Whistleblower

They could also mark his death.

In silence, they waited for the first hurdle.

'Evening,' said Victor, pulling up at the gate.

The guard peered out through the booth window. He was in his twenties, cap on straight, collar button fastened. This was Pete Zahn, Mr. By-the-book Extraordinaire. If anyone was to cut the operation short, it would be this man. Victor made a brave attempt at a smile and prayed his mask wouldn't crack. It seemed an eternity, that exchange of looks. Then, to Victor's relief, the man smiled back.

'Working late, Dr. Black?'

'Forgot something at the lab.'

'Must be important, huh? To make a special trip at midnight.'

'These government contracts. Gotta be done on time.'

'Yeah.' The guard waved him through. 'Have a nice night.'

Heart pounding, Victor pulled through the gate. Only when he'd rounded the curve into the empty parking lot did he manage a sigh of relief. 'First base,' he said into the microphone. 'Come on, guys. Talk to me.'

'We're here,' came the response. It was Polowski.

'I'm heading into the building—can't be sure the signal will get through those walls. So if you don't hear from me—'

'We'll be listening.'

'I've got a message for Cathy. Pat her on.'

There was a pause, then he heard, 'I'm here, Victor.'

'I just wanted to tell you this. I'm coming back. I promise. Copy?'

He wasn't sure if it was just the signal's waiver, but he thought he heard the beginning of tears in her reply. 'I copy.'

'I'm going in now. Don't leave without me.'

It took Pete Zahn only a minute to look up Archibald Black's license plate number. He kept a Rolodex in the booth, though he seldom referred to it as he had a good memory for numbers. He knew every executive's license by heart. It was his own little mind game, a test of his cleverness. And the plate on Dr. Black's car just didn't seem right.

He found the file card. The auto matched up okay: a gray 1991 Lincoln sedan. And he was fairly certain that was Dr. Black sitting in the driver's seat. But the license number was all wrong.

He sat back and thought about it for a while, trying to come up with all the possible explanations. That Black was simply driving a different auto. That Black was playing a joke on him, testing him.

That it hadn't been Archibald Black, at all.

Pete reached for the telephone. The way to find out was to call Black's home. It was after midnight, but it had to be done. If Black didn't answer the phone, then that must be him in the Lincoln. And if he did answer, then something was terribly wrong and Black would want to know about it.

Two rings. That's all it took before a groggy voice answered, 'Hello?'

'This is Pete Zahn, night man at Viratek. Is this—is this Dr. Black?'

'Yes.'

'Dr. Archibald Black?'

'Look, it's late! What is it?'

'I don't know how to tell you this, Dr. Black, but...' Pete cleared his throat. 'Your double just drove through the gate....'

'I'm through the front door. Heading up the hall to the security wing. In case anyone's listening.' Victor didn't expect a reply, and he heard none. The building was a concrete monstrosity, designed to last forever. He doubted a radio signal would make it through these walls. Though he'd been on his own from the moment he'd entered the front gate, at least he'd had the comfort of knowing his friends were listening in on the progress. Now he was truly alone.

He moved at a casual pace to the locked door marked Authorized Personnel Only. A camera hung from the ceiling, its lens pointed straight at him. He pointedly ignored it and turned his attention to the security keypad mounted on the wall. The numbers Jerry had given him had gotten him through the front door; would the second combination get him through this one? His hands were sweating as he punched in the seven digits. He felt a dart of panic as a beep sounded and a message flashed on the screen: Incorrect security code. Access denied.

He could feel the sweat building up beneath the mask. Were the numbers wrong? Had he simply transposed two digits? He knew someone was watching him through the camera, wondering why he was taking so long. He took a deep breath and tried again. This time, he entered the digits slowly, deliberately. He braced himself for the warning beep. To his relief, it didn't go off.

Instead, a new message appeared. Security code accepted. Please enter.

He stepped through, into the next room.

Third hurdle, he thought in relief as the door closed behind him. Now for the home run.

Another camera, mounted in a corner, was pointed at him. Acutely conscious of that lens, he made his way across the room to the inner lab door. He turned the knob and a warning bell sounded.

Now what? he thought. Only then did he notice the red light glowing over the door, and the warning Laser grid activated. He needed a key to shut it off. He saw no other way to deactivate it, no way to get past it, into the room beyond.

It was time for desperate measures, time for a little chutzpah. He patted his pockets, then turned and faced the camera. 'Hello?' He waved.

A voice answered over an intercom. 'Is there a problem, Dr. Black?'

'Yes. I can't seem to find my keys. I must have left them at home....'

'I can cut the lasers from here.'

'Thanks. Gee, I don't know how this happened.'

'No problem.'

At once the red warning light shut off. Cautiously Victor tried the door; it swung open. He gave the camera a goodbye wave and entered the last room.

Inside, to his relief, there were no cameras anywhere— at least, none that he could spot. A bit of breathing space, he thought. He moved into the lab and took a quick survey of his surroundings. What he saw was a mind- numbing display of space-age equipment—not just the expected centrifuges and microscopes, but instruments he'd never seen before, all of them brand-new and gleaming. He headed through the decontamination chamber, past the laminar flow unit, and went straight to the incubators. He opened the door.

Glass vials tinkled in their compartments. He took one out. Pink fluid glistened within. The label read Lot #341. Active.

This must be it, he thought. This was what Ollie had told him to look for. Here was the stuff of nightmares, the grim reaper distilled to sub-microscopic elements.

He removed two vials, fitted them into a specially padded cigarette case, and slipped it into his pocket. Mission accomplished, he thought in triumph as he headed back through the lab. All that lay before him was a casual stroll back to his car. Then the champagne...

He was halfway across the room when the alarm bell went off.

He froze, the harsh ring echoing in his ears.

'Dr. Black?' said the guard's voice over some hidden intercom. 'Please don't leave. Stay right where you are.'