Mortal Fear

mostly because there is nothing to say. Nefertiti materializes at the one-minute mark, revolving slowly, her inscrutable countenance unruffled by earthly cares. My tension grows with each revolution of her head, but Drewe sits as calmly as if she were attending a medical seminar.

The ringing telephone startles us both. I carry the cordless across the room before I answer. “Hello?”

“This is Miles,” says a strangled voice that makes me dizzy with fear.

“Miles? What’s the matter?”

“I’m under arrest.”

“What?”

“Baxter used me to find Berkmann. He had two agents tailing me. As soon as they saw me casing a building, they arrested me.”

“Where are you now?”

“Outside Berkmann’s warehouse. Baxter’s choppering over from Connecticut right now. I talked to him. He’s got guys on standby ready to take Berkmann down.”

My mind reels from the magnitudinal shift in circumstances. “The Hostage Rescue Team?”

“Baxter says New York City SWAT’s almost as good, and they’re closer. They’re on their way now. They’ll be in position by the time Baxter gets here.”

“Yes!” I cry, giving Drewe a relieved thumbs-up as she turns from the computer. She hits the space bar and says, “What’s happening?”

“The FBI’s going to raid Berkmann’s place!”

“We’re still looking at twenty to thirty minutes,” Miles says. “That’s why they let me call you. Baxter says you’ve got to keep Berkmann at his computer. If he’s at his computer, hopefully he won’t have a gun to the heads of any hostages.”

“We’re trying. Drewe just queried him, but he hasn’t answered.”

“Tell her to keep trying.”

Despite the good news, I hear defeat in Miles’s voice. “Listen,” I tell him, “it’s better this way. A lot better. If you’d gone in there alone, you might never have come out.”

“Hewouldn’t have come out,” Miles says softly. “Now he will. All he has to do is surrender. And he maywant to by now.”

As I open my mouth to argue, the digital baritone of Edward Berkmann speaks in my place. Rushing toward the EROS monitor, I see these words appear:

BERKMANN› I’d like to believe that. However, trust must first be established.

“He bit!” I whisper. “Berkmann’s on-line!”

“Established how?” Drewe asks in a loud clear voice. On-screen these words appear:

DREWE› Established how?

“They’re talking, Miles. Racquel’s voice parameters are working for Drewe.”

Disturbed by my volume, Drewe waves me away from the computer. As I hurry toward the Gateway, Berkmann says:“Can you prove that you are who you say you are, and not your husband?”

It’s disorienting to hear the digital voice without watching the accompanying text on the monitor. It makes Berkmann seem that much closer.

“I don’t know,” Drewe replies. “Since we don’t know each other. We have no common experience you can use to test me.”

“Of course we do. You’re an obstetrician, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Board certified?”

“Of course.”

“One never knows these days. If you wouldn’t mind answering a few simple questions, we can leave trivialities behind.”

“Fine.”

“What test would you use to rule out adrenal or ovarian tumors in a patient with hirsutism?”

“A serum DHEA-S for the adrenal,” Drewe says automatically. “Serum testosterone for the ovarian tumor.”

“He’s testing her, Miles. Checking to make sure it’s not me.”

Miles makes a choking noise that sounds like laughter. “Once burned, twice shy.”

“I’m going to hang up and listen. Call me when the SWAT team gets there.”

“Your voice-recognition program garbled some of your answer,”Berkmann says,“but I got the gist of it. What is Turner’s syndrome?”

“A genetic defect caused by a forty-five X-oh genotype, which prevents the ovaries from functioning. A classic Turner’s patient is a short fifteen-year-old girl with amenorrhea.”

“I’m glad you called, Drewe. I’ve been most anxious to speak with you.”

“And I with you. Probably for different reasons.”

I am pacing the office now, my whole body charged with anticipation.

“Perhaps not,”says Berkmann.“Are you at home?”

“Yes.”

“Using your husband’s computer?”

“Yes.”

“Where is he?”

“In and out. We’re arguing. I came home to pack.”

“Where are you going?”

“Back to my parents, for a start. After that, I don’t know.”

“Why are you leaving, Drewe?”

“I can’t stay here. You should know why.”

“Because your sister died there?”

“Because she was butchered here. By you.”

“No. I tried to save her.”

“Harper told me all about that.”

“Your husband is a liar. Nothing he says can be trusted.”

“He’s lied to me before. But I trust him in some things.”

“Harper killed Erin, Drewe.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“He set up a situation in which nothing else could happen.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you know why my assistant and I came to your home?”

“To kill my sister.”

“No. Because I was lured by your husband.”

“He pretended to be a woman, right? To catch you.”

“Pretended to be a woman, yes, but not to catch me. Do you know what woman he pretended to be?”

“Does it matter?”

“You decide. He pretended to be Erin. He even sent me a picture of her. The one in which she offers a silver chalice to a shadowy figure in an arched doorway. She’s wearing a black gown. A highly provocative image.”

Drewe turns and looks at me uneasily. “Why would he do that?”

“He chose Erin because they shared a secret. A secret he thought powerful enough to draw me to her. A secret known only to them, and now only to him. Just as he planned.”

New fear worms its way up through my chest.

“What secret?” asks Drewe.

“Before I tell you, you must promise to remain on-line after you learn the truth. Wait until you