A fter what Gibbons said, Sam had altered the escape and diversion plan to allow for a return into the Sanker Foundation facility. It was worth taking one last look inside to find Ben or more of his research. Then, depending on what he found, or didn't find, they'd leave the island and go to Lopez Island across the channel, per the original plan.
Haley appeared as stunned on the review of the plan as she had the first time. She bore a significant responsibility in the scheme to keep Sam alive while they went after Ben.
Sam could see that she appreciated being trusted to this degree. The problem was, though, that what she would be doing was very dangerous, and he wasn't sure she could do it and survive. A bond had been growing between them, and Sam realized that he was probably more concerned about Haley's safety than she was worried about herself.
The parking lot was well-lit, but the mist blowing through left halos everywhere, the fog sending an extra chill down the backbone, especially when one contemplated extreme boat maneuvers in the black of the night.
Sam turned to her. 'There's something I need to tell you. It's about the work I've done.'
'I know it's been ugly. You've told me enough to know that.'
'It's not just that. I've lost a lot of people. Some were people I loved. So far, I haven't lost me. But what works for me doesn't always work for my fellow travelers. And here's the thing, Haley: I might be able to hit Sanker and do the rest without you. Would you consider walking to a friend's house and just hiding until this is over?'
'Absolutely not,' she said. 'Your plan depends on diversion, on rattling Frick and making him look weak in front of the deputies. I see how it works-Ben's life, our lives, depend on it-and I'm going to do it.'
'I know how important Ben is to you. And stopping Frick.' 'That's right. Thanks to Ben, I'm an experienced pilot, and thanks to growing up in these islands-and my ex-boyfriend and Ben-I know a lot about fast boats.
'I need to live long enough to see my heel on Frick's neck,' she said. 'If I die, I swear I won't hold it against you.'
At that, he struggled to smile but couldn't quite pull it off.
'We can't let Frick hurt Ben,' she continued. 'You just need to trust yourself. I don't know what those people did to you, to your legs, but I know you're here, and so one way or another you beat them.'
He looked at his watch. Rachael was due. 'If we assume that Ben discovered something that would slow aging, or prolong youth, how long ago do you suppose he did it?' Sam said.
'I'd say quite a while. Frick came to Sanker nine months ago, so it was probably at least three months previous that Ben somehow tipped his hand to Sanker that he had something of value working. It must have been years in the making.'
'So Ben has kept his work to himself a long time.'
'Yeah,' she said. 'And let's not forget Glaucus, the youngest old octopus in the world.'
'Right. How old's he?'
'Now I have figured out that he is probably seven. And it seems like Ben could have had something five years ago, if that's the case. Or maybe even seven if he genetically altered Glaucus at conception.'
'There she is,' Sam said. A car had pulled in behind them.
'What now?'
'I've got to go down to the dock with her and help her find a hiding place until you come by with Frick's boat. I'll get a portable VHF radio from a friend's boat. I'll leave her there and she'll get ready. Then we've got to go park her car.'
'Was this sort of thing routine for you during the great silent period?' Haley asked.
Sam opened the door. 'Regrettably, it was.'
It had come to Frick at a moment of frustration. McStott was droning on, taking a long time to say nothing, and something triggered a memory of Sarah James. Her mention of the safe-deposit box had seemed choreographed-another of Ben Anderson's precautions. She lived on Lopez Island and commuted daily to Friday Harbor on her speedboat. As his assistant she knew Anderson's comings and goings, and she was also his close friend. Frick suspected that they had become lovers, or at least that they thought about it.
He needed Sarah under his control. Now.
Frick sent men to fetch her and authorized them to soften her up on the way. He started to think of a cover story for her abduction, then stopped. At the moment it was a waste of his time. If things flew much more out of control, or took much longer, his deal with Sanker would be history, anyway. If that happened, it would be every man for himself, and cover stories and disappearing bodies would start to lose their importance.
He realized that Khan was talking to him. 'McStott thinks his guys found something.'
'So in plain English,' Frick said, 'what did they find?' 'Anderson was making something he called an Arc regimen. And he thinks it was like a production deal, maybe for animal experiments.'
'So he called it an Arc regimen. Big deal. How's it work? What's it do?'
'Well, if McStott knew that, he'd probably be here instead of in the lab. Right?'
Frick tolerated the sarcasm, waiting for Khan, who seemed to have something to say.
'What?' Frick said.
'It seems to me that what we're doing is nearly impossible. But if we could pull it off, we'd be in the catbird seat and it would be worth a hell of a lot more than whatever you're getting paid to retrieve it.'
Funny how Khan's mind worked like Frick's own. 'What's your point?'
'Maybe we're both working for the wrong people,' Khan said. 'Maybe we should be working for ourselves. Could be a chance of a lifetime if there's anything to this bullshit.'
'I'll think about it. Get that weasel McStott in here.'
It took a few minutes for McStott to arrive.
'Dr. McStott,' Frick said in mock-grandiose tones, 'how would you and some of your colleagues like to win the Nobel?'
'Only if I earned it.'
Liar. McStott's beady rat eyes shifted and looked away. Truly, the man had led a despicable existence, Frick thought.
Working in the church, he hummed Satan's tune. As for himself, at least Frick didn't question which choir practice to attend.
It was quiet, cold, and overcast and the northwest winter damp was pervasive. Most people were off the streets and the few who were out had their necks pulled down inside their heavy coats and their hands shoved deep in their pockets. Sam had a great tolerance for cold, but the moldy damp of this wet fall had him on the verge of shivering.
'Let's leave it here in the shadows,' Sam said of Rachael's car. Other automobiles lined Warbass Street; one more wouldn't be a standout. 'Leave your cell phone in it with the dry clothes and take Lattimer's car. Stay on the back streets and I'll meet you off Guard Street on Marguerite, in twenty minutes. Rachael and I will walk back to the docks.
Good luck.' He kissed Haley on the cheek.
Sam looked at his watch. It was 6:45 p.m. Rachael walked beside him, obviously succumbing, bit by bit, to the shivers. They took their time and Sam made it a point to be somewhat aimless in his movements, stopping now and then to look at anything that gave an excuse. At the Coldwell Banker's offices he looked at the properties on the outside wall neatly arranged in a glass display case.
Sam's mind kept returning to Ben's research. He supposed that whatever the discovery was, it would be like most new things-not as good as initially thought. Perhaps it would add a few years to a person's life or identify a new energy source that wasn't cost-effective to mine.
For a moment, though, Sam let himself imagine something that would add hundreds of years to a human life span. Administering the elixir to large groups would be expensive because there would probably be scarcity, at least initially. That would mean rules about allocation. Who would choose who gets a long life? Literally everyone had the aging disease. Once a cure appeared, age would be the dread killer on the planet.
It didn't take much for Sam to imagine the envy, even violence, between the haves and the have-nots.
Would everybody with money get the stuff? Would the government try to make sure that it wasn't available to terrorists or people with violent propensities-or people who supported 'evil' endeavors? Would there be some sort of test to qualify applicants?
Would the test have a moral component? Would you give it to people on welfare?
