All the Rage rj-4

by F. Paul Wilson

  Doug—

  I was here. Where was you?

  Call me as soon as you get in.

  Love.

  N.

  Nadia hurried to Doug's office, stuck the note to his monitor screen, then dashed back to the hall. As she closed the door and locked the bolt, she was plagued by the strange sensation that she'd missed something in there, something important.

  MEMORIAL DAY

  1

  Nadia snatched up the phone on the first ring. "Doug?"

  A heartbeat or two of silence on the other end. A throat cleared and then a familiar voice came over the wire, but not Doug's.

  "This is Dr. Monnet."

  "Oh. Dr. Monnet… good morning."

  Nadia leaned back on her mother's old sofa, straining to hide the crushing disappointment. She'd been trying Doug's number for hours—before she'd left for the clinic, and while she'd been at the clinic—but yesterday's busy signals had been replaced by a robotic voice telling her that the line was out of service.

  "Good morning," he said. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."

  "Not at all. I just got back from the clinic."

  I just wish you were someone else.

  "Such devotion."

  "Well, as we both know, diabetes doesn't recognize national holidays."

  "How true." He cleared his throat. "I was wondering if you were going to be in the lab today."

  "I hadn't planned on it."

  Actually she had, but only to remove the Berzerk from the imager's sample chamber. After that she might never go back, at least not until she had a good explanation as to why the inert form of a street drug matched the inert form of a molecule she'd been assigned to stabilize.

  And then an alarming thought struck her. "Are you there now?"

  "Yes. I stopped by. I thought if you were here we might discuss your progress."

  Her heart fluttered in panic. She'd never dreamed Dr. Moanet would be there on Memorial Day. Should she run over? No. She couldn't go. Not until she contacted Doug and was sure he was all right.

  "I… I have other plans."

  "Oh. I see. Excuse me but did you…?" His voice seemed to falter. "Did you say, 'Doug,' when you picked up?"

  Yes… Doug. A pang of longing seized her. Where are you?

  And now, after giving Dr. Monnet a lengthy cock-and-bull story Saturday about how they were just acquaintances, how was she going to explain this?

  "Yes. He, um, asked me out to dinner last night and never showed up. And now his phone is out of service. I'm worried."

  "Because he's an old friend."

  Nadia wasn't sure if that was a statement or a question. Either way, Dr. Monnet's voice was rich with concern.

  "Yes," she said. "I'm going over there to check on him personally."

  "Do you really think that's wise?"

  An odd question. "What do you mean?"

  "I'll meet you there."

  "No. That's not at all necessary. Besides, he's all the way over in DUMBO."

  "DUMBO?"

  "Yes. It's in Brooklyn—Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass."

  "That doesn't matter. Douglas Gleason is a valued employee. I insist. Give me his address."

  Nadia didn't know what else to do. She gave him the address and he said he would meet her there.

  This strange turn baffled Nadia, but at least Dr. Monnet would be leaving the lab. He hadn't mentioned the Berzerk in the imager, which meant he hadn't looked. Sometime today she had to get back there and clean up.

  But Doug came first…Her worry for him blotted out all other concerns.

  2

  Luc stood outside the brick-faced apartment building on Water Street, one of many along the block. He looked up at the blue underbelly of the Manhattan Bridge; he could hear the traffic rumbling across. An odd place to hve, but he supposed one had to live somewhere. Perhaps the view of the city at night made it worthwhile.

  He'd already been up to Gleason's apartment. He'd knocked and tried the door, but it was locked. Too bad. He was hardly eager to see Gleason's corpse, but if he'd been able to get in, he at least could have found the body himself, sparing Nadia the trauma.

  Luc had told Prather he wanted Gleason handled differently this time. Macintosh had simply disappeared—bought a round-trip ticket to Chicago and never came back. He'd had no close friends, and when his family came looking, no one had any useful information, least of all his puzzled and concerned employers.

  Gleason, on the other hand, was anything but a loner. And having a second GEM employee simply vanish—especially one with friends on the sales force, connections to dozens of doctors and their staffs, and a longtime relationship with Nadia—would make too many waves. It might even raise an official eyebrow, prompting an investigation into the whereabouts of both men. The last thing Luc wanted.

  So Prather had been instructed to make Gleason's death look like a botched robbery. Very tragic and very final. And to cover all bases, Luc had requested a little vandalism as well—specifically, the theft of Gleason's company laptop and the destruction of his home computer if he had one.

  That was why he'd insisted on meeting Nadia here—to help minimize the trauma of her finding an old friend dead. Even so, she wasn't going to be much use as a researcher for the next few days.

  And every single day counted, damn it!

  Luc paced the sidewalk. He wanted to see Nadia face-to-face. He'd experienced a moment of panic this morning when he'd checked the office and learned that she hadn't signed in. Was it because of the holiday or fatigue, or something else? He needed to look into her eyes. He'd know in an instant if she suspected him of being connected to Berzerk.

  A cab pulled into the curb and Nadia alighted. Her face was drawn, pale. She looked worried.

  "Good morning," Luc said.

  She nodded. "I hope it is," she said. "You really didn't have to—"

  "Let's not discuss that anymore," he told her. "I am here. What floor is Douglas on?"

  "Top floor—the tenth."

  At that moment she looked squarely at him and he saw no sign of fear or distrust, only concern—not for or about him but for her missing friend.

  Deep concern. Warning prickles raced along his scalp and gathered at the back of his neck. Too deep perhaps for someone she'd described as "just a friend of the family"?

  "How will we get into his apartment?"

  "I have a key," she said, moving ahead of him.

  As Luc followed her to the elevator, a lump in his gut told him that there had to be more to this relationship than Nadia had let on.

  At Gleason's door he hid his unease and waited as Nadia knocked and called. Finally, when she inserted her key in the lock, he acted.

  "Allow me," he said, gripping the doorknob as the bolt snapped back. "Just in case."

  "In case of what?" she said, blanching.

  "Something may not be right here."

  He pushed the door open and went in first, Nadia right behind him. A few steps took him down the short entry hall until he could see the overturned furniture in the living room. He turned quickly and gripped her upper arms to keep her from coming any farther.

  "Wait. Don't go in there. Something's happened."

  "What?" Her eyes went wide and wild as she tore loose and fought past him. "What do you mean?"

  Luc followed and almost plowed into her as she skidded to a stop on the living room threshold. The couch lay tipped over onto its back, a coffee table was flush against the opposite wall, and a floor lamp lay on the floor.

  "Ohmigod!" she cried, hands to her mouth. "Ohmigod!"

  Her shoulder bag tumbled to the floor as she darted off in another direction, moving deeper into the apartment, Luc at her heels. No stopping her. As she turned left into what looked like a bedroom, Luc wheeled right and found a room that looked like an office. As he heard doors slamming in the other room and then in the hallway, he noted briefly with satisfaction that the desktop computer's mini tower had been ripped apart,
its contents strewn about the room. The hard drive lay bent and cracked open, damaged beyond repair.

  As he turned to go, Nadia appeared and they almost collided. She must have found Gleason because she looked as if she were about to faint. He gripped her arm to support her.

  "He's not here!" she gasped, panting as if she'd run a marathon. "I checked his bedroom and the kitchen and the bathroom and the closets but he's not here!"

  Not here? He had to be here!

  "Ohmigod!" she cried, lurching past Luc. "Look what they did to his computer! It wasn't like this last night! Jesus God, where is he? What happened here?"

  That was what Luc wanted to know. Gleason was supposed to die here, not somewhere else. Or—his heart seized for an instant as a thought struck with the weight of a sledge—had Prather's men missed him?

  Luc guided Nadia to a chair and helped her as she sagged into it. "It looks like just a robbery and maybe some vandalism."

  "I don't see his laptop," she said, looking around. "And his living room rug is gone. Does that make any sense?"

  It did if Prather's men needed a way to remove Gleason's body. But they were not supposed to remove it.

  "No, it doesn't," he told her. "But you didn't see any blood, did you?"

  He wanted her to say, Yes, oceans of it, but she shook her head.

  He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "There. He's probably away for the weekend with—"

  "He's not!" she said. Tears were sliding down her cheeks. "He would have told me!"

  "Come now," Luc said. "Surely he has other friends. He probably—"

  "We're engaged, damn it!"

  Luc felt his knees go soft. Now he too needed to sit. "Engaged? But… but I thought…"

  "Doug wanted to keep it secret. He had some idea that management might not approve of a close relationship between a sales rep and a researcher."

  Gleason had been right, of course. Luc tried to frame a reply, but the only words that formed in his reeling brain were, What have we done? What have we done ... ?

  With her fiance missing she'll be utterly useless in the lab—and not just for a couple of days.

  That's it, then, he thought. Over. Done. Fin.

  "I've got to call the police!"

  Before Luc could stop her, she had the phone receiver to her ear—but only for an instant. She pulled it away and looked at it. "That's right. I forgot. Out of service."

  She slammed it down and hurried from the room. Luc struggled to think of some way to stop her, some words that would convince her to hold off calling the police, but his mind was a blank. What could he say? Gleason was missing and his apartment showed unmistakable signs of foul play.

  Nadia and the police… a potentially lethal combination. To determine who had broken in, she would have to ask why ... and why they had stolen one computer and smashed another. Luc had to assume that Gleason had told her about his invasion of the GEM computer system. Would she make a connection? Nadia was too bright not to. And she would tell the police. And if she had any suspicions that Loki was a street drug, Luc sensed she would bring up those as well. And then the New York City Police and the DEA and the FBI would be dissecting GEM, and issuing warrants, and ending life as he knew it.

  When Nadia returned seconds later, pulling a cell phone from her bag, he was tempted to snatch it away—but then what? Strangle her? He thought of putting his hands around her throat and squeezing… watching her face mottle into blue.

  No, he couldn't. And besides, a third missing GEM employee would guarantee an investigation. Nadia was as much a danger to him alive as dead.

  His gut crawled as he watched her punch in 9-1-1. She paced back and forth as she waited for an answer, then wandered out of the room as she began talking to the operator or dispatcher or whoever handled those calls.

  This tore it then. It was all over. He'd have to leave the country immediately. But what about his wine? He needed another two days to pack up the rest and ship it out—just one day if he worked all night…

  But what was the use? In France he could hide from Dragovic but not from the U.S. and French governments. He would be found, extradited, and Dragovic's contacts in prison would see to it that he never reached a courtroom.

  There had to be a way to stop her. But how?

  His nervous, restless, roving gaze came to rest on Nadia's shoulder bag and a plan crystallized. It was beautiful, perfect.

  Quickly Luc reached into the bag and rummaged around. He felt a sweat break at the thought of Nadia wandering back and finding him up to his elbows in her personal belongings. He heard a jangle, reached for it, came up with her key ring, and shoved it into his jacket pocket a second before Nadia stepped back into the room.

  "They're sending someone over."

  She dropped the phone into her bag and stood there. For a moment she seemed lost; then her features twisted. She covered her face with her hands and began to sob.

  "Where is he? Something's happened to him. I just know something terrible's happened!"

  Moved by her anguish, Luc rose and put an arm around her shoulders. For a moment he regretted everything, then reminded himself that if Gleason had minded his own damn business, if he'd just kept his nose out of places it did not belong, Luc wouldn't be comforting this young woman while he planned her ruin.

  "It'll be all right, Nadia. I know it will be all right."

  And he meant that. Every word of it.

  But for him, not her.

  3

  "This is too much!" Sal was saying. "Just too freakin' much!"

  Jack had to smile as he watched the destruction of last night's party play out on the thirteen-inch screen. It was too much.

  Holiday quiet outside the office. Except for the guard dogs padding around behind the fences, he and Sal had the junkyard to themselves.

  "Now here comes the best part," Sal said, pointing at the screen. "I musta watched this a hundred times."

  Jack watched Dragovic shove a pretty young woman out from under a table, then watched that table collapse under the impact of a tottering overweight party guest. Jack laughed. Beautiful.

  Sal was almost falling out of his seat. "Can you imagine when that hits the airwaves? "This guy ain't gonna be able to show his face in Burger King, let alone Studio 54!"

  Jack started to tell him that Studio 54 was passe now but let it go. He knew what Sal meant, and he was right on the money.

  "A fate worse than death," Jack said.

  Sal hit the stop button and turned to Jack. "I don't know about a fate worse than death. Not that all this ain't good an' all, but good as it is—"

  "Yeah, I know… Somehow it's not enough."

  Sal smiled. "Yeah. Am I a broken record or what. But it's just… not. If you know what I'm sayin'."

  "I do. But this has only been phase one. These first two hits are what you might call 'baking the cake.' In phase two we ice it."

  "And when's phase two?"

  "Tonight. This whole gig ends at tonight's party."

  Jack was glad of that. After tonight, no more hard guys hanging around outside Gia's. He hoped.

  "Tonight? Ain't no party tonight—least not according to my contact."

  "Yeah, there is. Got it straight from Dragovic. Special party tonight, but your caterer friend won't be hired for this one."

  "Well, we did tires and crankcase gunk," Sal said. "What next?"

  "Something very special. You just make sure you and your camera are on that dune tonight. Be ready to shoot as soon as it's good and dark. This one will be the best yet."

  "Yeah?" Sal wiggled his eyebrows. "Whatcha plannin'?"

  "I'm planning to make a phone call."

  "That's it? A call? To who?"

  Jack wagged his finger at Sal. "If you knew that, you wouldn't need to pay me, would you. Just make sure you don't miss this party. And have the rest of my money ready. After tonight I don't think you'll be saying, 'it ain't enough.'"

  4

  "I thought we were going
to see a parade," Vicky said.

  "I did too, Vicks."

  Jack stood on the curb between Gia and Vicky and gazed up and down Fifth Avenue. Saks and Gucci and Bergdorf Goodman lined the sidewalks but no marchers. Blue skies and mild weather, a perfect day for a parade. So where was everybody? Not even a single one of those pale blue wooden horses the police use to block streets to hint that a parade was expected or had already been by.

  Jack did a full three-sixty scan, his eye out for more than marching bands. He'd done a careful reconnoiter of Gia's neighborhood before heading out to Sal's this morning, and then again a little while ago, and neither time had he found any signs of surveillance. Pretty much what he'd expected, but it didn't take him off alert. Jack had always found it more comforting to know where the bad guys were than where they weren't.

  Since no one was watching them, and since he couldn't get hold of Nadia, he'd decided to take Vicky to a Memorial Day parade. But so far, no luck.

  "God, it's good to be out," Gia said. "How much longer are we going to be under house arrest?"

  To make the house look empty, Jack had advised Gia to stay inside and out of sight for the long weekend.

  "We should be able to loosen up tomorrow."

  She looked at him. "That means things come to a head tonight, I take it?"

  "If all goes according to plan."

  "Hey, look!" Vicky said, pointing. "More sailors."

  Sure enough, a trio of young men of various shades—they looked like teenagers, and maybe they were—dressed in bell-bottomed whites and Dixie cup caps strolled their way from the direction of St. Pat's. As usual, the fleet was in for Memorial Day Weekend and white uniforms abounded.

  "They're cute," Gia said. "But how do they get their whites so white?"

  "Why don't you ask them?" Jack said.

  Vicky put a hand on her out-thrust hip as they passed and said, "Hi-ya, sailor!"

  The guys all but fell off the curb laughing, and Jack bit the insides of both cheeks to keep from doing the same. Gia turned scarlet and found something interesting atop the Saks building.

  "What?" Vicky said, looking at her mother as the still-chortling sailors moved on.