Micro

Chapter 10

Nanigen Animal Facility 28 October, 9:00 p.m.

Vin Drake produced a clear plastic bag. With surprising gentleness, he picked up Peter Jansen and dropped him in the bag. Peter slid down the plastic surface, came to rest at the bottom. He got to his feet, and watched as Vin went around the room, picking up each of the graduate students in turn, dropping them in the bag. Last of all he picked up the Nanigen man from the control room. They heard the man call out, “Mr. Drake! What are you doing, sir?”

Drake didn’t seem to hear the man, and didn’t seem to care.

As each person tumbled down among the others in the bag, nobody got hurt. Apparently they now had too little mass to cause damage. “We’re almost weightless,” Amar commented. “We must weigh no more than a gram or so. Like a tiny feather.” Amar’s voice was cool, composed. But Peter thought he detected a tremor of fear.

“Well, I don’t care who knows it, I’m scared,” Rick Hutter blurted.

“We all are,” Karen King admitted.

“I think we’re in shock,” Jenny Linn said. “Look at our faces. Circum-oral pallor.” Blanched skin around the lips was a classic sign of fear.

The Nanigen man kept saying, “There’s been some mistake.” He couldn’t seem to believe what Drake had just done.

“Who are you?” someone asked him.

“My name is Jarel Kinsky. I’m an engineer. I operate the tensor generator. If Mr. Drake would just—just give me a chance to talk with him—”

“You’ve seen too much.” Rick Hutter cut him off sharply. “Whatever Drake does to us he’s going to do to you as well.”

“Let’s take an inventory,” Karen King snapped. “Quick—what weapons have we got?”

But they got no further; the bag was tossed around, throwing them into a tangle.

“Uh-oh,” Amar said, struggling to sit up. “What’s happening now?”

Alyson Bender pushed her face very close to the plastic bag; she was looking carefully at the individuals inside, apparently worried about them. Her eyelashes flicked against the plastic. The pores in the skin of her nose were alarmingly large, great pink pockmarks.

“Vin-I-don’t-want-them-harmed-Vin.”

That drew a smile from Vin Drake. Speaking slowly, he said, “I-wouldn’t-dream-of-harming-them.”

“You realize,” Karen King said, “that that man is a psychopath. He is capable of anything.”

“I realize it,” Peter said.

“That’s just not true about Mr. Drake,” Jarel Kinsky said. “There is a reason for this.”

Ignoring him, Karen said to Peter, “We should have no illusions about what Drake intends at this point. We’re witnesses to his confession, that he killed your brother. Now he’s going to kill us all.”

“Do you think so?” Danny Minot said plaintively. “We shouldn’t jump to—”

“Yes, Danny, I do think so. Maybe you’ll be first.”

“It’s just so hard to imagine—”

“Ask Peter’s brother about—”

At that moment, Vin picked up the plastic bag and walked quickly into the hallway. He was simultaneously arguing with Alyson Bender, but their words were too difficult to decipher; it just sounded like thunder rumbling.

They walked past several labs, and then Drake entered one. Even inside the plastic bag, they could immediately detect the difference in this lab.

A sharp, acrid odor.

Wood chips and feces.

Animals.

“This is an animal lab,” Amar said. And they could see, through the distortion of the plastic bag, that there were rats, hamsters, and lizards and other reptiles.

Vin Drake set the bag down on top of a glass tank. Now he was talking, apparently directing his remarks at them, but they could not understand what he was saying. They looked from one to another. “What’s he saying?” “I don’t understand.” “He’s crazy.” “I can’t make it out.”

Jenny Linn had turned her back on the group; she was entirely focused on Drake. She turned to Peter and said, “It’s you.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s going to kill you first. Wait just a minute.”

“What…?”

She unzipped her belt pack, revealing a dozen slender glass tubes, with rubber bumpers at each end. “My volatiles.” It was impossible to miss the devotion; these tubes represented years of work. She pulled one out. “I’m afraid it’s the best I can do.”

Peter shook his head, not understanding. She uncorked the tube and in a single quick motion, poured it over his head and down his body. There was a pungent odor; then nothing. He said, “What is it?”

Before she could answer, Vin Drake thrust his hand into the bag, and gripping Peter by the leg, lifted him out upside down. Peter yelled and waved his arms.

“It’s hexenol,” she said. “From wasps. Good luck.”

“Now-now-young-Master-Peter,” Drake said, his voice booming. “You’ve-caused-me-a-great-deal-of-trouble.” He held Peter close to his face, squinted at him. “Worried? Bet-you-are.”

Drake turned on his heel; the quick movement was dizzying for Peter; and then he slid the glass top of a tank open a fraction of an inch, and dropped Peter through the slot. He slid it shut, leaving the bag with the people in it on top of the tank.

Peter fell, landing in sawdust.

Alyson Bender said, “Vin, I didn’t agree to this, this wasn’t what we discussed—”

“The situation has changed, obviously—”

“But this is unconscionable.”

“Tell me about your conscience,” Drake said scornfully, “later.”

She had agreed to help him eliminate Eric, after Eric had threatened to destroy Nanigen. She had thought she loved Vin Drake and maybe she still did love him. Vin had been incredibly good to her, advanced her career, paid her unlimited amounts of money, while Eric had acted so badly toward Vin…Eric had betrayed Vin. But the others were only students…this situation was going out of control. Even so, she felt paralyzed. The situation had developed too fast. She didn’t know how to stop Drake.

“There is nothing cruel about a predator,” Drake said, standing before the snake tank. “It is extremely humane. That black-and-white striped creature on the other side of the glass is a banded krait from Malaysia. Its bite, for a creature Peter’s size, will be almost immediately fatal. He’ll hardly feel a thing. Slurred speech, difficulty swallowing, paralysis of the eyes, and then complete paralysis of the body in a matter of moments. He may possibly still be alive when the snake ingests him but, ah, he probably won’t care…”

Drake placed his index finger against his thumb, and flicked the plastic bag. It caused the micro-humans inside the bag to be flung around. Shouting and swearing with terror and confusion, they tumbled upon one another, while Drake peered at them. “They’re quite lively,” he commented to Alyson. “I assume the krait will accept them. If not, there’s also the cobra and the coral snake.”

She looked away.

“It’s essential, Alyson,” he said. “Their bodies have to be ingested. There can’t be any…evidence.”

“But that’s not all of it,” she said. “What about their car, their hotel rooms, plane tickets—”

“I’ve got a plan for all that.”

“Do you?”

“Trust me. I do.” He stared at her. “Alyson,” he said, after a long moment, “are you saying you don’t trust me?”

“No, of course not,” she said quickly.

“I hope not. Because without trust, we’re nothing. We are in this together, Alyson.”

“I know.”

“Yes, I know you do.” He patted her hand. “Ah, I see young Peter has dusted himself off, and here comes the krait, looking for his meal.” Slithering black and white stripes, partially hidden in the sawdust. Black tongue flicking in and out.

“Now watch closely,” Drake said to her. “It happens fast.”

Alyson had turned away. She couldn’t watch.

Peter got to his feet and brushed himself off. The fall hadn’t hurt him, but he still felt the effects of Drake’s punches and kicks, and his shirt was stuck to his chest with drying blood. He was waist-deep in sawdust, in a glass cage. The cage had a small branch with some leaves on it, otherwise it was empty.

Except for the snake.

From where he stood, he could only see a few dark-gray and white bands. Probably a banded krait, Bungarus candidus. From Malaysia or Vietnam. As a rule, kraits ate other snakes, but he could not count on this one to be fussy. He saw the coils of black and white move and, with a soft hissing sound, disappear. The snake was sliding forward.

He couldn’t see the head, or even very much of the body. He was too small to really grasp the layout of the cage, unless he climbed the branch, which didn’t seem like a good idea. All he could do was wait for the snake to come to him. Helpless, defenseless. He patted his pockets, but they were empty. His body began to shake uncontrollably: was it shock from his beating? Or fright? Probably both. He backed into a corner, glass on both sides. Maybe he would make a reflection that would disturb the snake. Maybe he would—

He saw the head. It emerged from the sawdust, tongue flicking rapidly. It came so close to Peter that the tongue almost brushed his body. He closed his eyes, unable to watch. He was trembling so hard he thought he would collapse in sheer terror.

He took a breath, held it, trying to stop the trembling. He opened one eye slightly, hazarding a look.

The snake was right there, just inches from his torso, and the black tongue continued to flick in and out, but something was wrong. This snake seemed confused, or hesitant—and then, to his utter amazement, the animal raised its head and slithered backward, pulling away from Peter.

Disappearing into the sawdust.

And gone.

And then he did collapse, falling to the ground, shaking with fear and exhaustion, unable to control his body, and one thought remained fixed in his mind—what the hell happened?

“God damn it,” Vin Drake said, looking down through the glass. “What the hell was that? What just happened?”

“Maybe it wasn’t hungry.”

“Oh, it’s hungry alright. God damn it! I can’t have these mishaps. I’m on a schedule, a tight schedule.”

The intercom clicked. “Mr. Drake, you have a visitor. Mr. Drake, visitor at the front desk.”

“Oh for Christ’s sake,” Drake said, throwing up his hands. “I’m not expecting anybody today.” He dialed reception. “What is it, Mirasol?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Drake, but I was in the parking lot after the alarm, and someone from the Honolulu police came to see you. So I brought them in.”

“Oh. All right.” He hung up. “Great. The police.”

Alyson said, “I’ll go see what they want.”

“No, you won’t,” he said. “I’ll deal with the police. You go back to your office and stay out of sight until they are gone.”

“All right, if that’s what—”

“It is, yes.”

“All right, Vin.”

Jenny Linn watched as Vin Drake and Alyson Bender left the animal room. She noticed that Drake was careful to lock the door as he left. The plastic bag was lying on top of the snake’s tank. The top of the bag was twisted lightly. But it was loose. Jenny wriggled herself up in the neck of the bag, pushing, and she managed to get it open. “Come on,” she said. “We can at least get out.” The others followed Jenny, climbing out of the bag, until they were standing on the clear glass lid that covered the tank.

Jenny looked down into the tank. Peter was getting to his feet, obviously shaken. She shouted, “Can you understand me?”

He shook his head at Jenny: Not really.

Rick Hutter said, “Why didn’t the snake strike?”

Jenny got down on her hands and knees, cupped her hands around her mouth, and said, “Peter, can you hear now?”

He shook his head.

“Try bone conduction,” Amar said.

Jenny lay flat on the surface, putting her cheek against the glass. She spoke loudly: “Peter? Now?”

“Yes,” he said. “What happened?”

“I doused you with volatiles from a wasp,” she said. “Principally hexenol. I figured there were very few things that would put off a poisonous snake, but a wasp sting would be one of them.”

“Damn clever,” Amar said. “Snakes rely more on smell than sight anyway. And the krait’s nocturnal…”

“It worked. It thought I was a wasp.”

“Yes, but the substance is very volatile, Peter.”

“Meaning it will evaporate.”

“It is, as we speak.”

“Great. I’m not a wasp anymore.”

“Not for long.”

“How much time would you say?” he said.

“I don’t know. Minutes.”

“What can we do?”

Karen King said, “How are your reflexes?”

“Shot.” He held out his hand; it was shaking.

“What’s your idea?” Amar said.

“Do you have any of the spider silks we worked on?” For about six months, Amar and Karen had been synthesizing spider silks with various properties—some were sticky, some strong, some flexible like a bungee cord. Some could turn from smooth to sticky from the addition of a chemical at one end.

“I have several, yes,” Amar said.

“Okay, you see that plastic tube beside the cage, closed at one end?”

“It looks like it’s part of a little water dispenser.”

“Right. That’s the one. Can you grab that tube with sticky silk and hoist it up?”

“I don’t know,” Amar said doubtfully. “It probably weighs an ounce or two. We’d all have to help haul it up—”

“That’s fine because we all have to help, anyway. To open the cage.”

“Open the cage.” The top of the krait cage was a double piece of glass; one slid over the other. “I don’t know, Karen, that means shifting the glass piece.”

“Just an inch or so. Just enough—”

“To lower the tube.”

“Right.”

“Peter, are you following this?” Amar said.

“I am, and it sounds impossible.”

“I don’t see an alternative,” Karen said. “We have only one shot at this, and you can’t miss.”

Amar had opened up a plastic case, which he’d had in his pocket, and he was already uncoiling his sticky silk from an armature in the case. He lowered the silk over the edge, and hooked the plastic tube. It was surprisingly light. Amar and Rick Hutter were able to raise it easily.

They tried sliding the glass plate to get it open, but that proved to be a much greater challenge. “We have to be coordinated,” Karen said. “Everybody on the count of three, one…two…three!” The glass moved, just a few millimeters, but it moved. “Okay, again! Hurry!”

And the krait was becoming more active. Whether from seeing all the little people walking around on top, or because the volatile was wearing off, the snake began twisting and coiling, moving toward Peter, getting ready to try another approach.

“Get that thing down here,” Peter said. His voice was tremulous.

“Lowering it now,” Amar said.

The thread scraped over the glass edge, making a strange squeaking sound.

“That going to be okay?” Karen said. “Will it hold?”

“It’s strong,” Amar said.

“Come lower, a little lower,” Peter said. “Okay…Hold it there.” The tube was chest-high. He stood behind it, holding it in position with both hands at the back. But his hands were sweating, slippery. His grip unsure.

The snake was moving. Hissing through the leaves and sawdust.

“What if it strikes from the side?” Peter said.

“Adjust,” Karen said. “ ’Cause it looks like—”

“Yeah, it is—”

“Here it comes, damn it—”

“Oh shit,” Peter said. The snake struck with blinding speed-unimaginable speed-unthinking, he swung the tube to meet it—the full impact of the krait’s head slammed against his chest—the silk snapped, and Peter fell backward, with the krait on top of him, writhing and coiling angrily, pinning Peter’s body down. But the krait’s head was lodged tightly inside the tube, and it would be difficult for him to get free.

“How did you do that?” Karen said, her voice full of admiration. “The snake was so fast.”

“I don’t know,” Peter said. “I just…reacted.” It had all happened faster than thought. Now, Peter struggled to push the snake away. So close to him, the smell of the animal was nauseating. Finally he kicked free, and staggered to his feet.

The snake stared up at him with baleful eyes. It shook the tube hard, and banged it repeatedly against the glass, but did not dislodge it. Its furious hiss was magnified, reverberating inside the tube.

“That’s great,” Rick said. “But we better get you out of there.”

Vin Drake gritted his teeth. Mirasol, the receptionist, was beautiful but she was an idiot. The muscular man in the blue uniform standing before him was not a cop but a Coast Guard ensign; and what he wanted was information about ownership of Eric’s Boston Whaler, because the boat yard wanted to move it to another location, and they needed permission of the owner to do that.

“I thought the police were still inspecting the boat,” Vin said irritably. He might as well try to get some information from this numbskull.

“I wouldn’t know about that,” the ensign said. The police hadn’t come to see him, he explained; it was the boat-yard owner.

“I heard they were looking for a phone.”

“Not that I’m aware. I think the police have finished their investigation.”

Drake closed his eyes, gave a long sigh. “Christ.”

“At least,” the ensign said, “as soon as they complete their inspection of his office.”

Drake’s eyes snapped open. “Whose office?”

“Jansen’s office. His office here, in this building. He was vice president of this company, right? I know they went to Jansen’s apartment today, and that they’re coming to look at his office here—” the ensign glanced at his watch—“any minute now, actually. In fact, I’m surprised they haven’t already shown up.”

“Christ,” Vin Drake said.

He turned to Mirasol. “The police are going to be arriving soon,” he said, “and someone needs to show them around.”

“Should I page Ms. Bender?”

“No,” Vin said. “Ms. Bender will be—she will be busy working with me. I have some lab work to ship out. It can’t wait.”

“Who should I call?”

“Get Don Makele, the head of security,” he said. “He can show the officers around. They’ll want to see Mr. Jansen’s office.”

“And wherever else he worked,” the ensign added. He was staring fixedly at the receptionist.

“And wherever else he worked,” Drake repeated. Cars were pulling up in the street outside. He repressed an urge to bolt, and instead calmly shook the ensign’s hand. “You’re welcome to go along with the police,” he said. “And Mirasol, why don’t you accompany the officers, see that they get coffee, whatever.”

“All right, Mr. Drake.”

“I believe I will stay,” the ensign said.

“Then you must excuse me for the moment,” Drake said. He turned and walked down the hallway. The moment he was out of sight, he began to run.

Alyson Bender sat in her office and bit her lip. The monitor on her desk showed the reception area; she could see Drake talking to the uniformed kid, and see Mirasol flirting, fussing with the flower in her hair.

As usual, Drake was impatient, quick, aggressive in his movements. Almost hostile, really. Of course he was under pressure, but seeing the way he moved—no words, just the body language—made it clear how angry he was. He was an angry, angry man.

And he was going to kill all of those kids.

It was only too clear what he intended to do. Peter Jansen had trapped him, and Vin was going to escape the only way possible, by leaving no witnesses. Seven young people, bright students with their lives before them, he didn’t seem to care. It didn’t seem to matter to him.

They were merely in the way.

It frightened her. Her hands trembled even when she pressed them flat against the desk. She was afraid of him, and terrified of the situation she found herself in. She could not confront him directly, of course. He’d kill her if she did.

But she had to stop him from killing those kids. Somehow, she had to do that. She knew what she had done. She knew her involvement in Eric Jansen’s death, knew it only too well. Making those calls to the trigger phone. But to be involved in the murder of seven more people—no, eight, including the Nanigen employee who’d had the bad luck to be in the control room when Drake came in—she wasn’t sure she could do it. It would be homicide on a grand scale. But she might have to do it…to save herself.

On the monitor, Drake was telling the receptionist what to do. The ensign was grinning. Drake would soon leave.

Alyson stood up, and hurried out of her office. She didn’t have much time. He could return to the lab looking for the students at any moment.

In the lab, the students had gotten out of the bag, and they stood on the transparent top of the krait cage, looking down at Peter Jansen. Alyson Bender burst into the room. She bent down and stared at them, her face looming over them. “I-won’t-hurt-you,” she said. Her eyes were wide and frightened. She put out her hand, palm flat, and picked up Jenny Linn very gently, and placed her on her palm. She gestured to the others. “Hurry. I-don’t-know-where-he-is.”

“Ms. Bender! Let me talk with Mr. Drake!” Jarel Kinsky shouted at her, waving his arms.

She didn’t seem to hear or understand.

The others, seeing no other option, climbed onto Alyson’s palm. She lifted them into the air, and the room spun around, the wind blew, knocking them off their feet—she carried them swiftly to a desk, and placed them down on it. Then she went over to the snake cage, opened it, and lifted Peter out, and put him on the desk with the others. She stared at them, seeming not to know what to do with them. Her breathing was ragged and loud.

Karen King said, “We should try to talk to her.”

“I don’t know if it will do any good,” Peter said.

Alyson moved away. They saw her go across the room. She threw open a cabinet, looked inside, took out a small brown paper bag, and hurried back to the desk. “Hide-in-this,” she said, speaking slowly. “You-can-breathe.” She opened the bag and laid it down on the desk with its mouth facing them, and gestured to them to get in. They scrambled into the bag. Last of all was the Nanigen man, who couldn’t seem to accept the reality of their desperate situation. He kept shouting, “Ms. Bender! Ms. Bender, please!”

Alyson folded the top of the bag tightly and hurried out of the room. She carried the bag into her office and placed it gently inside her purse, which sat on the floor by her desk. She snapped the purse shut and pushed it with her toe underneath her desk, and ran back to the animal lab, arriving just as Vin Drake walked in.

“What the hell are you doing?” he said.

“I was looking for you.”

“I told you to stay in your office.” Drake went over to the snake’s cage and saw the empty plastic bag. “They’ve escaped,” he said. He spun around and swore, and turned around again, and lunged at a shelf full of chemicals. With one movement he swept everything to the floor, sending broken glass and liquids splashing. “Where are they?”

“Vin, please, I don’t know—”

“The hell you don’t,” he snarled, and peered into the snake tank, where he saw the snake with its head stuck in the plastic tube, and no sign of Peter. “What the—? That Jansen kid is dead, anyway. Snake got him.” He shot Alyson a violent look. “We’re going to find the rest of them. And I swear to God, Alyson, if you’ve been screwing with me it will be the last thing you ever regret.”

She cringed. “I understand.”

“You’d better.” At that moment, two police officers came down the hallway, visible through the lab windows, led by Don Makele. They were both young, not in uniform, which meant they were detectives. Shit.

Drake straightened up and suddenly composed himself, a shift that happened so quickly it seemed eerie. “Hi there, Don,” Drake said, crossing the room and easing out into the hallway with a warm smile on his face. “Introduce me to our guests. We don’t often have visitors to Nanigen. Officers? I’m Vin Drake, I’m the president of this company. How can I be of service to you?”

The paper bag was scrunched up inside Alyson’s purse, and it was pitch-dark. The students and the Nanigen man sat huddled.

“I can’t tell if she means to help us or not,” Karen King said.

“She’s obviously terrified of Drake,” Peter said.

“Who wouldn’t be?” Amar said.

Rick Hutter sighed. “I told you Drake was a corporate slime. Nobody listened.”

“Shut up, damn you!” Karen yelled at him.

“Hey, please,” Amar said in a very calm voice. “Not now.”

“Sorry,” Karen said. Then she added, “But we’re not dealing with an ordinary slime. We’re dealing with a very sick man.” She fingered her knife. It was useless as a defense; it might not even break Drake’s skin.

There came a banging, thunderous noise, and the bag shook, and light suddenly glowed through the bag. The purse had been opened. Then, with a slamming noise, everything went dark again. They waited, wondering what would come next.

The students, Alyson Bender knew, had to be put back in the generator and restored to full size, and quickly. But she didn’t know how to operate the generator herself. The workday was long over, and almost all the employees had gone home, leaving Nanigen deserted.

She found Drake back in the animal room. He had finished talking with the police officers, and now he was searching the animal room carefully, looking into every corner and cabinet, peering into every cage.

He stared at her, his eyes hard. “Did you let them go?”

“No. I swear, Vin.”

“I’m going to have this lab cleaned tomorrow. The animals put to death, the whole room sterilized with gas, then washed with bleach.”

“That’s…that’s good, Vin.”

“We don’t have any choice.” He touched her arm. “Go home and get some rest. I’m going to stay here for a while.”

She gave him a grateful look. Then she hurried into her office, picked up her purse, and headed outdoors. Mirasol had gone home; the reception area was empty. A fat moon drifted in stars dusting the sky, a beautiful night if only her mind hadn’t been in turmoil. She got into the BMW—it was a corporate car for her use. She put the purse on the seat next to her and sped off.

Vin Drake went into the deserted lobby, keeping himself in the shadows. When he heard Alyson’s car start and go down the street, he ran outdoors to the Bentley and started it. Where were her taillights? He got to the Farrington Highway. Left or right? He swung left: the way to Honolulu, the most likely way she’d go. He pulled out into traffic and accelerated, feeling his body pressed into the seat with a surge of power.

There it was, the red BMW, traveling fast. He dropped back, watching her taillights. Her car turned onto the entry ramp to the H-1 Freeway. The midnight-blue Bentley faded into the night: he was just another set of headlights behind her in the flow of traffic.

He had not been able to find the students. There was only one possibility: Alyson had taken them with her in her car. He couldn’t be completely sure of it, but his instincts told him so.

She might have to go. He certainly couldn’t trust her. That was obvious. The woman had lost her nerve. But it was getting complicated, all these people disappearing. Alyson Bender was Nanigen’s chief financial officer, and if she disappeared now, it would provoke a very thorough investigation.

He didn’t want that. An investigation of Nanigen would, sooner or later, turn up something he had done. It was inevitable. Enough time, enough checking…they would find out.

No, no, he didn’t want an investigation.

He began to realize he had made a terrible mistake. He couldn’t kill her. He couldn’t afford to kill her—at least not right now. He needed her on his side for a little while.

How could he get her on his side?

Alyson followed the freeway around Pearl Harbor, trying not to look at her purse on the seat. Maybe Vin was right. Maybe there was no choice. She exited into downtown Honolulu, not certain where to go. She drove to Waikiki. There, she went slowly along Kalakaua Avenue, caught in traffic. The crowds of tourists were thick, people out for the evening. Then she turned onto Diamond Head Road and circled past the Diamond Head Lighthouse. She would take the paper bag to a beach somewhere on the windward side of Oahu or maybe to the North Shore. She would drop the bag in the surf somewhere…no evidence…no survivors…

Drake stayed back, watching her car. She went past Makapu‘u Point and through Waimanalo, and Kailua. But then she turned and picked up the freeway and headed back toward Honolulu. Where in hell was his CFO going, he wondered.

Having driven around the eastern edge of Oahu and doubled back into Honolulu, Alyson finally found herself following the Manoa Valley Road, winding up into the rain-forested valley among the mountains.

She arrived at the steel gates and the tunnel. The gates were locked. She punched the security code and went through. The tunnel emerged into a velvet dark valley.

The place was deserted, the greenhouses glinting faintly in the moonlight. She opened her purse and took the bag out of it, and got out of the car. She didn’t dare open the bag. They were probably dead by now, crushed or suffocated. But what if they weren’t, what if they started pleading with her? That would be worse than if they were dead. She stood in the parking lot.

Headlights. Coming out of the tunnel.

Somebody had followed her.

She stood there, holding the bag, frozen in terror, caught in the headlights of the corporate Bentley.