by Robin Cook
Deborah looked over her shoulder, and her face lit up. “A phone!”
The women dashed for the phone. Deborah got it first and put the receiver to her ear. Joanna watched her with great anticipation until Deborah’s expression became one of disgust, and she hit the disconnect button several times in a row. Deborah hung up. “No deal! They’ve turned off the phones.”
“I’m not surprised,” Joanna said.
“Nor am I,” Deborah admitted.
“Let’s look for the truck,” Joanna said.
Leaving the stairway door slightly ajar, the women skirted the animal feed and the hay and walked to the nearest door. Deborah opened it and shined in the flashlight.
“My word!” Deborah exclaimed.
“What is it?” Joanna asked, trying to see over Deborah’s shoulder.
“It’s another laboratory,” Deborah said with amazement. She had not expected a laboratory, and the transition from a barn to super high tech over a single threshold was dizzying. The lab wasn’t nearly as large as the one in the hospital but appeared to be almost equally well equipped.
Deborah let go of the door and stepped into the room. Joanna followed. Deborah moved her light from one piece of equipment to another, seeing such things as DNA sequencers, a scanning electron microscope, and polypeptide synthesizers. It was a molecular biologist’s dream come true.
“Shouldn’t we be looking for the truck?” Joanna asked.
“In a minute,” Deborah said. She walked over to an incubator and looked in at the petri dishes. They were the same as she’d been using that day in the main lab, and she gathered they were doing nuclear transfer here as well. Then her light caught a large plate-glass window dividing a separate room off from the main part of the lab.
Deborah started back toward this room. Joanna followed to avoid being left in the dark.
“Deborah!” Joanna complained. “You’re sidetracking.”
“I know,” Deborah said. “But every time I think I have a general picture of what they are doing at this Wingate Clinic, it turns out they are doing a lot more. I didn’t expect another lab here at this farm, and certainly not one this well equipped.”
“It’s time for professionals,” Joanna pleaded. “We have enough information to justify a search warrant. What we have to do is get ourselves out of here.”
Deborah put the lens of the flashlight directly against the plate-glass divider to avoid the glare while illuminating the room beyond. “And here’s yet another surprise. This looks like a fully operational autopsy room like the ones they use for people but with a very small table. What in heaven’s name is it doing in a barn?”
“Come on!” Joanna urged with growing irritation.
“Just let me check this out,” Deborah said. “It will only take a second. There’s a refrigerated compartment like in a morgue.”
Joanna rolled her eyes in frustration as Deborah pushed through the autopsy room’s door. Joanna watched through the glass partition as Deborah walked over to the compartment and unlatched the door. Except for the light now coming back out through the glass divider from Deborah’s flashlight, Joanna was in the dark. She glanced back at the door out of the lab and briefly entertained the idea of searching for a truck on her own, but she decided it was foolish without the flashlight.
Mumbling expletives, Joanna followed Deborah into the small autopsy room with the intent of demanding that Deborah come to her senses, but that goal was quickly forgotten. Deborah had the tray in the refrigerated compartment pulled out and was transfixed by what was on it. Joanna couldn’t see what it was, but she could tell that Deborah was trembling by the way she held the light.
“What is it?” Joanna asked.
“Come and look!” Deborah said in a quavering voice.
“Maybe you should just tell me,” Joanna said. “Remember, I’m not a biologist like you.”
“You have to see this,” Deborah said. “There’s no way I could describe it.”
Joanna swallowed nervously. She took a breath and walked over beside Deborah and made herself look down.
“Ugh!” Joanna muttered as her upper lip involuntarily pulled back in disgust. She was looking at five newborn infants with bloated umbilical vessels and extremely thick, dark lanugo. The faces were flat and broad and the eyes tiny. The noses were mere stubs with the nares oriented vertically. Their appendages ended in paddlelike extremities with minute digits. Their heads were crowned with a shock of black hair accentuated with minute but definite white forelocks.
“It’s Paul Saunders clones again,” Joanna sneered.
“I’m afraid so,” Deborah said. “But with a new twist. I think what he’s doing down here for his stem-cell research is cloning his own cells into pig oocytes, and then gestating them in pigs.”
Joanna reached out and took ahold of Deborah’s arm. She needed momentary support. Deborah had been right about the Wingate Clinic. This new discovery indicated that Paul Saunders and his team were operating a quantum leap beyond the realm of reasonable or even anticipated ethics. The egotism and intellectual conceit required were simply beyond Joanna’s comprehension.
Deborah slid the tray back into the refrigerated compartment and slammed the door. “Let’s find a damn truck!”
With indignant anger helping to overcome the shock of their recent discovery, the women retraced their steps back into the barn proper. Emerging from the laboratory, their presence again caused a stirring among the animals. Previously it had been mainly the pigs close to the stairway door which had become aroused. Now it was more generalized with even the cows adding to the growing din.
The women went from door to door until they found a passageway leading to what they assumed would be a garage. But it turned out to be something more. With the light from two red exit signs, they could see it was a hangar. Bathed in the ruby glow was an Aerospatial turbojet helicopter.
“There’s our answer, if we could only fly it,” Deborah said. She stood for a moment longingly admiring the craft.
“Come on,” Joanna urged. “I think there’s a garage beyond this building.”
Joanna turned out to be right, and when they went through the next door, they were rewarded to see a tractor and a dump truck. Both women headed for the truck.
“Keys be there!” Deborah prayed out loud as she mounted the truck’s running board and got the door open. She swung herself up into the cab. Frantically her fingers searched for keys while Joanna held the light. Deborah checked along the steering column, then along the dash. She found the ignition key slot but no keys.
“Damn!” Deborah cursed and hit the steering wheel with the heel of her hand. “I suppose we could hotwire this thing if we only knew how.” She glanced down at Joanna.
“Don’t look at me,” Joanna said. “I have no idea, not the slightest!”
“Let’s go back to that office we saw in the barn,” Deborah suggested. “Maybe the keys are there.”
Deborah climbed out of the truck. The women retraced their steps back to the barn, giving the helicopter another longing look as they passed through the hangar.
As they came into the barn proper, the animals became even more agitated.
“They must think it’s meal time,” Deborah commented.
The women reached the door to the office when they heard the unmistakable sound of a vehicle pulling up outside the barn. They’d also caught a glimpse of the headlights briefly coming through the windows of the door as the car turned before coming to a stop.
“Oh no! We’re going to have company!” Deborah rasped.
“Get back to the stairs!” Joanna cried.
The women bolted for the stairs, but they didn’t make it. The barn door was rapidly keyed open and a figure burst within. The first thing he did was snap on the all the lights, catching the women more than twenty feet from their goal. All they could do was duck behind the cartons, hay bales, and feed sacks and hunker down while the man made his rounds among the stalls. They could hear him
carrying on a continuous monologue with the animals, demanding among other things who was the culprit for getting everybody riled up.
“Do you think we should try to get to the stairs?” Deborah asked when it sounded as if the man was at a significant distance.
“Not unless you can see exactly where he is and whether or not he’s adequately preoccupied.”
Slowly Deborah raised herself until she had a view of the area of the stalls. She couldn’t see the man although she could still hear him talking to one of the animals. Then suddenly he stood up, and Deborah ducked back down.
“He’s not as far away as I thought,” Deborah said.
“Then we’d better stay put,” Joanna said.
“We could cover ourselves with some of this loose hay.”
“I think we should just stay still and quiet,” Joanna said. “We should be okay unless he comes over here to get some of these supplies.”
“If he comes over to go in the office, we might be in trouble.”
“We’d just have to inch around the cartons,” Joanna said. “That shouldn’t be so hard, and once he was in there, we’d be able to get to the stairs.”
Deborah nodded, but she wasn’t so confident it would work. It was one of those things that sounded easy but would probably be difficult in reality.
Suddenly the women heard the sound of a second vehicle arriving outside. They exchanged a worried look. One person was enough of a problem, and two could be a disaster in the making.
The newcomer entered and the door banged behind him. The women cringed as they heard him yell out for Greg Lynch.
“Hey, keep it down!” Greg called from one of the stalls. “The animals are restless as it is.”
“Sorry,” the newcomer said. “But we have an emergency underway.”
“Oh?”
“We’re looking for a couple of young women. They got in under aliases, hacked into the computer files, and broke into the egg room. Now they’re somewhere out here on the premises.”
“I haven’t seen anyone,” Greg said. “And the barn’s been locked.”
“What are you doing down here at this time of night?”
“I’ve got a sow who’s nearing term. Through the monitor I heard the animals getting restless; I thought maybe she was about to deliver, but she’s okay.”
“If you see the women when you’re driving back to your place, let security know,” the newcomer said. “They were over in the main building to start with, but we’ve been through it. They walked, but they haven’t been back through the gate, so they’re hiding someplace.”
“Good luck.”
“We’ll get them. We’ve got the whole security team out searching, including all the dogs. And, by the way, the hard-wire phone system is off-line until they’re apprehended. We don’t want them calling out and causing us difficulties.”
“No problem,” Greg said. “I’ve got my cell phone.”
After the men said their good-byes, the women heard the barn door open and then slam shut.
“This is going from bad to worse,” Deborah whispered. “It sounds like they are combing the grounds.”
“I don’t like the idea of dogs after us,” Joanna said.
“You and me both,” Deborah said. “It’s a wonder they haven’t thought of the tunnel.”
“We don’t know that they haven’t.”
“True,” Deborah said. “But I have a feeling this fellow who just left would have mentioned it. Maybe the only way to the sub-basement over in the clinic building is via the freight elevator, and they’d never guess we’d be stupid enough to climb down the ladder.”
“Do we dare go back down there?”
“If they’ve got dogs out looking for us, I don’t think we have a lot of choice.”
Fifteen minutes later the women heard Greg loudly yawn and sigh. Then he spoke out as if he were dealing with a clutch of children: “All right, you guys. Knock it off! I want you all to settle down because I don’t want to have to come back here tonight.”
With that said, Greg began to whistle softly. The women noticed the sound began to get louder, and Deborah hazarded a quick glance.
“He’s heading for the office,” Deborah whispered urgently.
Following Joanna’s earlier suggestion the women crabbed along the floor in an attempt to keep the stack of supplies between themselves and Greg. It was an anxious maneuver as Deborah had anticipated, since they had to do it without looking. The man was heading in their general direction.
Once the sound of the office door closing reached them, Deborah’s head popped up. “Okay,” she whispered when she saw the coast was clear, and the two women beelined for the stairway door.
It wasn’t until Joanna pulled the door closed that Deborah snapped on the flashlight. Wordlessly they descended the stairs. When they reached the bottom Joanna motioned for Deborah to stop. Both were mildly out of breath from tension and exertion.
“We’ve got to decide what we are going to do,” Joanna said, speaking softly.
“I thought we were going to the power station.”
“My vote is to go to Spencer Wingate,” Joanna said. “There were no keys in the truck here at the farm. If there were a truck out at the power station, there’s little guarantee there’d be keys. In fact, common sense would say there wouldn’t be, and each time we poke our heads above ground we take the risk of being caught. I think it’s time to take the chance with Wingate.”
Deborah shifted her weight uneasily and chewed the inside of her cheek as she mulled over Joanna’s suggestion. She hated making decisions that left no alternative available. If Spencer Wingate were in cahoots with the current Wingate Clinic hierarchy, she and Joanna would be sunk. It was as simple as that. Yet their situation had become desperate the moment they’d originally been chased back in the egg room and was now rapidly becoming untenable.
“All right!” Deborah said suddenly. “Let’s throw ourselves at Spencer Wingate’s mercy, for better or for worse.”
“You’re sure? I don’t want to feel as if I’ve talked you into this.”
“I’m not sure of anything other than the fact that I’m still exercising my free will.” Deborah stuck out her hand and Joanna decisively slapped it. “Onward and upward,” Deborah added with a crooked smile.
THE WOMEN RETURNED INTO THE HEATING TUNNELS WITH the unspoken concern that they could run into their pursuers at any moment. But they reached the branch to the living quarters without incident other than noticing that the flashlight beam was noticeably dimmer.
Approximately a hundred yards beyond the fork they encountered another. On this occasion there was no cornerstone to direct them.
“Cripes!” Deborah complained. She shined the failing light into both tunnels. “Have any ideas?”
“I’d say we go left. We know that the village is between the detached housing and the farm, so the village would have to be to the right.”
Deborah looked at Joanna with puzzlement. “You’re impressing me again. Where has this resourcefulness come from?”
“From my traditional Houstonian upbringing that you’ve so shamelessly berated.”
“Yeah, right!” Deborah said scornfully.
After another five minutes of walking the women came to a series of bifurcations all in a row.
“I’d guess each of these tunnels are going to individual houses,” Deborah said.
“That would be my guess as well,” Joanna added.
“Do you have any strong feeling which we try first?”
“I don’t,” Joanna said. “Although it makes some sense to take them in order.”
The first basement the women peered into after opening a simple paneled door clearly wasn’t Spencer’s since it had been renovated to some degree. Both women clearly remembered Spencer’s basement from when they’d accompanied him down to his wine cellar. Backtracking, they took the next tunnel. This one terminated in a crude, rough-hewn oak door.
“This looks more
promising,” Deborah said. She shook the flashlight to encourage the brightness of the beam. She’d had to do it occasionally over the previous few minutes.
She handed the light to Joanna before giving the door a push.
It scraped on its granite threshold. Instead of just pushing, Deborah tried lifting the door first. It then opened with minimal sound. Deborah took the light back, and after giving it a shake, shined the faltering beam into the basement beyond. The dim light revealed the wine cellar door with its lock still hanging unclasped.
“This is it,” Deborah said. “Let’s do it!”
The women navigated the muddy floor to reach the basement steps. Up they climbed with Deborah in the lead. At the top of the stairs they hesitated. A crack of light showed under the door.
“I’m thinking we have to play this by ear,” Deborah whispered.
“We don’t have any choice,” Joanna said. “We don’t know whether he’s even awake. Do you have any idea of the time?”
“Not really,” Deborah said. “I suppose around one.”
“Well, a light is on. I suppose that suggests he’s still awake. Let’s just try not to scare him too much. He might have an alarm that he could push.”
“Good point,” Deborah said.
Deborah listened through the door before turning the door handle slowly, and cracking it open. When there was no untoward response, she slowly pushed it open, revealing progressively more of the kitchen.
“I hear classical music,” Joanna said.
“Me, too,” Deborah said.
The women ventured out into the darkened kitchen. The light they’d seen beneath the cellar door was coming from the chandelier in the dining room. As quietly as they could they moved down the hallway toward the living room and the music. With a view of the foyer directly ahead, they could see that the corps of toy cavalry soldiers Spencer had knocked off the console table the evening before in his drunkenness had been carefully replaced.
Deborah was in the lead with Joanna directly at her heels. Both women were intent on the living room, which opened up to the left off the hall and where they expected Spencer to be. By happenstance Joanna glanced to the right as they passed a dark, intersecting corridor leading to a study. There in the distance was Spencer Wingate, sitting at his desk in a puddle of light from a library lamp. He was facing away from the women, studying blueprints.
