Bug Park by James P. Hogan

They took her down some stairs to a wood-ceilinged room with elaborate ornaments and furnishings, where cocktails and a buffet meal had been set but evidently abandoned in a hurry. Finnion posted one of his men by the stairs, the other inside the door at the far end, leading forward.

“Sit down and relax,” he told them, waving a hand. “It’s supposed to be a party. Have a sandwich or something. It looks like the guests won’t be using this.” The one carrying Garsten’s bag set it down on the floor and surveyed the food laid out on the large table.

Finnion looked at Michelle and must have read the question still written on her face. “Don’t worry,” he said to her. “You’re just in case we need a bargaining chip getting out of here. They’ll put you off in a boat when we clear the limits.” He turned and disappeared back up to the deck, closing the door at the bottom of the stairs behind him.

Michelle didn’t believe him. But she poured a hot coffee and picked out a couple of rolls with cheese and meats anyway. Even people on the verge of nervous exhaustion had to eat.

“This stuff’s not bad,” one of the two left with her murmured through a mouthful of caviar, scooping crab paté with a finger of toast. “I’ll take leftovers like this any time.”

“Pity they didn’t leave the girls too,” his companion answered.

Michelle hunched down on one of the bench seats and sipped her coffee. It tasted good and was warming after the gray weather outside. One of the two men looked at her curiously, as if amenable to opening up a little and talking now that the mission of getting her here was accomplished. She avoided his gaze, and he turned away.

Corfe left the Interstate at the Convention Center and drove a few blocks east toward First Hill, oddly enough not too far from Garsten’s office, where the day’s whole crazy chain of events had begun. He parked the van in a quiet side street and was about to call Eric to let him know where he was, when an incoming call arrived first.

“Yes?” Corfe acknowledged warily.

“Doug, it’s Kevin.”

“Hey, Kev! What’s been the problem there? We—”

“Doug, you don’t understand. I’m on my way north with Ohira now, doing some low-flying on the Interstate. We had it all wrong. It was today! You understand me? They had it set up for today.”

Corfe shook his head protestingly. “That’s impossible. Michelle said—”

“She was a lot righter than she ever knew. There was a killer mec planted in Vanessa’s car—the one Dad’s using.”

“But, but . . . I talked to him . . . it couldn’t have been twenty minutes ago. He was okay. What are you saying? . . .”

“He didn’t even know about it. Don’t worry about that part, Doug. It’s over. We just talked to him too. He says you’ve lost Michelle.”

“I was just about to start trying to locate her.”

“Ohira just got to the firm in time. They sent a couple of their heavyweights down to pick me up. So they know everything.” The alarm in Kevin’s voice sharpened. “It means she’s in danger, Doug. You have to find where she is.”

Corfe gulped and nodded into the phone. “I’ll do what I can.” He gave Kevin his location and cut the call, then scrambled into the rear of the van, activated one of the on-board couplers again, and began frantically scanning the channels.

There was something familiar about the drapes high on the wall opposite, and the windows with the rounded corners, Michelle thought. She looked around and took in the round-backed chairs and couch, the sculptures and art works, rich carpeting, and marble-topped bar with mirrors below a long window at the far end. She looked the other way and saw two doors in the end wall, and between them the centerpiece with the crest carved in wood and the ship’s name. It was the room that she had seen on the tape, she realized—the tape Kevin and Taki had made from the mec that had inadvertently found its way into Vanessa’s car. Near Michelle’s elbow was a furled U.S. flag secured to the wall, and beyond it the end of a wooden cabinet. From what Kevin had said—assuming nobody had come across it—that mec should still be there, up on the top of that cabinet somewhere. She forced herself not to look up and risk showing too much curiosity.

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