The secret service leaped from the platform and ran toward Jon.
Randi took up the cry. “Tremont’s still infecting millions of people! He’s sending out the virus in his antibiotics. He’s shipping infected antibiotics every day. Even today!”
Nadal al-Hassan and his men struggled through the crowd toward them. Jack McGraw was bawling orders at his security guards.
Jon battled in the grip of the secret service. He managed to wave his papers. “I have the proof! I have their records. I…”
The secret service swarmed him to the ground.
Other secret service and FBI men pounced on Randi. Pain shot through her shoulders. They found her Uzi. “She’s armed!”
Nadal al-Hassan had almost reached them, his gun hidden at his side.
__________
5:18 P.M.
Lake Magua
Marty shouted into his microphone, “We’re in!”
“Go!” Peter cried.
Mercer Haldane stared into the camera, took a deep breath, and started to talk.
__________
5:18 P.M.
Long Lake Village
On the platform, more secret service grabbed the president to hustle him away.
The giant screen above the milling crowd went dark for a second, and then Mercer Haldane appeared with his white, flowing hair and dignified face. He was standing in the secret laboratory. Behind him the four lab technicians held up giant blowups of the most damning printouts. Watching from below, the crowd fell into a surprised hush.
“My name is Mercer Haldane.” His words boomed. Somehow Marty had managed to increase the volume. “Until last week, I was chairman and CEO of Blanchard Pharmaceuticals. I have news about the virus that all of you must listen to carefully. Your lives depend on it. A great evil has been perpetrated on all of us by Victor Tremont.” Shocked by his words, everyone’s attention was riveted, including the secret service. “Ten years ago, Victor inaugurated a monstrous secret plan. He called it the Hades Project, and he infected twelve soldiers in the Gulf War, six on each side of the conflict, with a unique and deadly virus he had found in the Peruvian jungle. Then he contaminated Blanchard’s antibiotics with the live virus and shipped it across the world. This virus would lie dormant for—”
On the platform, the president had stopped to listen. Still closely surrounded by the watchful agents, he stared up at the mammoth screen, his eyes slowly blinking as he took in Mercer Haldane’s story. All the dignitaries had focused on it, too. The great crowd stood in an eerie silence as Mercer Haldane pointed to record entries, to dates, to figures.
The audience began to murmur, softly at first like a distant tornado barely heard, and then louder and louder.
The secret service agents relaxed their holds on Jon and Randi.
On the giant screen, Haldane showed the list of officers and stockholders in the secret VAXHAM Corporation.
As a shudder of understanding and belief seemed to sweep over the throngs, the president barked an order. Secret service and FBI agents went to stand beside Nancy Petrelli, General Caspar, Ben Sloat, an angry General Salonen, and the four officers of VAXHAM.
The president scanned the audience. “Bring those two who were shouting. I want to see the records they were trying to show me.”
Randi brushed away the FBI and secret service agents, jumped onto the platform, and handed her printouts to President Castilla. “Sir, you must arrest Victor Tremont at once, or he’ll escape and transfer billions of dollars to his offshore accounts.”
The president scanned the papers and barked an order. The secret service and FBI agents spread out, looking for Tremont.
The chief of detail ran up to the platform. “He’s not here, Mr. President. Victor Tremont is gone!”
Randi searched all around, too. Her voice rose. “So is Jon!”
“Find them!” the president shouted.
__________
5:36 P.M.
The hallways in the storage basement of the main building of Blanchard Pharmaceuticals, Inc., were brightly lighted and filled with boxes, file cabinets, and discarded office furniture and equipment. Beneath that level was the sub-basement where the lights were dimmer. Here spread all the machines to heat, air-condition, supply, and operate the big two-story building. The equipment made a quiet hum.
Under that was yet a third level, unmarked. Seldom visited. It was dark, damp, and rived with narrow corridors. It was not silent. Running footsteps echoes from the walls as Victor Tremont and Nadal al-Hassan rushed along with the speed and certainty of those who knew where they were going. Each carried a weapon. They passed an ordinary steel door on the right. They did not stop but continued on to the wall at the very end. This wall was as smooth and unbroken as all the rest in the dank sub-sub-basement. Simply the end of the corridor, apparently.
Victor Tremont took a small black box from his suit-jacket pocket.
Nadal al-Hassan, his weapon ready, watched warily back along the side corridor.
Tremont pressed a button on the box. The entire wall slid heavily to the left, revealing a hidden vault door made of the strongest steel available when it had been built on Tremont’s orders at the time he had Blanchard’s operations moved to the Adirondack Wilderness. Tremont was shaking. He spun the combination lock, and the massive door rose a few millimeters up on pneumatic lifts and slowly swung open.
“Clever,” Jon said as he stepped from the main corridor, the Beretta held steady in both hands. He aimed it at the two fugitives, who looked up. While Mercer Haldane had been speaking to the stunned crowds, Jon had watched Victor Tremont slip away. Caught in the mass of bodies, Jon had been unable to work his way as swiftly as he had wanted. But in the end, it had not mattered. He had found Tremont.
Nadal al-Hassan never hesitated. A thin smile spread across his narrow face. He swung his Clock and fired before the echo of Jon’s voice ceased.
The bullet missed Smith’s throat by the thickness of a hair.
Jon did not hesitate or miss. All the horrors of the past two weeks swept over him in an unforgettable second. He pulled the trigger, and al-Hassan fell forward without a sound. He lay spread-eagled, his blood pooling on the gray concrete floor at the side of his head.
Victor Tremont’s bullet did not miss either. It stabbed like searing ice through the upper part of Jon’s left leg. It hurled him against the wall, which caused Tremont’s second and third shots to fly past and ricochet, whining away along the main corridor.
Propped against the wall, Jon fought to stay conscious. He fired again. His bullet hit Tremont’s right arm, knocking him back against the half-open door and sending his pistol flying with a metallic clatter to the floor. It bounced and skidded, and the sound reverberated away along the secret corridors like a dying cry.
Dragging his bloody leg, Jon advanced on the mass murderer.
Tremont did not cringe. He lifted his chin, his eyes glowing with the certainty that any man had his price. “I’ll give you a million dollars! Five million!”
“You don’t have a million dollars. Not anymore. You’re dead. They’ll electrocute you.”
“They won’t find me.” He jerked his head behind him toward the half opened door. “I destroyed the plans. No one knows an exit is here. I had it built by foreigners. The money’s already transferred where no one can find it.”
“I thought you’d have some plan.”
“I’m not a fool, Smith. Thev’ll never find me.”
“Not a fool,” Jon agreed. “Just a ghoul. A murderer of millions. But that’s statistics. The world will have to deal with you for that. But you killed Sophia, and that’s personal. I get to decide what to do. You ended her life with a wave of your hand: Eliminate her. Now it’s my turn.”
“Half! I’ll give you half.! A billion dollars. More!” Tremont shrank back against the massive steel door, his long body cowering.
Jon limped forward, the Beretta steady in both hands. “I loved her, Tremont. She loved me. Now—”
It was Randi’s voice behind him. “No, Jon. Don’t. He’s not worth it.”
“What do you know? I loved her, dammit!” His finger tightened on the trigger.
“He’s finished, Jon. The FBI is here. The secret service. They’ve got them all. The serum’s on its way to stop the dying, and they’ve confiscated all the antibiotics. Let them deal with him. Let the world deal with him.”
Smith’s face was fierce. His eyes glowed like coals. His chin jutted. He took another step closer, the Beretta steady, inches from Tremont’s trembling face. The arrogant executive tried to speak again, to say something, but his mouth and lips and tongue were too dry. All that came out was a whimper.
“Jon?” Randi’s voice was suddenly soft, close.
He glanced back over his shoulder and saw Sophia. It was her lovely face, her large, intelligent eyes and sweet smile. He blinked. No, it was Randi. Sophia. Randi. He shook his head to clear it. He knew what Randi wanted, and what Sophia would have wanted.