Whistleblower

She shuddered as the man ran his finger down her cheek, her throat. He stopped at the top button of her blouse. No, she thought. Not that.

To her relief, the man in the chair suddenly cut in. 'This is getting us nowhere.'

Savitch turned to the other man. 'You have another suggestion, Mr. Tyrone?'

'Yes. Let's try using her in a different way.' Fearfully Cathy watched as Tyrone moved to the card table and opened a satchei. 'Since we can't go to him,' he said, 'we'll have Holland come to us.' He turned and smiled at her. 'With your help, of course.'

She stared at the cellular telephone he was holding. 'I told you. I don't know where he is.'

'I'm sure one of his friends will track him down.'

'He's not stupid. He wouldn't come for me—'

'You're right. He's not stupid.' Tyrone began to punch in a phone number. 'But he's a man of conscience. And that's a flaw that's every bit as fatal.' He paused, then said into the telephone, 'Hello? Mr. Milo Lum? I want you to pass this message to Victor Holland for me. Tell him I have something of his. Something that won't be around much longer...'

'It's him!' hissed Milo. 'He wants to make a deal.'

Victor shot to his feet. 'Let me talk to him—'

'Wait!' Polowski grabbed his arm. 'We have to take this slow. Think about what we're—'

Victor pulled his arm free and snatched the receiver from Milo. 'This is Holland,' he barked into the phone. 'Where is she?'

The voice on the other end paused, a silence designed to emphasize just who held the upper hand. 'She's with me. She's alive.'

'How do I know that?'

'You'll have to take my word for it.'

'Word, hell! I want proof!'

Again there was a silence. Then, through the crackle of the line, came another voice, so tremulous, so afraid, it almost broke his heart. 'Victor, it's me.'

'Cathy?' He almost shouted with relief. 'Cathy, are you all right?'

'I'm...fine.'

'Where are you?'

'I don't know—I think—' She stopped. The silence was agonizing. 'I can't be sure.'

'He hasn't hurt you?'

A pause. 'No.'

She's not telling me the truth, he thought. He's done something to her...

'Cathy, I promise. You'll be all right. I swear to you I'll—'

'Let's talk business.' The man was back on the line.

Victor gripped the receiver in fury. 'If you hurt her, if you just touch her, I swear I'll—'

'You're hardly in a position to bargain.'

Victor felt a hand grasp his arm. He turned and met Polowski's gaze. Keep your head was the message he saw. Go along with him. Make a bargain. It's the only way to buy time.

Nodding, Victor fought to regain control. When he spoke again, his voice was calm. 'Okay. You want the vials, they're yours.'

'Not good enough.'

'Then I'll throw myself into the bargain. A trade. Is that acceptable?'

'Acceptable. You and the vials in exchange for her life.'

An anguished cry of 'No!' pierced the dialogue. It was Cathy, somewhere in the background, shouting, 'Don't, Victor! They're going to—'

Through the receiver, Victor heard the thud of a blow, followed by soft moans of pain. All his control shattered. He was screaming now, cursing, begging, anything to make the man stop hurting her. The words ran together, making no sense. He couldn't see straight, couldn't think straight.

Again, Polowski took his arm, gave it a shake. Victor, breathing hard, stared at him through a gaze blurred by tears. Polowski's eyes advised: Make the deal. Go on.

Victor swallowed and closed his eyes. Give me strength, he thought. He managed to ask, 'When do we make the exchange?'

'Tonight. At 2:00 a.m.'

'Where?'

'East Palo Alto. The old Saracen Theater.'

'But it's closed. It's been closed for—'

'It'll be open. Just you, Holland. I spot anyone else and the first bullet has her name on it. Clear?'

'I want a guarantee! I want to know she'll be—'

He was answered by silence. And then, seconds later, he heard a dial tone.

Slowly he hung up.

'Well? What's the deal?' demanded Polowski.

'At 2:00 a.m. Saracen Theater.'

'Half an hour. That barely gives us time to set up a—'

'I'm going alone.'

Milo and Polowski stared at him. 'Like hell,' said Polowski.

Victor grabbed his jacket from out of the closet. He gave the pocket a quick pat; the cigarette case was right where he'd left it. He turned and reached for the door.

'But Gersh!' said Milo. 'He's gonna kill you!'

Victor paused in the doorway. 'Probably,' he said softly. 'But it's Cathy's only chance. And it's a chance I have to take.'

'He won't come,' said Cathy.

'Shut up,' Matt Tyrone snapped and shoved her forward.

As they moved down the glass-strewn alley behind the Saracen Theater, Cathy frantically searched her mind for some way to sabotage this fatal meeting. It would be fatal, not just for Victor, but for her, as well. The two men now escorting her through the darkness had no intention of letting her live. The best she could hope for was that Victor would survive. She had to do what she could to better his chances.

'He's already got his evidence,' she said. 'You think he'd give that up just for me?'

Tyrone glanced at Savitch. 'What if she's right?'

'Holland's coming,' said Savitch. 'I know how he thinks. He's not going to leave the little woman behind.' Savitch gave Cathy's cheek a deceptively gentle caress. 'Not when he knows exactly what we'll do to her.'

Cathy flinched away, repelled by his touch. What if he really doesn't come? she thought. What if he does the sensible thing and leaves me to die?

She wouldn't blame him.

Tyrone gave her a push up the steps and into the building. 'Inside. Move.'

'I can't see,' she protested, feeling her way along a pitch-black passage. She stumbled over boxes, brushed past what felt like heavy drapes. 'It's too dark—'

'Then let there be light,' said a new voice.

The lights suddenly sprang on, so bright she was temporarily blinded. She raised her hand to shield her eyes. Through the glare she could make out a third man, looming before her. Beyond him, the floor seemed to drop away into a vast blackness.

They were standing on a theater stage. It was obvious no performer had trod these boards in years.