She'd left it dark so that anyone passing by wouldn't see the lights and know she was home.
Her gaze darted to the mantle where she'd left the bottle with the implant. Still there. She shuffled over and grabbed it. Yes. Same bottle. And there was the implant, safe inside.
Suddenly the glass tingled against her skin. Gin watched in horror as the implant shriveled and dissolved into a puddle of liquid. The membrane was gone, leaving only the TPD and a few floating streaks of dried blood.
She heard a rustle behind her and Duncan was there, stepping out of the shadows, the pager in his hand. Tears streaked his cheeks, his expression was tortured, his voice husky, hovering on the edge of a sob.
She turned to run, to scream for help, but she could not. Her mouth was dry, and she was so weak. Without taking her eyes off him, she reached out a shaky hand and found the edge of the couch. Two steps were all she could manage before she slumped onto the cushions.
"I'm sorry, Gin. You've left me no alternative. This is something I must do. Not just for me. For all of us." Gin opened her mouth but could not speak. Her body was bathe in sweat. She could feel it running down her skin in rivulets. An angry buzz was growing in her head.
Duncan stepped forward and took the bottle from her slick, nerveless fingers.
"I know you'll never forgive me, Gin. But I hope someday you'll understand why I had to do this." The buzzing grew louder as Gin tried to lift herself from the couch, to reach for Duncan, claw at him, but then the already darkened room went completely black, and the buzz exploded into a deafening roar, and she felt herself falling back . . .
But she never landed.
35
FRIDAY
DUNCAN HAD LOST ALL HEART FOR THIS SCHEME.
Feeling utterly miserable, he drove through Chevy Chase in the predawn grayness and thought about Gin. He'd thought of little else since last night. He wondered how she was. He'd called 911 from the first public phone he found after leaving her and gave the operator Gin's address, saying there was an unconscious woman in the apartment.
The E.M.Ts would come and take her away. He hadn't stayed around. The police would be noting any onlookers, wondering which one had made the call. Duncan couldn't afford to be seen.
Placing a second implant in the trocar after he'd pierced Gin's thigh had been a last-second decision. A subliminal voice, more aware of her tenacity and relentless determination than his conscious mind, must have whispered to hlm, urging him to buy himself some insurance where Gin was concerned. Whatever it was, it had been right on the money.
Gin had cut her own leg open and dug out one of the implants.
But only one. Duncan had dissolved both, the one in the bottle and the one still in her thigh. The evidence was gone, and so was a brilliant mind. It would be years before the effects of the TPD wore off. Gin would find it almost impossible to get licensed when she recovered.
All her years of training, worthless. All her hopes for a career in medicine, dashed.
Duncan had sobbed like a child all the way home. He'd had to sneak into his own house so he wouldn't have to speak to Oliver. He knew his brother was comfortable down in the basement. It was heated and had its own bathroom, the extra fridge was down there, filled with juices and soft drinks. Every convenience but a phone.
Oliver probably spent a more comfortable night than I did, Duncan thought.
Duncan had lain awake the entire night on the couch, hearing Oliver occasionally shout his name, and watching over and over against the backs of his eyelids the replay of Gin's wounded, terrified expression before she passed out.
For a while he considered dropping all his plans. He could call that Secret Service agent who'd given him his card, Decker was his name, and tell him the surgery was off. Or call Dr. VanDuyne and tell him to tell his patient, the president, to go to hell and find another surgeon to fix his goddamn eyelids.
But after all he'd gone through, he couldn't allow himself such a luxury. Not after what he'd done to Gin. Unconscionable, but he'd done it for a cause. To fail to follow through would mean he'd made her suffer for nothing. And that would be monstrous.
That was why he was driving to the surgicenter at 4:3O A.M., half an hour earlier than planned. Oliver was still locked in the basement at home. As soon as the president left for Camp David, hopefully carrying an implant in his thigh, Duncan would return and release Oliver. What happened after that would be up to his younger brother.
Possibly he could convince Oliver to keep quiet. He'd return the remaining TPD and swear he'd done nothing to the president. He'd say he'd suffered through a period of aberrant behavior but he was better now, and he was going into therapy. He'd profess to know nothing of Gin's condition, and swear again that he'd gone looking for her last night but had been unable to find her. Oliver would suspect, but he couldn't know. After all, Gin had removed the implant, Oliver had seen it himself. And if Duncan could convince him that he was on the straight and narrow from now on, that they should put all this behind them, Oliver might go along.
Probably.
Hopefully.
After all, if the affair were made public, Duncan's opprobrium would attach to Oliver, and to Oliver's implants. His invention would be forever tainted by its misuse with harmful intent. The FDA might even hold up its approval.
Oliver will keep his peace, Duncan told himself. What harms me harms his implants. And he knows the good they can do will far outweigh the harm I've done.
He unlocked the private entrance and walked inside. He went to the keypad to disable the alarm and found it already off. Damn it.
Barbara had forgotten again to set it before she left. If she weren't such a good secretary . . .
He'd deal with her next week. Right now he had other concerns. The advance team from the Secret Service would be arriving in about half an hour to secure the building.
Plenty of time to fill an implant with TPD.
He turned on the inside hall lights and outside spots, then went to his office. He froze when he turned on his office lights and saw the books, journals, and papers scattered across the floor. The office was a shambles. Someone had broken in and torn it apart. Why? What could they be looking for?
The TPD?
He leapt to his desk. He groaned when he saw the splintered drawer.
It looked as if someone had taken a hammer to it and smashed it open.
He rifled through the contents. The TPD vial was gone. So was the trocar.
No!
His heart tore into overdrive. He hurried back into the hall and stood looking up and down its length. Somebody had found the TPD and stolen it.
But who? Oliver was locked up and Gin was in an emergency room somewhere. Who else knew about?
Duncan whirled as he heard a faint noise, like a chair being moved. It had come from down the hall. He saw that the door to the lower level was open.
From downstairs? Who would be down in the records room or, Oliver's lab!
Moving as quietly as possible, Duncan hurried along the hall and tiptoed down the stairs. At the bottom he saw light flooding out from the open door to Oliver's lab. And noises from within. Oliver must have escaped from the basement. Gin had told him where the TPD was hidden and now he was here disposing of it.
Discarding all caution, Duncan raced forward to the door.
"Oh!" The word clogged in his throat, shutting off his air. He couldn't breathe.
A pale, disheveled woman in a sweater and sweatpants, with wild-looking dark hair, stood at the counter, the vial of TPD in her hand. She looked up. Her wide, shocked eyes spit dark fire at him.
He found his voice. "Gin!" As she raised her arm to hurl the vial at him, Duncan lunged for her, catching her arm before she completed the motion. She screamed, scratching his face with her nails and beating at him with her free hand as he tried to pry the vial from her fingers.
Lord, she was strong, like an angry tigress, but he fended her off and finally managed to get the vial away from h
er. And then she attacked him with both hands, screeching incoherently through her clenched teeth. She was a banshee, a female berserker. Was this what the TPD had done to her?
And then she broke away from him and darted toward the door. He caught her arm and swung her around against the counter, then slammed the door closed and leaned his back against it.
He faced her, staring at her as she stared at him, both panting.
"You bastard!" she screamed, as tears started in her eyes. "You rotten filthy son of a bitch! How could you do that to . . . me? With that, she folded her arms on the counter, lowered her head onto them, and began to sob."
Duncan was dumbfounded. She seemed sane now. Upset, yes, but completely rational. But the implant . . . the TPD. Could the transducer have failed to dissolve it?
That had to be it. Low power, interference, whatever the reason, the ultrasound had failed.
Good Lord. What did he do now?
One thing was certain, He needed time to think. He turned to the door, found the lock, and twisted it. If nothing else that would slow her up if she tried to, He cried out as a cold, sharp stab of pain pierced the back of his thigh. He clutched at the spot and turned.
Gin stood directly behind him, facing him, the trocar clutched in her hand like a dagger.
Duncan's blood froze. He snatched the trocar from her.
"No! You didn't! Gin, you didn't " She nodded slowly, her eyes wild, a slow smile spreading across her face.
Over her shoulder Duncan spotted a tray on the counter with three implants and a syringe. He touched the back of his leg again and checked his fingers.
Blood.
His sick fear was overcome by a flash of anger. But as he stepped toward Gin she raised her other hand. Her fingers were wrapped around the transducer handle of the tabletop ultrasound Oliver used in his experiments on the membranes.
Duncan slammed himself back against the door.
"No, Gin!" He'd wanted to shout the words but they came out in a hoarse whisper. "Please . . . don't!"
"Why not?" she said, still smiling crazily.
The wild look in her eyes terrified him to the very core of his being.
She was teetering on the edge. One wrong word, one wrong move, and she'd slip completely out of control.
"Why not?" she repeated. "You wanted to do it to me."
"No, Gin. That was the last thing I wanted. I had no choice. I,"
"Spare me the lies!" she said, jabbing the transducer at him. "I passed out last night because I was sick and scared and weak. But you thought it was the TPD hitting my system. You tried to fry my brain last night, Duncan. And you came damn close. If my fingertip hadn't happened to brush against that second implant while I was digging out the first, I'd be in the lockup ward at D. C. General right now. As it was, I came to and got out of my apartment just before the ambulance arrived."
"That should be proof that I didn't want to harm you. I called that ambulance."
"Right. After you gave me an ultrasonic zap." She moved closer and Duncan edged away to his right. He didn't dare make a grab for the handle. Her thumb was on the power button. A little pressure on that and the implant in his leg would dissolve, after which his mind would quickly follow suit. He had to keep her talking.
"You don't understand," he said, continuing to edge away. "Oliver told me you'd removed both. I only came,"
"Oliver didn't know that! He only saw the one in the bottle, the second one. The first one fell into the tub and broke and washed down the drain."
He kept moving, inches at a time He would have loved to put the counter between them, but she was following his every move, waving that transducer at him.
"Gin . . . "
"How could you do that to me, Duncan? How could you try to ruin my life like that? You might as well have put a gun to my head. I trusted you, Duncan!"
His heart started hammering as he saw the fury begin to mount in her eyes. He looked around for a weapon, a way out, anything, but he was trapped. He'd have to stop backing away and go after her, have to risk grappling with her.
And then he spotted his salvation, not two feet away. He averted his eyes. Couldn't let her see him looking at it. If he could reach it before she blew . . .
"And I trusted you, Gin," he said, hoping to buy some time if he could put her on the defensive. "I gave you a job, gave you the keys to my building, and what did you do? You picked the lock on my desk drawer and invaded my privacy." The anger in her eyes receded, but only a short way.
'"How did you find that out?"
He was close now, almost within easy reach. If he could get his hand up . . .
"You left a piece of your lock pick behind." He raised his right hand with the thumb and index finger an eighth of an inch apart. "Just a tiny," He darted his hand to the right, grabbed the power cord to the ultrasound unit, and yanked it from the wall, leaving Gin holding an inert piece of metal. Duncan slumped against the counter. Lord, that had been close. He held out his hand. "Give it to me, Gin. It's useless now."
"Don't count on it! " She reared back and threw it at his face.
Duncan twisted away and ducked, but not in time to avoid it completely.
The transducer handle thudded painfully against his skull. By the time he straightened, shook off the pain, and looked around, Gin had unlocked the door and was pulling it open. She was out and gone before he could grab her.
Ignoring the pain in his leg, Duncan gave chase, limping after her as she headed for the stairs.
Gin gasped for breath as she pounded up the steps. She'd taken the rest of the antibiotic she got from Oliver, but she was still sick, still weak. She wasn't going to outdistance Duncan for long.
She reached the first floor and broke into a run down the hall, Right into the arms of three men in suits.
"What the hell's going on here? " said the tall, dark one in the middle, as the one to his right, the one she'd bumped into, grabbed her upper arm and held it. His fingers felt like steel. She might as well have been manacled to him.
'"Agent Decker!" said Duncan's voice behind her. "Thank God you came early! I found this young woman here when I arrived. Apparently she broke in sometime during the night." He held up the trocar. "She just stabbed me with this." She twisted around and saw Duncan standing in the doorway to the basement, panting.
"I just did to him what he was going to do to the president today."
"Whoa," said the tall, dark one Duncan had called Agent Decker. "Hang on there, ma'am,"
"She's deranged, ' Duncan said, moving closer. "She's had a complete break with reality."
"That's not true!" Gin cried. "I work here! I'm a doctor. And he's planning to kill the president today." That was an overstatement, but she needed to get their attention. And now she had it.
"Yes, she used to work here, Agent Decker, " Duncan said quickly. "We've noticed erratic behavior lately and we've been trying to arrange psychiatric help. Unfortunately, she decompensated before we were able to finalize those arrangements.
"What's your name, ma'am? " said Decker.
"Dr. Gin Panzella. I'm a board-eligible internist, and I'm as sane as you are." She launched into an account of the mishaps that had befallen former members of the Guidelines committee who happened to be Duncan's patients, but Duncan interrupted her after a few sentences.
"Agent Decker, do we have to listen to these ravings? Check with the FBI. Just last week she led them on a wildgoose chase with some story of my implanting some poison in Senator Marsden."
"Wait," Gin said. "Don't listen to him. He pulled a reverse on that one."
Duncan shook his head sadly as he stared at her. God, the bastard was a good actor. A regular Jack Nicholson. You'd almost think he truly felt sorry for a former colleague's deteriorating mental condition.
"After a full medical exam on the senator," Duncan said, "including an MRI scan, they found nothing and ended up looking like fools. You can check it out."
"Trust me," Decker said. "We will che
ck it out. We check everything out."
"Good. The name of the agent in charge of that particular boondoggle was Canney. I'm sure he rues the day he was conned into believing Dr. Panzella."
"Canney?" Decker said.
"Yeah. I'll give him a call."
"Come on!" Gin said. "You've got to listen to me!"
"We listen to everybody," Decker said. He turned to the man who was holding her.
"You and Briggs take her downtown and get her statement. I'm going to get in touch with Mallard and see if we can put this deal off for a while. I don't like the smell of this. Don't like it at all."
"Thank you, God!" Gin said as they started leading her toward the rear of the building. "I don't care if you believe me or not, just don't let the president come here today."
Decker looked at her with new interest as he opened the loot to the parking lot. "That's not always our decision, ma'am. So, you know Gerry Canney, do you?"
He knew Gerry's first name! "Yes! Since high school. Do you?"
"We've met. Are you the one who told him about the president's surgery?"
"That's me! You're the one he called?" Decker didn't answer that.
He was staring at the car that had just pulled into the rear lot.
A long night. A bad night. Gerry hadn't had a wink of sleep Isince 6 A. M. yesterday morning. He was tired, his stomaching was on fire, and he was generally pissed.
After leaving the Tremont Hotel last night he'd been unable to had a trace of Gin. The only action he'd had was the 91 I call to her apartment that turned out to be a false -alarm. Nobody home when the ambulance got there, but the door had been wide open.
Something strange and ominous about that call. Something going on that he couldn't quite grasp. Something just out of reach. And it was that tantalizing closeness that had kept him running all night.
He hadn't been able to stop, hadn't been able to drop it. He'd called Mrs. Snedecker and asked if Martha could stay overnight. Martha didn't mind. She liked sleeping over anywhere. Sometimes that worried him. He'd talked to her on the car phone, then kept driving, periodically stopping back at the Bureau building. He'd even spoken to Gin's parents. No, they hadn't heard from her. He hoped they were telling him the truth and he hadn't been patrolling the whole damn northwest all night for nothing.