F Paul Wilson - Novel 04 (16 page)

“So?”

“So, if he gets another dose,
the same thing will happen: His bone marrow will go on strike. He will sicken.
He may well die.”

“May die? What if he doesn’t?”

Salinas
shrugged. “He does not need to die. I would prefer that he did, but at
the very least he will be gravely ill, much too sick to attend the drug summit
in
The Hague
. And if he survives,
he will have a long recovery. Too long to continue in office. He will have to
resign.”

“Which puts Robert Baldwin in
the White House. What if he decides to push legalization too?”

Salinas
smiled and shook his head. “We know Vice President Baldwin. We have
him…” He made an elaborate gesture of slipping his hand into his
jacket pocket.

“So why not just plug
Winston?” Snake said. “Be a helluva lot easier and more efficient
than this’may die‘ crap. Then you know he’s out of
office.”

“No-no,”
Salinas
said, for the first time leaning forward. He explained why la compania had
discarded that idea.

Snake nodded, only half listening.
Already he could see problems.

“Okay. Whacking him
wouldn’t work. But what happens when Vanduyne gets his kid back and tells
the world he was forced to give Winston the chlor-whatever it’s-called?
Same result: Winston’s a martyr and you’re out of business.”
Salinas
smiled. “But he will not get his child back. At least not for long.
Immediately after their joyous reunion, they will have a terrible accident.”

Snake went cold.
“That’s not my thing.”

“I know it is not. I will
arrange for that.”

“All right. But won’t
whoever’s treating Winston put two and two together and figure he’s
been dosed with this stuff?”

“Not unless Vanduyne tells
them. The chloramphenicol will be long out of his system, and his doctors will
not know about his previous bout of aplastic anemia.”

“Why not?”

“Because he himself removed
it from his medical records years ago. Thomas Winston wanted a spotless medical
history when he presented himself to the American public.”

“Then how do
you—?”

Salinas
smiled. “My dear Miguel, should it surprise you that I have excellent
sources?”

“No,” he said slowly.
“Not at all.” Snake was just beginning to grasp
Salinas
’s
reach. The President’s announcement was only last night, yet he and
Salinas
had been planning this snatch for two months.
Salinas
had known all along and had been ready to pounce as soon as Winston publicly
committed himself.

And he even knew what Winston had
wiped from his medical history years ago. This guy had a dedicated T-3 line
into the government—he was connected.

Salinas
leaned back again. “So you see? Everything is arranged. It’s a
perfect plan.” The reassurances rolled off Snake like a used car
salesman’s promises, and the cold within him grew as he took stock.

Alien Gold, who knew all the
intricacies of
Salinas
’s
empire, had been sent from the room. That told Snake that
Salinas
was playing this hand very close to his ample vest. Maybe only he and his
bosses in
Colombia
knew the real target. The only other people who’d know would be Snake and
Vanduyne himself. And afterward, they planned to eliminate Vanduyne and his
kid.

Which would leave only one loose
end: “Miguel” MacLaglen and his two hirelings. How do you measure
the lifespan of three people who know enough to bring down the
Cali
cartel? Nanoseconds sounded generous. And who would be the first to go? The
know-nothing hirelings, or the guy who had worked out all the details with
Salinas
?

Snake tossed off the rest of the
Scotch. He needed some antifreeze against the ice forming in his veins.

He glanced down at his shirt-button
mike. I hope you’re working today.

First thing tomorrow, he’d be
back with a little present for the big man—he hoped. But right now he had
to concentrate on his next steps. This gig was going to be a real balancing
act. Everything would have to go down by the numbers. If he screwed up, his
insurance wouldn’t mean diddly.

He cleared his throat. “All
right. What’s the next step?”

“That should be obvious, I
think. First thing tomorrow you contact the honorable doctor and tell him that
if he wishes to see his precious child again, he must give his friend and
patient a hefty dose of chloramphenicol.”

“How’s he supposed to
do that?”

“We will leave that up to
him. He is a devoted father who wants his child back: He will find a
way.”

“And what
if—Let’s just say he refuses. What then?”

“You will tell him that if
President Winston shows up at the Hague conference next week—”

“What’s so important
about this conference?”

“As a symbol, it is of
immense importance. It is there that he will place his legalization plan before
the world community as
U.S.
official international policy. That must not happen. And so you will tell the
doctor that if Winston arrives at the conference, you will kill his little
girl… but not before you do some very nasty things to her. And as proof,
you start returning his daughter one piece at a time. I believe you have used
that method before.”

Snake nodded. “It’s
very persuasive. I’ve never had to send more than one piece.” Antsy
as Vanduyne was, he was so wrapped up in his kid he probably wouldn’t
need a persuader. Or maybe he’d need one just to keep him in line.

“Good. Then you know what to
do. Contact me tomorrow after you have spoken to Dr. Vanduyne.”

“I’ll come by
personally,” Snake said. “It may not be something I want to discuss
over the phone.” But he intended to deliver more than just a report on
Vanduyne.

“If you wish,”
Salinas
said. “Llosa will show you out. Good night.”

Snake guessed that meant the
meeting was over. Fine. He’d had enough of
Salinas
for the evening.

On the way out he retrieved his
pistol from Llosa and figured the beefy bodyguard would probably get the
assignment to whack “Miguel” and his people.

Except
Salinas
would have to change that part of his plans.

Once out in the night air, the
enormity of what he was involved in body slammed Snake full force. He staggered
out of the alley and looked up and down M Street.

I’m going to put the
President—the President of the United fucking States—out of
business. Maybe even off him. I’m going to be changing the course of
history. Me!

But not only did he have to keep a
close eye on what was going on in front of him, he had to watch his back as
well. Much as he loved adrenaline, this might be too much of a good thing. But
dammit, he loved this feeling.

And tomorrow it would get even
better. Tomorrow he’d put it to the doc that he was going to have to
choose between his daughter and his old friend… his kid and the leader of
the free world. How cool was that?

Yeah, if he could come through it
all in one piece, this gig might just ruin him for anything else. Where could
he play again for stakes this high? This was it: the mother of all buzzes. He
had to soak up every last drop.

“That poor child!” John
held his mother and let her sob against his shoulder.

The reversal of roles—the
parent crying on the child’s shoulder—unsettled him. He’d
never seen her like this, not even when his dad died.

“Don’t worry, Ma.
Katie’s going to be fine. We know she’s alive. That’s the
important thing. She’s alive and we’ll keep her that way.
I’ll find out what they want from me, and whatever it is, I’ll do it.
Then we’ll get her back.”

“Oh, that poor child,”
she said. “That poor, poor child.”

She’d been repeating the
phrase endlessly. She was beginning to sound like a stuck record and that
worried John. He couldn’t have her going off the deep end now, not when
he needed to focus every fiber of his being on getting Katie back.

“She’s tougher than we
realize, Ma. We all are. We got through everything else, we can get through
this. They picked up her Tegretol, so at least we know she’s getting her
medication.” He hoped that was true, prayed they hadn’t picked up
the pills simply for show.

Please, he thought, whoever you
are, follow the directions on that bottle. She’s got to have her Tegretol
twice a day. If she doesn’t get it—

“That poor, poor
child!”

Paulie lay on his back and stared
into the darkness of the second bedroom as Poppy dozed with her head on his
shoulder. Had this been a great night or what?

He’d come back from the
drugstore run with two pizzas and a couple of magnums of Cook’s
champagne. So it wasn’t imported and it wasn’t expensive—so
what? He’d guzzled both ends of the price range and got just as looped
either way.

The goodies had worked their magic.
Poppy really lightened up when she saw that he’d brought her a sauteed
broccoli and eggplant pizza. She was into vegetables these days and that was
her favorite combo. He’d bought a pepperoni pie for himself.

She fed some pizza to the kid, who
requested pepperoni—good choice, kid—then they went to work on
their own pies and started killing those magnums.

All of which had the desired
effect: Poppy damn near fucked his brains out—once on the living room
floor, and then again here in the bed.

Did it get any better than this?
What more did he need beyond food, drink, a roof over his head, and Poppy in
his bed? And soon they’d have a humongous wad of cash that, if they were
smart about it, could last them a long, long time.

As he yawned he remembered the
pills for the kid. They were still in his coat pocket. He’d forgot to
tell Poppy about them. Something about giving the kid one twice a day.

He closed his eyes and let himself
drift into sleep. He’d tell her tomorrow… tell her all about the
pills in the morning…

p>

“The
United
states
now has over one million one hundred
thousand prisoners in its jails. We have a greater percentage of our population
behind bars than any other civilized nation in the world. And a good half of
them are there for drug-related offenses. Think about it: five hundred thousand
people in jail for using drugs, each costing us an average of thirty thousand
dollars a year to house them—fifteen billion dollars a year, every year,
and rising. Some of them are in for life—life for growing marijuana. The
average murderer only serves nine years. And we’re setting more and more
of those murderers free to make room for pot smokers. Half a million Americans,
most of whom have never harmed anyone but themselves, locked up—for what?
For wanting to get high.”

John opened his eyes in the
darkness. Had he been asleep? Heather Brent was on the TV in a replay of some
of her remarks on The Larry King Show last night. He saw light seeping around
the shades. He searched for the clock. The glowing red numbers said
7:02
.

He sat up, massaging his eyes, his
face. He must have fallen asleep watching the TV. The last time he’d
looked, the clock had said
5:30
. God
knew, he needed sleep— physically and emotionally. Any respite from this
incessant sick dread. He was exhausted, yet his mind wouldn’t quit.
He’d tried to numb it with the early-morning parade of infomercials.

He staggered out of bed and down
the hall. He stopped at Katie’s door for the dozenth time since
he’d gone to bed, and looked in, praying he’d see her there.

It had all been a bad dream, right?

Wrong. Katie’s bed was empty.

He continued down the hall to the
guest room and— again, for the dozenth time since he’d gone to
bed— logged into the HHS network.

“Come on,” he whispered
as the software wended its way toward his electronic mailbox. “Come
on… be there.” He stood and stared at the screen. Why bother to
sit? He wouldn’t be staying. Every other time he’d checked for
e-mail he’d come up empty, and he expected nothing this time either. Too
early. He didn’t see kidnappers as early risers.

And then he heard the chime from
the computer’s speakers: He had mail.

Mail!

Slowly, shakily, John eased himself
into the chair. He chose the read now? option and waited as the message was
downloaded to his screen. His heart picked up tempo as he recognized the
anonymous remailer heading.

He jumped down to the message.

Go to
the phone booth at the northwest corner of
Franklin Square
.

Be
there at
9:00 A.M.
sharp.

Snake

That’s it? John hit page down
a couple of times to see if there was more, but found nothing. He stared at the
message.

Where the hell was
Franklin
Square
? He’d never heard of it.

He rifled through the bottom drawer
of the desk and pulled out the map of
Washington
he’d bought when he first came to town. The index guided him to a small
park with its northwest corner at
K Street
and 14th—just a few blocks from the pharmacy that had filled
Katie’s prescription yesterday.

Why couldn’t Snake simply
have said K and 14th? What was he doing? Playing games? Toying with him? Yeah,
probably. Maybe that was how he got his kicks.

But why a phone? Up to now Snake
had done everything by e-mail. What was different about today? What did he have
to relate by voice rather than print? No doubt the “service” he was
to perform. A queasy feeling rippled through John’s gut. What in hell
could they want from him?

He glanced at his watch. Plenty of
time. A quick shower, force down a little food, and he’d head for
downtown. He wanted to be at that phone booth well ahead of the call.

Before leaving the study he erased
the message. No use letting Nana see it. The fewer details she knew, the better.

He felt his fatigue slipping away.
The endless night of waiting was over. He was in motion again. But in what
direction? He shrugged off the cold dread enclosing him in its grip. Whatever
it was, he’d handle it. The important thing was the sense that he was one
step closer to getting Katie back.

As Paulie rolled out of bed, his
left foot tangled in the sheets and he landed hard on the floor. Half stunned,
he shook the cobwebs out of his head and looked around.

He didn’t know where he was.
All he knew was that Poppy was screaming his name like someone had taken a
cattle prod to her. But she wasn’t here. She was some where else in the
house. What house? Oh, yeah the
Falls Church
place.

Poppy screamed again and Paulie was
on his feet, hurtling into the front room. Empty. He lunged into the guest room
and found her standing over the package’s bed, whimpering and crying. She
turned and threw herself against him. “She’s having a fit, Paulie!

What’s wrong?“ Paulie
stared at the kid. Her hands were still tied to the bed frame, just as
they’d left her, but the rest of her was flopping around on the bed like
a beached fish. Her breath was hissing in and out between her clenched teeth
and her eyes were rolled back into her head, leaving only the whites showing.
He’d never seen anything like this.

“Make her stop,
Paulie!” Poppy was saying, her voice going from a whimper to a scream.
“Please make her stop!” And then it was like something out of The
Exorcist: the kid gave out this high-pitched sound somewhere between a growl
and a scream and arched her back until only her heels and the back of her head
were touching the bed. She stayed that way for God knew how long, until Paulie
was afraid she was either going to float off the bed or break in two. And then
suddenly she dropped flat and lay still.

“Oh, God!” Poppy
whispered. “Oh, God, Paulie, is she dead?” She sure as hell looked
dead—pale as a ghost, not moving, not even breathing. He was almost
afraid to get near her, but someone had to check her.

As he stepped forward he was pushed
aside by Poppy who dropped down on her knees next to the bed. She had her hands
up in the air, waving them around like some holy roller at a prayer meeting.
She looked afraid to touch her.

Finally, she brought her hands down
and touched the kid. She grabbed her shoulders and began shaking her.

“Katie! Katie! Wake
up!” Then she pounded on the kid’s chest. “Breathe,
dammit!” The kid shuddered, coughed, then took a breath.

“Thank God!” Poppy said.
“Here. Help me untie her.” As she leaned across the kid, she
stopped and felt around. “Oh, Jesus. She’s wet herself.”
Paulie loosened the cord around one wrist while Poppy worked on the other. The skin
was bruised and scratched from all that violent yanking. Poppy massaged the
wrist she’d untied.

“What happened, Katie?”
she said. “Are you okay?” But the kid only stared blankly past
Poppy. She looked looped.

Poppy looked up at him.
“She’s not gonna start again, is she, Paulie? Tell me she’s
not gonna start again.”

Paulie watched Poppy, stunned.
He’d never seen her like this. Usually she was so cool, except when she
got mad. But now… man, she was a freaking basket case.

“Easy, Poppy,” he said,
speaking slowly, softly. “Just calm down. She’s going to be all right.”

“How do you know that?”
she said, her voice rising. “What’s wrong with this kid, Paulie?
Did Mac tell you anything?”

Christ, the pills! He felt like a
total asshole.

“Yeah,” Paulie said.
“As a matter of fact, that’s why he called me out yesterday. To get
her some pills. She’s got epilepsy.”

“What?” She rose to her
feet, and faced him, her face as pale now as the kid’s. And her eyes
wide… and very strange. “She’s got epilepsy and you
didn’t tell me?”

“Hey, I only found out about
it yesterday afternoon. Snake didn’t find out himself until yesterday.
But it’s okay. I got pills for her.”

“Why didn’t you tell
me?” She was talking through her teeth now. “Why didn’t you
give her any?”

“Hey, well, you know how it
was last night. I came home and we ate and drank, then we got it on and I
forgot.” Poppy closed her eyes. She looked ready to explode.

“Get them. Give them to me
now!”

“Hey, listen—”

“NOW!” Paulie hurried
into the front room for his jacket. He knew he was in a bad position here. Not
a leg to stand on. Not even a freaking toe. He’d fucked up royally. Bad
enough Poppy was doing a number on him, but if Mac found out…

He got the bottle and handed it to
her, then watched her face go from white to red as she read the label.
“It says one tablet twice a day, Paulie! She was supposed to have one
last night, goddammit!”

Suddenly she was on him, flailing
away at him with her fists, pounding on his chest like it was a conga drum.
“You bastard! You stupid goddamn son of a bitch! You lousy—!”

He grabbed her wrists and shook
her. “Cool it. Poppy! You’re acting like a nut! What the
hell’s wrong with you?”

She pulled free of him and turned
back to the kid. “Because she could start in like that again. And again
and again and again and never stop! And then she’ll die! All because
you’re so goddamn stupid!”

“Hey, look. I didn’t
think—”

“We’ve got to get one
of these into her,” she said.

“All right, then. Let’s
do it.”