The Enclave (46 page)
Even if everyone knew he didn’t mean it, it would still be a capitulation. It would still prove that some things were more important to Cam than his loyalty to Christ. To his beliefs. Doing what Swain wanted would tell them his beliefs were just beliefs. Interchangeable with any other beliefs. Not truth. Not life. Not who he was. And certainly not something worth losing his position for. But if he didn’t, he’ d be out . . .and then what?
“You have until Monday to give me an answer,” Swain said. His gaze slid off Cam to someone behind him, and his expression changed dramatically, from sly and calculating, to a warm smile. “Ah, here is Mrs. Lederman. Looks like she’s early. You don’t mind cutting this short, do you? I think we’re finished here and I don’t want to keep her waiting. She’s been a very faithful supporter of our work.”
Cam, of course, took his leave, though not before being introduced to Estelle Lederman, who was remarkably well-preserved and well-put-together for a woman of eighty-four. At least he’ d been able to finish his breakfast; he’ d gotten the distinct feeling Swain would have asked him to leave even if he hadn’t.
As he left the restaurant and crossed the resort’s main lobby, his BlackBerry vibrated. A quick check showed a message from his insurance agent. The adjuster would be out at 3:00 to photograph the Jeep and investigate the crash site, and a tow truck would arrive at 4:00 to haul the demolished vehicle into town. Either the adjuster or the tow-truck driver would be his contact.
Following her breakfast with the director, Lacey went up to her office and tried in vain to work. Though she opened the first of the research abstracts she planned to peruse, between the events of last night and her momentous meeting with Swain, she was hopelessly distracted.
She’d awakened way too early this morning, then couldn’t go back to sleep, already beset with second thoughts about her decision to help Cameron Reinhardt find the lost girls and expose whatever it was that Swain was up to. Twisting and turning in her sheets, she’ d tormented herself with the horrors of what she might be getting herself into, only to realize if she stayed and did nothing, she would end up there, regardless.
Then the whole breakfast-with-the-director event had swooped down on her like a bird of prey, snatching her out of her nightmares and plunging her into a world of golden opportunity. Once again the power of Swain’s personality and words, combined with the constant emotional stimulation of his delightful praises and possibilities overrode thought. It was like some sort of bizarre interactive performance that always sucked her in and carried her along until he was finished with her.
He’ d said nothing about last night, other than to ask if she was enjoying the open house, then moved on to inquire about her satisfaction with her present office space—because if she desired something else, he would certainly see about accommodating her. From there he conveyed with great enthusiasm his expectations and plans for her as a graduate student and beyond—heady visions that far exceeded the fulfillment of her simple dream of earning her doctorate.
Sometime in the midst of all that, he’ d flashed his charming smile from where he sat across the table from her and, with a mischievous sparkle in his gorgeous blue eyes, asked her to be his date for the VIP reception to be held in the zig’s tenth-floor Hanging Gardens tomorrow night.
Her mouth had dropped open as much from surprise as from the horror of having Reinhardt’s nasty suspicions confirmed. Then she’d blushed furiously, so uncomfortable she’ d wanted to crawl out of her own skin and vanish. What would be next? An invitation to the penthouse?
I will
not
go to the penthouse,
she told herself firmly.
Then Swain laughed and assured her he was only kidding. “It’s not the sort of affair one brings a date to,” he explained, “but I’d be honored if you’d be my guest for the evening. There are a number of folks I’d like to introduce you to—being K-J’s first and thus far only graduate student.”
Profoundly relieved, she’ d let him carry her along again, wanting desperately to believe everything he said was true—that the reception invitation really was nothing more than the manifestation of his commitment to helping promising young researchers advance. That it really would dramatically further her career to be at his side tomorrow night at the biggest function of K-J’s year, meeting all the movers and shakers in the field.
“If you work this right, your place in genetics will skyrocket,” he’ d assured her. Then he’ d grinned again and this time urged her to use her pretty face to advantage. “I’m not suggesting anything immoral, just advising you to make use of all your assets. It’s amazing the power feminine charm can have on some of these old, crusty scientists.”
She’d laughed with him, and it was impossible to feel anything but flattered and honored under his admiring gaze.
But the moment she’ d turned from his table to see Cameron Reinhardt standing in the archway at the juncture of the restaurant’s two sunny rooms, she’ d known it had all been an act. She couldn’t dismiss the things that had happened to her over the last two weeks, and especially not what had happened last night. No, everything Swain had just done only proved the truth of Cameron’s suspicions.
The director was pursuing her, and if she “worked this right” and “used her feminine charms,” she’d be well rewarded. . . .
Though Reinhardt had looked more exhausted than she felt, and the knot on his forehead was beginning to bruise, the sight of him there in the breakfast room had ignited in her a swell of strong affection. She wished now it had been Cameron who’d asked her to the reception instead of Swain, but then, even as senior staff, he probably didn’t get to invite whomever he wished to the affair. At least his senior status meant he’d be there, too. She wondered if he was as good at dancing as he was at driving and shooting. . . .
Her computer screen turning off from disuse startled her out of her musings, and she frowned at her seventh-grade thoughts. Telling herself sternly to get to work, she pushed all thoughts of Cameron from her mind and twitched the mouse to wake up her PC. When the darkness held sway, she twitched the mouse again, frowning now as she heard voices apparently coming from the screen itself. Not only that, but vague shadowy shapes were lurching across it. She peered at them intently, wondering if the screen was broken or the system was crashing—
Suddenly the darkness pulled her into a place that was eerily familiar. As before, she smelled the sweet fragrance of jasmine on damp air and followed the voices ahead. This time, though, the darkness dissipated rapidly, revealing walls of huge-leaved foliage on either side. Stalks as big as her waist rose around her, some supporting bright blue daisylike flowers as big as sombreros.
She walked barefoot on a white spongy pavement through the foliage. It was warm and moist, and she wore only a white Grecian-style shift made of thin, exquisitely soft silk. The garment fell halfway to her knees, and though she wore nothing underneath it, she wasn’t the least bit cold.
The path’s curve prevented her from seeing the people who were walking ahead of her, but she could hear their voices clearly—two men and a woman, speaking a language she didn’t recognize. Finally, though, she came to the edge of the forest, where a wide plaza stretched out before her. A huge white building stood at its midst, but she noted it only peripherally, her attention drawn to the motion of a chariot lifting from the pavement. It held the three people she’ d been following and was pulled by two winged, horselike creatures up into the misty sky before her.
She watched them with pleasure, knowing somehow that she’ d seen them many times before. Only when they had disappeared behind the mist did she return her attention to the building, where she was headed for her appointment. It had a wide porch, lined with Grecian columns and fronted by a rank of wide steps.
Crossing the plaza, she ascended the stair toward the huge open doorway at the back of the porch, feeling increasingly averse. The door led into a bright and airy rotunda, illumined by high clerestory windows. A shoulder-high counter ran along the inside wall, above which various panels blinked with lights and graphs. To the left a riot of plants grew in small dishes under glowing orbs. Some had green leaves. Others had purple and yellow and bright orange foliage. There were odd lumps of pink puttylike material balanced atop small, shallow cones, these latter illuminated beneath red orbs.
A man stood on the far side of the chamber, working at a space on the counter where there were no plants. He stood over seven feet tall and the simple white knee-length wrap around his hips exposed his marvelously muscled upper body. Smooth, unblemished skin glowed like warm, rich cherrywood, and his hair fell like a river of spun gold to his waist.
At her tentative hello, he turned, and she was frozen in place, bowled over by his heart-stopping, godlike beauty: the angled strength of his jaw and brow, the narrow, straight nose, the long-lashed, neon blue eyes. Just the sight of him made her bones go soft and her mind turn giddy with rapture.
“Ah, you’re here,” he said, though not in English. In fact, she was pretty sure he was speaking the same language as the first group of people she’ d encountered, but for some reason now she could understand his every word.
“Climb up there on the table. This won’t take long.”
She hadn’t noticed the massive table, though it stood in the midst of the room. Carved of white marble, its surface stood level with her shoulder.
He turned back to the counter and picked up what looked like a white pipette with a pale purple blob in its tapered tip. This he fitted into a tubular silver frame with multiple prongs at one end. Each implement, though perfectly scaled for his use, was as big as one of her arms.
“You can drop your gown there before you climb up,” he said, gesturing at her feet. “Usually impregnation is bloodless, but sometimes we spill a drop or two.”
He smiled, and suddenly he terrified her. Whirling, she fled back through the gargantuan doorway and into Ma’s kitchen at home. Swain was fixing hamburgers at the yellow-tiled counter and turned to ask if she wanted cherry juice with them. When she told him about the giant who was chasing her, he only patted her shoulder, told her everything would be fine, and turned her about.
Whereupon the godlike man poked his white pipette with its cloned embryo through her belly button and into her womb. All the while Swain patted her shoulder, assuring her it would only be for nine months and well worth the trouble. . . .
She jerked awake in horror, lurching violently in her padded desk chair as she stared wide-eyed at the computer screen, which was still in hibernation mode. It had all seemed so real! As if it were a real place, a place she’ d actually been. She was trembling and gasping, and her belly button even ached. Compulsively she ran her hands over her stomach. But it was only a dream. There was no embryo. She’ d not been impregnated. . . .
Then she saw the black cube sitting on the desk to her right, atop a small stack of manila folders. It had not been there when she’d sat down. In fact, she didn’t know how it had gotten into her office at all, since the last time she’d seen it had been in her room Thursday night, when she’d put it into her bottom desk drawer. It might be someone else’s cube. Either that or she’d mindlessly brought it up here herself.
With a chill, she recalled Cameron’s urgent words in their conversation at the overlook last night, ordering her to throw her box away the moment she got home. He’ d asked then if she’ d been hearing voices or having strange dreams. Said it was some sort of mind control device.But in the trauma of Frogeater’s attack and its aftermath, she’ d forgotten all about the box.
Abruptly she stood, snatched it up, and walked down the hall to the lounge with its small balcony overlooking the eastern berm. Thankfully, she had the place to herself and wasted no time tossing the object over the rail. It sailed out in the morning light and plummeted to the roof of the ziggurat’s first main level, three stories below. As soon as it hit she lost sight of it. Hopefully it had shattered on impact.
“What are you doing out here?” Gen Viascola’s suspicious voice intruded into her private moment, and she jerked around guiltily.
Her supervisor stood in the opening of the sliding glass door, frowning at her.
“I got cold,” Lacey said. “So I came out to warm up.” Which wasn’t far from the truth. Sometimes the Institute’s air-conditioning worked
too
well.
Viascola continued to frown. “I thought I saw you throwing something.”
“It’s against the rules to throw things off the balconies, Dr. V.I know that.”
The assistant director stepped out onto the balcony and looked over the railing. But since the box was far too small to be picked out from this distance, she saw nothing and grunted. “Must’ve been the reflections, I guess.”
Then, to Lacey’s intense dismay, she lingered. “The heat does feel good out here, doesn’t it?” She surveyed the sweeping eastern berm for a moment, then said, “You must be thrilled that Parker has asked you to the reception.”
Lacey’s wariness instantly doubled. “I’m . . . overwhelmed by it, to tell the truth,” she admitted. “Last week I was cleaning up after rats and frogs, after all.”
Gen gave her a smug smile. “I told you your circumstances would change dramatically before too much longer. You had only to be patient.”
She laid her red-nailed hands on the copper railing and lifted her face to the sun, its light accentuating the gold strands in her deep red hair.
Lacey was thinking about excusing herself and going back inside when her companion said, “I heard you had a secret rendezvous with Cameron Reinhardt up at the overlook last night.”
“It was hardly a rendezvous, ma’am. I just took the shuttle up to see the view and ran into him while I was there.”
“I was given to understand he brought you dinner.”
Lacey almost gasped. Cameron was right. They
had
been watching her—far more closely than she’ d ever dreamed. “He brought his own and shared it with me,” she explained.
