V - The Original Miniseries (12 page)

The scene switched to the Senate stairs, where the senator was surrounded by the press and flashing cameras. Denny dug another piece of cork out of the bottle, watching morosely as Senator Burke spoke.

"Yes, indeed. I do have evidence that new and revolutionary cancer treatments do exist, and have existed for some time-along with many other breakthroughs of enormous potential benefit to the world. Apparently our scientific friends have seen fit to keep quiet about them."

Shouts of "Why?" echoed around him. He shrugged grimly. "Well, I won't speculate, except to say there's a lot of money to be made on research grants." "Damn," said Dennis aloud, not sure himself whom he was addressing-or about what. He dug another sliver of cork out of the bottle, then had the dubious pleasure of seeing the remainder of the cork disintegrate into tiny pieces and slither down the neck into the wine.

The scene switched back to the newsroom just as he heard Juliet's key in the apartment door. The newsman looked grave. "A groundswell of resentment has begun to build around the world against the scientific community. In Stockholm, where the Nobel Prizes are awarded each year, a crowd of angry demonstrators-"

"I'm sorry I'm late, Den. Everything is a mess!" Juliet bustled into the kitchen, hastily pulling off her lab coat. Rain glistened in fine little glimmers on her blonde hair. "Doctor Metz can't seem to pull himself together now that Ruth's gone, and he heard about another associate who's been implicated just as he was, and I-"

Dennis snapped off the television with a final click. "Take your time. They called to cancel dinner." Juliet looked dismayed. "Oh, Den! You must be disappointed." "Yes," he agreed, shortly.

"You don't think you'll still get the account." She sounded as though she wished he'd tell her something reassuring. Dennis poured himself a drink, swallowed it in a gulp.

 

"No, I don't think so. They were too polite, y'know." Juliet hung her lab coat over the back of the kitchen stool. Her fingers smoothed it for a second, then stopped abruptly. "Denny ... do you think it's me? They know I'm a biochemist, and a med student." Dennis knew he'd waited a second too long to speak. "No. How could it be you?" She looked at him for long moments. He could feel her eyes on his face, but couldn't raise his own to meet hers. "Now you sound a little too polite, Den."

 

He couldn't think of anything to say. He poured himself another glass of wine, then went into the bedroom, leaving her there, staring at the lab coat.

MIKE DONOVAN WATCHED TONY LEONETTI INTENTLY AS HIS FRIEND flicked the switch to start the VCR unit. Doctor Leopold Jankowski appeared on the screen, bending to sign his damning statement. "Yeah?" Donovan turned to his partner. "I saw this. I think it's all a load of shit. So?"

"You don't notice anything?" Tony punched up another tape. "When we saw this when it originally aired, it bugged me for days-I couldn't figure out what the hell was wrong with the picture. Finally, I woke up the other night with the answer. Look. This is a tape we shot of him last year at that international science fair. You remember when I asked him to autograph that book for my old man?"

The second image appeared beside the first as both signings played simultaneously. Donovan stared, then nodded suddenly. "Yeah!"

 

"You see it, don't you, Mike? He used his right hand last year-yet when he signed the conspiracy statement, it was with his left hand."

 

Donovan shrugged, his eyes wary. "So? He's ambidextrous." "No, he's not. And neither is Duvivier. I checked. Both men are now signing their names with their left hands, where before they were right-handed."

Donovan met Tony's eyes, his own speculative. Tony nodded. "Something very strange is going on, Mike. And I'll bet you a steak it's connected with the Visitors somehow. Everything's turned so damned weird since those guys showed up."

"Yeah." Donovan frowned. "Somehow we've got to get a look at the Mother Ship, and soon. And not just a guided tour. I mean a look at the whole thing. I'd love to see that area where they're storing the chemicals." Leonetti nodded. "Just like old times, huh?" Donovan nodded slowly. "Yeah. But at least Nam and Cambodia weren't over a mile in the air. We're going to have to be careful."

Tony Leonetti slapped a hand to his forehead, rolling his eyes expressively. "As I live and breathe, the fearless Michael Donovan, the greatest `cowboy' photographer of all time, is going to be careful. These guys got you scared, Mike?"

Donovan's laughter held an edge-he didn't like being reminded of some of his more reckless photographic exploits. Then he sobered, looking back at the stilled images of Jankowski Number I and Jankowski Number 2. "Yeah, Tony," he mumbled, his voice so quiet Leonetti had to strain to hear him. "I gotta admit, I have a feeling about this ... There's not going to be any room for slip-ups this time ..."

Leonetti forced a grin, jabbing his partner with a muscle punch. "What you're feeling, Mike, is hunger. Been a long time since lunch, old pal. Come on. The steaks are on me."

 

Donovan turned, punching playfully back at Leonetti, glad his friend had broken the tension. "I'm game. When do you want to do it?"

"Eat? Right now!" "No, I meant sneak aboard a squad vehicle." "Tomorrow?"

"Sounds good to me. Think Fran will let you out? The last time we went out together you dropped a bundle at that casino in Atlantic City."

 

"Now, that's where I'll have to be careful ..."
8

BRILLIANT FLOODS TURNED THE PARKING LOT AT THE RICHLAND plant into a garish semblance of day. One of the large Visitor shuttles stood, cargo bay doors open, as Tony Leonetti and Mike Donovan crawled carefully through a maze of groundlevel piping to crouch, hidden, behind a trash receptacle. Insulated pipes led from the large cryogenic tanks overhead to smaller tanks on board the shuttle craft. Two Visitor techni- cans stood by, along with two humans wearing hardhats.

"Pretty crowded, Mike," Tony whispered. "Don't you think maybe we ought to call for a squad vehicle and go up like we usually do?"

Donovan shook his head, judging the distance involved to the open cargo bay, hefting the Sony Betacam. It was his smallest and lightest VTR. "This way they won't know we're on board, and we'll have a better chance to find out stuff." He glanced quickly at his partner. "I hope this thing will produce broadcast-quality film. What about the sound?"

Tony shrugged. "It's state-of-the-art, Mike. It'll have to do."

 

Several Visitors began to uncouple the insulated pipe. Donovan tensed. "Okay, they're finished with the chemicalget ready."

Tony swallowed with an, audible gulp, earning him a reproving scowl from Donovan. The human technicians walked away as the two Visitors climbed into the pilot's compartment of the shuttle. "Now!" Donovan hissed.

He climbed out of the piping, dashing forward, leaping over a ground-level pipe hidden by the shadows and the incandescent glare. Tony came after him, but, not seeing the pipe, caught his foot and went sprawling. Donovan, already at the cargo entrance, heard his muffled "Clooof!"

"Damn!" Tony scrambled for the cargo door as its two halves began to rise toward each other. Mike reached out, grabbing for his wrists.

 

Leonetti leaped gamely. "Can't-get my-leg-up-"

"I've got you-" hissed Donovan, but a second later had to admit defeat as the doors continued to close. He had one last second to see Tony scuttle away from the vehicle before the doors locked together. "Shit!" He crouched behind some containers in the cargo hold, hugging the Betacam. The darkness was complete.

He felt the now-familiar lift and swoop of the craft and knew they were on their way.

The shuttle bay of the Mother Ship was as he'd seem it before. He could hear a woman's voice announcing landings and departures-in English-as the cargo doors began to widen. Donovan scuttled through, almost before the opening would admit him, and in seconds had ensconced himself behind a barricade of the cryo units he'd seen Visitor technicians toting about. He listened to the announcements, wondering suddenly why here, where there were no humans present (except Kristine, probably, he reminded himself bitterly), the Visitors wouldn't use their native language.

"Prepare for venting operations," announced the voice. Venting operations? Donovan frowned. What the hell is that?

He peered out cautiously, saw Visitor technicians attaching yet another insulated hose to the chemical storage tank in the shuttle's cargo hold, then screwing the end of it into a nozzle in the floor of the landing bay. Donovan was puzzled-according to the many views he'd had of the landing bay as he'd approached it in the squad vehicles, there were no pipes or storage containers on the outside of the huge Mother Ship. And from this angle, if the nozzle did indeed point straight through the landing bay floor, then there was only empty air outside.

He watched, filming now, as the technicians turned a valve, and there came the whoosh of escaping gases. One of the techs stretched. "This is what the humans would call a royal pain," he commented, the reverberation in his voice echoing throughout the cavernous landing bay. "Dragging this stuff up to the ship, then dumping it out again-what a waste."

"Yeah," his companion agreed. "I can't figure out why we're doing this day and night." "Who knows why the Leader orders most of the things he orders?" said the first. "But I'm not going to question it; that's too unhealthy."

 

"You're right," agreed his companion, glancing around to make sure they hadn't been overheard.

Donovan squirmed lower behind the cryo units, his hand grazing an accordion-like structure that looked amazingly like an old-fashioned radiator. The silvery-gray metal quivered under his arm. Donovan glanced at it, then tugged experimentally, and it swung open to reveal a rung ladder leading down to a shadowy catwalk and stairs. Some kind of service access, he thought, crawling through, or that trusty standby of all spies and adventure-bound heroes, a ventilator shaft...

Pulling the strange-looking grille nearly closed behind him, Donovan climbed quickly, one-handed, down the ladder. He found himself in the shadowy walkway. He could almost stand erect, but had to be careful not to bump his head on the piping hanging down.

Light filtered in from grilles set into the walls, and from tiny lights implanted in the walkway floor every couple of feet. Donovan began walking along, feeling a distinct chill. The Visitors must keep parts of their ship colder than human beings would consider comfortable.

Part of the chill came from swiftly circulating air. Donovan grinned wryly as the gust tugged at his hair. Damn! It is a ventilator shaft!

 

He began walking, his soft soles echoing slightly on the metal floor. He wasn't too concerned with noise giving him away; the whoosh of air and the thud of machinery would muffle any sound.

He reached the grille and peered out cautiously, hearing voices. Two Visitors stood by one of the yellow-marked doors he'd seen earlier-the ones Diana had said were inaccessible due to radiation. One of the Visitors produced a crystal-andgold key like the one Donovan had given to Sean and inserted it into a slot. Light washed outward, illuminating the crystal, then the door slid aside.

Interesting, thought Mike. They weren't wearing any protective suits ... if there's so much radiation in there, why wouldn't they need them? He moved onward, then downward as the main duct sloped. He eased the camera along-Tony had said the thing was rugged, but he wasn't taking any chances. Another grating on the other side of the walkway showed him one of the Visitors-a woman, this time-reclining on a bunk, reading something that looked vaguely like a book-if a book were printed on aluminum foil and manuscript-sized paper. She wore a snug-fitting garment that left her arms and legs bare and looked rather like a bathing suit. Donovan, who had been without feminine companionship since he'd left Kristine's apartment nearly a month ago, gave her legs a quick once-over.

Not bad. A little chunky, but nice ...

Silent-footed, he moved on. He was careful to memorize the route as he went-it would never do to be caught in these walkways without being able to get back. Like a rat in a maze, he thought, appreciating the analogy grimly as the walkway turned again and he ducked to avoid more overhead piping.

He heard voices ahead-and something about them was familiar. Donovan crept carefully to a larger grille, peering through. Diana walked by, clad in a long red robe open down the throat. Mike's pulse quickened a little at the way the silky garment clung to her breasts and thighs. She was talking to a man Donovan recognized as Steven-the Visitor officer who divided his time between the Richland plant and Eleanor's house.

"You must be pleased, Diana," Steven was saying. "We're well on our way to completely securing most of the continents."

Diana smiled archly. "Well, let's just say that it pleases me to serve our Leader," her sideways look at Steven was so coy it nearly made Donovan gag, "with whatever minor talents I possess." She walked across the room to a plexiglass cabinet of some sort. In small compartments ranged across the wall, Donovan saw, were a variety of small animals-lab animals, he realized.

Thankful that the Betacam was nearly silent, he began filming the Second-in-Command. She reached into one of the compartments and extracted a white mouse. The little rodent squeaked frenziedly as she grasped it, then was still, its beady little eyes glazed in panic.

"The Leader must be very well pleased with your conversion process, Diana," Steven said. Still holding the mouse, Diana turned, walked across the room-and out of camera range. Mike could hear her talking.

"Yes ... but you know how impatient our Leader can be." She paused for a long second. Steven sounded amused. "Even with you, Diana? Given the intimacy of your relationship, I would think-"

Diana moved abruptly back into camera range, and even from the dimness of the walkway Mike could see her anger. She gestured with both elegantly manicured hands-Donovan wondered briefly where she'd put the mouse. "Be very careful, Steven," she hissed.

Steven spread both hands in a gesture both apologetic and mocking. "It's just that I hate to see you distressed."