastic on you.”

“Wait till you see how it looks on the floor tonight,” she purrs.

I already know how it’s going to go. We’ll have a great time at the show, we’ll go to her place afterward, and she’ll be overwhelmed by the cash. She’ll say and do all the right things. When we start having sex, she’ll pretend I’m a stallion. She’ll start whimpering that breath-catching sound Hollywood taught women to identify with orgasm. It’ll start with a low moan, and build to a crescendo worthy of a porn star. She’ll throw in a few “Oh, God’s” and maybe call out my name. I start to say something about all this, and then change my mind.

“I’m sorry,” Miranda says. “I didn’t hear you.”

I had started to say, If we wind up in bed tonight, will you do me a favor? And she would have said, Of course. And I would have said, Could you be perfectly quiet while we have sex? And she would have said, Of course. And the fact that she wouldn’t have asked me why, or gotten the least bit offended about my asking, is why I decided not to pose the question in the first place. Because each brick of predictability might eventually pile up and make a wall between us.

“Donovan?” she says.

“Sorry. I was going to ask if you wanted me to order a soufflé.”

“You’re so sweet!” She touches my arm with her hand. “I couldn’t possibly. Is that okay?”

“Perfectly.”

Rachel thinks she knows me, but there’s a lot to be said for predictability. By the time we get to Miranda’s place tonight, my body will be screaming for her to relieve the sexual tension that’s been building up all afternoon. It’s a joy to know that having sex tonight is a foregone conclusion. I’ll not only get sex tonight, but it will be whatever type of sex I’m in the mood for. Of course, this is less a function of predictability than it is a feature of paying a hooker for her time.

Wait. That’s not a fair characterization. Miranda’s a courtesan, not a hooker.

But still.

As a plus, I won’t have to worry about falling asleep and possibly getting my throat slit, which is more a function of being with a sane woman than being with Rachel, who I love dearly.

Another excellent feature of being with a courtesan is, whatever I say will be fascinating to her. And damn it, sometimes it’s nice to be able to just say anything that’s on your mind, knowing the woman you’re with is not going to give you a look of disgust, or indignation. In fact, there’s nothing I can say to Miranda right now that would make her say, That’s disgusting! I hope you’re happy, you just ruined my dinner!”

Want an example? Check this out:

“Miranda?”

“Yes, honey?”

“Did you know there was a time in history when the entire world ran out of coffins?”

“What? Oh, my God! Really?”

“Yup.”

“What happened?”

“Ever hear about the Spanish Flu Pandemic of 1918?”

“No. Please tell me!”

—See what I mean? I’m with a beautiful girl half my age. I’m enjoying a wonderful dinner, getting ready to see an incredible show. I’m a fascinating conversationalist, and I’m going to get laid tonight by a woman whose mission in life is to be the best fuck I’ve ever had.

Want another example of how I can say anything to Miranda and not get in trouble?“Honey?” I say.

“Yes?”

“Have I ever told you I’m in love with a girl named Rachel?”

“I don’t think so, not that I recall.”

“Are you jealous?”

“Who wouldn’t be? She’s got to be the luckiest woman in the whole world!”

“You think?”

“I do,” she says. “But not tonight.”

“No?”

“Nope. ’Cause tonight, I’m the luckiest woman in the world!”

I hoist my vodka martini and realize with all this going for me, something’s missing.

What’s that? You think what’s missing at this moment is Rachel?

What’re you, nuts?

I lift my chin in Rob’s direction, and my overly-attentive waiter instantly appears.

“Yes, Mr. Creed?”

“Do you happen to have any single-barrel Kentucky bourbon in this joint?”

Rob smiles. “We do, indeed, sir!”

“Would you be so kind?”

“Absolutely, sir! And would the lady care for some?”

Miranda looks at me. Most women hate bourbon, and I’m sure she’s no exception.

“That sounds delightful!” she says.

Rob leaves to fetch our bourbon, and I notice Miranda is squirming slightly.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

She gives me a shy, practiced smile, looks down at her hand. My eyes follow hers. She opens it, revealing the tiniest pair of black panties.

“A present,” she says.

“For me?”

“Uh huh.”

She smiles again.

“If you put them in your jacket pocket, only you and I will know it’s not a handkerchief!”

She kisses her panties and hands them to me. I put them where my pocket square had been, and never bother wondering how many men she’s said that to before tonight.

Is she pretending?

Of course.

Do I care?

Of course not. In truth, I’m beginning to question how much of a future I have with Rachel. Her unpredictability has become predictable.

Maybe I’ll pretend something too. Maybe I’ll pretend the fifty grand is a present from me. Am I capable of doing something that shady, just to enrich my status in her eyes?

Of course I am. But will I?

I haven’t decided yet.

Rob brings us a shot of premium bourbon.

Miranda and I share a toast.

Life is good.

Then the chip in my head starts to buzz…

Coming soon!

VEGAS MOON

(A Donovan Creed Novel)

Expected date of publication: May, 2011

Thanks for your support. We’ll see you in May!

About the Author

John Locke is the international best-selling author of six novels including Saving Rachel, Wish List, Now & Then, Lethal People, Lethal Experiment, and Follow the Stone. He lives in Kentucky, where he is working on his seventh Donovan Creed novel, Vegas Moon. To view book trailers and other information, check the author’s website: www.SavingRachel.com, or follow his blog: www.donovancreed.blogspot.com

Table of Contents

Prologue