Lasher

corroborate what you’ve found out-genetic abnormality in mother and child. Rampant amounts of human growth hormone; different enzymes. But you’re one up on all of them. You have the X rays and bone scans.”

“The family is sharing all this with you.”

“Oh yes, once they realized I’d spoken directly to Rowan; she gave me some code word to tell them so they would finance your work here. Once they realized I was the last person to talk to Rowan, they became very cooperative. I don’t think they grasp what’s involved here, however, and they may cease to be cooperative after I begin to explain all this. But right now, they will do anything and everything to find Rowan. They are deeply concerned about her. They’re going to meet my plane, and since it was on time when last I checked, I have to get out of here. I’m on my way.”

Mitch came round the desk hurriedly and followed Lark out of the office and into the dim corridor, with its long decorative horizontal strips of lights.

“But what do they have in New York? Do they have what I have?”

“They have less than you have, by far,” said Lark, “except for one thing. They have some of the placenta.”

“I have to get it.”

“You will. The family will release it to you. And nobody in New York is putting all this together yet, as I told you. But there is another group involved.”

“What do you mean? Where?”

Lark stopped before the door to the outer corridor. He placed his hand on the knob. “Rowan had some friends in an organization called the Talamasca. Historical research group. They too took samples at the site of the birth and the disappearance.”

“They did?”

“Yes. I don’t know what’s happened on that. I just know the organization is extremely interested in the history of the Mayfair family. They seem to feel they have a proprietary interest. They’ve been calling me night and day about this since I contacted the family. I’ll see one of them-Aaron Lightner-tomorrow morning in New Orleans. I’ll find out if they know anything else.”

Lark opened the door and walked towards the elevator, Mitch coming behind him hastily and awkwardly and then staring in his usual confused and unfocused way as Lark pressed the button and the elevator doors opened.

“Gotta go now, old boy,” said Lark. “You want to come with me?”

“Not on your life. I’m going right back into the lab. If you don’t call me tomorrow-”

“I’ll call you. In the meantime, this is all-”

“-totally under wraps. I mean totally. Is there something in the Keplinger Institute that isn’t under wraps? It’s a secret buried in a forest of secrets. Don’t worry about that part. No one has access to that computer in my office but me. No one could find the files if they did gain access. Don’t worry. This is regular for Keplinger. Someday I’ll tell you some of our stories…with names and dates changed of course.”

“Good man. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Lark took Mitch’s hand.

“Don’t leave me dangling, Lark. This thing could breed with Rowan! And if this thing did…”

“I’ll call you.”

Lark caught one last glimpse of Mitch, standing there, staring, before the elevator doors closed. He remembered Rowan’s words on the phone. “There’s one guy at the Keplinger Institute who can be trusted with this. You have to get him. Mitch Flanagan. Tell him I said this is worth his time.”

Rowan had been dead right on that one. Mitch was that man all right. Lark had no fears there.

But as he drove to the airport he had plenty of fears about Rowan. He’d thought she had gone insane when he first heard her voice long distance and her warnings that the call might abruptly be cut off.

The whole problem was, all this was very exciting to Lark. It had been from the start. Rowan’s phone call, the samples themselves, the subsequent series of discoveries, even this bizarre New Orleans family. Lark had never experienced anything like this in his life. He wished he could feel more worry and less exhilaration. He was off on an adventure, taking an open-ended holiday from his life at University Hospital, and he couldn’t wait to see these people in New Orleans-to see the house there that Rowan had inherited, and the man she had married-the family for whom Rowan had given up her entire medical career.

It was raining harder by the time he reached the airport. But Lark for years had traveled in all kinds of weather and this meant nothing to him, any more than snow in Chicago, or monsoons in Japan.

He hurried to the First Class counter to pick up his ticket and was on his way to the gate within minutes, timing it just exactly right. The flight to New Orleans was boarding now.

Of course there was the whole problem of this creature itself, he realized. He had not begun to separate out that mystery from the mystery of Rowan and her family. And for the first time, he had to admit to himself, he wasn’t sure he believed that this thing existed. He knew Rowan existed. But this offspring? Then he realized something else. Mitch Flanagan absolutely believed this being existed. And so did this Talamasca which kept calling him. And so did Rowan herself!

Of course this thing existed. There was as much proof of its existence as there is of bubonic plague.

Lark was the last one to reach the gate. Great timing, he thought again, no waiting, no standing.

Just as he handed his ticket to the young stewardess, someone took his arm.

“Dr. Larkin.”

He saw a tall robust man, very young, blond with near-colorless eyes.

“Yes, I’m Dr. Larkin,” he answered. What he wanted to say was Not now.

“Erich Stolov. I spoke to you on the phone.” The man flashed a little white card in front of Lark. Lark didn’t have a free hand to take it. Then the stewardess took his ticket and he took the card.

“Talamasca, you told me.”

“Where are the samples?”

“What samples?”

“The ones Rowan sent you.”

“Look, I can’t…”

“Tell me where they are, please, now.”

“I beg your pardon. I’ll do nothing of the sort. Now if you want to call me in New Orleans I’ll be seeing your friend Aaron Lightner there tomorrow afternoon.”

“Where are the samples?” said the young man, and he suddenly slipped in front of Lark, blocking the entrance to the plane.

Lark dropped his voice to a whisper. “Get out of my way.” He was instantly and irreparably furious. He wanted to shove this guy against the wall.

“Please, sir,” the stewardess very quietly said to Stolov. “Unless you have a ticket for this flight, you’ll have to leave the gate now.”

“That’s right. Leave the gate,” said Lark, his temper cresting. “How dare you approach me like this!” And then he pushed past the young man and stormed down the ramp, heart pounding, sweat pouring down under his clothes.

“Damned son of a bitch, how dare he?” he muttered aloud.

Five minutes after takeoff, he was on the portable phone. The connection was abominable and he could never hear a thing on airline phones anyway, but he managed to reach Mitch.

“Just don’t tell anybody anything about any of it,” he said over and over.

“Got you,” said Mitch. “No one knows anything, I assure you. I have fifty technicians working on fifty pieces of the puzzle. I am the only one who sees the picture. No one will get into this building, this office, or these files.”

“Tomorrow, Mitch, I’ll call you.” Lark rang off. “Arrogant bastard,” he whispered as he replaced the phone. And Lightner had been such a nice man. Very British, very Old World, very formal when they’d spoken on the phone. Who were these people, the Talamasca?

And were they really friends of Rowan Mayfair as they claimed? Just didn’t seem so.

He sat back; he tried to think through his long conversation with Mitch, tried to relive his phone conversation with Rowan. Molecular evolution; DNA; cell membranes. All of it frightened and enthralled him.