"We need information," Brad said, his eyes shining behind his glasses. "And he's going to give it to us. Aren't you, snake-eyes?"
"Stop it!" Juliet yelled. "This isn't the way!"
"What are you talking about, Julie?" Brad asked. "Here's your lab animal. Do you worry about how mice and guinea pigs feel?"
"As a matter of fact, I do," Juliet said coolly. "And I care about what happens to all of us. We can't let personal tragedies make us treat the Visitors as ruthlessly as some of them have treated us."
Father Andrew poked his head in the door then, as Juliet beckoned to him, came into the laboratory.
"That's right, Julie," Ruby said. "Don't let them."
"Easy for you to say, Ruby. You haven't lost anyone to them," Maxwell said bleakly.
"Abraham Bernstein and I were friends for seventeen years, Robert," Ruby snapped. "You're calling his loss nothing?"
Father Andrew stepped forward. "Nothing rational can be decided in this kind of atmosphere. I suggest we all calm down."
"Good thinking, Padre," Elias said.
A small van drifted down the street, lights out, toward the Dupres house, which shone like a beacon, nearly every window aglow. Dozens of parked cars lined both sides of the street, and Donovan, Dan Pascal, Elias, Brad, and Juliet could hear the laughter of the partygoers halfway down the block. Brad, who was driving, looked over his shoulder at the others, who sat huddled amidst a forest of cameras, chemical analyzers, microscopes, paper and ink samples, color wheels—in short, a counterfeiter's paradise.
Dan Pascal, a lanky man who looked permanently tired, peered at Elias, Donovan, and Juliet, who were dressed in black commando outfits. "A cop, a crook, and several commandos all cozy in the same place. The world makes no sense anymore."
Brad grunted as he maneuvered the van over the curb into the leafy concealment of a eucalyptus. "You mean an ex-cop, two crooks, and commandos."
Elias winced. Pascal indicated Brad. "First he busts me, then he recruits me. How did a nice hood like you get mixed up with a bunch like this?"
"War is hell." Donovan grinned sardonically. "You set, Pascal?"
"Yeah."
Elias put a hand on the counterfeiter's shoulder. "Dan, my man, nothin' less than your best this time, or we're dead. D-E-A-D, as in permanently de-ceased."
"Nobody told Picasso how to paint, Taylor," Pascal said. "Get moving."
"Be careful," Juliet whispered.
Elias and Donovan left the van, and the three remaining sat in silence for long minutes. Finally they heard a sound, then Elias reappeared.
"Did you get it?" Julie cried.
"Yeah. Mike knew right where to look. In a third-floor safe. But that house is swarmin' with lizards, so we've got to hurry." Quickly he handed over a rectangular piece of plastic. "Looks like a damn credit card," Elias commented. "And the ceremony's in nine days. The date's on it." Pascal took the card and began working.
"Where's Donovan?" Juliet said nervously.
"He stayed up there, so we wouldn't have to chance throwing the rope up to the third-floor balcony again. He said he gonna lock up the safe again and hide till I come back."
Pascal analyzed the pass under red light, then under a spectroscope. With agonizing slowness he took a minuscule piece (too small for the naked eye to discern) off the magnetic strip and examined it under a high-powered microscope, while the computer decoded the markings on the strip itself. Elias checked his watch, his breath coming in a frustrated hiss. "Picasso, I hate to rush you—"
The counterfeiter turned, pointed a finger at him. No words were necessary. Elias subsided into the corner.
Now it was Juliet who fidgeted. "The bitch would pick tonight to throw her damn party!"
"Yeah." Elias squirmed again, looking at the third floor. "Lotta lizards in there . . ."
"What could she feed them with her human guests at the same table?" Brad asked.
"The human guests," Julie said, eliciting a muffled, nervous laugh.
"Shhh," Pascal said, and they all quieted once more.
The Kaypro purred once, then beeped, and a computation appeared on the screen. "Good," Pascal breathed, bending over a square of plastic. He typed in a command, and, seconds later, inserted the counterfeit card, with its magnetic strip. Then he gave another command, and the word "match" appeared on the screen. "That's it!" he said, handing the original card to Elias, who was quivering like a racehorse in the starting gate.
Elias grabbed the card and vanished into the night.
Donovan, upstairs in Eleanor Dupres' sumptuous bedroom, paced back and forth near the drapes, not getting more than a foot or so from them, in case he had to hide. "C'mon," he muttered. "C'mon!"
He could hear the sounds of the party downstairs, but he forced himself to ignore the murmur of conversation and the high ripples of laughter. His ears strained for any sound of footsteps on the carpeted steps. He'd already obtained his personal prize—a photograph of Sean now resided in his pocket. Eleanor had so many that he didn't think she'd miss this one. He glanced nervously out the balcony window.
Dammit, where are you? He was too tense. Calm down, asshole. You can't lose it in a clutch like this. You used to be better at this . . .
Yeah, he agreed with himself, but there's never been this much riding on me . . . If we screw this up, the whole resistance is apt to go down the tubes . . .
"Hssst—" It was barely audible, but Mike jumped as if he'd been goosed.
Hastily he moved onto the balcony, pulled up the thin rope with the card knotted into it. Waving Elias away, he went back into room.
He'd opened the safe, stashed the card safely away, and was on his way toward the balcony again when the hall door opened and his mother stepped through.
Her mouth opened, but instead of screaming, she moved with a blurring quickness to her jewelry box, pulling out a small .22 automatic. "Stop right there, Michael."
With an almost palpable effort, Donovan kept his eyes fixed on her face, not allowing himself to look at the spot in the rug that hid the floor safe. "Here's a nice portrait for the family album, Mother," he said. "Allow me to compliment you on your gown. And those diamonds. Steven's gifts?"
"What are you doing here?" she snapped.
"I came to ask you if you knew that the Visitors have kidnapped Sean. He's a prisoner aboard the L.A. Mother Ship. Does that mean anything to you anymore?"
He saw her face flicker at the mention of her grandson. "You're lying."
"I wouldn't lie about something like that. Furthermore, if you don't help me get him out—use your influence with Steven and Diana—he's going to end up on their dinner table one day . . . raw, in pieces."
"What?" The gun wavered slightly, then steadied.
"It's true. The Visitors are reptiles, Mother. They want our planet's water, and they want all the living things on it . . . including us. For food."
Eleanor laughed. "Really, Michael, next you'll ask me to believe you have telepathy or something. That's outrageous . . . science fiction!"
"You—" He glared at her "Listen! Whether you believe what I've told you or not, the truth is that your grandson and ten thousand other people are already prisoners aboard your friends' ships! Good God—don't try and tell me that you haven't seen what's been going on around this city, and all over the world!"
"Of course I know." Her hazel eyes were cold, contemptuous. "I'm not a fool—I'm a survivor. Otherwise I never would have gotten out of that Louisiana hick town where I started. Never would have made it through your father's alcoholism . . ."
"Did you ever think about why he drank? Why Arthur's turning into a lush? He's basically a decent guy . . . weak, but so was Dad. You wouldn't marry a man you couldn't run roughshod over, would you?"
She ignored his last remark. "And because I'm a survivor, I know how to take care of myself. And you'd better too. Steven has told me they'd give a lot for your willing cooperation."
"Yeah?" His mouth curled sardonically. "Sorry,
I never cared that much for diamonds."
"Michael!" She looked at him with a trace of appeal on her cold, patrician face. "I know the Visitors aren't saints, But they are power. You and I are in unique positions, don't you see that? Why not take advantage of that?"
"Because I can't survive at the expense of other people. That's not living, that's battening on blood, like a leech. It's not right!" He paused, then continued in a softer tone, "Y'know . . . there was a woman when I was a kid who taught me what was right, and what was wrong. I wonder what the hell ever became of her?"
Eleanor's eyes hardened. "Empty your pockets."
He did, and something fell out, drifted to the floor. "What's that?"
Donovan held it out to her "Just a picture of Sean. Silly, I suppose . . . sentimental."
She gestured with the .22. "What were you doing here tonight?"
Mike shrugged. "I needed money. I thought you might have a few bucks in your purse. I hated to do it this way, but the only time I tried to call, you sicced your lizard buddies on me."
"Put your hands back up!"
He did, eyeing her nervously. The way she held the gun made it clear she knew how to use it, and she'd flicked the safety off. "Look at us, Mother This is crazy!" Slowly, he began to lower his hands.
"Put them back up!"
His hands continued their slow descent. "We said it could never happen here. But it did. One morning we woke up and this country was a fascist state on a planet that's becoming a prison."
Eleanor's chin came up, and her eyes were like bronze. "Those of us who respect law and order are still free. It's the criminals like you who are screaming 'fascist!' "
"No, Mother" He began drifting toward the window by slow inches, barely moving his feet. "You're only as free as the leash they've put you on. You pull too hard, and they'll hang you with it."
He reached the French window and began to move through it. Her voice was like shattering crystal. "Stop. I'll shoot!"
Donovan looked at her his green eyes level. "Kill your only child? Even you're not that corrupt, Mother. Good-bye. I feel sorry for you."
He vanished onto the balcony. Eleanor's finger tightened on the trigger, but she couldn't quite force herself to shoot him. Instead she lowered the gun, shaking with frustration and anger, thinking she had to cover herself in case someone saw him. With quick, decisive fingers, she ripped at the bodice of her gown, tearing it. She dragged her fingers through her perfectly coiffed hair. Then, taking a deep breath, she screamed and fired two shots into the wall.
Chapter 21
Juliet Parrish carefully dropped a large spot of greenish-yellow blood onto a sterile slide. Carefully covering it with a clean top slide, she prepared to fix it in place on the electron microscope platform. She worked doggedly, refusing to give in to her worry. The door to the lab opened; Juliet looked up hopefully, but her face fell when she saw Father Andrew framed in the entrance. "Is he back?"
"Not yet," the priest answered. "Don't worry, Julie. Mike Donovan can take care of himself."
"Elias and Brad wanted to stay and wait for him. I was the one who told them to leave." Juliet bit her lip, fighting tears.
"And quite rightly too. Donovan would strangle you if you'd been stupid enough to risk that counterfeit pass just to wait for him. You did what you had to. You couldn't risk the whole mission."
She rubbed her eyes fiercely. "I can't handle many more of these decisions. They tear me up so I can hardly stand to look at myself in the mirror each morning."
"They get easier."
"I doubt that."
Father Andrew sighed. "In Africa, there was a war going on all around us. A soldier came into the church. I'd hidden a family who had come to me for help. He told me he was looking for suspected guerillas." He shook his head. "Guerillas. An eleven-year-old boy and his twelve-year-old sister and their mother. He found them there where I'd hidden them, and was going to shoot them." He ran a hand through his hair with a gesture of finality "I had to decide if I would let him do that."
"You killed him," Juliet said, her eyes intent. It was not a question.
"Right in my own church. Maybe they were guerillas—it's happened before. But I didn't think so, and I had to act on my own judgment. You did the same thing tonight."
They both turned as the door opened again, to reveal a breathless and grinning Mike Donovan. "Hi, folks! Anyone miss me?"
Juliet rushed over and hugged him, hard. Donovan looked momentarily surprised, then his arms tightened around her. Juliet looked up at him. "I'm sorry, Donovan. We didn't want to leave, but—"
"Hey—hey, kid." He smoothed back her tumbled hair "I'd have kicked your butt if you'd done anything else." Their eyes met for a long second, then Juliet stepped back, laughing a little self-consciously.
"See, Father?" She grinned at Donovan, her blue eyes dancing. "I told you he was too mean to die."
"Just a bad penny, that's me," Mike agreed.
Elias Taylor popped his head in. "Hey, Mike! Your old lady ask you to stay to dinner man?"
Donovan grinned. "She insisted. Such a bore, these social obligations."
They all laughed, except for William the Visitor sitting behind the plexiglass containment of the sterilization chamber. Donovan glanced over at the Visitor. "So that's what our new arrival looks like. He done any talking?"
"A little. I've been taking samples You should see this blood!"
"Yeah?" He followed her to the microscope. Juliet motioned to the priest. "Father can you ask Robert to come in here? He should see this too."
"Sure," he said and left.
Donovan goggled at the greenish-yellow blood sample. "Weird. Of course, I'm sure human blood would look almost as strange to an amateur like me. Elias told me a woman was with him when they picked him up. What happened to her?"
"She's still here. Her name's Harmony Moore, and she ran the concession wagon down at Richland. We couldn't let her leave, now that she knows where we're located."
"Think we can recruit her?"
"She says she's a pacifist, but we may be able to use her in another way. She's been studying nursing in night school."
"What was she doing with him?" Donovan asked.
"I think they were out on a date," Julie said.
"You're kidding!" He glanced at William. "Does she know what they're really like?"
"I don't think so. She—"
"What have we got, Julie?" Robert Maxwell said from the door. His eyes flicked coldly over William.
"A blood sample. Take a look," Julie said, moving aside.
"Hey . . ." Maxwell breathed, forgetting his antagonism in his fascination. "Look at that! A totally different kind of hemoglobin!"
"Yes," Juliet agreed. "But I've found out a few other surprises. His internal arrangement isn't as different as you might think. The X-rays show a heart, lungs, kidneys—all in about the same places as ours. The shapes were a little different, of course."
Maxwell jerked a thumb at William. "He cooperate with all this?"
"Perfectly," Julie said. "He seems to understand what the resistance is all about—why we're fighting back. When I asked him what he'd been told before coming here—" She grinned. "It was funny. He's got some problems with our language. I asked him if he knew that we were intelligent beings before they came to Earth, and he told me, 'No. They told us that you were all brats.' " She chuckled again at Maxwell's uncomprehending expression. "The woman who was with him, Harmy, said, 'Not brats, William. You mean rats.' "
Robert's dour expression did not change. Julie tapped his shoulder "Come on, Bob. William is just what he said he is, a technician. He's not a shock trooper. He didn't kill Kathleen!"
"But he's one of them—that makes him responsible."
"The hell it does," Mike Donovan said roughly. "That's like blaming all the Germans for Dachau, or all the Japanese for Pearl Harbor"
"Or all the Americans for Hiroshima," Juliet said, nodding.
"Remember if it weren't
for Martin, you wouldn't have seen Robin again."
Maxwell sighed. "Maybe you're right. But I still don't like having one of them under the same roof with me."
A week before the raid planned on the Los Angeles Medical Center. Mike Donovan went grocery shopping in a local Safeway. He wore his Visitor uniform, complete with dark glasses, cap, and sidearm. Proclamations spread across the front of the supermarket advertised the fact that the Visitors had upped the individual ration allotment.
He entered the store, hand on the butt of his sidearm, then casually took up the parade-rest stance he'd seen Visitor guards assume. His eyes roved quickly behind the dark glasses, scanning the aisles and shoppers.
Perhaps five minutes had passed when Kristine Walsh, wearing dark glasses, a beat-up sweatshirt, and blue jeans, her hair bundled up in an old red bandanna, entered the store. She glanced quickly around, then headed purposefully for the meat counter.
Donovan caught up to her near the hamburger. "Kris . . ." he said.
She half turned, then recognized him. "You! But I thought Arthur Dupres—"
"Keep your voice down. Look at the meat. Move toward the chickens—the mirrors are angled better there."
He took up his stance beside the butcher's doors, feeling the cold leak onto his neck. Kristine sauntered down the aisle after him, occasionally picking up a tray of meat, examining it, then putting it in her cart. As she approached, he nodded, then, barely moving his lips, said, "That's better. By the way, you used to call me Mike."
"I wondered why your stepfather wanted to talk to me on the q.t. This was a lousy trick to play on me. If they find out I'm talking to you—"
"I wasn't sure you'd come if you knew who it really was."
"I sure as hell wouldn't have! You're at the top of their most-wanted list! They'll kill you on sight!"
"Keep your voice down!"
"What do you want, Mike?"
"They have Sean, my son. I want him back."
"Sean?"
"Yeah, they took the whole damn town of San Pedro."
Kristine was silent for a long moment.
"Maybe they're dead," she said finally.
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