Trial Run (24 page)

T
he redesigned prion molecule does not require a host to maintain its active state,” Trent told Shane. He could not stop the hand holding the phone from shaking. “The revised form I created left it capable of devouring inanimate materials. And people. Apparently it still held on to the same traits as the Creutzfeldt-Jacob structure, because as soon as it was respirated into a human system, it attacked the host's brain.”

“I'm really sorry you had to see that.” Though Shane was clearly very troubled, her voice held a sense of detachment. “At least you know why you couldn't come with me.”

“I have to stop them.”

“Of course you do. Should I come back?”

“No, Shane. This doesn't change your reasons for going to England.”

“I guess you're right.”

“Is everything okay?”

“You mean, other than hearing how your research has created a totally destructive molecule?”

“You just sound, I don't know, disconnected.”

“Shell-shocked is probably more like it. I got my passport in no time flat. I'm checked in for the flight. Elizabeth is here.”

“Who?”

“The woman you met in the café.”

“She's there? How do you know her name?”

“Because we've talked. She's explained where we're going. It's not England. It's an island in the English Channel. They're buying it.”

“Who is?”

“Her team. It's a long story.” A loudspeaker blared in the background. “The pilot is saying I have to cut off my phone.”

“Can I speak with her?”

“What, now?”

“It's vital, Shane.”

“Hang on.”

There was a muffled moment, then a different voice said, “This is Elizabeth.”

He recognized the hard edge instantly. “I need help.”

“I know.” The woman sounded more removed than Shane. As though she had been dulled by overexposure to whatever had drawn her into that Starbucks. A victim of too many close calls. “You need to speak with Charlie. You got a pen?”

“Yes. Who is Charlie?”

“Charlie Hazard is the man who . . .” Elizabeth coughed into the phone. “Sorry. Write this down.”

Trent took down the number, hesitated a long moment, then asked, “Does he know how to make a bomb?”

Shane found she could not meet the other woman's eyes as Elizabeth handed her back the phone. Overhead the pilot welcomed them on board and ordered them to shut off all electronic devices for takeoff. Shane stowed her phone in her purse and said, “I brought your briefcase-purse with me. The second one. It's in my checked bag.”

“Keep it.”

“That thing cost nine hundred dollars.”

Elizabeth already had her eyes shut. “It doesn't suit me. Give it to Gabriella.”

“Who?”

“The lady waiting at the other end. She'll love it.”

The hostess walked down the aisle, offering them champagne or orange juice. Shane said, “The world sure looks different in business class.”

“You don't travel much?”

“No money, and nobody to spend it with. Until Trent.”

Elizabeth swiveled her head on the pillow. “Your friend seems nice.”

“He is. Very.”

“You're worried about him.”

Shane found herself swallowing another lump in her throat. Which was very odd. When she had first met Elizabeth at the check-in counter, Shane had instantly known who the lady was. The spiky-haired blonde had stared at her with an intensity that was unmistakable. And those clothes. They were like a biker's idea of Valentino. Tight and aggressive. Like the woman. Even so, Shane had taken that first long look and burst into tears. She felt like doing the same right now. “Worried and scared both.”

“Don't be. Charlie is the best there is at keeping people safe.”

“That's the guy you told Trent to contact?”

“Yes. Charlie is . . .” Elizabeth's features went tight, then relaxed again. Shane had the impression it was done by strength of will alone. As though she had spent years perfecting the ability of tamping things down and locking them away. “Charlie is a professional. If anybody can keep your Trent safe through whatever comes next, it's Charlie.”

Shane had the sudden impression that Elizabeth was in love with the guy. Which left her wanting to confess her own flood of emotions over Trent. Instead, she said, “I never cry.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes once more. “I get that a lot.”

C
harlie found it difficult to remain stationary. His body still vibrated. His heart rate remained a trace below redline. When Gabriella came on the line, he could hear the slight tremor to his voice.

“I'm supposed to be leaving for the airport,” Gabriella said.

“This can't wait.”

“I'm meeting Elizabeth because you told me it was important, Charlie.”

“Have someone call her. She'll be in the air. Leave her a message.” His thoughts were scattered. For every word he spoke, he thought a dozen. All in different directions. What was more, he didn't care. “We have work to do.”

“Just a minute, Charlie.” A pause, then, “Will you tell me what this is about?”

The act of retelling calmed Charlie down. It also frightened him. His adrenaline state continued to super-divide the seconds, such that he both heard himself talk and fractioned the thoughts, granting him
ample space to worry. What if she refused. What if she did not believe him. What if she analyzed it until he grew frustrated and angry. What if she asked the questions for which he had no answer.

Instead, when he finished, Gabriella did not respond.

“Gabriella?”

“I'm thinking.”

“It happened, Gabriella. Just like I said.”

“I need a minute, Charlie. Please.”

He felt the final splinters of frisson fade away. He felt as though his body was reknitting itself at some core level of pure energy. Returning to a denser state. One of frustrated intensity. Only now there was a brooding hurt, a knowledge that he could remain here no longer. The time for waiting was over. Either she moved with him to this new level, or . . .

Charlie sighed. He was unable to shape an alternative. Either she was with him, or nothing.

When Gabriella finally spoke, it was to say, “Earlier you said something about these images carrying multiple messages.”

His heart surged with an unreasonable hope. “I sure did.”

She was silent an impossible amount of time. Charlie kicked at a tear in the motel carpeting and struggled to hold on to his patience.

“Forgive me for taking so long, Charlie. I am trying to bring all of this into some form of clarity. Do you think this image has multiple layers as well?”

“It wasn't an image, Gabriella.”

She did not speak.

“But to answer your question, yes, I think there was an underlying message. And I also think that before we get to that, we have to deal with the first thing. The real thing. The meaning you're busy running circles around.”

Gabriella remained silent.

“This wasn't some exchange between friends. This was love at its deepest level. Between a man and a woman. You need to come to terms with this. Now.”

Gabriella's breath huffed slightly over the seven thousand miles.

“You came to me. I did not come to you. You loved me in a way that was both beautiful and total. And you said to me one word.”

She whispered, “Finally.”

Charlie felt the shivers clench his body again. He was hit by a sudden thought. He wondered if this was the only way to cry when the body's tears were no longer available. To shake through the emotions, humming like a giant tuning fork. Threatened to be torn apart by the simple act of breathing.

Gabriella said softly, “I have thought of this for so long.”

It was Charlie's turn to be rendered speechless. Unable to fashion words around the tremors.

“I have a lifetime of practice at making the right moves with the wrong men. Byron was far from the first serious mistake I made.” Byron had been her husband when Charlie first met her, a philanderer with enough money to buy his way out of almost anything. But in the end, it had not saved him, or them. Gabriella went on, “Byron was not even the worst. I have laid awake and thought of this. How to start with you. Whether I should risk the vital role you play in our work.”

His vibrations eased to where he could say, “This is not about the team or your work. This is about us.”

“Everything is about the team. These factors cannot be separated. Not anymore.”

Charlie did not argue.

“When I let myself think about you, it seems like all the men I have known were there waiting and watching. All the mistakes, all the wrong choices, all the pain and sorrow and feelings that I could never . . .” She breathed across the distance, so forcefully Charlie felt the heat on his ear. “Charlie?”

“I'm here.”

“Do you think we can move beyond who we once were?”

“It's the only thing that keeps me going.”

They shared the music of silence. The distance between them had
never seemed smaller. Finally Gabriella said, “Perhaps we should speak about the multiple layers.”

“On the surface it is about us. And our love.”

She breathed a quiet emphasis to his words. Then, “And below?”

“The timing itself is a message. I had almost given up on you ever being mine. I started to . . .” He did not want to go on. But she had to realize he had reached the brink. “I started to take another direction.”

“Oh, Charlie.”

“But I didn't. And you came. Almost as though I had earned it by my choice. And did so right at my breaking point.”

Another moment's silence, then, “There's more, isn't there. Another level to the experience.”

“There is, yes. And the CIA operative, Elene Belote, she's the key.”

Gabriella spoke slowly. “She claims you saved her by coming to her when she was almost lost to the vortex.”

He liked that word. Vortex. It fit the experience. “This is no claim, Gabriella. This is real.”

“Yes. Of course. You are right. It's just . . . the thought of you going in there, it terrifies me.”

“I have to do this. And you are going to do this with me. Your love is my shield.”

“You have no way of knowing that this will work.”

“Elene is here. I know that. And you will not let me lose myself in the storm. I know that too.”

Gabriella breathed for him a moment longer, the intimacy undisturbed by the distance or his surroundings. Finally she asked, “I cannot imagine what it must be like, joining with you. Is it beautiful?”

The tremors almost robbed him of the power to reply. “Come and see.”

Charlie left his room and knocked on Elene's door. His phone rang just as she opened the door. Charlie was so jazzed by the conversation with Gabriella and the prospect of better things to come, he was
tempted not to answer. He stepped into Elene's room and checked the readout. He did not recognize the number. He punched the button and demanded, “Yes?”

“Is this Mr. Hazard?”

“Who is speaking?”

“My name is Trent Major.”

“Should I know that name?”

“Elizabeth told me to phone you. She said you'd know what to do.”

“You're the student.”

“That's right.”

“Okay. I'm going to pass you over to a friend. Her name is Elene Belote. She'll tell you where to come.”

“Wait, I need to ask—”

“Sorry, Trent. We're running to a tight schedule here. Do you have transport?”

“Yes. At least can you tell me . . . is it safe there?”

“I'll be moving us again as soon as you arrive. Right now I have to do something. I'm going to put you on hold for thirty seconds, then you can talk with Elene.”

Charlie cupped the phone and said to Elene, “You have to take over here. But first I need the names of your colleagues who've gotten lost in the maelstrom.”

To his surprise, Elene had the list ready. “You're going for them?”

“I'm going to try.”

Elene showed very real fear. “How can you be sure you'll come back?”

Charlie handed her the phone. “I have a secret weapon.”