Never in all their months together had Hans made love to her the way he had tonight. What had happened down here to liberate him? Was it simply being back in his childhood home? Or was it that he no longer was leading a double life? And if he was CIA, why, when she happened upon him at what might well be his base of operations, had he been so tender, so loving, so spontaneous? Or was that all part of the act, a result of his training? Impossible. If that was an act then the world makes no sense at all. She thought of calling Annie, but dismissed it immediately, The fewer innocent people involved the better. Rose-Anne? That was a more difficult question. No, not yet, she thought, popping up from bed for the third time to check to see if anyone was watching from the street. Until she assessed how much danger she was actually in, it was possible that Rose-Anne might even be in on it. Hadn’t the woman encouraged her to come down here by mentioning it so often? And by telling her how much Hans had cared for both her and this island? Mother and son in the CIA together?
At this point, thought Elizabeth, nothing was too peculiar. With visions of Rose-Anne and Hans, clad head to toe in black and mowing down hordes of drug-runners with their AK-47s, she fell headlong into a deep and uneasy sleep. 11
In the core lab of the Fountain Compound, Peter Jance, Jr. was dreaming. His team buzzed around him, brimming with ideas. He had planted those ideas in their heads, and over the last week they had blossomed brilliantly. Cap Chu and Rosemarie Wiener had finally worked out the ancillary equations for the enhanced propulsion beam, and Hank Flannagan had completely redesigned the fusion circuitry to fit in half the space and handle three times the power of possible voltage surges. Alex Davies had run a dozen alternate models of the completed weapon through a Kray and was reporting, in a low robotic voice, on his success. Meanwhile Peter stared at his shoes. The think tank smelled of the sea and chalk dust and Rosemarie Wiener’s new perfume, the latest personal secret weapon in her arsenal. “-fully destructive to living tissue. The enemy, in effect, will melt in the beam. Buck Rogers to the nth plus one,” said Alex dryly. “Yeah, but will it blow up again?” said Cap Chu. “I’ve been running continuous trials and we’re already into the millions. Not one failure. Money-back guarantee.” Peter raised his eyes from the pale green linoleum. He felt miles away-back in Phosphorescent Bay, in that warm, glowing water, melting into the embrace of a nameless Angel. “And the ramifications?” Peter heard himself say. They all turned around.
“We win,” Flannagan said.
“What about the people who are going to be vaporized by this thing?” A silence fell over the room. Only a civilian would bring this up, or perhaps a college sophomore, and Peter was neither. “They’ll go quick,” said Flannagan, “and they’ll probably deserve it.” Peter felt the soles of his feet begin to twitch. “Like the Nazis, you mean. There were nervous glances all around. “Yeah, okay,” said Cap Chu. “Isn’t that why your dad helped build the A-bomb? To beat the Germans to the punch?” “In the beginning,” said Peter, “that was the rationale. Then we-” he began, and then corrected himself “-my dad and others realized the Nazis had gone down a blind alley. Their idea of a nuke was loading an atomic pile aboard a ship and sneaking it into an enemy harbor, But we-” he continued, glancing at Alex Davies, who was chewing thoughtfully on his lower lip, “-they went ahead anyway. Because it was there. Once they knew they could make it, they didn’t want to stop.” “Yeah, but still,” said Rosemarie, “what if the Nazis rise again? And this time around they know what they’re doing?” “When the Nazis come back,” Alex Davies assured her, “they won’t be wearing swastikas. They’ll be wearing business suits and talking about living in peace and harmony.” His eyes shone with mischief. “Kind of like us.” “Who says?” said Cap Chu.
“Charles Manson-his very words. I’m sorry, dude,” Alex Davies turned back to Peter, “you were saying?” Peter rose and looked out the window. “What if” he said, “this technology we’re perfecting is further miniaturized to suitcase size, which it will be sooner or later, and it’s stolen or given away via some rider to some bill nobody really gives a shit about and ends up in what we laughingly call the wrong hands. Then we’re looking at New York really sizzling in the summer. They all looked at him for a long moment, then Cap Chu burst into laughter. “God, you’re good.”
“I’m sorry?” said Peter.
“I thought your dad was a put-on artist, but you’re way better.” The others laughed, all except Alex, whose eyes had been following Peter like a hawk. “In any case,” Alex said, “if the computer trials continue to pan out, we’ll be going back to White Sands soon.” At this, they all went on alert, Peter included, “No shit?” said Flannagan “So,” said Mex, fixing Peter in his sights, “it’s a little late for liberal angst.” Peter met his eyes until Alex turned back to the chalkboard. “Damn,” said Rosemarie, “I was about to get accredited in scuba.” “Maybe you can take up sand diving at Los Alamos,” said Flannagan. Their conversation bubbled on, excited or disappointed by the prospect of moving back to the desert depending on each person’s proximity to girlfriends, family or favorite bars. Peter heard none of it. All he heard was his inner voice, urging him to think fast and to find a way to get that woman to New Mexico.
Studying the bank of video monitors in Henderson’s office, Wolfe turned to the colonel. “He’s in dreamland again,” Henderson agreed. They could see Peter from two angles, wide and close. While his team scurried about the lab, arguing, scrawling on the chalkboard, Peter sat staring at the concrete wall as though it were a picture window. “No doubt about it,” said Henderson. “He got his pencil shaved in town. There’s a big singles scene there, you know,” “Really?” Wolfe asked deadpan. Beneath his own concern for the project’s future, he detected a faint echo of perverse satisfaction. If Peter was cheating on Beatrice, there might be a chance it would spell the end of their marriage. Had it ever been tested before? Not to his knowledge, although over the years he had often secretly prayed for something to go wrong between his two old friends, something that might leave the field clear for himself and Beatrice. But priorities were priorities: by straying off the base, Peter had put himself and the entire project at risk, and the heedlessness had filled both Wolfe and Henderson with alarm. The difference between the two men was that Henderson was much more ready to act. “If I had my way,” said Henderson, “I’d take him down with a tranquilizer gun and perform a partial castration.” “I wonder what Beatrice would say to that,” Wolfe responded. “I think she’d be the one to hold his nuts. Let’s get his ass in here.” Henderson pushed the button that hid the video screens and called for his aide. Five minutes later the door opened and Peter walked in wearing a look of distracted irritation. Henderson opened and closed the subject in one breath. “Jance, you’ve got to stop screwing around.” Peter eyed him. “No more Coltrane in the think tank.” “That too.” Henderson came around his desk, his manner heavily paternal. “Look,” he said, placing a giant hand on Peter’s shoulder, “I know it must be a hoot. Suddenly you’re in a young body, with all that testosterone running around in your brain, but-” Peter shrugged Henderson’s hand away. “It’s much more than that,” he said. “Then why don’t you tell me about it? And wipe that damn smirk off your face.” On his old friend’s behalf Wolfe felt his gut tighten up. “Oscar,” he said, “there’s no reason to be hostile.” “It’s all right, Freddy,” said Peter, drawing himself up. “You want to hear about it, Colonel? Fine. It’s not just hormones. It’s a liver that actually cleans my blood. It’s a heart that floods my brain with the richest, most oxygenated blood I’ve enjoyed in forty years. Another examplemy knee joints. Instead of calcified, bone-on-bone hinges, they’re finely tuned machines-ligaments, cartilage and muscles perfectly toned and intact, cushioned by fully functional menisci. It’s a pleasure to climb stairs again. And I have lungs that don’t grow congested when I run. I can smell, taste, feel, see and hear a million things I’d either learned to despise in their mined form or forgotten existed at all. You know the overtones I can hear now on a violin string playing a Bach partita? I’d forgotten there were such things.” “I’m talking more about your dick,” Henderson said. Peter’s icy eloquence, Wolfe knew, only served to increase Henderson’s anger. “As in, the dick that’s leading you around.” Peter returned his gaze. “I don’t know what you mean. “That’s bullshit and you know it’s bullshit.” Peter gave a defiant laugh. “Go fuck yourself Colonel. I don’t have to dance for you. Henderson came at him in one fluid move, slamming him against the wall, hand crushing his throat before Peter could even throw up an arm in self-defense. Henderson pushed his face into Peter’s, his free hand waving Wolfe away. “Jance,” he said, “I know more ways to kill someone with my bare hands than you do from behind a machine a safe mile away, so don’t get smart with me. I don’t mind looking in the face of the people I do.” He inhaled deeply, then said very quietly, “You better watch your ass, Peter, or you and your love toy will both end up on the scrap heap.” Peter’s eyes flinched with real fear. Enough was enough, thought Wolfe. “Henderson,” he said, as calmly as he could, “if you continue in this vein I’m going to have to report it to Washington.” “If you don’t, I will,” Henderson said quietly. He held Peter’s eyes for another long second, then let go. Peter stayed on his feet, but Wolfe could see that his eyes had teared up from the assault to his windpipe and his breath was hoarse and desperate. Henderson confronted both of them. “I know you two are the geniuses and your names will be in all the books when mine’s just a numbered stone in Arlington. But, by God, I’ve been ordered to see that this project does not get derailed by anybody and I include everybody in the word anybody.’ No exceptions.” “You kill me, you won’t have much of a project,” Peter rasped out. “That’s your trump card, is it?” said Henderson. He stepped closer to Peter. “You think your friend Wolfe put all his eggs in one basket? There’s plenty more where you came from.” Wolfe saw Peter stiffen with suspicion. “Meaning what?” “What makes you think you’re the only one?” Henderson shot back. Peter couldn’t speak. He looked at Wolfe, and Wolfe said as discreetly as he could, “Oscar, I’d like to be alone with Peter for a moment?” Henderson wavered, then shrugged. “It’s time our boy learned the facts of life. Office is yours.” He went out, slamming the door behind him. The damn fool, thought Wolfe. This was a conversation he had been hoping to avoid, and now that it was forced upon him, it would have to be handled with perfect delicacy. The sight of his old friend with Henderson at his throat had stirred complicated emotions, most of them unwanted. “What was that supposed to mean?”