Whistleblower

photos. A few shots from every angle. I need lots of hair detail.'

As Milo's strobe flashed again and again, Cathy donned gloves and an apron. She pointed to a sheet. 'Drape him for me,' she directed. 'Everything but his face. I don't want him to wake up with plaster all over his clothes.'

'Assuming he wakes up at all,' said Milo, frowning down at Black's inert form.

'Oh, he'll wake up,' said Ollie. 'Right where we found him. And if we do the job right, Mr. Archibald Black will never know what hit him.'

It was the rain that awakened him. The cold droplets pelted his face and dribbled into his open mouth. Groaning, Black turned over and felt gravel bite into his shoulder. Even in his groggy state it occurred to him that this did not make sense. Slowly he took stock of all the things that were not as they should be: the rain falling from the ceiling, the gravel in his bed, the fact he was still wearing his shoes...

At last he managed to shake himself fully awake. He found to his puzzlement that he was sitting in his driveway, and that his briefcase was lying right beside him. By now the rain had swelled to a downpour—he had to get out of the storm. Half crawling, half walking, Black managed to make it up the porch steps and into the house.

An hour later, huddled in his kitchen, a cup of coffee in hand, he tried to piece together what had happened. He remembered parking his car. He'd taken out his briefcase and apparently had managed to make it halfway up the path. And then...what?

A vague ache worried its way into his awareness. He rubbed his neck. That's when he remembered something strange had happened, just before he blacked out. Something associated with that ache in his neck.

He went to a mirror and looked. There it was, a small puncture in the skin. An absurd thought popped into his head: Vampires. Right. Damn it, Archibald. You are a scientist. Come up with a rational explanation.

He went to the laundry hamper and fished out his damp shirt. To his alarm he spotted a droplet of blood on the lapel. Then he saw what had caused it: a common, everyday tailor's pin. It was still lodged in the collar, no doubt left there by the dry cleaners. There was his rational explanation. He'd been pricked by a collar pin and the pain had sent him into a faint.

In disgust, he threw the shirt down. First thing in the morning, he was going to complain to the Tidy Girl cleaners and demand they do his suit for free.

Vampires, indeed.

'Even with bad lighting, you'll be lucky if you pass,' said Cathy.

She stood back and gave Victor a long, critical look. Slowly she walked around him, eyeing the newly darkened hair, the resculpted face, the new eye color. It was as close as she could make it, but it wasn't good enough. It would never be good enough, not when Victor's life was at stake.

'I think he's the spitting image,' said Polowski. 'What's the problem now?'

'The problem is, I suddenly realize it's a crazy idea. I say we call it off.'

'You've been working on him all afternoon. You got it right down to the damn freckles on his nose. What else can you improve on?'

'I don't know. I just don't feel good about this!'

There was a silence as she confronted the four men.

Ollie shook his head. 'Women's intuition. That's a dangerous thing to disregard.'

'Well, here's my intuition,' said Polowski. 'I think it'll work. And I think it's our best option. Our chance to nail the case.'

Cathy turned to Victor. 'You're the one who'll get hurt. It's your decision.' What she really wanted to say was, Please. Don't do it. Stay with me. Stay alive and safe and mine. But she knew, looking into his eyes, that he'd already made his decision, and no matter how much she might wish for it, he would never really be hers.

'Cathy,' he said. 'It'll work. You have to believe that.'

'The only thing I believe,' she said, 'is that you're going to get killed. And I don't want to be around to watch it.'

Without another word, she turned and walked out the door.

Outside, in the parking lot of the Rockabye Motel, she stood in the darkness and hugged herself. She heard the door shut, and then his footsteps moved toward her across the blacktop.

'You don't have to stay,' he said. 'There's still that beach in Mexico. You could fly there tonight, be out of this mess.'

'Do you want me to go?'

A pause, then, 'Yes.'

She shrugged, a poor attempt at nonchalance. 'All right. I suppose it all makes perfect sense. I've done my part.'

'You saved my life. At the very least, I owe you a measure of safety.'

She turned to him. 'Is that what weighs most on your mind, Victor? The fact that you owe me?'

'What weighs most on my mind is that you might get caught in the crossfire. I'm prepared to walk through those doors at Viratek. I'm prepared to do a lot of stupid things. But I'm not prepared to watch you get hurt. Does that make any sense?' He pulled her against him, into a place that felt infinitely warm and safe. 'Cathy, Cathy. I'm not crazy. I don't want to die. But I don't see any way around this....'

She pressed her face against his chest, felt his heartbeat, so steady, so regular. She was afraid to think of that heart not beating, of those arms no longer alive to hold her. He was brave enough to go through with this crazy scheme; couldn't she somehow dredge up the same courage? She thought, I've come this far with you. How could I dream of walking away? Now that I know I love you?

The motel door opened, and light arced across the parking lot. 'Gersh?' said Ollie. 'It's getting late. If we want to go ahead, we'll have to leave now.'

Victor was still looking at her. 'Well?' he said. 'Do you want Ollie to take you to the airport?'

'No.' She squared her shoulders. 'I'm coming with you.'

'Are you sure that's what you want to do?'

'I'm never sure of anything these days. But on this I've decided. I'll stick it out.' She managed a smile. 'Besides, you might need me on the set. In case your face falls off.'

'I need you for a hell of a lot more than that.'

'Gersh?'

Victor reached out for Cathy's hand. She let him take it. 'We're coming,' he said. 'Both of us.'

'I'm approaching the front gate. One guard in the booth. No one else around. Copy?'

'Loud and clear,' said Polowski.

'Okay. Here I go. Wish me luck.'

'We'll be tuned in. Break a leg.' Polowski clicked off the microphone and glanced at the others. 'Well, folks, he's on his way.'

To what? Cathy wondered. She glanced around at the other faces. There were four of them huddled in the van. They'd parked a half mile from Viratek's front gate. Close enough to hear Victor's transmissions, but too far away to do him much good. With the microphone link, they could mark his progress.