the Hades Project rested on his shoulders.
His eyes were hooded as they continued to work the crowd. In the cold twilight, the pocks in the tall man's skin seemed deeper in the hollows of his face. He inhaled the pungent odor of wood smoke carried in the cold evening air. The scent reminded him of his nomadic youth around the campfires of northern Iraq. Those were not memories he cared to dwell on. He had come far from those poor beginnings, and the Hades Project would be the culmination of his long escape. No one was going to stop his success.
As he thought that, he saw them.
Smith had disguised himself in bulky hunting pants, a plaid hunting coat, and a ragged black mustache. The CIA woman wore a gray dress, hair darkened with shoe polish, and a straw hat. But they could not hide from him.
He whispered to McGraw and started forward, fighting the crowd. Excitement spread through him.
His eyes haggard, his back bent, his face so close to the keyboard his sweat dripped onto the keys, Marty battled to overcome the last barrier and assume control of the cable transmission. He had long since ceased to mutter and cry out. He had lapsed into a deep and determined silence as he struggled.
Mercer Haldane stood with the technicians in front of the single camera. It was switched on, focused, and waiting. He continued to mop the sweat that poured down his face under the hot lights. No one made small talk. The room seemed to bristle with tension.
At the studio door, Peter no longer watched the corridor outside or listened to anything but the silence that seemed to stretch endlessly. He did not know what was happening in Long Lake village, but he knew the speeches must have begun at least ten minutes ago, and he hoped that by now Jon and Randi were approaching the platform to shout out their accusations in front of the president, the crowd, the secret service, Tremont, and the worldwide TV audience.
Accusations they would have no chance to prove… unless Marty broke into the transmission in the next few seconds.
Jon and Randi had reached the second row of packed spectators. Just ahead was the raised stage with its colorful patriotic bunting. The entire throng ? all the dignitaries, Victor Tremont, and the president ? were staring up at the giant image of the prime minister heaping praise and gratitude on Victor Tremont.
Jon took a breath, nodded to Randi, and they abruptly pushed through the last people and shouted up to the president's turned back.
Smith bellowed: “Tremont is a fraud and a mass murderer!” He waved the printouts of the secret records. “He caused this pandemic himself! For money. To extort billions from the world!”
The president turned in shock at Jon's first shout.
Victor Tremont spun to face them, shouting back: “They've got guns! That man is a fugitive from the military, a rogue scientist, and a killer. Shoot him!”
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.
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.
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.
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
