not right now. He needed her on his side for a little while.
How could he get her on his side?
Alyson followed the freeway around Pearl Harbor, trying not to look at her purse on the seat. Maybe Vin was right. Maybe there was no choice. She exited into downtown Honolulu, not certain where to go. She drove to Waikiki. There, she went slowly along Kalakaua Avenue, caught in traffic. The crowds of tourists were thick, people out for the evening. Then she turned onto Diamond Head Road and circled past the Diamond Head Lighthouse. She would take the paper bag to a beach somewhere on the windward side of Oahu or maybe to the North Shore. She would drop the bag in the surf somewhere…no evidence…no survivors…
Drake stayed back, watching her car. She went past Makapu‘u Point and through Waimanalo, and Kailua. But then she turned and picked up the freeway and headed back toward Honolulu. Where in hell was his CFO going, he wondered.
Having driven around the eastern edge of Oahu and doubled back into Honolulu, Alyson finally found herself following the Manoa Valley Road, winding up into the rain-forested valley among the mountains.
She arrived at the steel gates and the tunnel. The gates were locked. She punched the security code and went through. The tunnel emerged into a velvet dark valley.
The place was deserted, the greenhouses glinting faintly in the moonlight. She opened her purse and took the bag out of it, and got out of the car. She didn’t dare open the bag. They were probably dead by now, crushed or suffocated. But what if they weren’t, what if they started pleading with her? That would be worse than if they were dead. She stood in the parking lot.
Headlights. Coming out of the tunnel.
Somebody had followed her.
She stood there, holding the bag, frozen in terror, caught in the headlights of the corporate Bentley.
Chapter 11
Waipaka Arboretum 28 October, 10:45 p.m.
W hat are you doing here, Alyson?” Drake said, getting out of the Bentley. He kept the headlights burning on her.
She blinked in the glare. “Why did you follow me?”
“I’m worried about you, Alyson. Very worried.”
“I’m fine.”
“We have a lot to do.” Approaching her.
“What?” She shrank back.
“We have to protect ourselves.”
Sharp intake of breath. “What are you planning?”
He couldn’t allow the blame to fall on himself. On her, but not on himself. He had begun to form an idea. There was a way to get this done. “There is a reason for their disappearance, you know,” he said to her.
“What are you talking about, Vin?”
“A plausible reason why they vanish. A reason other than you and me.”
“What’s the reason?”
“Alcohol.”
“What?”
He grabbed her hand and dragged her toward the greenhouse, saying, “They’re penurious students. No money. Always trying to save their pennies. They want to have a party, get wasted, but they don’t have any money. So where do poor science students go when they want to get wasted for free?”
“Where?”
“The lab, of course.” He unlocked the door, flicked on the lights. The bulbs came on in banks overhead, one after another, down the long expanse of the lab, revealing benches of exotic plants, potted orchids beneath hanging mist-makers; and in the corner, shelf after shelf of bottles and jugs full of reagents. He pulled out a plastic gallon jug labeled 98% ETHANOL.
“What’s that?” she said.
“Lab alcohol,” he said.
“Is that your idea?”
“Yes,” he said. “You buy vodka or tequila at a store, you get seventy, eighty, ninety proof. This stuff here is double that: it’s a hundred and ninety-six proof. It’s almost pure alcohol.”
“And?”
Vin was picking up plastic cups, handing them to her. “Alcohol causes car accidents. Especially among young people.”
She groaned. “Uhh, Vin…”
He was watching her carefully. “Okay, let’s call a spade a spade,” he said. “You don’t have the stomach for it.”
“Well, no-”
“And neither do I. That’s the truth.”
She blinked, confused. “You don’t?”
“No, I don’t. I can’t stand this, Alyson. I don’t want to go through with this,” he said. “I don’t want this on my conscience.”
“Then…What will we do?” she said.
He allowed a look of doubt, of uncertainty, to fill his face. “I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head mournfully. “Probably we never should have started this, and now…I just don’t know.” He hoped his expression of uncertainty was convincing. He knew he could be convincing. He paused, then reached down and took her hand, and held it up to the light; in her hand was the paper bag, rolled up. “They’re in there, aren’t they?”
“What do you want me to do?” Her hand was shaking.
“Go outside and wait for me,” he said. “I need a few minutes to think. We have to come up with a solution to this, Alyson. No more killing.”
Let Alyson kill them. Even if she doesn’t know she’s killing them.
She nodded silently.
“I need your help, Alyson.”
“I will,” she said. “I’ll help you. I will.”
“Thank you.” Heartfelt.
She went outside.
He entered the greenhouse and went to a storage cabinet, where he found a box of nitrile safety gloves. Tough lab gloves, stronger than rubber. He pulled out two gloves and stuffed them in his pocket. Then he hurried into a side office, and turned on the surveillance monitor overlooking the parking lot. It was a night-vision camera, flaring green and black. Of course everything was recorded. He watched as Alyson went outside and stood near the cars.
Looking at the bag and pacing.
He could almost see the idea forming in her mind.
“Do it,” Vin whispered.
The field teams had had horrendous problems. Four employees had died in Fern Gully alone. And they had been heavily armed…And there was the problem of the bends. These kids wouldn’t last an hour in this biological hell. After that, it would be a matter of getting Alyson on his side-temporarily.
She was walking away from the cars.
Yes.
Toward the forest.
Yes.
She went downhill, following the trail down into Fern Gully.
Good. Keep going.
