big man was taking his pulse, and the smaller guy-he looked Mexican-was
using one of those detachable glove-compartment flashlights to examine
the lacerations in Whitney’s face and temple.
Their dark suits had quickly gotten darker as the rain soaked them.
They might have been some of the federal agents who were after Ben and
Rachael, but at this point Whitney didn’t care if they were lieutenants
in the devil’s own army, because surely no one could pose a greater
danger than the deadly creature that was stalking the motel grounds.
Against that enemy, all men ought to be united in a common cause. Even
federal agents, even D.S.A men, would be welcome allies in this battle.
They would have to give up the idea of keeping the Wildcard Project a
secret, they would see that there was no way this particular line of
life-extension research could be safely carried on, and they would stop
trying to silence Ben and Rachael, would help stop the thing that Leben
had become, yes, that was certainly what they would do, so Whitney told
them what was happening, urged them to help Ben and Rachael, alerted
them to the nature of the danger that they faced…
“What’s he saying?” the big one asked.
“I can’t make it out exactly,” the small, well-dressed, Mexican-looking
man said. He had stopped examining the cuts and had fished Whitney’s
wallet out of his trousers.
The big man carefully felt Whitney’s left leg. “This isn’t a recent
injury. He lost the leg a long time ago. The same time he lost the
arm, I guess.”
Whitney realized that his voice was no louder than a whisper and that it
was mostly drowned out by the patter, splash, and gurgle of the rain. He
tried again.
I think he’s delirious,” the big man said.
I’m not delirious, damn it, just weak, Whitney tried to say. But no
words came from him at all this time, which scared him.
“It’s Gavis,” the smaller man said, studying the license in Whitney’s
wallet. “Shadway’s friend. The man Teddy Bertlesman told us about.”
“He’s in a bad way, Julio.”
“You’ve got to take him in the car and get him to a hospital.”
“Me?” the bigger man said. “What about you?”
“I’ll be all right here.”
“You can’t go in alone,” the big man said, his face carved by lines o
worry and bejeweled with rain.
“Reese, there 5 not going to be trouble here,” the smaller man said.
“It’s only Shadway and Mrs. Leben.
They’re no danger to me.”
“Bullshit,” the bigger man said. “Julio, there’s someone else.
Neither Shadway nor Mrs. Leben did this to Gavis.”
“Leben!” Whitney managed to expel the name loud enough for it to carry
above the sound of the rain.
The two men looked at h{m, puzzled.
“Leben,” he managed again.
“Eric Leben?” Julio asked.
“Yes,” Whitney breathed. “Genetic . . chaos. . . cha05, mutation.
.. guns. .. guns.
“What about guns?” the bigger man-Reese-asked.
hausted. won’t.. . stop. . . him,” Whitney finished, ex “Get him into
the car, Reese,” Julio said. “If he isn’t in a hospital in ten or
fifteen minutes, he’s not going to make it.”
“What’s he mean that guns won’t stop Leben?” Reese asked.
“He’s delirious,” Julio said. “Now move!”
Frowning, Reese scooped Whitney up as easily as a father might lift a
small child.
“Could this be where Shadway and the Leben bitch are hiding out?”
Sharp wondered.
Dear God, I hope not, Peake thought. I hope we never find them. I hope
they’re on a beach in Tahiti.
“Whoever those bastards have found,” Sharp said, “they’re putting him in
their car.”
Peake had given up all hope of becoming a legend.
He had also given up all hope of becoming one of Anson Sharp’s favorite
agents. All he wanted was to get through this night alive, to prevent
whatever killing he could, and to avoid humiliating himself.
At the side of the garage, the battered door cracked again, from top to
bottom this time, and the jamb splintered, too, and one hinge tore
loose, and the lock finally exploded, and everything crashed inward, and
there was Leben, the beast, coming through like something that had