Germ

He didn't say anything for a long time, and she didn't know how to respond. She wanted to cry or scream or . . . something. She could picture Molland, tapping manicured nails on the surface of his immaculate desk, hair just right, suit tailored just so, looking more like a politician than a chief law enforcement officer. Oddly, she wondered if someone was sitting on the black leather sofa in his office. If so, would their expression convey professional concern for her behavior or conspiratorial delight at having found her? She pushed the thought away. If there was a mole in the agency, the chances of it being Molland were slim. Goody had always trusted him. That was why he'd agreed to leave the Bureau for CDC when Molland had asked.

He cleared his throat. 'What's the take on that guy you and the locals zapped last night?'

'I have no idea, sir. Hired gun. Very professional.'

'You know he's gone?'

The blood in the base of her neck chilled, then cascaded down her spine.

'What do you mean?'

'Someone broke into the morgue this morning. Stole the body.'

The room grew darker, as if the sun had slipped behind a cloud.

'Why?'

'That's the question. Coroner went in this morning, and the corpse was gone. Like he got up and strolled out.'

'He had to have been shot two dozen times.'

'That's what I heard.'

Long pause. Molland spoke again, his voice much softer, even compassionate.

'Look . . . Julia. I'm sorry about Goody. I can't tell you how much. I know you two were close. I understand that you panicked, freaked out. But it's time to get back on track. Let's catch his killers, huh? What time can you be here? One? Two?'

'I need more time,' she blurted. 'I mean, I haven't slept, and I need to get organized.' What she really needed was to sort through her notes and memory, then make a definitive decision either to go to the Bureau with her suspicions or to go somewhere else, like directly to the attorney general. She also wanted to give Bonsai time to decrypt the information on the chip.

'Okay. I understand. How about three?'

'Tomorrow morning would be better.'

'Tomorrow?' He didn't say anything for a while, then: 'Okay, look. You've been through the wringer. Take the day off. Be here first thing in the morning, right? My office.'

'Thanks, Ed. See you tomorrow.'

'Julia?'

'Yeah?'

'First thing in the morning. I mean it.'

She disconnected and set the phone back on the bedside table. She had taken two steps toward the bathroom when it rang again. She picked it up and looked at the caller ID. Private number. Bonsai or Molland again. She pushed the talk button.

'This is Julia.'

'We need to talk.'

'Who is this?'

'Dr. Parker. Remember? We need to talk,' he repeated.

'Parker?' She'd forgotten about leaving her number with him. 'What do you mean, we need to talk?'

'Somebody tried to kill me last night. Twice.'

'What? Who? No, wait—' Her head was spinning now. She expected Rod Serling to step through the door, calmly introducing the Twilight Zone episode her life had become. Meet Julia Matheson. Lonely federal agent. Her job requires her to think in terms of black and white, in logic and fact. But she's about to discover a place where logic and fact have no meaning. A place called .. . the Twilight Zone.

She said, 'Are you where I can call you back in three minutes?'

'A pay phone.'

'Give me the number.' She memorized it. 'Okay, three minutes.'

Julia hung up, dug into her purse for coins, and walked in her stocking feet to the pay phone outside the hotel's management office. She dialed the number and dropped in the coins. When Parker answered, she said, 'All right, who tried to kill you?'

'Three different people. One of them had a badge.'

'A federal agent?'

'A local cop, a sheriff's deputy, I think. Another was a big guy, had a gun with a laser—'

'A gauntlet?'

After a moment, he said, 'I didn't see anything like that. But he was fast and moved better than you'd think for a man that size.'

'Glasses?'

'Yeah . . . thick black frames. You know this guy?'

'He attacked me last night too. He died in a shootout with the cops.'

Parker made a noise that might have been a gasp or murmured profanity. She watched through the office's front window as an old man came out from a back room absently rubbing his chest under a stained T-shirt. He spotted Julia and waved.

Parker said, 'So? Can we meet?'

'Me, as a cop?'

'No, not really. Maybe . . . Not officially. I don't know.'

She laughed. 'I think I know what you mean.'

'Just you. No other agents, no cops, no surveillance.'

'Just me.'

'Okay. Meet us at the Appalachian Cafe on Market Street in Knoxville at—'

'Whoa, whoa. Knoxville?'

'There or nowhere.'

'You're afraid of being in Chattanooga?'

'You're not?'

'I'm shaking in my socks. Who's 'we'?'

'My brother. He was with me last night. Noon?'

'Noon it is. Appalachian Cafe.' She hung up.

A dozen thoughts tripped over themselves for her attention: the stolen body, the meeting with Parker, his attempted murder, Molland expecting her tomorrow morning . . . She squeezed her eyes shut and willed them all away. Not now, not now. Mentally, she constructed an agenda: shower (yes, long and hot. . . okay, not so long; Knoxville is a two-hour drive), enter the new data into her case journal (skip that, no time), check out of the motel (can't stay anyplace too long), hop a cab to a car rental company to replace her agency car, shoot up to Knoxville.

She went back to her room, stripped off her clothes, and laid them out on the bed. She added Call Mom to her list. Then she stepped into the steaming jets of the shower and let the pounding water wash away her concerns, if only for a short while.

She found a different phone booth to call home. Her

mother sounded tired, but she claimed to be mobile. She insisted she didn't need help. The next call Julia made was to Homecare, the home health agency. The company had a check-in service; a nurse would swing by the duplex every four hours to make sure everything was as it should be. That ought to drive her mom crazy.

thirty-five

Gregor knocked on the observation window until