to the clinic for a . . . deposit, then we could put you on a
fast-track schedule."
"One thing at a time. First I'd like to know exactly what it is you
have in mind." Would his "program" include stringing me out on the toad
drug, the way he'd done with Sarah?
"Of course." He leaned forward in his chair. "I believe that, given
your history, an in-vitro procedure would have the highest chance of
success. You undoubtedly know how it works. We remove a number of eggs
by aspiration and grade them for maturity and viability, after which we
fertilize them to begin embryos growing. Then we pick the most
promising for implantation."
"In vitro is invasive and dangerous and there's a lot that can go
wrong." I genuinely hated the idea.
"To some extent." He examined his watch for a moment, then looked up.
"But let me just say this. Since any reproductive therapy, particularly
in vitro, is strongly dependent on the factor of timing, I've developed
experimental compounds down here that can regulate egg maturities very
precisely. It minimizes a lot of uncertainties, which is why we're so
lucky you're . . ." He paused. "Look, the first thing we need to do is
put you on a strict regimen of diet and spiritual discipline, using my
system for regulating your Chi, your energy flows. Then, if you respond
we can start thinking about the procedure. And should you eventually
decide you want to go ahead and you can have your partner come here, we
could possibly have everything done in just a few days."
"Well, you can forget about me taking any 'experimental compounds.' "
How long could I stall him?
"Morgan, there's more to this." His look grew pained. "It's awkward to
bring it up, but your presence here creates no small difficulty for me.
I told you certain people in the military high command have concerns
about the film you're making. And then the next thing they know, you
show up here. It's just going to heighten their paranoia. But if I can
convince them you're here for fertility treatment . . . In any case,
it's important that nothing you, or I, do is at odds with that
presumption. I hope it's true, but even if you chose to forgo it, I
still need to put you on my normal regimen. You understand."
That's baloney. Somebody had me brought to _Baalum_. Whoever did it
knows full well why I'm here. The problem is, I still don't know what
they really want.
"Well, you can say I've come to take Sarah home," I told him. "That
seems reason enough."
"The other story is simpler to explain." He took a last bite of
gazpacho, then rested his pewter spoon on the table. "Take my word for
it."
"And what if I don't choose to go along with this charade?"
"We would both be in jeopardy. They're entirely capable of . . . things
I'd rather not have to elaborate on."
I sat there, feeling a chill envelop the room. How was I going to get
out of this place?
"By the way, a while ago Sarah mentioned something about a 'ceremony.'
What's that--?"
"It's a special time here." His gaze shifted to the ceiling. "In fact,
it's supposed to take place in three days, but the Army has informed me
it has to be two days from now. That's the day they rotate the troops
here, so there'll be double strength."
"But why do they need--"
"Things can get a bit frenzied." He smiled, though he seemed to be
embarrassed. "However, the people will love the fact you're here to
share it with them."
Did he say "frenzied"? My mind immediately flashed on the Aztec rituals
of ripping out beating hearts. But the Maya didn't go to that extreme,
at least so far as I knew. Once again, though, I had the feeling I was
only hearing what he wanted me to know, not the whole truth. It felt
like a chess game where I didn't know the location of all the pieces or
how they could move.
"Tell you what." He was getting up, turning toward the hall. "Why don't
you let me show you around the clinic? In fact, I'm scheduled to
perform an in vitro this morning for a childless couple here. You're
free to see it. Perhaps that could help you make your own decision."
"Well . . . do you have a phone? I need to make some calls." Would he
let me call out? That would be a first test of what his intentions
were. It was all getting so insidious. I had Sarah to worry about, and
the Army, and now some kind of "ceremony" that he'd managed to stay
cannily vague about. I only knew I wanted the whole world to know where
I was.
"Of course," he said. "You're welcome to use my office." He was
pointing down the hall. "It's right this way."
Yes! Maybe I'm not completely his prisoner yet. I still have
privileges. But I'd damned well better use them while I can.
I walked out and felt a breeze, and then I studied the far end of the
hallway, at the opposite end from the entrance, and noticed huge
slatted windows. As we walked in their direction, I realized there was
a stairway on one side, at the end of the hall, leading up to the
second story of the building.
"What's up there?"
"Hygenic nursery rooms." He glanced at the stairs. "Unlike U.S.
practice, new mothers here aren't sent home after a day or two. Women
and their newborns are encouraged to stay here at the clinic for at
least a week. It's actually very much a part of their tradition, a
period of bonding. You're welcome to visit with them later if you like."
I intended to. In fact, I found myself looking around and trying to
memorize everything about the place. A two-story building, a marble
stair, a nursery upstairs, downstairs rooms along either side of the
hallway (what was in them?), and an office I was about to see. Could
the clinic be locked down? What were the escape routes? How closely was
the Army watching? The time would come, I was sure, when I'd need every
scrap of intelligence I could collect.
When we reached the end of the hall, the fresh cool wind still blowing
against my face, he stopped in front of a large, ornate wooden door
with a brass knob in the very center. There was no sign of a lock, just
a sense of great gravity about its purpose.
"The phone's in here." He pushed the door and it slowly swung inward on
hinges that must have required ball bearings.
It was indeed an office, dimly lighted by the moving screen-savers of
two computers, each on a separate desk. He flicked on the overhead
lights and I noticed that one computer was hooked to a fax machine, the
other to a separate printer. An impressive assembly of data-management
technology for out here in the rain forest.
Then I focused on the central desk, on which sat an open,
briefcase-looking box containing a mini-console labeled Magellan World
Phone. A small satellite dish was bolted down next to it.
"It uplinks to the Inmarsat Series 3 geostationary satellites." He
indicated the dish. "But it works like a regular phone. The
international codes all apply." Then he turned to leave. "I should be
ready for the procedure in a few minutes."
I picked up the handset and flicked it on. Three green diodes flashed,
then two yellow ones, after which a white light came on and I heard a
continuous hum, a dial tone.
Hooray. But was his satellite phone tapped? Why would he let me just
call out? Was this a feint in our game of cat-and-mouse, just to lull
me into believing everything here was safe and benign? Remembering
Sarah's drug experience, I already knew that couldn't be true. For now,
though, I had to get an SOS out while I had the chance.
I'd long since memorized the number of Steve's hotel in Belize City,
and if I could reach him, he could go the embassy in Guatemala City and
. . . I wasn't sure what. I still hoped to get out of here on my own,
but if that failed . . . maybe some of those sturdy Marines . . .
When I dialed the Belize number, however, the phone just rang and rang.
Come on. Somebody please pick up.