My hands were so moist I had trouble holding the slippery keys, but
finally I managed to shove in the first one. It went in, but nothing
would turn.
Come on. I managed to wiggle the next one in, my hand trembling now,
but again the knob wouldn't budge. Footsteps outside marched up to the
door and I stopped breathing, but then they moved on.
Hurry. I was rapidly losing hope when the fifth one slipped in and the
knob turned. Yes!
Taking a deep breath and working on a story in case Alex Goddard walked
in, I clicked the lock and eased the door inward just enough to look
inside.
Hello, what's this? The space was a fully equipped medical research
lab. The lights were off, but like the office, it was illuminated by
the glow of several CRT screens stationed above a long lab bench. There
also was a large machine, probably a gas chromatograph, with its own
screen, flanked by rows of test tubes. Finally, there was a large
electronic microscope complete with video screen.
One non-medical thing stood out, though: There in the middle of the
workbench was a two-foot-high bronze Dancing Shiva presiding over
whatever was going on. It was breath-takingly beautiful.
So . . . what was The Lord of the Dance giving his blessing to? Time to
try and find out.
Now clanking noises were filtering in from out in the hall, along with
the pounding of heavy boots, and my pulse jumped again. Was the Army
coming to drag me away?
Just go in. Do it.
The CRT screens were attached to black metal containers, their doors
closed, that all were connected to a power supply, doubtless to
maintain some temperature. It looked like Goddard was incubating
something in a carefully controlled environment. The whole arrangement
was very carefully organized and laid out.
Finally I noticed a row of large steel jugs, six in all, near the back
and covered with a sheet of black plastic, thin like a wrap. What could
they be? Some kind of special gas for use in the lab?
Voices in Spanish drifted in from the hallway. A woman and a man were
arguing about something.
Okay, get out of here. Come back and check this out when nobody's
around.
I stepped back into the office, clicked off the thumb latch on the door
so it wouldn't lock, and closed it. I realized I was pouring sweat.
What next? Well, see if the phone's working again and try calling the
Camino Real and see if Steve's come back there for some reason, maybe a
change in plans. It would be a long shot, but still . . .
My hand was shaking as I opened up the phone case. Thank God, the
diodes were all quiet. Maybe . . .
The steel door I'd closed only moments before swung open and Alex
Goddard walked through. Did he realize I'd left it unlocked? How did he
get in there? Was there another door?
He'd changed clothes and was wearing a pale blue surgical gown. I shut
the phone case, as though just finishing with it. Could he tell I'd
turned myself into a nervous wreck? I tried to smile and look normal,
but my shirt was soaking.
"Ah, I see you're finished," he said, not seeming to notice.
"Good. As I said, I've got an in-vitro procedure scheduled now for one
of the couples here in the village. You're welcome to observe. It might
help you decide what you want to do in your own case." He was moving
across the room. "You can watch on the closed circuit."
He reached up and snapped on a monitor bolted to the wall in the corner.
"Oh, just one small word of forewarning." He was turning back. "Down
here I've made certain . . . cosmetic changes in the procedure to keep
patients' anxiety levels as low as possible. It wouldn't be appropriate
in your case, but . . . well, you'll see."
Before I had time to wonder what he meant, he disappeared back through
the steel door with a reassuring smile.