Catching the kids.
But they had failed.
So now it was time for other options. As he had prophesied on the rooftop of the building in Denver, “Catch you later, kid.”
Vincenti’s specialty: a long-distance sniper. Before he’d gone into business for himself, he’d been in the U.S. Army. Nowadays the jobs were less frequent, but the pay was so much better.
Marco had decided to drive from his house in Hempstead, Long Island, down to western Maryland, where the six freak-show kids were supposed to be hanging out. His job, specifically, was to kill only one of the kids—the older girl, Max. But there were other potential bonuses, and he planned to go home with as much bonus money as he possibly could.
Marco listened to a Best of Mozart tape all the way down from New York. The music didn’t calm his nerves—he didn’t need that—but he enjoyed the musical brilliance and, most of all, the precision of the compositions.
This job had a code name known only to him and his secretive employer.
Skeet.
He liked that one.
Shooting targets that didn’t, couldn’t, shoot back.
77
KIT AND I finally got to meet Dr. Ethan Kane.
Analise Miller led us up to a man “scrubbing” at a wide metal sink outside one of the operating rooms. We watched him take a towel from a nurse, who then helped him out of his operating gown. Analise Miller reminded him that the FBI had set up our visit. He smiled at the woman, then nodded her away. He introduced himself, offering up strong, soap-smelling handshakes and twenty-twenty eye contact as Kit told him our names.
Dr. Kane was incredibly handsome, I’ll give him that much. He had a square, seamless face, thick salt-and-blond hair, broad shoulders, and a narrow waist. His eyes were a luminous blue, and his smile was as warm as a Gerber baby’s.
“Call me Ethan,” he said. “I prefer that. It’s very good to meet you. What is this about again? The Bureau might be interested in using our hospital from time to time? You don’t know how much that pleases me. This is a great research facility, perhaps the best in the United States. Have you got time to talk? I have a few minutes if you do.”
“That’s very kind of you, Doctor,” Kit said in a gentle, mellifluous voice. I had never seen this very smooth, diplomatic side of him before. As we followed Dr. Kane, Kit turned to me and whispered, “Don’t blow my nice-guy act. And don’t laugh, either.”
We knew from the PR document Analise Miller had given us that Dr. Kane was the winner of the American Society of Transplant Surgeons’ Pioneer Award and that he was doing “breakthrough work with stem-cell therapies.” We followed him through a labyrinth of corridors to his office, an unimposing, very cozy space crowded with books that were stacked almost desk high on the floor. There were also pictures of Dr. Kane with a few well-chosen political leaders, movie stars, and a financial wiz or three.
“Sorry about the face-dropping.” He waved dismissively at the photographs. “It helps with our fund-raising. You can’t imagine. Ours is the celebrity age, isn’t it?”
There was also a large family portrait on the credenza. In the imposing picture, Dr. Kane stood on the front steps of a gracious Greek Revival farmhouse. His arms were around a dark-haired woman, who had a Jackie Kennedy look about her, and two gorgeous children, a teenage boy and girl; a third child, a girl of about four, was clowning at their feet.
“Sissy is our so-called change-of-life baby,” he told us, pointing to the little one. “And, boy, did she change our lives. What a little pistol she is.” He smiled and put a bowl of M&M’s within our reach. “I’m addicted,” he said with a wink. “There are worse things, I suppose.”
He cleared papers from two side chairs and asked us to make ourselves comfortable. He sat back in his desk chair, wadded up a piece of notepaper, and tossed it through a miniature basketball hoop that hung just above a wastebasket. “Two points,” he said, then rocked back in his chair, self-satisfied as an L.A. Lakers fan.
“To be honest, I’m awfully glad Washington takes an active interest in us,” Kane said. “The more public awareness, the better,” he said. “We need funds. Let me tell you about our pet project, which is incredible.
“Our singular mission is to extend human life, and to that end, we’re working on two tracks simultaneously,” he explained. He leaned forward suddenly, his chair making a springy squeak, and made a gesture with his hands, each pointing in an opposite direction. He spoke of divergent paths.
“We’re working with stem cells on one track, organ transplant on the other. As it should be, it’s illegal to use human fetal material, so we’re limited to clones of fetal cells taken prior to the ruling, and we’re using stem cells from bone marrow. Of course, the work is slow going. But that’s prudent, don’t you agree? It’s also the right thing to do.”
He tossed back a handful of M&M’s and crunched them while we waited for him to continue. I could tell that he wasn’t interested in our opinions, or interruptions.
“As for transplantation,” Dr. Kane went on, “the use of animal organs has been banned for good and bad reasons, so we’re doing the best we can with available human organs. Human organs are in tremendous demand, and, historically, when we could get human organs, there was a really high rate of failure after transplantation.
“But we’ve had a couple of real breakthroughs in the last couple of years,” he said, a smile lighting his handsome face. “We’ve learned that transplanting several organs in a system makes for better success than transplanting individual organs. So when we have a matching donor, we use the entire organ system.
“I want you to see this,” he said. He reached behind him and opened the doors of the credenza. He pulled out a chart and spread it out on the desk in front of us. We looked at the colored bars showing the number of multiorgan transplants and the success rate.
“We’re up to eighty percent success in the last six months. Can you imagine that? Five years ago, I wouldn’t have believed it. Three years ago I wouldn’t have!”
Dr. Kane seemed completely caught up in the personal side of the work he was doing; he told us of half a dozen case histories of young people who would have died but for organ transplantation, and of older people who’d been given a new lease on life.
I must admit, his confidence was bracing, his enthusiasm infectious.
“I can hardly sleep at night, I’m so excited by some of this work,” he finally said. “We’re closer than ever to being able to keep people alive for a long, long time. I have hopes that soon the two tracks will converge. When that happens, we’ll have so many choices. To either replace organs or use stem-cell technology to repair tissue. Or to use both methods simultaneously. I think we can bank on it, Frannie and Kit. We’re all going to live to benefit from these most incredible advances. Isn’t that glorious? Imagine it. In our lifetime. Now let me tell you about the rest of our hospital. I’ll make it short but very sweet.”
Kit and I were a little dazzled as we left the facility. It was the opposite of what we’d seen and felt at the terrible School in Colorado. The evidence was compelling that this was an exceptional medical complex. The Hauer Institute was advanced, famous for good works, well run, possibly the best research center in America. Dr. Ethan Kane was clearly brilliant, and he had a great reputation.
“I don’t get it,” said Kit.
I did.
My hackles were still up.
78
DR. ETHAN KANE smiled as FBI Agent Brennan and Dr. O’Neill finally left his office. What incredible fools they were. He knew exactly what they wanted here, and although he was disappointed that the Hospital was under suspicion, there wasn’t much that he could do about it, was there? Besides, he was almost certain that those two imbeciles had believed his bullshit. He’d been so patient and ingratiating with them. Just thinking about the smarmy interview made him ill.
Ethan Kane left his office and boarded the private elevator down to the basement. He had an important meeting to go to
.
He got out at B-3 and hurried along a lengthy corridor to a conference room.
He would’ve loved to show Brennan and Dr. O’Neill this on their guided tour of the Hospital. Blow their little minds.
Ethan Kane used a special passkey to let himself into the conference room. Three men sat around a glass-and-metal table.
Even Dr. Kane had to admit that they were extraordinary specimens—miracles, if you took the trouble to think about it.
Each of the three looked exactly like him.
They almost were him. But it was more like they were the arms and legs, and he was the head. And, of course, the head ruled.
“Doctors Kane,” he addressed the three look-alikes, “we have a lot of work to do, and not much time to do it. Resurrection is close, but there’s something else on my mind right now. I want those children! I especially want the one called Maximum. I have seen the future, and Resurrection is only the beginning.”
79
OZYMANDIAS COULDN’T GET the thought out of his head that he was happier than he’d ever been in his life.
By a lot! By miles and miles! By light-years!
Of course, he’d been mostly totally miserable before this. It was a weekday, and the woods were empty of human life but filled with other familiar and reassuring sounds. Brooks rippled musically over mossy rocks, and the air was filled with birdsong and squirrel chatter.
And best of all, he and Max were alone. The sweet, unbearably beautiful, golden-haired girl was right beside him as they soared over the woodland, literally skimming the treetops with the tips of their wings.
As he glided on the soft, fresh-smelling air, Oz considered a profound thought: How angry he’d been his entire life.
Sad but true. And undeniable.
He’d raged and fought against his keepers at the School in Colorado, and ever since he’d been returned to his so-called biological mother, he’d been furious at the world. But in the past few days that hot red flame had almost completely gone out of him.
Max was the whole reason. He wanted her to feel as tremendous as he did, and thought he’d die if she didn’t. He flashed her a conspiratorial look, then zoomed straight up into the air. Oz disappeared into the blue as if he were a fighter jet trying to escape from a sneak missile attack.
Then he swooped down on Max, hugging her from behind. He kissed her on the nape of her neck as the two of them fell toward the earth.
This was glorious. Everybody should try it at least once. When it was almost too late to come out of the dive, Max said, “Oz, let go! Now!”
He did! And they spread their beautiful wings wide, beating, beating, beating back against the air, stopping their fall in a move that would have brought a Cirque de Soleil crowd to its feet.
“You,” said Max laughing, “could be dangerous!”
“But you like it, right? Right? You’re not terribly tired of me already, are you?”
“No, Ozymandias, I love you to pieces. I’ve never felt like this before and I don’t want it to end. We’re, well, we’re Romeo and Juliet.”
“Let’s skip the suicide part, if you don’t mind.”
“I’m not the suicide type.” Max grinned.
She took long, rowing strokes of air and pulled herself skyward in a ninety-degree trajectory. At the top of the climb, she folded her wings and swept down on Oz. She caressed his cheek with her fingers as she fell past him. God, did she love him.
“Catch me. If you can,” she called out.
“That’s not a problem. Consider yourself as good as caught.”
“What a guy.”
The race was on.
Max shot over a gorgeous copse of ash trees, then dropped below their canopy, exhibiting a serpentine flight path between the trunks. Definitely a ten out of ten on the judges’ scorecards.
Oz rushed right behind her, breathlessly beating his wings, which were a blur. They swooped past tree trunk after tree trunk, an incredible feat of daring and skill.
Then Max landed.
So did Oz.
They were wrapped in each other’s arms even before their feet touched ground. Their trembling lips met. Their excited breathing seemed the loudest sound in the forest.
Oz raked back Max’s golden hair with his fingers and gently held her head by the knot he made at the nape of her neck. He kissed her, and she sighed under him. Suddenly he became very hard and she laughed. “What a guy,” she whispered.
“And what a girl,” said Oz. “What a woman you are, Max.”
“You really think so?” she whispered breathlessly.
“I know it.”
Their bodies rose and fell, rose and fell, under the dappled light cast by gently tossing branches of ash trees. They were completely lost in each other. They were one with everything in the woods. There was something about their complicated genetic makeup that made this beyond compare. After quite a long time, they finally broke apart, the sweat shining on their perfect bodies.
Max was already thinking ahead to the next moments—when they would do it all over again. She didn’t feel an ounce of guilt. She felt beautiful, pure. We were made for this. It’s so right.
She and Oz lay together quietly for several breathless moments, gathering strength. Then Oz felt Max’s fingers begin a slow dance, tracing the proud eagle on his chest, lingering as they brushed across his flat belly.
Oz took her hands, rolled over onto his stomach, and pinned her wings flat behind her. He looked deeply into her eyes. He lowered his face so that he could feel her sweet breath on his cheeks.
“You mean everything in the universe to me, Max,” he said. “It will always be this way.”
“Even if we have to live on pig nuts someday?”
“Even if it comes to slugs.”
“I do love you,” she breathed. “What we have is better than just human love. I don’t think anyone has ever felt this way before. Isn’t science wonderful? Occasionally, anyway.”
“Remember, they think we’re a mistake.”
Max was still feeling light-headed, so when she heard the sound of cracking branches it caught her off guard. She pushed away from Oz. Her whole body tensed.
She and Oz weren’t alone.
He sprang to his feet, her warrior protector. He spread out his wings to their full ten feet across and assumed an eagle’s crouch to shield her.
Oz shifted on his haunches and a scream of rage exploded through the forest!
They both saw who it was—and it couldn’t have been worse.
80
IT WAS MATTHEW.
He was totally freaked out by what he had just seen in the woods. Max . . . and Ozymandias? They were doing the dirty deed. His sister was making whoopie with Oz. Gross. He was totally grossed-out.
“What the hell is going on?” he yelled at them. “What are you two doing together? Stop it right now! Get away from her, Oz. I’m warning you. Jeez, Max. Oh man, oh man.”
It was dead quiet for a second, then Ozymandias spread his wings and shrieked. Matthew shivered and started to cry as Max quickly got dressed. He didn’t turn around to look at his sister even when Max told him it was all right.
“I’m telling what you did,” he sobbed. “I’m telling Frannie and Kit. I’m telling everybody.”
“Matty, come talk to me. Come here, you.”
“Matty, I wasn’t hurting Max,” Oz finally said. He didn’t look angry now. Maybe just embarrassed, and perhaps sensitive to Matthew’s feelings. “This is how it is with our kind. You’ll see when you get a little older, buddy.”
He walked over to Matthew and took him by the shoulders, the better to see into his face. “I love Max. I love you, too.”
But Matthew roughly pushed Oz away. “Go fuck yourself, buddy. You, too, Max. Oh, wait, it’s too late for that! It already happened.”
Matthew ran blindly through the woods, and when he felt the air pull on his opened wings, he leaped upward and flew higher than he ever had before. Then Matthew screamed
like a banshee into the heavens.
And Marco Vincenti had the little bird twerp right in his sights, in the crosshairs.
All he had to do was pull.
And down would come baby.
81
KIT AND I had just turned into the parking spot at the ever dee-lightful Alma’s Valley Rest when I heard one of the kids crying.
Which one? What was going on now?
I ran behind the cabin to the small clearing leading into the woods. Matthew came running toward me and blasted into my arms. Matthew? He never cried.
“Frannie!” he whined. “Fran-neeee!”
“What is it? What happened, sweetie? What’s the matter with you?” I asked as I hugged him tightly.
“They were naked in the woods! I swear to God, Frannie. I’m not making it up. I’m not.”
“Who, Matthew? What are you talking about?”
He turned and pointed. Max and Oz were walking out of the woods toward the motel. My heart sank. I think I might have gasped. I’m not exactly sure what I did. But I know that I felt what any other mother would have felt. Fear, disappointment, anger, more fear.
I kissed Matthew’s face and then the top of his head. “Matthew, please go to the car and help Kit with the presents we bought. Yeah, that’s right, go on,” I said. “Go.”
He stumbled off toward the car, and I turned back to Max and Oz with their rumpled clothes and leaf-bedecked hair.
“What is going on?” I asked. “What happened in the woods? What is Matthew talking about?”
“Matty snuck up on us and I didn’t know it was him. I got kind of fierce,” Oz said, trying to explain. “I guess I scared him.”
“That’s another matter,” I said, struggling to keep my own feelings very much under control. “Part of this is that he snuck up, and part of it is what you were doing in the woods.”
I let silence rule for a second as I tried to figure out my role here. There was a voice in my head that belonged to a snooty lawyer lady who’d once said, “You’ve never been a mother, have you, Dr. O’Neill?”