The Blue Zone

CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE

There was only one place Kate could think to go. She caught the Number 5 train at Borough Hall back into Manhattan, rode it all the way to the Bronx. It was a Sunday afternoon. No one would be there. She knew she’d be safe there until she figured out what to do. And she hadn’t taken her insulin shot in two days.

Kate got off at the 180th Street station in the Bronx. She thought she spotted the same Latino guy in a Yankees cap whom she’d noticed at the station in Brooklyn, but she wasn’t sure. On the street she quickened her pace, heading over to Morris Avenue in a blur, weaving through the crowds of Sunday shoppers and families hanging out on their stoops.

Then she saw the three-story redbrick building on the grounds of the medical college, the familiar brass plaque on the door. The riot in her blood began to slow.

PACKER LABS.

She was safe here. At least for a while.

Kate twisted the key in the outside lock and punched in the alarm code. She thrust open the door and shut it solidly behind her. She pressed her back against the wall.

She hadn’t been taking care of herself, and she could feel it. On the train she had taken her bloods: 435. Jesus, Kate, you’re off the charts. Any higher and she could go into a coma. She blinked against the daze to stay alert. Before she made any decisions, she had to stabilize herself.

And then make the biggest decision of her life.

Kate rummaged inside the medical-storage closet until she located a box of syringes. They used them now and then to inject fluid into cells.

She always kept a spare bottle of Humulin in the fridge. Just for emergencies. Kate opened the fridge, kneeling, and searched around. There were trays of solution vials and marked clear tubes on every shelf. C’mon, c’mon. She fumbled anxiously through the shelves.

Goddamn it! She sank to the floor in frustration. It wasn’t there. Maybe while she was away, someone had cleaned the thing out.

Okay, Kate, what are you going to do? Tomorrow the lab would be open. People would be here. She couldn’t exactly go on with her normal routine. Her heart felt twice its normal size. She knew it was her glucose levels. She could go to the medical center-it was only a few blocks away. But she had to call someone.

Cavetti. Aunt Abbie…There was no way she could handle this thing herself anymore. She thought of Emily and Justin.

Suddenly a spasm of dread sliced through the haze.

Does he know where they are?

Oh, God, he might. Where else would they be? A panicky thought suddenly gripped her.

If her father had done what he had to Mom, why couldn’t he hurt them?

She remembered what he said: “You’re not the only way…”

She ran over to the counter and fumbled through her bag. She found her cell phone and scrolled awkwardly through her speed-dial list. What had he told her? Anywhere, anytime. Who the hell else did she have to turn to now?

She found Cavetti’s name and anxiously pressed the button, holding it the whole time it connected. Who knew where he would be? Kate didn’t even know where he lived.

It took three rings, but he answered. “Cavetti.” Thank God!

“It’s Kate!” she shouted, exhaling in relief at the sound of his voice.

“Kate.” He heard her agitation instantly. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve seen my dad. I know what he’s done. But listen, it’s a lot deeper than that. I know about Mercado. I’ve seen him, too. And I think my father is trying to find me. He thinks I know where he is.”

“Where who is, Kate?” he asked.

“Mercado!” She was barely keeping it together now.

“Okay,” he said. He asked where she was calling from. Kate told him, and that she was safe. He said to stay where she was. Not to go out. For anything. He was in New Jersey. He was going to call Booth and Ruiz from the FBI.

“Don’t open the door for anyone until one of us gets there, you understand? Not your father. Your husband. No one. Do you understand?”

“Yes. But there’s something else.”

She told him about Justin and Emily and what her father had implied. He had other ways… “I’m afraid he’s going to go there, Cavetti. He might be on his way there now.”

“I’ll take care of it. But like I said, Kate, not for anybody, except the FBI. You understand?”

“Yes,” she shouted. “I understand!”

After Cavetti clicked off, Kate found the number for Aunt Abbie’s. She quickly dialed, and, to her dismay, the voice recording came on. “We’re not at home…”

Then she tried Em’s cell phone. No answer as well. Kate was getting scared. She left a frantic message. “Em, I need you and Justin to get somewhere safe. Not in the house. A neighbor’s, a friend’s. And quick. And whatever you do, please don’t go near Dad. Don’t even talk to him if he calls. I’ll explain when you reach me. You’ve got to trust me on this. The police are on the way.”

She sat there on the floor. She kept redialing Aunt Abbie’s number with the same result. What if he’d already gotten there? What if he had them? There was nothing she could do but wait.

At the bottom of her bag, Kate once again came across the gun Cavetti had given her. She held it in her hand. It was almost like a toy. Could she use it if she had to? Against her father? She closed her eyes.

Suddenly she heard the outside door buzzer. Thank God-they’re here.

Kate leaped up, put the gun on top of the counter, and ran down the hallway toward the front door.

“Who is it? Who’s there?”

“Agent Booth,” a voice replied from outside. “FBI.”

There was a video monitor to the front entrance behind the reception desk, and Kate went behind and checked. She saw Booth on the black-and-white screen, his familiar balding head, and another man behind him in a baseball cap, holding up his badge.

She ran over to the door and punched in the code. The green light flashed on. Suddenly her cell phone started to ring. Em! Kate twisted the inside bolt and flung open the door into the face of the FBI agent.

“Thank God-”

Booth’s eyes were strangely blank, lifeless. Then, to Kate’s horror, the agent just sank to the floor, two red blotches on his chest. There was another body behind him.

The man who’d been propping Booth up tossed aside his badge and ID.

“Put down that phone, pumpkin.”