by Clay Farrow
"What are you doing? Are you insane?" she shouted. In the twenty-three years they'd been close, she had never known him to be so irrational. Hilton Hastings could be called undomesticated, even untamed, and calculatingly crazy at times, traits which had richly rewarded him, yet exacted a steep price. But she couldn't think of a time he could've ever been branded a fool.
There was no more time. She heaved her spear gun out of the water as the shark closed in on him. Aiming the weapon at the middle of its body, she hoped the area was in the kill zone.
"What do you want me to do?" she screamed. She should shoot, she wanted to shoot, but was terrified she might hit Hilton.
Monica's attention was distracted for an instant while she fumbled with the trigger. She looked up. Something was wrong. An eerie sensation washed over her. She blinked to erase the image that confronted her. A moment before, the marauder was behind Hilton. Now they were almost swimming side by side. Had she become the target? The killer seemed to narrow the gap by yards with every second. Even if it had decided she was the juicier tidbit, at least now she had a shot. She aimed the spear gun just slightly to the left and began to squeeze the trigger.
Out of nowhere, what felt like a ring of steel spikes dug into her face. The force rocked her head back and drove her beneath the surface of the Caribbean. The barrel of the spear gun tilted upward and she involuntarily jerked the trigger. Their last chance of deliverance rocketed harmlessly into the sky.
Monica clamped her eyes shut and surrendered to her fate. The shark had bypassed Hilton to attack her. Her life expectancy could now be counted in seconds. Unfulfilled wants, wishes, and desires flashed through her mind – all hope dying.
Suddenly, the pressure eased. Her eyes flew open. She was staring not into the mouth of a Great White, but into the palm of a hand. She felt the spear gun torn from her grasp. Then an arm encircled her waist and lifted her head out of the water.
"You don't need this anymore," Hilton said, tossing the spear gun away.
Monica felt his other arm slide around her waist and hug her. She clung to him, swiveling her head in every direction. "We're safe? It's gone?"
She watched him scan the horizon, then shift his gaze to her and smile.
"Gone is being a little overly optimistic, but we're not in any danger."
"What is that supposed to mean?" she spluttered.
"Calm down, there's nothing to be afraid of."
She heard a series of high-pitched squeaks behind her. The sound reminded her of a chattering squirrel. She spun around. Not three feet away was the open mouth of a sea monster. Monica shrieked and attempted to break out of Hilton's grasp. "It has enough teeth to shred us in a single bite!"
"Calm down," he said, not relaxing his iron grip on her. "I'd like you to meet Screech."
"What's a Screech!"
"A Bottlenose Dolphin and as gentle as a newborn puppy," he answered, dragging the dive boat to them. He offered her the anchor line and continued, "Hang onto this to conserve your strength."
"It's gigantic," she said, clinging to the rope with both hands.
"He's little over eleven feet long and weighs about 900 pounds."
"He? Don't you mean it?"
"Screech is special. To me it's he."
The dolphin issued a chorus of chirps and whistles through the blowhole on the top of its head. Then, dipped its snout into the water and splashed the couple.
Monica burst into gales of laughter. She didn't understand why Hilton was so cavalier about being at the mercy of this giant creature, but she was just glad to be alive – at least for the moment. She turned her head sideways, one eye on the beast and one on Hilton. "How did you know it wouldn't attack?"
"I knew it wasn't a shark from the way he swam. A dolphin propels itself by moving its tail up and down; whereas, a shark's tail goes from side to side. As he got closer, I realized it was Screech. We've been buddies for more than eight years."
"You've never mentioned him before."
"It never came up, and it's been awhile since I last saw him."
"Have you told Amanda?"
"I considered the idea, but decided not to."
"A bit selfish, don't you think? It would have helped her immensely. She'd have loved to swim with a dolphin. The encounter would have brought her out of herself for a little while, helped with the healing process."
"Do you see the missing part of his dorsal fin?"
Monica nodded.
"Courtesy of a spear gun. You know how Amanda is with animals. I want him leery of humans. She'd have the opposite effect."
Monica decided she wasn't going there. Hilton had a strange perspective on some things. The human race happened to be one of them. "How did the two of you meet?"
"I found him in an isolated lagoon near the resort. He'd been attacked by a shark and had a good eight inches ripped out of his side. I thought it hopeless, but I had to try."
"I'd say whatever you did, worked."
"Four weeks feeding him eight times a day. Small fish and squid laced with antibiotics. For the first two weeks he was so weak I slept in a dingy with a rifle, in case the shark came back."
Monica looked into Hilton's eyes. He was gazing at the dolphin with the same tenderness and trust he reserved for herself, Amanda and few others. How had this creature broken through the fortress Hilton built around his heart, she wondered? Why would a man impervious to the pain of most humans, devote himself to nursing this animal back to health?
"Go on," he said, "pet him."
She remained unconvinced this creature was as tame as Hilton insisted. Ignoring his urging, she asked, "Why call him Screech?"
Hilton laughed. "Back in university I spent an evening drinking 'Newfie' Screech. By the end of the night I sounded a lot like him with his squeals and chirps. It seemed appropriate." He nudged her arm and nodded toward the animal. "Pet him, gently rub between his eyes."
She reached out and brushed the snout, then immediately snatched her hand back. "That's enough."
Screech whistled and bolted away. Then shot back, driving directly at Monica. Inches from colliding with her, the dolphin rolled onto its side and veered left. The tip of its double-pronged tail tickled her ribs. Then it swam around to face them, chirping all the while.
Hilton roared.
Monica felt her face become flushed. "What are you laughing about? Your mutant guppy tried to kill me."
"He sensed your fear," he said between fits of laughter. "Screech was playing with you."
"Ask him if he wants to play my favorite game – tuna fish sandwich," she snapped. Her fuse was getting very short watching Hilton fighting to stifle his laughter, without much success.
"He was playing. Dolphins are incredibly intelligent. They've been known to rescue injured divers."
"Then I'm the Queen of Sheba."
"A few years ago off the coast of New Zealand, a pod of dolphins prevented a Great White from attacking three swimmers. They protected the swimmers for more than forty minutes by ramming the shark with their snouts. Getting hit at thirty-five miles an hour leaves a nasty bruise."
"I'm sorry for my foul mood." Monica said as she rested a hand on Hilton's shoulder. "My nerves are getting the better of me."
"You've had a lot to deal with today," he said, tenderly kissing her cheek.
Monica Fremont scolded herself - no more cattiness. Hilton had gone to a lot of trouble planning today's excursion. She was sniping at the man she loved simply out of fear and, with the approaching wedding, guilt. She had been attracted to Hilton from the moment they'd met in university, but only in the past year had she given in to those feelings. Now, on occasion, as she lay awake in the early morning darkness, she had the foolish notion that in marrying Hilton Hastings, she was abandoning the memory of her late husband, Alan - a wonderful man killed long before his time.
3:
Seattle, Washington – Sunday
The rusted, 1992 Mercury Grand Marquis limped into the parking lot
of a hi-tech complex on the outskirts of Seattle.
"Seventeen hours from Los Angeles isn't bad time," Gilles Wren said, and with a tired sigh brought the vehicle to a stop.
He looked at his front seat passenger, seventeen-year-old girlfriend, Julie McDonald, who was taking in the business park that consisted of thirty-six identical cedar clad buildings.
She smiled at him. "This is really pretty with the trees and flowerbeds. It's even got picnic tables. The way the sun hits the pavement, it's as if we're crossing a lake to a cottage."
"Jeremiah told me Byers Pharmaceuticals has the last ten buildings in the complex. The lab is the far one. He says 'Satan lives within those walls.' "
"I don't see a car in front of the lab."
"Jeremiah said the geek usually arrives later on Sunday mornings."
"Do you think Michael will hold up?"
Gilles glanced in the rearview mirror at the kid sleeping in the back seat, littered with hamburger wrappers and soda cans - the remains of their road trip feast. "Jeremiah thinks he will. Anyway, he's gone the day after tomorrow."
As he shifted his gaze, he caught a glimpse of the hideous craters covering his cheeks, scars of early teenage acne. Damn mirrors he thought as he looked over at the pretty freckled-faced redhead with a sense of wonder. How could anything so beautiful ever be interested in him? Of course he knew. Jeremiah had been responsible for the mating, but she had also eagerly embraced the vows they'd taken.
Gilles stepped on the gas and guided the Grand Marquis to the far end of the development and braked in front of a sign welcoming them to 'Byers Pharmaceuticals – Seattle Research Facility.'
He turned and looked back at Michael, then glanced at Julie, who rolled her eyes. At sixteen, Michael was only three years younger than himself, but all the kid seemed to do was sleep. "Time to wake up."
Sleepyhead grudgingly opened his eyes and stretched as best he could in the cramped confines of the back seat. "What time is it, Jill?"
Gilles froze for an instant. The stupid runt had pronounced his name as Jill. His hand snaked out and grabbed the front of Michael's shirt. He jerked the punk to within inches of his face. "For the hundredth time, it's French and it's pronounced 'Gee-ill', not 'Jill.' "
He held tight when Michael tired to pull away. "Repeat after me, 'Gee-ill.' "
" Gee-ill. "
Gilles maintained his stranglehold, his glare drilling into the eyes of the terrified kid. He looked away when he felt Julie's hand on his shoulder.
"It wasn't deliberate. He's sorry."
"Yeah, I am," Michael agreed, vigorously nodding. "I'm sorry. Really, really sorry."
"Good. You better not screw up again," he said, releasing the kid. Then facing forward, he gripped the steering wheel with both hands and squeezed as hard as he could. If Julie hadn't come to Michael's rescue he would have slaughtered the punk. Almost six months had passed since the kid had been taken in by Jeremiah, but he agreed with Julie – Michael would always be a wimp with a thousand-yard stare.
He shivered at the thought. Gilles Wren bowed before no man - except Jeremiah. He thought back to those years of orphanages. The system had shipped him off to a dozen foster homes. None lasted longer than three months. The worst was when he was six. His foster parents' son had called him Jilly the girly boy. He smiled at the memory. Using a Louisville Slugger, he battered the ten-year-old bastard into a wheelchair for life.
"Shouldn't we wait for the geek to arrive?" Michael asked.
Gilles released the steering wheel and looked over his shoulder. "Jeremiah ordered us to load up the animals while we're waiting. He wants this to look like the work of the Animal Liberation Front. He says 'they've destroyed mountains of scientific research in the last ten years, but always save the animals.' "
Michael nodded, then pushed open the rear door and began to crawl out.
"Stop, Michael," Julie McDonald shouted.
Gilles looked at the kid and snarled, "I told you, cover up before getting out of the car."
"Sorry, I forgot."
"There're no rent-a-cops, but they have security cameras inside and out."
He and Julie pulled black balaclavas from their jackets, slipped them on, and waited for Michael to tug his headpiece into place before clambering out of the car.
Gilles stretched with a low groan of relief, then reached under his jacket and adjusted the Glock 21 semi-automatic in his waistband. He walked to the rear of the Mercury, unlocked the trunk, then handed Julie a pair of bulging knapsacks and another pair to Michael. He retrieved a sledge hammer and shut the trunk.
Gilles looked at the laboratory in front of him. It was a long, two story structure with large picture windows. The atrium was two stories of lightly tinted glass, at one end of the building.
At the entrance, Gilles pulled an access card from his pocket and swiped it against the card reader. The red light turned green.
"Where did you get the card?" Michael asked.
"From Jeremiah."
"How did he get it?"
He shrugged and pushed open the door. "The Man can get anything he wants."
Gilles led the way across the cavernous lobby to a pair of semi-circular banquettes, which surrounded a large circular coffee table. He pulled a hand-drawn map of the building from his pocket and spread the diagram out on the table.
Pointing to the mechanical room on the first floor, he said, "Michael, kill the security system." He handed him the access card and sledge hammer.
Michael jogged across the foyer, past a reception desk. He swiped the card then disappeared into the belly of the building.
Gilles went back to the diagram. Julie leaned over his shoulder, her breath hot on his neck. He felt the familiar heat begin to rise from his core, but this wasn't the time or place. He forced himself to concentrate and pointed at the broad staircase that led to the second floor labs. "The test animals are caged up there. Once we've got the geek, we'll wheel the cages out to the parking lot."
Michael burst back into the reception area. "It's done."
"Good, let's load the animals," Gilles said, pulling off his balaclava.
The other two removed their hoods. Then Julie leaned closer to Gilles and whispered in his ear.
He nodded. "Jeremiah didn't mention it, but it's a good idea." He turned to Michael. "Wait here as a lookout. Let me know when the geek arrives."
Michael took up his post at the reception desk. Gilles scooped up the kid's two knapsacks and the sledge hammer. With Julie in the lead, they trotted up the stairs to the second floor.
Using the access card, Gilles green-lighted them through the second floor door. Before them lay a wide hallway running the length of the building. At the far end was an elevator and an emergency exit. Several lab doors were evenly spaced along the walls on either side of the corridor. Every room also had a large observation window. A pair of four-wheel dollies was parked at one door.
He and Julie dumped their knapsacks in the center of the hallway and headed straight for the dollies. Peering through the observation window he saw the far wall was lined with a variety of caged animals. Gilles slapped the card against the reader and pushed open the door.
"Once we've loaded the dollies, you can wheel them down to the lobby and wait there until the geek shows. Start stacking the cages on the carts. I'll be back to help you in a minute."
He walked to the next room and peered into the lab. His inspection zeroed in on the refrigerator that held the samples. It had a built-in lock. No problem, he thought, one whack with the sledge and bingo, he'd be in. Next he turned his attention to a safe where the geek's research and test results were kept. The vault was bigger than he had been led to believe - a lot bigger. He guessed the iron and stainless steel box weighed more than 1000 pounds. Too heavy to take with them. If the geek didn't show up shortly, he'd have to phone Jeremiah for new instructions. He stepped to the lab door and tried the card. The access light remained a steady red.
* * * *
/> A black compact with a security company's emblem on the door panel came to a stop behind the Marquis. Michael was watching television with his feet up on the reception desk. He dropped his feet to the floor and sat up when the security officer rolled down the window and eyeballed the Marquis. Michael turned off the television and ducked, leaving only the top half of his face visible above the desktop.
What if he entered the building? Gilles had said there were no cops, only cameras. Was he wrong? When he saw the rent-a-cop jot down something on his clipboard – probably the car's plate number, his anxiety subsided. No big deal, but he'd better tell Gilles.
To be sure the rent-a-cop was gone for good, he decided to wait until the car had left the complex. But before the vehicle disappeared, a sparkling convertible zipped into the development, shot to the end of the lot, and screeched to a stop in front of the research building. Cool wheels – a BMW M6. A lanky young man hopped out of the sports car. Passing the Marquis he slowed down, giving the wreck a once-over, then sprinted up the walkway to the building.
This had to be the geek. Who else would have a cell phone hooked to his belt? He should tell Gilles, but he'd waited too long. If he moved, he'd be seen. It wasn't his fault. The pig had screwed everything up. He ducked back behind the reception desk, praying he was doing the right thing.
* * * *
As Brad Ferry pushed through the translucent glass door, he stuffed his card reader into his pocket and clipped his company ID to the collar of his golf shirt. He crossed the foyer and started up the stairs to the second floor, two at a time.
Brad was enrolled in the doctoral program in pharmacology at the University of Washington, and had been tinkering in the lab with a drug sample submitted by the Department of Archaeology. Using an eyedropper, he'd been force feeding the drug to test animals suffering from a variety of diseases when he made an accidental, and astonishing discovery. Having worked for Byers in the summers during his masters and undergraduate degrees, he had certainly heard the whisperings about Ken Byers' personal circumstances concerning his daughter, Laura.
