Black (23 page)

Tom angled for the ropes. “Excuse me!” They hadn't heard him. And she was a fast walker.

Tom hurried to intercept them. “Excuse me, Monique de Raison.”

“Tom! You're yelling!” Kara whispered.

Monique and her security goons were ignoring him. Behind the lead three, an entourage of Raison Pharmaceutical employees were filing into the lobby.

“Excuse me, are you deaf?” he demanded. Yelled.

This time the security men swiveled in his direction. Monique turned her head and drilled him with a stare. The sight of an American strutting for her clad in a black T-shirt and jeans clearly didn't impress. She diverted her stare and walked on as if she'd passed nothing more than a curious-looking dog on the street.

Tom felt his pulse surge. “I'm here with the Centers for Disease Control. I lost my bags and don't have the right clothes. I have to talk to you before you make your announcement.” He didn't yell now, but his voice carried loudly enough.

Monique stopped. The security stepped to either side, glaring like two Dobermans begging to pounce.
She faced Tom at ten feet. Her eyes glanced at the inscription on his chest. Maybe he should have worn the shirt inside out. Kara bumped into his side.

“This is my assistant, Kara Hunter. My name is Thomas.” He stepped forward, and the guard to her right immediately moved forward as a precaution.

“I just need a minute,” Tom said.

“I don't have a minute,” Monique said. Her voice was soft and low and carried a slight French accent.

“I don't think you understand. There's a problem with the vaccine.”

Tom knew before the last word left his mouth that it was the wrong thing to say. Any such suggestion or any endorsement of any such suggestion would be poison to the value of Raison Pharmaceutical stock.

Monique's brow lifted slightly. “Is that so?”

No turning back now. “Yes. Unless you want me to spill the beans here, in front of them all, I suggest you take a moment, just one teeny-weeny moment, and talk to me.” His confidence surged. What could she say to that?

“Afterward,” she said and turned on her heels.

He took a long step in her direction. “Hey!”

The security man closest put up a hand. Tom had half a notion to take him on right here, right now. The man was twice his size, but he'd picked up a few new skills as of late.

Kara grabbed his arm. “Afterward will work.”

The entourage came abreast with curious stares. Tom wondered if anyone would recognize him from the incident at the gates yesterday. Undoubtedly the whole thing had been caught by security cameras.

“Okay, afterward. Try to keep your head low. Someone might recognize us.”

“My point exactly. We talked about this, remember? No scene. I didn't come to Bangkok to get thrown in jail.”

The announcement was surprisingly short and to the point. Monique delivered it with all the poise of an experienced politician. Raison Pharmaceutical had completed the development of a new airborne super-vaccine engineered to vaccinate against nine primary viruses, including SARS and HIV. This was followed by a laundry list of details for the world health community. Not once did she look in Tom's direction.

She waited till the end to drop the bomb.

Although the company was waiting for FDA approval in the United States, the governments of seven countries in Africa and three in Asia had placed orders for the vaccine, and the World Health Organization had given its blessing after receiving assurances that the vaccine would not spontaneously spread beyond a specified geographical region, due to engineered limitations that shortened the vaccine's life. The first order would be delivered to South Africa within twenty-four hours.

“Now, I'll be happy to answer a few questions.”

The mind works in strange ways. Tom's had worked in the strangest of ways over the last few days. In and out of realities, crossing the seas, waking and sleeping in starts and fits. But with Monique de Raison's final statement, everything came into simple focus.

There was a Raison Vaccine. It would mutate into a virus that would make SARS look like a case of the hiccups. It was now being shipped to South Africa. He, Thomas Hunter from Denver, Colorado, and Kara Hunter from the same were the only people on the face of the earth who knew this.

It had all seemed somewhat dreamlike until this moment. Now it was tangible. Now he was staring at Monique de Raison and hearing her tell the world that boxes of the drug that would kill millions was boxed and ready for shipment. Maybe shipped already. Maybe it was in the back of some transport plane now, being baked by the hot sun. Mutating.

The sum of his predicament shoved him out of his chair.

“Thomas.”

“Did you hear that?”

“Sit.”

She pulled at his arm. He sat. The reporters were asking her questions. Bulbs kept flashing.

“We have to stop that shipment.”

“She said she'd talk to us
afterward,
” Kara insisted between clenched teeth. “A few more minutes.”

“What if she won't listen?” Tom asked.

“Then we try the authorities again. Right?”

He'd considered the possibility that Monique was a brick upstairs and would scoff, but, listening to her, she seemed far too intelligent. He really hadn't considered anything other than her willingness to cooperate. That's the way it went in dreams. Ultimately, it all really does work out. Or you wake up.

Suddenly he wasn't sure of either.

“Right, Thomas?”

“Right.”

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“It means
right
.”

“I don't like the way you said—”

A smattering of applause rippled through the courtyard. Tom stood. Monique was finished. Music swelled. This was it.

“Let's go.” He headed to the front, eyes fixed on Monique, who was straightening papers at the podium. A rope lined with three security men now separated the platform from the dispersing audience. Several reporters were summarily turned away when they approached the platform.

Monique caught his eye, looked away as if she hadn't noticed, and headed stage right.

“Monique de Raison!” Tom called. “A moment, if you don't mind.”

Heads turned and the hubbub eased.

Here they went again. Tom walked straight for her. A guard moved to intercept.

“It's okay, Lawrence. I'll speak to them,” she said quietly.

Tom stared the man off. They were wearing guns, this one on his waist. Tom stepped onto the stage, helped Kara up, and crossed to where Monique had stopped. He had no doubt that if he hadn't made a scene she would be in the limousine already. As his
sensei
was fond of saying, there was no better way to disarm an opponent than with an element of surprise. Not necessarily through timing as most assumed, but as often through method. Shock and awe.

Despite the fact that Monique looked neither shocked nor awed, he knew he'd gotten under her skin at least. More important, he was talking to her.

“Thank you for your time,” Tom said. The time for shock and awe was now passed. Diplomacy. “It is most kind of you to—”

“I'm already late for an interview with the
TIME
magazine bureau chief. Make your point, Mr. . . .”

“Hunter. You don't have to be rude.”

She sighed. “You're right. I'm sorry, but it's been a very busy week. When a man walks up to me and lies to my face, my patience is the first to go.”

“A simple test will easily demonstrate whether or not I'm lying.”

“So then you are with the CDC?”

“Oh. That lie.” He lifted a hand to his shoulder as if taking an oath. “You got me. I had to get your attention somehow. This is Kara, my sister.”

“Hi, Kara.” They shook hands. But she hadn't shaken his hand.

“I really do have to go,” Monique said. “Please, to the point.”

“Okay, to the point. You can't ship the vaccine. It mutates under intense heat and becomes a deadly virus that kills billions
of people.”

She stared at him, unmoved. “Oh. Is that all?”

“I can explain exactly how I know this, but you wanted the bottom line, so there it is. Have you submitted the vaccine to intense heat, Miss de Raison?”

“One of the things they teach in freshman biology is that intense heat kills things. The Raison Vaccine is no exception. Our vaccine begins to spoil at 35 degrees centigrade. One of our greatest challenges was keeping it stable for warmer regional climates. This is the most ludicrous thing I've ever heard.”

Heat flared up Tom's back. “Then you haven't tested it at high heat?”

“Show a little respect, Monique,” Kara bit off. “We didn't fly over the Pacific to be dismissed like beggars. The fact is, Thomas has a point here, and you'd be a fool not to listen.”

Monique forced a smile. “I would love to. I really would. I have to go.” She started to turn.

Something went off in Tom's head like a gong. She was dismissing them. “Wait.”

She didn't wait, not a beat.

Tom eased back toward the guard called Lawrence and spoke quietly, in as menacing a tone as he could muster without raising the alarm.

“If you don't stop at this very moment, we'll go to the papers. My father-in-law owns the
Chicago Tribune
. They'll have to scrape your stock prices off the floor with razor blades.”

A ridiculous claim. Monique didn't honor it with a single misstep. She was beyond the pale.

It occurred to Tom that what his mind was telling him to do now couldn't be justified in any sense of the word. Except in his world. The world in which a virus called the Raison Strain was about to forever alter human history.

The two guards Tom had first encountered were making their way to assist Monique's exit, but Lawrence still had his back turned. Monique wasn't his primary responsibility.

Tom was at the guard's back with a single side step. In one quick move, he slipped his hand under the man's jacket, grabbed the gun, and whipped it out. He bounced to his right, away from the man's grabbing hands. The man hesitated, mouth agape, probably appalled that he'd so easily lost his weapon.

Tom ran forward on the balls of his feet, reached Monique before an alarm could be raised.

Shoved the gun in her back.

“I'm sorry, but you have to listen to me.”

She went rigid. Both guards saw the gun at the same time. They crouched, weapons immediately drawn. Shouts now, dozens of them.

“Thomas!”

Including Kara's .

Tom had his left arm around Monique's waist, pulling her close so that his chin was over her left shoulder, breathing hard in her ear. He kept the gun in her back and stepped sideways, toward an exit sign.

“One move and she dies!” he cried. “You hear me? I'm not having a good day today! I'm very, very upset, and I don't want anyone to do anything stupid.”

People were running for the door. Screaming. What were they screaming for? He wasn't pointing the gun at their backs.

“Please,” Monique gasped. “Please get ahold of yourself.”

“Don't worry,” Tom whispered. “I won't kill you.” The fire door was only ten feet away now. He stopped and glared at the two guards who had their pistols trained on him.

“Put the guns down, you idiots!” he yelled.

Monique flinched. He was yelling in her ear.

“Sorry.”

The guards slowly lowered their guns to the floor.

“And you,” he shouted in Kara's direction. “I want you as a hostage too. Get over here or I kill the girl!”

Kara looked frozen by shock.

“Move it!”

She hurried over.

“Get the door.”

She complied and stepped into the hall beyond.

Tom pulled Monique through the door.

“Anyone follows us, any police or any authorities, and she's dead!”

He slammed the door closed with his foot.

18

T
he Paradise Hotel was a flea-infested joint frequented by street traders. Or the odd sucker who responded to the promise of exotic, all-inclusive Internet vacation specials. Or in this case, the kidnapper trying desperately to get his point across to a very stubborn French woman.

Monique had guided them under duress. Kara had appropriately and repeatedly expressed her horror over what Tom had done. Tom had insisted this was the only way. If the rich French snob refused to care about a few billion lives, then they had no choice but to persuade her to care. This was what persuasion looked like in the real world.

The old, rusted elevator doors in the underground parking garage screeched open. Kara walked to the rental car at a fast clip, newly acquired room keys in hand.

“Okay,” Tom said, waving the 9-millimeter at Monique for show. “We go up, and we go quiet. I meant it when I said I would never kill you, but I might put a bullet in your pinkie toe if you get snobby. We clear? The gun will be in my belt, but that doesn't mean you can start hollering.”