“I’d like to be a doctor, but I never had the brains. Don’t know what it’s like back where you come from, honey, but over here doctors make a fortune. You’ll never meet a poor one. You hungry?”
“Starving,” Em told her.
By the time Donna brought eggs, then the recommended flapjacks, Em decided he knew her well enough to ask, “Do you know anything about the Bederbeck Foundation?”
“Know it’s over thataway,” Donna said, jerking her head in an indeterminate direction. “You figuring on paying them a call?”
Em smiled. “Not today.”
“Glad to hear it. Those boys are so secretive they got machine-gun posts.”
Em’s eyes widened as he stared up at her. “Seriously?”
“Heck, no! But they like to keep themselves to themselves, and they do have a load of security. Wander too close to the facility and their musclemen turn up out of nowhere to escort you back the way you came. What’s your interest in Bederbeck?”
Em shrugged casually. “I was only wondering if you knew what they did there.”
“Sure do, honey. Is this a test or what?”
He hesitated, then said, “I think I passed a sign on the way in. I was just curious.” What the hell, he’d probably be telling a lot more lies before he finished what he had to do.
Donna laughed. “You and a lot of other people. Whole place is supposed to be a big secret, but you can’t keep nothing to yourself in a place the size of Nogales. They’re doing research into plants out at the facility; that’s what it’s all about: food crops you can grow in dry conditions, like the real bad parts of the Sonoran. Won’t talk about it because that sort of thing could be big money now that the world’s getting hotter and all.”
It was as good a cover story as any, Em thought.
He was waiting outside the motel reception at three o’clock when a battered red off-roader truck pulled up beside him and the driver leaned across to open the passenger door. It took Em a moment to realize he was looking at Victor, who’d shaved off his beard. The scar wasn’t as pronounced as Em had imagined it would be, but it was pronounced enough. It gave Victor a vaguely sinister look but made him look younger and, in an odd way, more sophisticated. Would never have mistaken him for James Bond though. He was wearing jeans, brown riding boots, and a Stetson—none of them new. “Throw your case in the back and climb in,” Victor said.
Em did as he was told. “Where are we going?” he asked as he slid into the passenger seat.
“Good afternoon, Victor,” Victor said. “Nice to see you again, Victor. Thank you for making all the arrangements to get me here, Victor.”
“I thought your name was Harlan.”
“Touché!” Victor said.
They drove south, then east, away from Nogales, then went off-road into the desert. “Couple of Border Patrol officers were shot out here the other week,” Victor remarked casually.
Em blinked and scanned the shrub and rocks around them. “Shot dead?” He knew nothing about this part of the United States, but already it was sounding like the Wild West.
Victor shook his head. “One in the leg, one in the hand. So I’m told.”
“Then why are we coming out here?” Em demanded. He would have thought they had enough problems hiding from the Knights of Themis without heading into bandit territory.
“Because two Border Patrol officers were shot here the other week,” Victor told him, face blank. “I wanted to find a base for us somewhere we aren’t likely to be disturbed.”
The old truck creaked, rattled, and bucked in protest at the rough terrain but held together until Victor somehow found a narrow dirt road heading deeper still into the desert.
“What are we going to do,” Em asked, “camp out?”
“All mod cons, actually,” Victor said. “I rented a log cabin. As Harlan Benson.” He jerked the wheel to avoid a pothole. “That’s Doctor Harlan Benson, by the way, in case anybody asks.”
“So I gathered,” Em murmured.
Victor threw him a quick look. “Gathered where?”
“Waitress at the motel.”
Victor gave a small smile. “Donna?”
“That’s right. You talked to her, told her to look out for me.”
“One of our best agents,” Victor said. He swung the truck sharply right onto a side road that was little better than a track.
The heat in the van had been lulling Em into a torpor despite the conversation and the bumpy road. Now he sat up with a jerk. “She’s with Section 7?”
“She’ll deny it, and you’ll never prove it,” Victor told him. He slowed the truck and let it roll to a halt on the top of a ridge. “Take a look to your right.”
Em turned. His surroundings fell away into a wasteland of shrub and cactus. “What am I looking for?”
“The fence,” Victor said. He waited a beat. “Got it?”
The fence—now Em saw it—ran along the far edge of a dip, then vanished over a rise. It looked about six feet high, composed of thick metal mesh staked by concrete posts, with a capping of razor wire to discourage climbers. He nodded. “Got it.”
“That marks the edge of Bederbeck property. The foundation bought up a huge swath of badlands to surround its facility.”
Em let his eyes drift along the visible length of the fence. No machine-gun posts, no guards; not even a sign saying BEWARE OF THE DOG. He reckoned that with thick gloves and a bit of care, he could have climbed over.
“It’s electrified,” Victor told him as if reading his thoughts. “Won’t kill you, just enough of a jolt to discourage intruders.” He turned the key in the ignition and the truck’s engine roared to life again. “But I’ll tell you something: if we tried to get over it, or even if we stay parked here for too long, we’ll have a couple of armed security goons from the foundation strolling over to ask what we’re doing.”
“How’d they know we were here?”
“Security cameras. They’re hidden along the fence every hundred yards, and the fence runs for miles.” Victor leaned toward him. “Not to mention . . .” He pointed through the window. “. . . See there, top of the next ridge?” Em followed the finger and was rewarded by a flare of sunlight on glass, although nothing else was visible. “We’ve been under surveillance since we pulled up,” Victor said. He withdrew to push the lever into drive, and the truck bumped into motion again.
As they drove off, Em discovered he was feeling uneasy. But the odd thing was, it had nothing to do with the watchers on the ridge.
Chapter 39
The log cabin proved as fake as Em’s travel documents. It looked like the real McCoy as they approached on a track that might have been made by goats, but failed close inspection by the time they drew up at the pocket-sized veranda. Em could see that the “logs” were actually just facings on a prefabricated wall, and the windows were plastic, painted brown and then grained to look like wood. The whole thing might have been a gigantic trailer disguised as a traditional dwelling. The inside was spacious and newly furnished. Em felt the air conditioning at once. He also noticed the stereo sound system and a well-stocked bar at one end of the living area.
“It’s owned by a writer,” Victor explained. “Comes here every two years to churn out his latest blockbuster. In between times he takes himself off to Bermuda and rents the place to anybody who wants to get away from it all. The Section arranged a calendar month, which should be more than long enough for what we have to do.” He gave a slow grin. “One of the rooms has a water bed—you ever try one?”
Em shook his head, but his mind wasn’t on the sleeping arrangements. He was still feeling uneasy, and now he realized why. It was just a small thing, really, something that had happened back in England when they were in the first safe house and Victor wouldn’t let Em make a phone call in case the Knights traced him through his voiceprint. It had sounded reasonable enough at the time, if maybe just the tiniest bit science-fictiony, but then it had turned out later that Victor had a secure ce
ll phone that couldn’t be traced. Why hadn’t he let Em use that right away? There was probably a very good reason. It was just that Em couldn’t think of one and it niggled.
He wondered if he should ask Victor outright, thought it over, then decided against it. Was such a small thing worth worrying about? Especially since it was old history. Best to get on with the job at hand? “Okay,” he told Victor brightly, “I call the water bed.”
The water bed proved a bad choice. It felt cold despite the under-blanket, the motion made Em seasick, and he was constantly plagued by the thought of falling through and drowning. When he reemerged from the room, Victor was counting his yarrow stalks with his copy of the I Ching on the table beside him.
“What are you asking?”
Victor glanced up, but his hands continued to split and count the bundle. “Getting your father’s proof isn’t going to be as easy as I thought.”
He was asking the I Ching about getting the proof? Sometimes Em thought Victor might be a bit unhinged. Aloud he asked, “Why not?”
“I thought it would just be a question of driving into the desert to the right coordinates, figuring out what he meant by the ‘blind man’s toe,’ and maybe doing a bit of digging—my thought is that he most likely buried the documents. Biggest problem would be to make sure we weren’t followed, hence taking this place and dropping out of sight for a few days.”
Em nodded. “That’s more or less what I thought too. So what’s the problem?”
Victor released an explosive sigh. “The problem, my boy, is that I’ve just checked the area on a large-scale map. The coordinates your father gave are inside the Bederbeck fence.”
“Oh,” Em said.
“This isn’t going to be like walking into the university to get the camera,” Victor told him unnecessarily. “The guards are authorized to use lethal force.”
“You mean they could shoot us?”
“This is Arizona, Em. Gold rush tradition.”
“Shoot us just for trespassing? Suppose we’re hikers who got lost or something and just wandered, like accidentally, onto their property?”
“We’d have to just wander over a ten-foot-high electrified fence with razor wire, but yes.” Victor looked at him seriously. “The foundation has a lot of political clout around here, biggest employer for a hundred miles, contacts in high places. . . . They want to preserve their privacy. Couple of years ago they opened fire on a group of protesters who tried to break their perimeter security. Nobody killed, but they hospitalized two students and left one woman permanently disabled in a wheelchair. Judge said the foundation was within its rights to protect its own property. There was some fuss in the national press, but it soon died down. The local press didn’t even report the story.”
“Wow!” Em said.
“Wow, indeed,” Victor remarked tiredly. “While you were taking your little snooze, I’ve been trying to figure out what to do. First thing, obviously, is that I go this alone. It’s far too dangerous to consider taking you along.”
“I wasn’t taking a little . . .” Em began, then let it drop. He had more important things to worry about. “No,” he said firmly.
“No, what?”
“No, you’re not leaving me behind.” Since he couldn’t think of a single, sensible reason why not, he explained, “I’m not Charlotte, Victor. The message about the documents was for me.” Which clearly wasn’t going to carry much weight with Victor; but since there was no way, no way, he was going to miss out on finding the documents now that he’d come this far, he put his mind into racing gear and added, “I know what Dad meant by ‘the blind man.’” It was a lie, but Victor wasn’t going to know that, so he compounded it quickly: “It was a thing we had between us, a sort of a joke.”
Victor stared at him. “Meaning what?”
“Oh no,” Em said. “I’m not going to tell you that. Once you know, you’ll leave me behind. Let’s just say that when we get to the right place, I’ll identify exactly where to look and tell you then. I’m going with you, Victor. You can’t stop me.”
“Listen, Em,” Victor said soberly. “I don’t think you appreciate how dangerous this mission is.”
“You just told me how dangerous it is. I’m still coming.”
Victor looked at him thoughtfully. “I’m not sure I believe you about ‘the blind man.’”
Em shrugged. “Suit yourself. But are you willing to take the chance?”
Apparently Victor wasn’t, because he said with an air of finality, “Okay, you come along. But only if you promise—swear—you’ll do what I tell you. Stick close to me at all times. And if I tell you to get out of there, you get out of there.”
“Okay,” Em agreed. “So what’s the plan?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out. Finding the documents at night might be a lot trickier, but I don’t see that we have any alternative. If we go in daylight, we’ll be spotted by the cameras once we approach the fence. Even at night we’ll have serious problems.”
Em pulled up a chair and sat down at the table. “Why?”
“The cameras all have an infrared function.”
Frowning, Em said, “If they have infrared cameras, we might as well go in daytime. We’ll be spotted either way.”
“I’m toying with the possibility of trying to take out some of the cameras. But how long will it take their security people to respond once a camera goes down? Or how, come to that? Do they assume it’s a technical fault and send out a repair team? And they may send out an armed response unit just to be on the safe side. You see the problem?”
Em did. “Can’t you fool infrared?” he asked.
“Infrared cameras detect heat radiation. From our bodies, in this case. Basically you can fool them in one of two ways. The simplest way is to mask the radiation from our bodies by setting a fire. The cameras can’t separate out our body heat from the background of the much greater heat from the blaze. So long as you stay close to the fire, they can’t see you. The high-tech way is to use a reflective suit that traps your body heat completely, makes you invisible to an infrared camera. Unfortunately, you can’t wear a reflective suit very long, otherwise the buildup of heat inside will fry you. The more active you are, the less time you’ve got.”
“Active like climbing the fence?”
“Actually,” Victor said, “I wasn’t thinking of climbing the fence. Apart from the razor wire, triggering the electrical circuit will almost certainly let them know something is trying to climb over. I was thinking of digging our way under. The question is, can we dig under before the suits fry us?”
There was no answer to that, but Em thought about it for a moment anyway. “What about your other option: setting a fire? We wouldn’t need the suits then.”
A pained expression crossed Victor’s features. “There are problems with that one as well. First of all, we have to start a fire without being seen by the cameras. Also, it’s very dry in the desert at this time of year, so there’s no guarantee a fire wouldn’t get out of hand. Tell you the truth, I’d more or less ruled out the fire option.”
“So we use the suits?”
Victor nodded. “I think so. We’ll just have to move fast and hope we get lucky with the digging. At least getting out again should be easier once we’ve got hold of the documents.” He flicked open the I Ching book.
“What were you asking the oracle?” Em inquired for the second time.
“Whether the omens were favorable for a successful mission,” Victor muttered soberly. He turned several pages, then stopped.
Em felt a totally irrational surge of excitement. “What’s it say?” He looked at Victor’s expression and felt the excitement slide sideways into a sudden fog of fear. Something was wrong.
“Hexagram 29,” Victor said slowly. “‘The Abysmal.’” He looked up at Em. “Repeated!”
“That’s bad?” Em asked. Of course it was bad. When was something abysmal anything other than bad?
“That’s dan
gerous,” Victor said. “But we knew that before I asked. What really worries me is the moving line.”
“Moving line?” Em echoed.
“Six at the top,” Victor told him. He picked up the book and read aloud, “‘Bound with cords and ropes, shut in between thorn-hedged prison walls: for three years one does not find the way. Misfortune.’”
A lot of the I Ching was obscure to Em, but not this reading. This reading was as clear as day. The oracle thought they were going to be caught and jailed for three years. “What are we going to do now?” he asked.
“Risk it,” Victor said. “We have to get those documents. Let’s just hope the I Ching’s got it wrong.”
Chapter 40
The infrared suits looked like silver body stockings with hoods and full-face masks that came with silvered fine-mesh grilles, allowing them to breathe and see. Em and Victor tried them on in the cabin with the curtains drawn.
“You look like something that just stepped out of a flying saucer,” Victor remarked.
Em peered at him through his fine-mesh visor. “So do you.” He could see quite clearly, but already the suit had begun to feel warm. Given that his only exertion had been putting it on and the cabin’s air-conditioning kept the surrounding temperature to a comfortable level despite the outside heat, he wondered how long it would take before his body began to feel the real effects.
Victor obviously had much the same thought, for he said, “Try jogging on the spot. I want to see how far we can get with these things.” Without waiting for a response he began to jog himself. Em followed suit, a little more briskly. It took less than a minute before he found himself slick with a sweat that dripped to sting his eyes and leave his vision as impaired as if he’d begun to swim underwater.
Victor stopped jogging and pulled back his headpiece, gasping. His face was sweating as profusely as Em’s and had turned a beet red. “Wow!” he said. “I thought we might have a bit more leeway than that!” He stared at Em, who was still jogging. “How close are you to cooked?”
The Secret Prophecy Page 19
