“Hello!” Victor called. “Anybody home?” He pushed the door open wider and stepped inside.
   Victor’s scream died on his lips. The bloody scene in Gephardt’s living room was worse than anything he’d ever seen, even during his internship at Boston City Hospital. Seven corpses, including Gephardt’s, were strewn grotesquely around the living room. The bodies were riddled with bullets and the smell of cordite hung heavily in the air.
   The killer must have only just left because blood was still oozing from the wounds. Besides Gephardt, there was a woman about Gephardt’s age who Victor guessed was his wife, an older couple, and three children. The youngest looked about five. Gephardt had been shot so many times that the top part of his head was gone.
   Victor straightened up from checking the last body for signs of life. Weak and dizzy, he walked to the phone wondering if he should be touching anything. He didn’t bother with an ambulance, but dialed the police, who said a car would be there right away.
   Victor decided to wait in the car. He was afraid if he stayed in the house any longer he’d be sick.
   “We’re going to be here for a little while,” Victor shouted as he slid in behind the wheel. He turned the radio down. The image of all the dead people was etched in his mind. “There’s a little trouble inside the house and the police are on their way.”
   “How long?” VJ asked.
   “I’m not sure. Maybe an hour or so.”
   “Any fire trucks coming?” Philip asked eagerly.
   The police arrived in force with four squad cars, probably the entire Lawrence PD fleet. Victor did not go back inside but hung around on the front steps. After about a half hour one of the plainclothesmen came out to talk to him.
   “I’m Lieutenant Mark Scudder,” he said. “They got your name and address, I presume.”
   Victor told him they had.
   “Bad business,” Scudder said. He lit a cigarette and tossed the match out onto the lawn. “Looks like some drug-related vendetta—the kind of scene you expect to see south of Boston, but not up here.”
   “Did you find drugs?” Victor asked.
   “Not yet,” Scudder said, taking a long drag on his cigarette. “But this sure wasn’t any crime of passion. Not with the artillery they used. There must have been two or three people shooting in there.”
   “Are you people going to need me much longer?” Victor asked.
   Scudder shook his head. “If they got your name and number, you can go whenever you want.”

   Upset as she was, Marsha could hardly focus on her afternoon patients and needed all her forbearance to appear interested in the last, a narcissistic twenty-year-old with a borderline personality disorder. The moment the girl left, Marsha picked up her purse and went out to her car, for once letting her correspondence go to the following day.
   All the way home she kept going over her conversation with Remington. Either Victor had been lying about the amount of time VJ was spending at the lab or VJ had been forging his excuses. Both possibilities were equally upsetting, and Marsha realized that she couldn’t even begin dealing with her feelings about Victor and his unconscionable experiment until she had found out how badly VJ had been harmed. The discovery of his truancy added to her worries; it was such a classic symptom of a conduct disorder that could lead to an antisocial personality.
   Marsha turned into their driveway and accelerated up the slight incline. It was almost dark and she had on her headlights. She rounded the house and was reaching for the automatic garage opener when the headlights caught something on the garage door. She couldn’t see what it was and as she pulled up to the door, the headlights reflected back off the white surface, creating a glare. Shielding her eyes, Marsha got out of the car and came around the front. Squinting, she looked up at the object, which looked like a ball of rags.
   “Oh, my God!” she cried when she saw what it was. Shaking off a wave of nausea, she ventured another look. The cat had been strangled and nailed against the door as if crucified.
   Trying not to look at the bulging eyes and protruding tongue, she read the typed note secured to the tail: YOU’D BETTER MAKE THINGS RIGHT.
   Leaving her car where it was but turning off the headlights and the engine, Marsha hurried inside the house and bolted the door. Trembling with a mixture of revulsion, anger, and fear, she took off her coat and went to find the maid, Ramona, who was tidying up in the living room. Marsha asked whether she’d heard any strange noises.
   “I did hear some pounding around noon,” Ramona said. “I opened the front door but nobody was there.”
   “Any cars or trucks?” Marsha asked.
   “No,” said Ramona.
   Marsha let her go back to her cleaning and went to phone Victor, but once she got through, the office said he’d already left. She debated calling the police, but decided Victor would be home any minute. She decided to pour herself a glass of white wine. As she took a sip she saw headlights play against the barn.
   “God damn it!” Victor cursed as he found Marsha’s car blocking the garage. “Why does your mother do that? She could at least keep her heap on her side.”
   Angling the car toward the back door of the house, Victor came to a stop and turned off the lights and the ignition. He was a bundle of nerves following the experience at Gephardt’s. VJ and Philip were blithely unaware of what had happened there, and they didn’t ask for an explanation despite the fact that they had had to wait in the car for so long.
   Victor got out slowly and followed the other two inside. By the time he closed the door he could tell that Marsha was in one of her moods. It was all in her tone as she ordered VJ and Philip to take off their shoes, get upstairs, and wash for dinner.
   Victor hung up his coat, then entered the kitchen.
   “And you!” said Marsha. “I suppose you didn’t see our little present on the garage door?”
   “What are you talking about?” Victor said, matching Marsha’s testy tone.
   “How you could have missed it is beyond me,” Marsha said, putting down her wineglass, flipping on the courtyard light and brushing past Victor. “Come with me!”
   Victor hesitated for a moment, then followed. She marched him through the family room and out the back door.
   “Marsha!” Victor called, hurrying to keep up with her.
   She stopped by the front of her car. Victor came up beside her.
   “What are you . . .” he began. His words trailed off as he found himself looking at the gruesome sight of Kissa, brutally nailed to the garage door.
   Marsha was standing with her hands on her hips, looking at Victor, not at the cat. “I thought you’d be interested to see how well you ‘laid it on the line’ with the problem people.”
   Victor turned away. He couldn’t bear to look at the dead, tortured animal, and he couldn’t face his wife.
   “I want to know what you’re going to do to see that this is stopped. And don’t think you’ll get away with a simple ‘I’ll handle it.’ I want you to tell me what steps you’re going to take, and now. I just can’t take any more of this . . .” Her voice broke.
   Victor wasn’t sure how much more of it he could take either. Marsha was treating him as if he was to blame, as though he’d brought this down on them. Maybe he had. But he’d be damned if he knew who was behind this. He was as baffled as Marsha was.
   Victor slowly turned back to the garage door. It was only then he saw the note. He didn’t know whether to be angry or sick. Who the hell was doing this? If it were Gephardt, at least he wouldn’t be bothering them again.
   “We’ve gone from a phone call to a broken window to a dead pet,” said Marsha. “What’s next?”
   “We’ll call the police,” Victor said.
   “They were a big help last time.”
   “I don’t know what you expect from me,” Victor said, regaining some composure. “I did call the three people I suspected of being behind this. By the way, the list of suspects has been reduced to two.”
   “What does that mean?” Marsha asked.
   “Tonight on the way home I stopped at George Gephardt’s,” Victor said. “And the man was—”
   “Yuck!” VJ voiced with a disgusted expression.
   Both Victor and Marsha were startled by VJ’s sudden appearance. Marsha had hoped to spare her son from this. She stepped between VJ and the garage door, trying to block the gruesome sight.
   “Look at her tongue,” VJ said, glancing around Marsha.
   “Inside, young man!” Marsha said, trying to herd VJ back to the house. She really never would forgive Victor for this. But VJ would have none of it. He seemed determined to have a look. His interest struck Marsha as morbid; it was almost clinical. With a sinking feeling she realized there was no sorrow in his reaction—another schizoid symptom.
   “VJ!” Marsha said sharply. “I want you in the house now!”
   “Do you think Kissa was dead before she got nailed to the door?” VJ asked, still calmly, trying to look at the cat as Marsha pushed him toward the door.
   Once they were inside, Victor went directly to the phone while Marsha tried to have a talk with VJ. Surely he had some feelings for their cat. Victor got through to the North Andover police station. The operator assured him they’d send a patrol car over right away.
   Hanging up the phone, he turned into the room. VJ was going up the back stairs two steps at a time. Marsha was on the couch with arms folded angrily. It was clear she was even more upset now that VJ had seen the cat.

  “I’ll hire some temporary security until we get to the bottom of this,” said Victor. “We’ll have them watch the house at night.”
   “I think we should have done that from the start,” Marsha said.
   Victor shrugged. He sat down on the couch, suddenly feeling very tired.
   “Do you know what VJ told me when I tried to ask him about his feelings?” Marsha asked. “He said we can get another cat.”
   “That sounds mature,” Victor said. “At least VJ can be rational.”
   “Victor, it’s been his cat for years. You’d think he would show a little emotion, grief at the loss.” Marsha swallowed hard. “I think it is a cold and detached response.” She hoped she could remain composed while they discussed VJ, but as much as she tried to hold them back, tears welled in her eyes.
   Victor shrugged again. He really didn’t want to get into another psychological chitchat. The boy was fine.
   “Inappropriate emotion is not a good sign,” Marsha managed, hoping at last Victor would agree. But Victor didn’t say anything.
   “What do you think?” Marsha asked.
   “To tell you the truth,” Victor said, “I am a little preoccupied at the moment. A little while ago before VJ appeared I was telling you about Gephardt. On the way home I went to visit the man, and I walked in on a scene—you just can’t imagine. Gephardt and his entire family were murdered today. Machine-gunned in their living room in the middle of the afternoon. It was a massacre.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I was the one to call the police.”
   “How awful!” she cried. “My God, what’s going on?” She looked at Victor. He was her husband, after all, the man she’d loved all these years. “Are you all right?” she asked him.
   “Oh, I’m hanging in there,” Victor said, but his tone lacked conviction.
   “Was VJ with you?” she asked.
   “He was in the car.”
   “So he didn’t see anything?”
   Victor shook his head.
   “Thank God,” Marsha said. “Do the police have any motive for the killings?”
   “They think it’s drug-related.”
   “What a terrible thing!” Marsha exclaimed, still stunned. “Can I get you something to drink? A glass of wine?”
   “I think I’ll take something a bit stronger, like a Scotch,” Victor said.
   “You stay put,” said Marsha. She went to the wet bar and poured Victor a drink. Maybe she was being too hard on him, but she had to get him to focus on their son. She decided to bring the subject back to VJ. Handing the glass to Victor, she began.
   “I had an upsetting experience myself today—not anything like yours. I went to VJ’s school to visit the headmaster.”
   Victor took a sip.
   Marsha then told Victor about her visit with Mr. Remington, ending with the question of why Victor hadn’t discussed with her his decision to have VJ miss so much school.
   “I never made a decision for VJ to miss school,” Victor said.
   “Haven’t you written a number of notes for VJ to spend time at the lab rather than at school?”
   “Of course not.”
   “I was afraid of that,” Marsha said. “I think we have a real problem on our hands. Truancy like that is a serious symptom.”
   “It seemed like he was around a lot, but when I asked him, VJ told me that the school was sending him out to get more practical experience. As long as his grades were fine, I didn’t think to question him further.”
   “Pauline Spaulding also told me that VJ spent most of his time in your lab,” Marsha said. “At least after his intelligence dropped.”
   “VJ has always spent a lot of time in the lab,” Victor admitted.
   “What does he do?” Marsha asked.
   “Lots of things,” Victor said. “He started doing basic chemistry stuff, uses the microscopes, plays computer games which I loaded for him. I don’t know. He just hangs out. Everybody knows him. He’s well-liked. He’s always been adept at entertaining himself.”
   The front door chimes sounded and both Marsha and Victor went to the front foyer and let in the North Andover police.
   “Sergeant Cerullo,” said a large, uniformed policeman. He had small features that were all bunched together in the center of a pudgy face. “And this here is Patrolman Hood. Sorry about your cat. We’ve been tryin’ to watch your house better since Widdicomb’s been here, but it’s hard, settin’ where it is so far from the road and all.”
   Sergeant Cerullo got out a pad and pencil as Widdicomb had Tuesday night. Victor led the two of them out the back to the garage. Hood took several photos of Kissa, then both policemen searched the area. Victor was gratified when Hood offered to take the cat down and even helped dig a grave at the edge of a stand of birch trees.
   On the way into the house, Victor asked if they knew anybody he could call for the security duty he had in mind. They gave him the names of several local firms.
   “As long as we’re talkin’ names,” Sergeant Cerullo said, “do you have any idea of who would want to do this to your cat?”
   “Two people come to mind,” Victor said. “Sharon Carver and William Hurst.”
   Cerullo dutifully wrote down the names. Victor didn’t mention Gephardt. Nor did he mention Ronald Beekman. There was no way Ronald would stoop to this.
   After seeing the police out, Victor called both of the recommended firms. It was apparently after hours; all he got was recordings, so he left his name and number at work.
   “I want us both to have a talk with VJ,” Marsha said.
   Victor knew by the tone of her voice there’d be no putting her off. He merely nodded and followed her up the back stairs. VJ’s door was ajar and they entered without a knock.
   VJ closed the cover of one of his stamp albums and slipped the heavy book onto the shelf above his desk.
   Marsha studied her son. He was looking up at her and Victor expectantly, almost guiltily, as if they’d caught him doing something naughty. Working on a stamp album hardly qualified.
   “We want to talk with you,” began Marsha.
   “Okay,” VJ agreed. “About what?”
   To Marsha he suddenly looked the ten-year-old child he was. He looked so vulnerable, she had to restrain herself from leaning down and drawing him to her. But it was time to be stern. “I visited Pendleton Academy today and spoke with the headmaster. He told me that you had been producing notes from your father to leave school and spend time at Chimera. Is this true?”
   With her professional experience, Marsha expected VJ to deny the allegation initially, and then when denial proved to be impossible, to use some preadolescent externalization of responsibility. But VJ did neither.
   “Yes, it is true,” VJ said flatly. “I am sorry for the deceit. I apologize for any embarrassment it may have caused you. None was intended.”
   For a moment Marsha felt like someone had let the air out of her sails. How she would have preferred the standard, childish denial. But even in this instance, VJ varied from the norm. Looking up, she glanced at Victor. He raised his eyebrows but said nothing.
   “My only excuse is that I am doing fine at school,” VJ said. “I’ve considered that my main responsibility.”
   “School is supposed to challenge you,” Victor said, suspecting Marsha was stumped by VJ’s utter calm. “If school is too easy, you should be advanced. After all, there have been cases where children your age have matriculated into college, even graduated.”
   “Kids like that are treated like freaks,” VJ replied. “Besides, I’m not interested in more structure. I’ve learned a lot at the lab, much more than at school. I want to be a researcher.”
   “Why didn’t you come and talk to me about this?” Victor said.
   “I just thought it would be the easiest way,” VJ said. “I was afraid if I asked to spend more time at the lab, you’d say no.”
   “Thinking you know the outcome of a discussion shouldn’t keep you from talking,” Victor said.
   VJ nodded.
   Victor looked at Marsha to see if she was about to say anything else. She was thoughtfully chewing the inside of her cheek. Sensing that Victor was looking at her, she glanced at him. He shrugged. She did the same.
   “Well, we’ll talk about this again,” said Victor. Then he and Marsha left VJ’s room and retreated down the back stairs.
   “Well,” Victor said, “at least he didn’t lie.”
   “I can’t get over it,” Marsha said. “I was sure he was going to deny it.” She retrieved her glass of wine, freshened it, and sat down in one of the chairs around the kitchen table. “He’s difficult to anticipate.”
   “Isn’t it a good sign that he didn’t lie?” Victor asked, leaning up against the kitchen counter.
   “Frankly, no,” said Marsha. “Under the circumstances, for a child his age, it’s not normal at all. Okay, he didn’t lie, but he didn’t show the slightest sign of remorse. Did you notice that?”

   Victor rolled his eyes. “You really are never satisfied, are you? Well, I’m not convinced this is so important. I skipped a bunch of days back in high school. I think the only real difference was that I was never caught.”
   “That’s not the same thing,” Marsha said. “That kind of behavior is typical of adolescent rebellion. That’s why you didn’t do it until you were in high school. VJ is only in fifth grade.”
   “I don’t think forging a few notes, especially when he is doing okay in school, means the boy is going to grow up to a life of crime. He’s a prodigy, for God’s sake. He skips school to be in a lab. The way you’re acting, you’d think we’d discovered he was on crack.”
   “I wouldn’t be concerned if it were just this. But there’s a whole complex of qualities that are just not right about our son. I can’t believe you don’t see—”
   A crashing sound from outside froze Marsha in mid-sentence.
   “Now what?” said Victor.
   “It sounded like it came from near the garage,” Marsha answered.
   Victor ran into the family room and switched off the light. He got a battery-driven spotlight from the closet and went to the window that looked onto the courtyard. Marsha followed.
   “Can you see anything?” Marsha asked.
   “Not from in here,” Victor said, starting for the door.
   “You’re not going outside?”
   “I’m going to see who’s out there,” Victor said over his shoulder.
   “Victor, I don’t want you going out there by yourself.”
   Ignoring her, Victor tiptoed onto the stoop. He felt Marsha right behind him, holding on to his shirt back. There was a scraping sound coming from near the garage door. Victor pointed the spotlight in the direction and turned it on.
   Within the bright beam of light, two ringed eyes looked back at Victor and Marsha, then scampered off into the night.
   “A raccoon,” said Victor with relief.

9. Friday Morning

   By the time Victor got to work, he had himself worked up to a minor fury over the killing of the family cat. With Marsha’s concern for VJ deepening, all they needed was the added problem of harassment. Victor knew that he had to act, and quickly, to prevent another attack, especially since they were progressively worsening. After killing the cat, what was next? Victor shuddered as he considered the possibilities.
   He pulled into his parking place and killed the engine. VJ and Philip, who had been riding in the back seat, piled out of the car and took off toward the cafeteria. Victor watched them go, wondering if Marsha was right about VJ fitting a potentially dangerous psychiatric pattern. Last night after they’d gotten into bed, Marsha had told him that Mr. Remington said that VJ had been involved in a number of fights at school. Victor had been more shocked by that news than by anything else. It seemed so unlike VJ. He could not imagine it was true. And if it was, he didn’t know how he felt about it. In some ways he was proud of VJ. Was it really so bad to defend yourself? Even Remington seemed to have some admiration for the way the boy handled himself.
   “Who the hell knows?” Victor said aloud as he got out of the car and started for the front door. But he didn’t get far. Out of nowhere a man dressed in a policeman’s uniform appeared.
   “Dr. Victor Frank?” the man questioned.
   “Yes,” Victor responded.
   The man handed Victor a packet. “Something for you from the sheriff’s office,” he said. “Have a good day.”
   Victor opened up the envelope and saw that he was being summoned to respond to the attached complaint. The first page read: “Sharon Carver vs. Victor Frank and Chimera, Inc.”
   Victor didn’t have to read any further. He knew what he was holding. So Sharon was moving ahead with her threatened sex-discrimination suit. He felt like throwing the papers to the wind. It just made him fume all the more as he climbed the front steps and entered the building.
   The office was alive with an almost electric intensity. He noticed that people eyed him as he approached, then murmured among themselves after he passed. When he got into his office and as he was removing his coat, he asked Colleen what was going on.
   “You’ve become a celebrity,” she said. “It was on the news that you were the one to discover the Gephardt family murder.”
   “Just what I need,” Victor said. He went over to his desk. Before he sat down he handed the Carver summons over to Colleen and told her to send it to the legal department. Then he sat down. “So what’s the good word?”
   “Lots of things,” Colleen said. She handed a sheet of paper to Victor. “That’s a preliminary report concerning Hurst’s research. They just started and have already found serious irregularities. They thought you should know.”
   “You are ever a bearer of good news,” Victor said. He fingered the report. Based on Hurst’s reaction to his decision to look into the matter, he wasn’t surprised, though he hadn’t thought the irregularities would show up so quickly. He would have guessed Hurst to be a bit more subtle than that.
   “What else?” Victor asked, putting the report aside.
   “A board meeting has been scheduled for next Wednesday to vote on the stock offering,” Colleen said, handing over a reminder slip for Victor to put in his calendar.
   “That’s like getting invited to play Russian roulette,” Victor said, taking the paper. “What else?”
   Colleen went down her list, ticking off myriad problems—mostly minor ones, but ones that had to be dealt with nonetheless. She made notes, depending on Victor’s reaction. It took them about half an hour to get through.
   “Now it’s my turn,” Victor said. “Have I gotten any calls from security firms?”
   Colleen shook her head.
   “All right, next I want you to get on the phone and use your considerable charms to find out where Ronald Beekman, William Hurst, and Sharon Carver were around noon yesterday.”
   Colleen made a note for herself and waited for more instructions. When she saw that was it, she nodded good-bye and slipped out of the office back to her desk.
   Victor started to work through the pile of papers in his in-box.
   Thirty minutes later, Colleen returned with her steno pad from which she read: “Both Dr. Beekman and Dr. Hurst were here in Chimera all day, although Dr. Hurst did disappear for lunch. No one saw him at the cafeteria. Heaven only knowns where he went. As for Miss Carver, I couldn’t find out a thing.”
   Victor nodded and thanked her. He picked up the phone and tried one of the numbers of the security firms, one called Able Protection. A woman answered. After he had been put briefly on hold, a deep-voiced man got on the line, and Victor made arrangements to have his home watched from 6 P.M. to 6 A.M.
   Colleen returned with a sheet of paper which she slipped under Victor’s nose. “Here’s an update on the equipment that Gephardt managed to have disappear.”
   Victor ran down the list: polypeptide synthesizers, scintillation counters, centrifuges, electron microscope . . .
   “Electron microscope!” Victor yelled. “How the hell did that vanish? How did this guy get the equipment off-site, much less fence it? I mean the market for a hot electron microscope has to be small.” Victor looked at Colleen questioningly. In his mind’s eye he saw the van parked in Gephardt’s driveway.
   “You’ve got me,” was all she could offer.
   “It’s a disgrace that he was able to get away with it for so long. It certainly says something about our accounting methods and our security.”
   By eleven-thirty Victor was finally able to slip out the back of his office and walk over to his lab. The morning’s administrative work had only agitated him to an even more exasperated state. But, stepping into his lab, he began to unwind. It was an immediate, almost reflexive response. Research was the reason he’d started Chimera, not fussy paperwork.
   Victor was walking to his lab office door when one of the technicians spotted him and hurried over. “Robert was looking for you,” she told him. “We were supposed to tell you as soon as we saw you.”
   Victor thanked her and began to look for Robert. He found him back at the gel electrophoresis unit.
   “Dr. Frank!” Robert said happily. “We had a positive on two of your samples.”
   “You mean—” Victor asked.
   “Both blood samples you gave me were positive for trace amounts of cephaloclor.”
   Victor froze. For a moment he couldn’t even breathe. When he handed those samples over to Robert, he’d never expected a positive finding. He was just doing it to be complete, like a medical student doing a standard work-up.
   “Are you sure?” Victor voiced with some difficulty. “That’s what Harry said,” said Robert. “And Harry’s pretty reliable. You didn’t expect this?”
   “Hardly,” said Victor. He was already considering the implications if this were true. Turning to Robert he added, “I want it checked.”
   Without another word, Victor turned and went back to his lab office. In one of his desk drawers he had a small bottle of cephaloclor capsules. He took one out and walked back through the main lab, through the dissecting room, and into the animal room. There he selected two compatible smart rats, put them in a cage by themselves, and added the contents of the capsule to their water. He watched as the white powder dissolved, then hooked the water bottle to the side of the cage.
   Leaving his Department of Development Biology, Victor walked down the long hall and up one flight to the Department of Immunology. He went directly to Hobbs.
   “How are you doing now that you’re back to work?” Victor asked him.
   “My concentration isn’t one hundred percent,” Hobbs admitted, “but it is much better for me to be here and busy. I was going crazy at home. So was Sheila.”
   “We’re glad to have you back,” Victor said. “I wanted to ask once more if there was any chance at all that your boy could have gotten some cephaloclor.”
   “Absolutely not,” Hobbs said. “Why? Do you think that cephaloclor could have triggered the edema?”
   “Not if he didn’t get any,” said Victor in a manner that conveyed case closed. Leaving a somewhat confused Hobbs in his wake, Victor set out for Accounting to question Murray. His response was the same. There was no way that either child had been given cephaloclor.
   On the way back to his lab, Victor passed the computer center. Entering, he sought out Louis and inquired about the evening’s plans.
   “We’ll be ready,” Louis said. “The phone company representatives will be here around six to start setting up. It’s just up to the hacker to log on and stay on. I’ll keep my fingers crossed.”
   “Me too,” Victor said. “I’ll be in my lab. Have someone get in touch with me if he tries to tap in. I’ll come right over.”
   “Sure thing, Dr. Frank.”
   Victor continued on to his lab, trying to keep his thoughts steady. It wasn’t until he was sitting down at his desk that he allowed himself to consider the significance of cephaloclor in the two unfortunate toddlers’ bloodstreams. Clearly the antibiotic had somehow been introduced. There was no doubt it had turned the NGF gene on, which when activated, would effectively stimulate the brain cells to the point at which they’d begin dividing. With closed skulls unable to expand, the swelling brain could swell only to a certain limit. Unchecked, the swelling would herniate the brainstem down into the spinal canal, as discovered in the children at the autopsy.
   Victor shuddered. Since neither child could have gotten the cephaloclor by accident, and since both got it at apparently the same time, Victor had to assume that they’d both received the antibiotic in a deliberate attempt to kill them.
   Victor rubbed his face roughly, then ran his fingers through his hair. Why would someone want to kill two extraordinary, prodigiously intelligent babies? And who?
   Victor could hardly contain himself. He rose to his feet and paced the length of the room. The only idea that came to mind was a long shot: some rapid, half-baked moralistic reactionary had stumbled onto the details of the NGF experiment. In a vengeful attempt to blot out Victor’s efforts, the madman had murdered the Hobbs and Murray kids.
   But if this scenario were the case, why hadn’t the smart rats been disposed of? And what about VJ? Besides, so few people had access to the computer and the labs. Victor thought about the hacker who had deleted the files. But how would such a person gain access to the labs, or even the day-care center? All at once, Victor understood that it was only at the day-care center that the Hobbs and Murray babies’ lives intersected. They had to have received the cephaloclor at the day-care center!
   Victor angrily considered Hurst’s threat: “You’re not the white knight you want us to believe.” Maybe Hurst knew all about the NGF project and this was his way of retaliating.
   Victor started pacing again. Even the Hurst idea didn’t fit well with the facts. If Hurst or anyone wanted to get back at him, why not old-fashioned blackmail, or just exposure to the newspapers? That made more sense than killing innocent children. No, there had to be another explanation, something more evil, less obvious.
   Victor sat down at his desk and took out some results from recent laboratory experiments and tried to do some work. But he couldn’t concentrate. His thoughts kept circling back to the NGF project. Considering what he was up against, it was too bad he couldn’t go to the authorities with his suspicions. Doing so would require a full disclosure of the NGF project, and Victor understood that he could never do that. It would amount to professional suicide. To say nothing of his family life. If only he had never done this experiment in the first place.
   Leaning back in his chair and putting his hands behind his head, Victor stared up at the ceiling. Back when VJ’s intelligence had dropped, Victor had never even considered testing him for cephaloclor. Could the antibiotic have been sequestered in his body since birth, only to leach out when he was between two and four years old? “No,” Victor voiced to the ceiling, answering his own question. There was no physiological process that could cause such a phenomenon.
   Victor marveled at the storm of events whirling around him: Gephardt’s murder, the possible purposeful elimination of two genetically engineered children, an escalating series of threats to himself and his family, fraud, and embezzlement. Could these disparate incidents be related in some fantastic, grisly plot?
   Victor shook his head. The fact that all these things were happening at once had to be coincidence. But the thought they were related nagged. Victor thought again of VJ. Could he be at risk? How could Victor prevent him from receiving cephaloclor if there was some sinister hand trying to effect just that?
   Victor stared blankly ahead. The idea of VJ’s being at risk had disturbed him since Wednesday afternoon. He began to wonder if his warnings about Beekman and Hurst had been adequate. He got up from the desk and walked to the door. Suddenly he didn’t like the idea of VJ wandering around Chimera on his own.
   Starting out in the lab just as he had done on Wednesday, he began asking if anyone had seen VJ. But no one had seen either him or Philip for some time. Victor left the lab building and went to the cafeteria. It was just before lunchtime and the cafeteria staff was in the final countdown in preparation for the noontime rush. A few people who preferred to get a jump on the others were already eating their lunches. Victor went directly to the manager, Curt Tarkington, who was supervising the stocking of the steam table.
   “I’m looking for my son again,” Victor said.
   “He hasn’t been in yet,” Curt said. “Maybe you should give him a beeper.”
   “Not a bad idea,” Victor said. “When he shows up, would you ring my secretary?”
   “No problem,” Curt said.
   Victor checked the library, which was in the same building, but there wasn’t a soul there. Stepping outside, he debated going to the fitness and day-care centers. Instead, he headed for the security office at the main gate.
   Wiping his feet on a straw mat, Victor entered the small office that was built between the entrance and the exit to the Chimera compound. One man was operating the gates, another sat at a small desk. Both wore official-looking brown uniforms with the Chimera insignia patch on the upper sleeves. The man at the desk jumped to his feet as Victor entered.
   “Good morning, sir,” the guard said. His name tag gave his name: Sheldon Farber.
   “Sit down,” Victor said in a friendly tone. Sheldon sat. “I have a question about protocol. When a truck or van leaves the compound, does someone take a look inside?”
   “Oh, yes,” Sheldon said. “Always.”
   “And if there is equipment on board you make sure it is supposed to be there?” Victor asked.
   “Certainly,” Sheldon said. “We check the work order or call electronic maintenance. We always check it out.”
   “What if it is being driven by one of the Chimera employees?”
   “Doesn’t matter,” Sheldon said. “We always check.”
   “What if it is being driven by one of the management?”
   Sheldon hesitated, then spoke. “Well, I suppose that would be different.”
   “So if a van is driven out of here by one of the executives, you let it go?”
   “Well, I’m not sure,” Sheldon said nervously.

   “From now on I want all trucks, vans, and the like looked into no matter who is driving. Even me. Understand?”
   “Oh, yes, sir,” Sheldon said.
   “One other question,” Victor said. “Has anyone seen my son today?”
   “I haven’t,” Sheldon said. Then to the man operating the gates he said, “George, did you see VJ today?”
   “Only when he arrived with Dr. Frank.”
   Sheldon held up a hand for Victor to wait. Turning to a radio set up behind the desk, he put out a call for Hal.
   “Hal’s been cruising around this morning,” Sheldon explained. Some crackles heralded Hal’s voice. Sheldon asked if VJ was around.
   “I saw him down near the dam earlier this morning,” Hal said through a good deal of static.
   Victor thanked the security men and left their office. He felt a minor amount of irritation, remembering how willful VJ was. Victor could remember telling him to stay away from the river at least four or five times.
   Pulling his lab coat more closely around him, Victor started for the river. He thought about going back to the main building to get his regular coat, but didn’t. Although the temperature had dropped from the previous day, it still was not that cold.
   Although the day had started clear, it was now cloudy. The prevailing breeze, from the northeast, smelled of the ocean. High above, several sea gulls circled, squawking shrilly.
   Directly ahead stood the clock tower building with its Big Ben replica stopped at 2:15. Victor reminded himself to bring up the issue of renovating the structure as well as the clock at next Wednesday’s board meeting.
   The closer he got to the river, the louder the roar from the waterfall over the spillway of the dam became.
   “VJ!” Victor shouted as he approached the river’s edge. But his voice was lost in the crash of the water. He continued past the eastern edge of the clock tower building, crossed over a wooden bridge that spanned the sluice exiting from the basement of the building, and arrived at the granite quay built along the river below the dam. He looked down at the white water as it swirled furiously eastward toward the ocean. Glancing left, he gazed at the expanse of the dam spanning the river and at the broad millpond upstream. Water poured over the center of the dam in an imposing arch of emerald green. The force was enough for Victor to feel through his feet, standing on the granite quay. It was an awesome testimony to the power of nature that had started earlier that year with gentle snowflakes.
   Turning around, Victor shouted at the top of his lungs: “VJ!” But he bit off his shout with the shock that VJ was standing directly behind him. Philip was a little farther away.
   “There you are,” Victor said. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
   “I guessed as much,” VJ said. “What do you want?”
   “I want . . .” Victor paused. He wasn’t sure what he wanted. “What have you been doing?”
   “Just having fun.”
   “I’m not sure I want you wandering around like this, especially down here by the river,” Victor said sternly. “In fact, I want you home today. I’ll have a driver from the motor pool give you and Philip a lift.”
   “But I don’t want to go home,” VJ complained.
   “I’ll explain more later,” Victor said firmly. “But I want you home for now. It’s for your own good.”

   Marsha opened the door to her office that gave out to the hall and Joyce Hendricks slipped out. She’d told Marsha that she was terrified of running into someone she knew while coming out of a psychiatrist’s office, and for the time being Marsha indulged her. After a time, Marsha was certain that she could convince the woman that seeking psychiatric help was no longer a social stigma.
   After updating the Hendricks file, Marsha poked her head into the office waiting room and told Jean that she was going off to lunch. Jean waved in acknowledgment. As usual, she was tied up on the phone.
   Marsha was having lunch with Dr. Valerie Maddox, a fellow psychiatrist whom she admired and respected, whose office was in the same building complex as Marsha’s. But more than colleagues, the two women were friends.
   “Hungry?” Marsha asked after Valerie herself opened the door.
   “Starved.” Valerie was in her late fifties and looked every day of it. She’d smoked for many years and had a ring of deep creases that radiated away from her mouth like the lines a child would draw indicating the rays of the sun.
   Together they went down in the elevator and crossed to the hospital, using the crossway. In the hospital shop they managed to get a small table in the corner that allowed them to talk. They both ordered tuna salads.
   “I appreciate your willingness to have lunch,” Marsha said. “I need to talk with you about VJ.”
   Valerie just smiled encouragement.
   “You were such a help back when his intelligence dropped. I’ve been concerned about him lately, but what can I say? I’m his mother. I can’t pretend to have any objectivity whatsoever, where he’s concerned.”
   “What’s the problem?” asked Valerie.
   “I’m not even sure there is a problem. It certainly isn’t one specific thing. Take a look at these psychological test results.”
   Marsha handed Valerie VJ’s folder. Valerie scanned the various test reports with a careful eye. “Nothing appears out of the ordinary,” she said. “Curious about that validity scale on the MMPI, but otherwise, there’s nothing here to be concerned about.”
   Marsha had the feeling that Valerie was right. She went on to explain. VJ’s truancy, the forged notes, and the fights he’d been in in school.
   “VJ sounds resourceful,” said Valerie with a smile. “How old is he again?”
   “Ten,” Marsha said. “I’m also concerned that he only seems to have one friend his own age, a boy named Richie Blakemore, and I’ve never even met him.”
   “VJ never brings this boy to your home?” Valerie asked.
   “Never.”
   “Maybe it might be worth chatting with Mrs. Blakemore,” Valerie said. “Get an idea from her how close the boys are.”
   “I suppose.”
   “I’d be happy to see VJ if you think he would be willing,” Valerie offered.
   “I’d certainly appreciate it,” Marsha said. “I really think I’m too close to the situation to evaluate him. At the same time, I’m terrified at the thought he’s developing a serious personality disorder right under my nose.”
   Marsha left Valerie in the elevator, thanking her profusely for taking the time to hear her out, and for offering to see VJ. She promised to call Valerie’s secretary to set up an appointment.
   “Your husband called,” Jean said as Marsha came back in the door. “He wants you to be sure to call back.”
   “A problem?” Marsha asked.
   “I don’t think so,” Jean said. “He didn’t say one way or the other, but he didn’t sound upset.”
   Marsha picked up her mail and went into the inner office, closing the door behind her. Flipping through her mail, she phoned Victor. Colleen patched the call through to the lab, and Victor came on the line.
   “What’s up?” asked Marsha. Victor didn’t often call during the day.
   “The usual,” Victor said.
   “You sound tired,” Marsha said. She wanted to say he sounded strange. His voice was toneless, as if he’d just had an emotional outburst and was forcing himself to remain calm.
   “There are always surprises these days,” Victor said without explanation. “The reason I called was to say that VJ and Philip are at home.”
   “Something wrong?” asked Marsha.
   “No,” Victor said. “Nothing is wrong. But I’m going to be working late so you and the others go ahead and eat. Oh, by the way, there will be security watching the house from 6 P.M. until 6 A.M.”
   “Does the reason you’re staying late have anything to do with the harassment?” Marsha asked.
   “Maybe,” Victor said. “I’ll explain when I get home.”
   Marsha hung up the phone but her hand remained on the receiver. Once again she had that uncomfortable feeling that Victor was keeping something from her, something that she should know. Why couldn’t he confide in her? More and more, she was feeling alone.

   A particular stillness hung over the lab when Victor was there by himself. Various electronic instruments kicked on at times, but otherwise it was quiet. By eight-thirty Victor was the only person in the lab. Closed behind several doors, he couldn’t even hear the sounds of the animals as they paced in their cages or used their exercise wheels.
   Victor was bent over strips of film that bore darkened horizontal stripes. Each stripe represented a portion of DNA that had been cleaved at a specific point. Victor was comparing his son David’s DNA fingerprint—one taken when David was still healthy—and one of his cancerous liver tumor. What amazed him was that the two did not entirely match. Victor’s first hunch was that Dr. Shryack had given him the wrong sample—a piece of tumor from some other patient. But that did not explain the vast homology of the two strips; for whatever differences there were between the two fingerprints, much was the same.
   After running the two in a computer that could numerically establish areas of homology versus the areas of heterogeneity, Victor realized that the two samples of DNA differed in only one area.
   To make matters more confusing, the sample that Victor had given Robert contained some small areas of normal liver tissue in addition to the tumor. In his habitually compulsive fashion, Robert had carefully fingerprinted both areas of the sample. When Victor compared the normal liver DNA fingerprint with David’s previous fingerprint, the match was perfect.
   Discovering a cancer with a documented alteration in the DNA was not a usual finding. Victor did not know whether he should be excited about the possibility of an important scientific discovery or fearful that he was about to find something that he either couldn’t explain or didn’t want to know.
   Victor then started the process of isolating the part of the DNA that was unique in the tumor. By initiating the protocol, it would be that much easier for Robert to complete the work in the morning.
   Leaving the main lab room, Victor went through the dissecting room and entered the animal room. As he turned on the light there was a lot of sudden activity in each of the occupied cages.
   Victor walked over to the cage which housed the two smart rats whose water contained the single capsule of cephaloclor. He was amazed to find one rat already dead and the other semicomatose.
   Removing the dead rat, Victor took it back into the dissecting room and did an autopsy of sorts. When he opened the skull, the brain puffed out as if it was being inflated.
   Carefully removing a piece of the brain, he prepared it to be sectioned in the morning. Just then, the telephone rang.
   “Dr. Frank, this is Phil Moscone. Louis Kaspwicz asked me to call you to let you know that the hacker has logged onto the computer.”
   “I’ll be right there,” said Victor. He put away his rat brain sample, turned out the lights, and dashed out of the lab.
   It was only a short jog to the computer center; Victor was there within a few minutes.
   Louis came directly to him. “It’s looking good for the trace. The guy has been logged on now for seven minutes. I just hope to hell he’s not causing any mischief.”
   “Can you tell where he is in the system?” Victor asked.
   “He’s in Personnel right now,” Louis said. “First he did some sizable number crunching, then he went into Purchasing. It’s weird.”
   “Personnel?” Victor questioned. He’d been thinking the hacker was indeed no kid, but some competitor’s hired gun. Biotechnology was an extremely competitive field, and most everybody wanted to compete against the big boys like Chimera. But an industrial agent would want to get into the research files, not Personnel.
   “We got a positive trace!” the man with the two-way radio announced with a big smile.
   There was a general cheer among all those present.
   “Okay,” said Louis. “We’ve got the telephone number. Now we just need the name.”
   The man with the radio held up his hand, listened, then said, “It’s an unpublished number.”
   Several of the other men who were already busy breaking down their equipment booed at this news.
   “Does that mean they can’t get the name?” asked Victor.
   “Nah,” Louis said. “It means it just takes them a little longer.”
   Victor leaned against one of the covered print-out devices and folded his arms.
   “Who’s got a piece of paper?” the man with the radio said suddenly, holding the radio up against his left ear. One of the other men handed him a legal-sized pad. He jotted down the name given him over the radio. “Thanks a lot, over and out.” He switched off his radio unit, pushed in the antenna, then handed Louis the paper.
   Louis read the name and address and turned pale. Without saying anything he handed it to Victor. Victor looked down and read it. Disbelieving, he read it again. What he saw on the paper was his name and address!
   “Is this some kind of joke?” Victor said, raising his head and looking at Louis. Victor then glanced at the others. No one said a word.
   “Did you program your PC to access the mainframe on a regular basis?” Louis asked, breaking the spell.
   Victor looked back at his systems administrator and realized the man was trying to give him an out. After an awkward minute, Victor agreed. “Yeah, that must be it.” Victor tried to remain composed. He thanked everyone for their effort and left.
   Victor walked out of the computer center, got his coat from the administration building, and walked to his car in a kind of daze. The idea of someone using his computer to break into the Chimera mainframe was simply preposterous. It didn’t make any sense. He knew that he had always left the computer telephone number and his password taped to the bottom of his keyboard, but who could have been using it? Marsha? VJ? The cleaning lady? There had to have been some mistake. Could the hacker have been so clever as to divert a trace? Victor hadn’t thought of that, and he made a mental note to ask Louis if it were possible. That seemed to make the most sense.

   Marsha heard Victor’s car before she saw the lights swing into the driveway. She was in her study vainly trying to tackle the stack of professional periodicals that piled up on a regular basis on her desk. Getting to her feet, she saw the headlights silhouetting the leafless trees that lined the driveway. Victor’s car came into view, then disappeared behind the house. The automatic garage door rumbled in the distance.
   Marsha sat back down on her flower-print chintz couch and let her eyes roam around her study. She’d decorated it with pale pastel striped wallpaper, dusty rose carpet, and mostly white furniture. In the past it had always provided a comforting haven, but not lately. Nothing seemed to be able to relieve her ever-increasing anxiety about the future. The visit with Valerie had helped, but unfortunately even that mild relief had not lasted.
   Marsha could hear the TV in the family room where VJ and Philip were watching a horror movie they’d rented. The intermittent screams that punctuated the soundtrack didn’t help Marsha’s mood either. She’d even closed her door but the screams still penetrated.
   She heard the dull thud of the back door slam, then muffled voices from the family room, and finally a knock on her door.
   Victor came in and gave her a perfunctory kiss. He looked as tired as his voice had sounded on the phone that afternoon. A constant crease was beginning to develop on his forehead between his eyebrows.
   “Did you notice the security man outside?” Victor asked.
   Marsha nodded. “Makes me feel much better. Did you eat?” she asked.
   “No,” Victor said. “But I’m not hungry.”
   “I’ll scramble you some eggs. Maybe some toast,” Marsha offered.
   Victor restrained her. “Thanks, but I think I’ll take a swim and then shower. Maybe that will revive me.”
   “Something wrong?” Marsha asked.

   “No more than usual,” Victor said evasively. He left, leaving her door ajar. Ominous music from the soundtrack of the movie crept back into the room. Marsha tried to ignore it as she went back to her reading, but a sharp scream made her jump. Giving up, she reached over and gave the door a shove. It slammed with a resounding click.
   Thirty minutes later, Victor reappeared. He looked considerably better, dressed in more casual clothes.
   “Maybe I’ll take you up on those eggs,” he said. In the kitchen Marsha went to work while Victor set the table. A series of bloodcurdling gurgles emanated from the family room. Marsha asked Victor to close the connecting door.
   “What in heaven’s name are they watching in there?” he asked.
   “Sheer Terror,” Marsha said.
   Victor shook his head. “Kids and their horror movies,” he said.
   Marsha made herself a cup of tea and when Victor sat down to eat his omelet, she sat opposite him.
   “There is something I wanted to discuss with you,” Marsha said, waiting for her tea to cool.
   “Oh?”
   Marsha told Victor about her lunch with Valerie Maddox; she also told him about Valerie’s offer to see VJ on a professional basis. “How do you feel about that?”
   Wiping his mouth with his napkin, Victor said, “That kind of question involves your area of expertise. Anything that you think is appropriate is fine with me.”
   “Good,” Marsha said. “I do think it is appropriate. Now I just have to convince VJ.”
   “Good luck,” Victor said.
   There was a short period of silence as Victor mopped up the last of the egg with a wedge of toast. Then he asked, “Did you use the computer upstairs tonight?”
   “No, why do you ask?”
   “The printer was hot when I went upstairs to swim and shower,” Victor said. “How about VJ? Did he use it?”
   “I couldn’t say.”
   Victor rocked back in his chair in a way that made Marsha grit her teeth. She was always afraid he was about to go over backward and hit his head on the tile floor.
   “I had an interesting evening at the Chimera computer center,” Victor said, teetering on his chair. He went on to tell her everything that had happened, including the fact that the trace of the hacker ended up right there in their home.
   In spite of herself, Marsha laughed. She quickly apologized. “I’m sorry, but I can just see it,” she said. “All this tension and then your name suddenly appearing.”
   “It wasn’t funny,” Victor said. “And I’m going to have a serious talk with VJ about this. As ridiculous as it sounds, it must have been him breaking into the Chimera mainframe.”
   “Is this serious talk going to be something like the one you had with him when you learned he’d been forging notes from you in order to skip school?” Marsha taunted.
   “We’ll see,” Victor said, obviously irritated.
   Marsha leaned over and grasped Victor’s arm before he could leave the table. “I’m teasing you,” she said. “Actually I’d be more concerned about your cornering him or pushing him. I’m afraid there is a side to VJ’s personality that we’ve not seen. That’s really why I want him to see Valerie.”
   Victor nodded, then detached himself from Marsha’s grasp. He opened the connecting door. “VJ, would you come in here a minute? I’d like to talk with you.”
   Marsha could hear VJ complaining, but Victor was insistent. Soon the sound of the movie soundtrack was off. VJ appeared at the door. He looked from Victor to Marsha. His sharp eyes had that glazed look that comes from watching too much television.
   “Please sit at the table,” Victor said.
   With a bored expression, VJ dutifully sat at the table to Marsha’s immediate left. Victor sat down across from both of them.
   Victor got right to the point. “VJ, did you use the computer upstairs tonight?”
   “Yeah,” VJ said.
   Marsha watched as VJ glared at Victor insolently. She saw Victor hesitate, then avert his eyes, probably to maintain his train of thought. For a moment there was a pause. Then Victor continued: “Did you use the PC to log on to the Chimera mainframe computer?”
   “Yes,” VJ said without a moment’s hesitation.
   “Why?” Victor asked. His voice had changed from accusatory to confused. Marsha remembered her own confusion when VJ had so quickly confessed to his truancy.
   “The extra storage makes some of the computer games more challenging,” VJ said.
   Marsha saw Victor roll his eyes. “You mean you are using all that computer power of our giant unit to play Pac-Man and games like that?”
   “It’s the same as me doing it at the lab,” VJ said.
   “I suppose,” Victor said uncertainly. “Who taught you to use the modem?”
   “You did,” VJ said.
   “I don’t remember . . .” Victor began, but then he did. “But that was over seven years ago!”
   “Maybe,” VJ said. “But the method hasn’t changed.”
   “Do you access the Chimera computer every Friday night?” Victor asked.
   “Usually,” VJ answered. “I play a few games, then I range around in the files, mostly Personnel and Purchasing, sometimes the research files, but those are harder to crack.”
   “But why?” asked Victor.
   “I just want to learn as much as I can about the company,” VJ said. “Someday I want to run it like you. You’ve always encouraged me to use the computer. I won’t do it anymore if you don’t want me to.”
   “In future, I think it would be better if you don’t,” Victor said.
   “Okay,” VJ said simply. “Can I go back to my movie?”
   “Sure,” Victor said.
   VJ pushed away from the table and disappeared through the door. Instantly, the soundtrack for Sheer Terror was back on.
   Marsha looked at Victor. Victor shrugged. Then the doorbell sounded.
   “Sorry to bother you folks so late,” Sergeant Cerullo said after Victor had opened the door. “This is Sergeant Dempsey from the Lawrence police.” The second officer stepped from behind Cerullo and touched the brim of his hat in greeting. He was a freckled fellow with bright red hair.
   “We have some information for you and we wanted to ask a few questions,” Cerullo said.
   Victor invited the men inside. They stepped in and removed their hats.
   “Would you like some coffee or anything?” Marsha asked.
   “No, thank you, ma’am,” Cerullo said. “We’ll just say what we come to say and be off. You see, we at the North Andover police station are pretty friendly with the men over in Lawrence, both being neighbors and all. There’s a lot of talk that goes back and forth. Anyway, they have been proceeding with the investigation of that mass murder over there involving the Gephardt family, the one Dr. Frank here discovered. Well, they found some rough drafts of the notes that you people got tied to your cat and around that brick. They were in the Gephardt house. We thought you’d like to know that.”
   “I should say,” Victor said with some relief.
   Dempsey coughed to clear his throat. “We also have ascertained by ballistics that the guns used to kill the Gephardts match those used in several battles between some rival South American drug gangs. We got that from Boston. Boston is very interested to find out what the connection is up here in Lawrence. They’ve some reason to believe something big is going down up here. What they want to know from you, since you employed Gephardt, is how the man was connected to the drug world. Do you people have any idea whatsoever?”
   “Absolutely none,” Victor said. “I suppose you know the man was under investigation for embezzlement?”
   “Yeah, we got that,” Dempsey said. “You’re sure there’s nothing else that you can give us? Boston is really eager to learn anything they can about this.”
   “We also think the man had been fencing laboratory equipment,” Victor said. “That investigation had just started before he was killed. But for however much I suspected him of these sorts of crimes, it never occurred to me he was involved with drugs.”
   “If anything occurs to you, we’d appreciate it if you’d call us immediately. We sure don’t want some drug war breaking out up here.”
   The policemen left. Victor closed the door and leaned his back on it and looked at Marsha.
   “Well, that solves one problem,” Victor said. “At least now we know where the harassment was coming from, and better still, that it isn’t going to continue.”
   “I’m glad they came by to let us know we can stop worrying,” Marsha added. “Maybe we should send that security man home.”
   “I’ll cancel in the morning,” Victor said. “I’m sure we’ll be paying for it one way or another.”

   Victor sat bolt upright with such suddenness that he inadvertently pulled all the covers from Marsha. The sudden movement awakened her. It was pitch dark outside.
   “What’s the matter?” Marsha asked, alarmed.
   “I’m not sure,” Victor said. “I think it was the front doorbell.”
   They both listened for a moment. All Marsha heard was the wind under the eaves and the rat-a-tat of rain against the windows.
   Marsha leaned over and turned the bedside clock so that she could see the face. “It’s five-fifteen in the morning,” she said. She fell back against the pillow and pulled the covers back over her. “Are you sure you weren’t dreaming?”
   But just then the doorbell rang. “It was the bell!” Victor said, leaping out of bed. “I knew I wasn’t dreaming.” He hastily pulled on his robe, but had the wrong arm in the wrong hole. Marsha turned on the light.
   “Who on earth could it be?” Marsha asked. “The police again?”
   Victor got the robe on properly and tied the belt. “We’ll soon find out,” he said, opening the door to the hall. He walked quickly to the head of the stairs and started down.
   After a moment of indecision, Marsha put her feet out on the cold floor and donned her robe and put on her slippers as well. By the time she got downstairs, a man and woman were standing in the front hall facing Victor. Small pools of water had formed at their feet, and their faces were streaked with moisture. The woman was holding a spray can. The man was holding the woman.
   “Marsha!” Victor called, not taking his eyes from the new arrivals. “I think you’d better call the police.”
   Marsha came up behind Victor, clutching her robe around her. She glanced at the people. The man was wearing an oilcloth hooded cape, although the hood had been pushed back, exposing his head. All in all, he looked dressed in a ski parka that had long since soaked through.
   “This is Mr. Peter Norwell,” Victor said. “He’s from Able Protection.”
   “Evening, ma’am,” Peter said.
   “And this is Sharon Carver,” Victor said, motioning toward the woman. “An ex-Chimera employee with a sexual-harassment suit lodged against us.”
   “She was set to paint your garage door,” Peter elaborated. “I let her do one short burst so we’d have something on her besides trespassing.”
   Feeling somewhat embarrassed for the bedraggled woman, Marsha hurried to the nearest phone and called the North Andover police. The operator said they’d send a car right over.
   Meanwhile, the whole group went into the kitchen where Marsha made tea for everyone. Before they’d had more than a few sips, the doorbell sounded again. Victor went to the door. It was Widdicomb and O’Connor.
   “You folks are certainly keeping us busy,” Sergeant Widdicomb said with a smile. They stepped through the door and took off their wet coats.
   Peter Norwell brought Sharon Carver from the kitchen.
   “So this is the young lady?” Widdicomb said. He took out a pair of handcuffs.
   “You don’t have to handcuff me, for Christ’s sake!” Sharon snapped.
   “Sorry, miss,” Widdicomb said. “Standard procedure.”
   Within a few moments, all was ready. The police then left with their prisoner.
   “You are welcome to finish your tea,” Marsha said to Peter, who was standing in the foyer.
   “Thank you, ma’am, but I already finished. Good night.” The security man let himself out the door and pulled it shut behind him. Victor threw the deadbolt and turned into the room.
   Marsha looked at him. She smiled and shook her head in disbelief. “If I read this in a book, I wouldn’t believe it,” she said.
   “It’s a good thing we kept that security,” Victor said. Then, extending his hand, he said, “Come on. We can still get a few more hours of sleep.”
   But that was not as easy as Victor had thought. An hour later, he was still awake, listening to the howling storm outside. The rain beat against the windows in sudden gusts; he jumped with every buffet. He couldn’t get the results of David’s DNA fingerprinting out of his mind nor of the cephaloclor being in the blood samples.
   “Marsha,” he whispered, wondering if she were awake as well. But she didn’t answer. He whispered again, but still she didn’t answer. Victor slid out of bed, put his robe back on, and went down the hall to the upstairs study.
   Sitting down at the desk, he booted up the PC. He logged onto the main Chimera computer with the modem, rediscovering how easy it was. Absently, he wondered if he had ever transferred copies of the Hobbs and Murray files onto the PC’s hard disk. To check, he called up the directory of the hard disk and searched. There were no Hobbs or Murray files. In fact, he was surprised to find so few files on the disk at all, other than the operating programs. But then, just before he was about to turn the machine off, he noticed that most of the storage space of the hard disk was used up.
   Victor scratched his head. It didn’t make sense, knowing the fantastic storage capacity of one hard disk. He tried to pry an explanation of this apparent discrepancy out of the machine, but the machine wouldn’t cooperate. Finally, in irritation, he turned the blasted thing off.
   He debated going back to bed, but, glancing at the clock, he realized that he might just as well stay up. It was already after seven. Instead of going back to the bedroom, he headed downstairs to make himself some coffee and breakfast.
   As he padded down the stairs, he realized that when he’d had his talk with VJ about using the computer, he’d forgotten to quiz the boy about the deletion of the Hobbs and Murray files. He’d have to remember to do that. Nosing around in files was one thing, deleting them was quite another.
   Reaching the kitchen, Victor realized the other thing that was bothering him: namely, the issue about VJ’s safety, particularly at Chimera. Philip was fine for watching VJ, but obviously his help could only go so far. Victor decided that he’d call Able Protection, since they’d obviously done such a good job watching the house. He’d get an experienced companion for the boy. It would probably be expensive, but peace of mind was worth the price. Until he got to the bottom of the Hobbs and Murray deaths, he’d feel infinitely better knowing VJ was safe.
   Getting out the coffee, Victor was struck by another realization. In the back of his mind the similarities between David’s and Janice’s cancers had been bothering him, especially in light of the results of DNA fingerprinting of David’s tumor. Victor resolved to look into it as best he could.

10. Saturday Morning

   It was still windy and rainy when Victor went out to the garage and got in his car. He’d breakfasted, showered, shaved, and dressed, and still no one else had stirred. After leaving a note explaining that he would be at the lab most of the day, Victor had left.
   But he didn’t drive straight to the lab. Instead he headed west and got on Interstate 93 and drove south to Boston. In Boston he got off Storrow Drive at the Charles Street and Government Center exit. From there it was easy to drive onto the Massachusetts General Hospital grounds and park in the multistory parking garage. Ten minutes later he was in the pathology department.
   Since it was early Saturday morning none of the staff pathologists were available. Victor had to be content with a second-year resident named Angela Cirone.
   Victor explained his wish to get a tumor sample from a patient that had passed away four years previously.
   “I’m afraid that is impossible,” Angela said. “We don’t keep—”
   Victor politely interrupted her to tell her of the special nature of the tumor and its rarity.
   “That might make things different,” she said.
   The hardest part was finding Janice Fay’s hospital record, since Victor did not know Janice’s birthday. Birthdates were the major method of cross-referencing hospital records. But persistence paid off, and Angela was able to find both the hospital record number as well as the pathology record. She was also able to tell Victor that a gross specimen existed.
   “But I can’t give you any,” Angela said after all the effort they’d expended to find it. “One of the staff members is up doing frozens this morning. When he gets through, we can see if he’ll give authorization.”
   But Victor explained about his son David’s death of the same rare cancer and his interest in examining Janice’s cancerous cells. When he tried to, he could be charming in a winning way. Within the space of a few minutes, he’d persuaded the young resident to help.
   “How much do you need?” she asked finally.
   “A tiny slice,” Victor said.
   “I guess it can’t hurt,” Angela said.
   Fifteen minutes later, Victor was on his way down the elevator with another small jar within a paper bag. He knew he could have waited for the staff man, but this way he could get to work more quickly. Climbing into his car, he left the Massachusetts General Hospital grounds and headed north for Lawrence.
   Arriving at Chimera, Victor called Able Protection. But he got a recording—it was Saturday, after all—and had to be content to leave his name and number. With that done, he searched for Robert, finding him already deeply involved with the project that Victor had started the night before, the separation of the section of David’s tumor DNA that differed from his normal DNA.
   “You are going to hate me,” Victor said, “but I have another sample.” He took out the sample he had just gotten at Mass. General. “I want this DNA fingerprinted as well.”
   “You don’t have to worry about me,” Robert said. “I like doing this stuff. You’ll just have to realize that I’m letting my regular work slide.”
   “I understand,” Victor said. “For the moment this project takes priority.”
   Taking the rat specimens that he’d prepared the night before, Victor made slides and stained them. While he was waiting for them to dry, a call came through from Able Protection. It was the same deep-voiced man whom Victor had dealt with earlier.
   “First, I’d like to commend Mr. Norwell,” Victor said. “He did a great job last night.”
   “We appreciate the compliment,” the man said.
   “Second,” Victor said, “I need additional temporary security. But it’s going to require a very special person. I want someone with my son, VJ, from 6 A.M. until 6 P.M. And when I say I want someone with him, I mean constantly.”
   “I don’t think that will be a problem,” the man said. “When do you want it to start?”
   “As soon as you can send someone,” Victor answered. “This morning, if possible. My son is at home.”
   “No problem. I have just the person. His name is Pedro Gonzales and I’ll send him on his way.”
   Victor hung up and called Marsha at home.
   “How did you sneak out without waking me this morning?” she asked.
   “I never got to sleep last night after all the excitement,” Victor said. “Is VJ there?”
   “He and Philip are still sleeping,” Marsha said.
   “I’ve just made arrangements to have a security man stay with VJ all day. His name is Pedro Gonzales. He’ll be over shortly.”
   “Why?” Marsha questioned, obviously surprised.
   “Just to be one hundred percent sure he is safe,” Victor said.
   “You’re not telling me something,” Marsha warned. “I want to know what it is.”
   “It’s just to be sure he’s safe,” Victor repeated. “We’ll talk more about it later when I come home. I promise.”
   Victor hung up the phone. He wasn’t about to confide in Marsha, at least not about his latest suspicions: that the Hobbs and Murray kids might have been deliberately killed. And that VJ could be killed the same way if anyone introduced cephaloclor to his system. With these thoughts in mind, he returned to the slides of the rat brains that he had drying and began to examine them in one of the light microscopes. As he expected, they appeared very similar to the slides of the children’s brains. Now there was no doubt in his mind that the children had indeed died from the cephaloclor in their blood. It was how they got the cephaloclor that was the question.
   Removing the slides from the microscope, Victor went back to where Robert was working. They’d worked together so long, Victor could join in and help without a single word of direction from Robert.

   After making herself a second cup of coffee, Marsha sat down at the table and looked out at the rainy day with its heavy clouds. It felt good not to have to go to the office, although she still had to make her inpatient rounds. She wondered if she should be more concerned than she was about Victor’s arranging for a bodyguard for VJ. That certainly sounded ominous. At the same time, it sounded like a good idea. But she was still sure there were facts that Victor was keeping from her.
   Footsteps on the stairs heralded the arrival of both VJ and Philip. They greeted Marsha but were much more interested in the refrigerator, getting out milk and blueberries for their cereal.
   “What are you two planning on doing today?” Marsha asked when they’d sat down at the table with her.
   “Heading in to the lab,” VJ said. “Is Dad there?”
   “He is,” Marsha said. “What happened about the idea of going to Boston for the day with Richie Blakemore?”
   “Didn’t pan out,” VJ said. He gave the blueberries a shove toward Philip.
   “That’s too bad,” Marsha said.
   “Doesn’t matter,” VJ said.
   “There is something I want to talk to you about,” Marsha said. “Yesterday I had a conversation with Valerie Maddox. Do you remember her?”
   VJ rested his spoon in his dish. “I don’t like the sound of this. I remember her. She’s the psychiatrist whose office is on the floor above yours. She’s the lady with the mouth that looks like she’s always getting ready to kiss somebody.”
   Philip laughed explosively, spraying cereal in the process. He wiped his mouth self-consciously while trying to control his laughter. VJ laughed himself, watching Philip’s antics.
   “That’s not very nice,” Marsha said. “She is a wonderful woman, and very talented. We talked about you.”
   “This is starting to sound even worse,” VJ said.
   “She has offered to see you and I think it would be a good idea. Maybe twice a week after school.”
   “Oh, Mom!” VJ whined, his face contorting into an expression of extreme distaste.
   “I want you to think about it,” Marsha said. “We’ll talk again. It is something that might help you as you get older.”
   “I’m too busy for that stuff,” VJ complained, shaking his head.
   Marsha had to laugh to herself at that comment. “You think about it anyway,” she said. “One other thing. I just spoke to your father. Has he said anything to you about being concerned about your safety, anything like that?”
   “A little,” VJ said. “He wanted me to watch out for Beekman and Hurst. But I never see those guys.”
   “Apparently he’s still worried,” Marsha said. “He just told me that he has arranged for a man to be with you during the day. That man’s name is Pedro and he’s on his way over here.”
   “Oh, no!” VJ complained. “That will drive me nuts.”

   After finishing her inpatient rounds, Marsha got on Interstate 495 and headed west to Lowell. She got off after only three exits, and with the help of some directions she’d written on a prescription blank, she wound around on little country roads until she found 714 Mapleleaf Road, an ill-kept, Victorian-style house painted a drab gray with white trim. At some time in the past it had been converted into a duplex. The Fays lived on the first floor. Marsha rang the bell and waited.
   Marsha had called from the hospital so the Fays knew to expect her. Despite the fact that their daughter had worked for her and Victor for eleven years, Marsha had only met the mother and father at Janice’s funeral. Janice had been dead for four years. Marsha felt odd standing on her parents’ porch, waiting for them to open the door. Knowing Janice so intimately for so many years, Marsha had come to the conclusion that there had been significantly disturbing emotional undercurrents in her family, but she had no idea what they could have been. On that issue, Janice had been completely noncommunicative.
   “Please come in,” Mrs. Fay said after she’d opened the door. She was a white-haired, pleasant-looking but frail woman who appeared to be in her early sixties. Marsha noted that the woman avoided eye contact.
   The inside of the house was much worse than the outside. The furniture was old and threadbare. What made it particularly unpleasant was that the place was dirty. Wastepaper baskets were filled to overflowing with such things as beer cans and McDonald’s wrappers. There were even cobwebs in one corner up near the ceiling.
   “Let me tell Harry that you’re here,” Mrs. Fay said.
   Marsha could hear the sounds of a televised sporting event somewhere in the background. She sat down, but kept to the very edge of the sofa. She didn’t want to touch anything.
   “Well, well,” said a husky voice. “About time the fancy doctor paid us a visit is all I can say.”
   Marsha turned to see a large man with a huge belly and wearing a tank-top undershirt come into the room. He walked right up to her and stuck out a calloused hand for her to shake. His hair was cut severely in a military-style crew cut. His face was dominated by a large, swollen nose with red capillaries fanning the side of each nostril.
   “Can I offer you a beer or something?” he asked.
   “No, thank you,” Marsha said.
   Harry Fay sank into a La-Z-Boy armchair. “To what do we owe this visit?” he asked. He burped and excused himself.
   “I wanted to talk about Janice,” Marsha said.
   “I hope to God she didn’t tell you any lies about me,” Harry said. “I’ve been a hardworking man all my life. Drove sixteen-wheelers back and forth across this country so many times I lost count.”
   “I’m sure that was hard work,” Marsha said, wondering if she should have come.
   “Bet your ass,” Harry said.
   “What I was wondering,” Marsha began, “is whether Janice ever talked about my boys, David and VJ.”
   “Lots of times,” Harry said. “Right, Mary?”
   Mary nodded but didn’t say anything.
   “Did she ever remark on anything out of the ordinary about them?” There were specific questions she could have asked, but she preferred not to lead the conversation.
   “She sure did,” Harry said. “Even before she got nuts about all that religious bunk, she told us that VJ had killed his brother. She even told us that she tried to warn you but you wouldn’t listen.”
   “Janice never tried to warn me,” Marsha said, color rising in her cheeks. “And I should tell you that my son David died of cancer.”
   “Well, that’s sure different than what Janice told us,” Harry said. “She told us the kid was poisoned. Drugged and poisoned.”
   “That’s patently preposterous,” Marsha said.
   “What the hell does that mean?” Harry said.
   Marsha took a deep breath to calm herself down. She realized that she was trying to defend herself and her family before this offensive man. She knew that wasn’t the reason that she was there. “I mean to say that there was no way that my son David could have been poisoned. He died of cancer just like your daughter.”
   “We only know what we’ve been told. Right, Mary?”
   Mary nodded dutifully.
   “In fact,” Harry said, “Janice told us that she’d been drugged once too. She told us that she didn’t tell anybody because she knew no one would believe her. She told us that she got mighty careful about what she ate from then on.”
   Marsha didn’t say anything for a moment. She’d remembered the change in Janice. Overnight, she’d gotten extremely fastidious about what she ate. Marsha had always wondered what had caused the change. Apparently it had been this delusion of being drugged or poisoned.
   “Actually, we didn’t believe too much of what Janice was telling us,” Harry admitted. “Something happened inside her head when she got so religious. She even went so far as to tell us that your boy, VJ, or whatever his name, was evil. Like he had something to do with the devil.”
   “I can assure you that is not the case,” Marsha said. She stood up. She’d had enough.
   “It is strange that your son David and our daughter died of the same cancer,” Harry said. He rose to his feet, his face reddening with the considerable effort.
   “It was a coincidence,” Marsha agreed. “In fact, at the time it caused some concern. There was a worry that it had something to do with environment. Our home was studied extensively. I can assure you their both having it was nothing more than a tragic coincidence.”
   “Tough luck, I guess,” Harry admitted.
   “Very bad luck,” Marsha said. “And we miss Janice as we miss our son.”
   “She was all right,” Harry said. “She was a pretty good kid. But she lied a lot. She lied a lot about me.”
   “She never said anything to us about you,” Marsha said. And after a curt handshake, she was gone.

   “You sure you don’t mind?” Victor asked Louis Kaspwicz. He’d called the man at home to ask him about the discrepancy regarding his hard disk on the personal computer.
   “I don’t mind in the slightest,” Louis said. “If your hard disk has no storage space available, it means the existing storage is filled with data. There is no other explanation.”
   “But I looked at the file directory,” Victor said. “All there is listed are the operating systems files.”
   “There have to be more files,” Louis said. “Trust me.”
   “I’d hate to mess up your Saturday afternoon if it is some stupid thing,” Victor said.
   “Look, Dr. Frank,” Louis said, “I don’t mind. In fact, on a rainy day like this I’ll enjoy the excuse to get out of the house.”
   “I’d appreciate it,” Victor said.
   “Just give me directions and I’ll meet you there,” Louis said.
   Victor gave him directions, then went out into the main lab and told Robert that he was leaving but that he’d probably be back. He asked Robert about what time he’d be calling it a day. Robert said that his wife had told him dinner was to be at six so he’d be leaving about five-thirty.
   Louis was already at the house by the time Victor got there.
   “Sorry to make you wait,” Victor said as he fumbled with his keys.
   “No problem,” Louis said cheerfully. “You certainly have a beautiful house,” he added. He stomped the moisture off his shoes.
   “Thank you.” Victor led Louis upstairs to his Wang PC. “Here it is,” he said. He reached behind the electronics unit and switched the system on.
   Louis gave the computer a quick look, then lifted his narrow briefcase onto the counter top, snapping open the latches. Inside, encased in styrofoam, was an impressive array of electronic tools.
   Louis sat down in front of the unit and waited for the menu to come up. He quickly went through the same sequence that Victor had early that morning, getting the same result.
   “You were right,” Louis said. “There’s not much space left on this Winchester.” He reached over to his briefcase and unsnapped the accordion-like file area built under the lid, pulled out a floppy disk, and loaded it.
   “Luckily, I happen to have a special utility for locating hidden files,” Louis said.
   “What do you mean by hidden files?” Victor asked.
   Louis was busy with manipulating information on the screen. He spoke without looking. “It is possible to store files so that they don’t appear on any directory,” he said.
   Miraculously, data started to appear on the computer. “Here we are,” Louis said. He leaned aside so Victor could have a better view of the screen. “Any of this make sense to you?”
   Victor studied the information. “Yeah,” he said. “These are contractions for the nucleotide bases of the DNA molecule.” The screen was completely filled with vertical columns of the letters AT, TA, GC, and CG. “The A is the adenine, the T is for pyrimidine, the G is for guanine, and the C is for cytosine,” Victor explained.
   Louis advanced to the next page. The lists continued. He advanced a number of pages. The lists were interminable. “What do you make of this?” Louis asked, flipping through page after page.
   “Must be a DNA molecule or gene sequence,” Victor said, his eyes following the flashing lists as if he were watching a Ping-Pong game.
   “Well, have you seen enough of this file?” Louis asked.
   Victor nodded.
   Louis punched some information into the keyboard. Another file appeared, but it was similar to the first. “The whole hard disk could be taken up with this stuff,” Louis suggested. “You don’t remember putting this material in here?”
   “I didn’t put it in,” Victor said without elaborating. He knew that Louis was probably dying to ask where it could have come from and who was the person logging onto the Chimera mainframe last night. Victor was grateful that the man held his curiosity in check.
   For the next half hour, Louis rapidly went from file to file. All looked essentially like the first. It was like a library of DNA molecules. Then suddenly it changed.
   “Uh oh,” Louis said. He had to hold up hitting the sequence of keys that scrolled through the hidden files. What appeared on the screen was a personnel file. Louis flipped through a couple of pages. “I recognize this because I formatted it. This is a personnel file from Chimera.”
   Louis looked up at Victor, who didn’t say a word. Louis turned back to the computer and went to the next file. It was George Gephardt’s. “This stuff was pulled directly out of the mainframe,” Louis said. When Victor still did not respond, he went to the next file, then the next. There were eighteen personal files. Then came a series of accounting files with spread sheets. “I don’t recognize these,” Louis said. He looked up at Victor again. “Do you?”
   Victor shook his head in disbelief.
   Louis redirected his attention to the computer screen. “Wherever it came from, it represents a lot of money. It is a clever way to present it, though. I wonder what kind of program was used. I wouldn’t mind getting a copy of it.”
   After going through a number of pages of the accounting data, Louis went on to the next file. It was a stock portfolio of a number of small companies, all of which held Chimera stock. All in all, it represented a large portion of the Chimera stock not held by the three founders and their families.
   “What do you think this is?” Louis asked.
   “I haven’t the slightest idea,” Victor said. But there was one thing that he had a good idea about. He was going to have another talk with VJ about using the computer. If the information before him represented actual truths and wasn’t part of some elaborate fantasy computer game, the ramifications were very grave. And on top of that was the question of the deleted Hobbs and Murray files.
   “Now we’re back to more of the DNA stuff,” Louis said as the screen filled again with the lists of the nucleotide sequences. “Do you want me to go on?”
   “I don’t think that’s necessary,” said Victor. “I think I’ve seen enough. Would you mind leaving that floppy disk you’ve used to bring these files up? I’ll bring it to Chimera on Monday.”
   “Not at all,” Louis said. “In fact, this is just a copy. You can keep it if you want. I have the original at home.”
   Victor saw Louis off, holding the front door ajar until the man got in his van and drove off. Victor waved and then shut the door. Going upstairs, he made sure that VJ was not around. Back in the study, he called Marsha’s office but got the service. They didn’t know where she was, although she’d been at the hospital earlier.
   Victor put the phone down. Then he got the idea of contacting Able Protection. Maybe they could get in touch with their operative. If so, then Victor could find out where VJ was.
   But a call to Able Protection only yielded the recording. Victor was forced to leave his name and number with the request that he be called as soon as possible.
   For the next half hour, Victor paced back and forth in the upstairs study. For the life of him, he could not understand what it was all about.
   The phone rang and Victor grabbed it. It was the grating voice of the man from Able Protection. Victor asked if it were possible to contact the man accompanying VJ.
   “All our people carry pagers,” the man told him.
   “I want to know where my son is,” Victor said.
   “I’ll call you right back.” With that, the man hung up. Five minutes later, the phone rang again. “Your son is at Chimera, Inc.,” the man said. “Pedro is at the security gate this minute if you want to talk to him.”
   Victor thanked the man. He hung up the phone and went downstairs for his coat. A few minutes later he was cutting his wheels sharply to do a U-turn in front of the house.
   After a quick drive, Victor made an acute turn into the entrance to the Chimera compound and came to an abrupt halt inches from the gatehouse barrier. He drummed his fingers expectantly on the steering wheel, waiting for the guard to raise the black and white striped gate. Instead, the man came out of the office in spite of the rain and bent down next to Victor’s window. Without hiding his irritation at being detained, Victor lowered his window.
   “Afternoon, Dr. Frank!” the guard said. He touched the brim of his hat in some kind of salute. “If you’re looking for that special security man, he’s here in the guardhouse.”
   “You mean the man from Able Protection?” Victor asked.
   “That I don’t know,” the guard said. He straightened up. “Hey, Pedro, you from Able Protection?”
   A handsome young man came to the door of the guardhouse. His hair was coal black and he sported a narrow mustache. He looked about twenty.
   “Who wants to know?” he asked.
   “Your boss here, Dr. Frank.”
   Pedro came out of the guardhouse and over to Victor’s car. He stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Dr. Frank. I’m Pedro Gonzales from Able Protection.”
   Victor shook hands with him. He wasn’t happy. “Why aren’t you with my boy?” Victor asked brusquely.
   “I was,” Pedro explained, “but when we got here, he said he was safe inside the compound at Chimera and that I was supposed to wait in the guardhouse.”
   “I think your orders were pretty clear to stay with the boy at all times,” Victor said.
   “Yes, sir,” Pedro answered, realizing he’d made a mistake. “It won’t happen again. Your son was quite convincing. He said you’d wanted it this way. I’m sorry.”
   “Where is he?” Victor asked.
   “That I can’t say,” Pedro answered. “He and Philip are on the grounds here someplace. They haven’t left if that is what you’re concerned about.”
   “That’s not what I’m concerned about,” Victor snapped. “I’m concerned that I hired Able Protection to watch over him and the job’s not being done.”
   “I understand,” Pedro said.
   Victor looked up at the gate operator. “Is Sheldon working today?”
   “Hey, Sheldon!” the guard yelled.
   Sheldon appeared at the doorway. Victor asked if he had any idea where VJ was.
   “Nope,” Sheldon said, “but when he arrived this morning, he and Philip headed that way.” He pointed west.
   “Toward the river?” Victor asked.
   “Could have been,” Sheldon said. “But he could have gone to the cafeteria, too.”
   “Would you like me to come with you and help find him?” Pedro asked.
   Victor shook his head no as he put his car in gear. “You wait here until I find him.” Then, to the guard, who was blankly listening to the conversation, he said, “I’d appreciate it if you could raise this gate before I drive through it.”
   The guard jumped and ran back inside to activate the gate mechanism.
   Victor floored the accelerator and sped onto the Chimera lot. Forsaking his reserved parking space, he drove to the building that housed his lab and parked in front of the entrance. It said no parking but he didn’t care. He pulled his coat collar up and hunched over, running for the door.
   Robert was the only one still there. He was as busy as usual, again working with the gel electrophoresis unit. That was where the bits and pieces of the cleaved DNA were separated.
   “Have you seen VJ?” Victor asked, shaking off some of the rainwater.
   “Haven’t seen him,” Robert said. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “But I have something else to show you.” He picked up two strips of film which had dark bands in exactly the same location and held them out for Victor to take. “That second tumor sample you gave me had the same extra piece of DNA as your son’s. But the sample was from a different person.”
   “It was from our live-in nanny,” Victor said. “Are you positive that the moiety was the same in both samples?”
   “Quite sure,” Robert said.
   “That’s astounding,” Victor said, forgetting VJ for a moment.
   “I thought you’d find it interesting,” Robert said with pride. “It’s the kind of finding that cancer researchers have been seeking. It could even be the breakthrough that medicine has been waiting for.”
   “You’ve got to sequence it,” Victor said impatiently. “Immediately.”
   “That’s what I’ve been doing,” Robert said. “I’ve got a number of other runs with the electrophoresis unit and then I’ll let the computer have a go at it.”
   “If it turns out to be a retro virus or something like that . . .” Victor said, letting his sentence trail off. It was just one more unexpected finding to be added to a growing list.
   “If VJ shows up, tell him I’m looking for him,” Victor said. Then he turned and left the lab.
   In the cafeteria, Victor went straight to the manager. “Have you seen VJ?”
   “He was in here for an early lunch. Philip was with him along with one of the guards.”
   “One of the guards?” Victor questioned. He wondered why Sheldon hadn’t told him that. Victor asked the manager to call his lab if VJ showed up. The manager nodded.
   There were a handful of people in the library. Most of them were reading, a few were asleep. The librarian told Victor that VJ had not been around.
   Victor got the same response at the fitness center and the day-care center. Except at the cafeteria, no one had seen VJ all day.
   Getting an umbrella from his car, Victor set off toward the river. He walked north and hit it at about the middle of the Chimera complex. He turned west, walking along the granite quay. None of the buildings lining the river had been renovated by Chimera as yet, but they’d make ideal sites for some of the intended expansion. Victor was considering moving his administrative office down there. After all, if he had to spend all his time doing administrative work, he might as well have a view.
   As he walked, Victor gazed down at the river. In the rain the white water appeared even more turbulent than it had on the previous day. Looking upriver toward the dam, he could barely see its outline through the mist rising from the base of the falls.
   Passing the line of empty buildings, he realized there were hundreds of nooks here a boy could find entertaining. It could be a paradise for games like hide-and-seek or sardines. But those games required a group of kids. Except for Philip, VJ was always on his own.
   Victor continued moving upstream until his path was blocked by the portion of the clock tower building that was cantilevered out over part of the dam and a portion of the millpond. To go beyond, Victor had to skirt the building, then approach the river on its west side. There, Victor’s path was blocked by the ten-foot-wide sluice that separated from the millpond, then ran parallel to it before leading to a tunnel. Back in the days when waterpower ran the entire mill, the sluice carried the water into the basement of the clock tower building. There the rushing water turned a series of huge paddle wheels which effectively powered thousands of looms and sewing machines as well as the tower clock.
   Standing at the tunnel’s edge, Victor inspected the bottom of the sluice. Besides a trickle of water, there was debris mostly made up of broken bottles and empty beer cans. Victor eyed the junction of the sluice and the raging river. Two heavy steel doors had once regulated the water flow. Now the whole unit was horribly corroded with rust. Victor wondered how it could still hold back the horrendous force the water exerted on it. The river was practically at the level of the top of the doors.
   Victor skirted the sluice and continued his walk westward. The rain stopped and he lowered his umbrella. Soon he came to the last building of the Chimera complex. It, too, was cantilevered out over the river. Beyond it was a city street. Victor turned around and started back.
   He didn’t call VJ as he’d done the last time. He just looked around and listened. When he got back to the clock tower building, he headed toward the occupied portion of the complex. Stopping in at his lab, he asked Robert if VJ had appeared, but he hadn’t.
   At a loss as to what to do, Victor returned to the cafeteria.
   “Hasn’t shown up yet,” the manager said before Victor even asked him.
   “I didn’t expect so,” Victor said. “I came over for some coffee.”
   Still damp from the rain, Victor had become quite chilled as he’d walked along the river. He could tell that the temperature was dropping again now that the storm was over.
   Once he’d finished his coffee and felt sufficiently warm, Victor pulled on his damp coat. He again reminded the manager to call over to the lab if and when VJ showed up. Then he returned to the security office. The warmth in there was welcome even if it was heavy with cigarette smoke. Pedro had been playing solitaire on a small couch in the back of the office. He got up when Victor appeared. Sheldon stood up behind his small desk.
   “Anybody seen my son?” Victor asked abruptly.

  “I just spoke to Hal not two minutes ago,” Sheldon said. “I specifically asked him, but he said he hadn’t seen VJ all day.”
   “The manager at the cafeteria told me that VJ had lunch with one of you guys today,” Victor said. “How come you didn’t tell me?”
   “I didn’t eat with VJ!” Sheldon said, pressing his palm against his chest. “I know Hal didn’t either. He ate with me. We both brown-bagged it. Hey, Fred!”
   Fred stuck his head into the main part of the office from the spot where he operated the entrance and the exit gates. Sheldon asked him if he ate lunch with VJ.
   “Sure didn’t,” he said. “I went off-site for lunch.”
   Sheldon shrugged. Then he said to Victor, “There’s only three of us on duty today.”
   “But the manager said . . .” Victor started, but he stopped. There was no point getting into an argument over who ate with VJ and who didn’t. The point was, where the hell was he now? Victor was getting curious and a little concerned. Marsha had wondered, and now he did too, just what did VJ do at Chimera to keep himself occupied. Up until that moment Victor had never given it much thought.
   Leaving the security office, Victor went back to his lab. He was running out of ideas of where to search.
   “The manager over at the cafeteria just called,” Robert said as soon as Victor appeared. “VJ’s turned up.”
   Victor went to the nearest phone and called the manager.
   “He’s here right now,” the manager said.
   “Is he alone?” Victor asked.
   “Nope. Philip is with him.”
   “Did you tell him I was looking for him?” Victor asked.
   “No, I didn’t. You just told me to call. You didn’t tell me to say anything to VJ.”
   “That’s fine,” Victor said. “Don’t say anything. I’m on my way.”
   Crossing to the building that housed both the cafeteria and the library, Victor chose not to enter through the main cafeteria entrance. He went in a side entrance instead, climbed to the second floor, and only then entered the cafeteria on the balcony level. Going to the railing and looking down, he saw VJ and Philip eating ice cream.
   Keeping back out of sight, Victor allowed VJ and Philip to finish their afternoon snack. Before long they got up and disposed of their trays. As they were leaving, Victor came down the stairs, staying out of sight close to the wall. He could hear the door close behind them as they left.
   Quickening his step, he got to the door in time to see them turn west on the walkway.
   “Something wrong?” the manager asked.
   “No, nothing is wrong,” Victor said, straightening up and trying to appear nonchalant. The last thing he wanted was office gossip. “Just curious about my son’s whereabouts,” he said. “I’ve told him time and time again not to go near the river when it’s raging like it is now. But I’m afraid he’s not minding me at all.”
   “Boys will be boys,” said the manager.
   Victor exited the cafeteria in time to see VJ and Philip in the distance, turning to the right beyond the building housing Victor’s lab. Clearly they were heading toward the river. Moving to a slow jog, Victor followed as far as the point where VJ and Philip had turned right. About fifty yards ahead he could still see them. He waited until they veered left just before the river and disappeared from sight. Victor ran down the alleyway.
   When he arrived at the point VJ and Philip had gone left, he caught sight of them nearing the clock tower building. As he watched, the two mounted the few steps in front of the deserted building and entered through the doorless entranceway.
   “What on earth can they be doing in there?” Victor asked himself. Keeping out of sight as much as possible, he went as far as the entranceway, then paused to listen. But all he could hear was the sound of the falls.
   Perplexed, Victor entered. He waited a moment until his eyes adjusted to the dim light. Once they had, he found just the kind of mess he’d expected to find in the abandoned building. The floor was littered with rubble and trash.
   The first floor was dominated by a large room with window openings over the millpond. Any glass had long since been broken. Not even the sashes remained. In the center of the room was a pile of debris giving evidence of squatters who had probably occupied the place before Chimera purchased the complex and fenced it in. Over the whole scene hung a pervasive smell of rotting wood, fabric, and cardboard.
   Stealthily moving toward the center of the room, Victor tried to listen again, but the noise of the falls was even more dominating inside than it had been outside. He could make out no other sounds.
   Along the side opposite the river was a series of small rooms that opened onto the main room. Victor started at the first and worked his way down. Each was filled with trash, to varying degrees. At either end and in the center of the building were stairwells that led to the two floors above. Victor went to the center staircase and slowly climbed up. On each floor he searched the warren of little rooms on both sides of a long hallway. Each room had its complement of rubble, litter, and dirt.
   Mystified, Victor returned to the first floor. He walked to one of the front window openings and gazed out at the river, the dam, the pond, and then at the empty sluice, closed from the river with its rusted doors.
   It was then that Victor remembered that the clock tower building was connected to the other buildings by elaborate tunnel systems to distribute the rotary mechanical power of the paddle wheels. It was obvious VJ was not in the clock tower building now. Victor wondered if it was this system his son had stumbled onto.
   Victor whirled about, his hair standing on edge. He thought he’d heard something over the roar of the falls, or felt something; he wasn’t sure which. His eyes rapidly scanned the room but no one was there, and when he strained to listen, all he heard was the sound of the river.
   Going from one stairwell to the other, Victor searched for the entrance to the basement. But he couldn’t find it. He looked again, still to no avail. There were no steps leading down. Stepping over to a window opening on the south side of the building, he looked to see if there might be a basement entrance from the outside, but there wasn’t. There seemed no way to get into the basement.
   Victor left the building and walked back to the occupied section of the Chimera complex to visit the office of Buildings and Grounds. Using his master key, he let himself in and turned on the lights. He immediately went to the file room. From a huge metal cabinet he retrieved the architectural drawings of all the existing structures on the Chimera property. Referencing the clock tower building on the master site plan, he found the drawings for it and pulled them out.
   The first drawing was of the basement. It showed where the water tunnel entered the edifice. Within the basement the water flowed through a heavily planked trough where it turned a series of paddle wheels that were mounted both horizontally and vertically. The basement itself was divided into one central room with all the power wheels and a number of side rooms. The tunnel system emanated from one of the side rooms on the east end.
   Victor then looked at the plan for the first floor. He found the stairway that led down to the basement easily enough. It was immediately to the right of the central stairwell. He could not imagine how he had missed it.
   To be doubly sure, he made a copy of the basement and first-floor plans, using the special copy machine that Chimera had for that purpose. He reduced the copies to legal-paper size. With these in hand, he returned to the clock tower building, determined to explore below.
   Victor made his way through the trash on the floor and approached the central stairwell. Standing in front of it, he looked to the immediate right. He even took the copy of the existing floor plan and held it up to make sure he’d read it right.
   Victor couldn’t understand what he was doing wrong. There were no basement stairs. He even walked around the other side of the stairwell just in case the blueprints were in error. But there were no stairs going down on that side either.
   Walking back to the location where the plans said the stairway was supposed to be, Victor noticed that the area was devoid of the debris that was scattered over the rest of the floor. Finding that odd, he bent down and noticed something else: the floor planking was wider than it was in the rest of the building. And it was newer wood.
   Victor started at a sound from behind. He turned, but it seemed there was nothing there. Still, he felt there was someone there in the semidarkness. Someone very near. Terrified, Victor tried to scan the surrounding cavernous room. Again from behind he heard or felt a second sound or vibration. No doubt about it: a footfall. Victor turned, but too late. He could just make out the shadowy silhouette of a figure raising some sort of object over his head. He tried to lift his hands to protect himself from the blow, but could not save himself from its power. His mind collapsed into a black abyss.

   After leaving Lowell, Marsha stopped at a roadside concession and used the phone and called the Blakemores. She felt mildly awkward, but managed to get herself invited over for a short visit. It took her about half an hour to get to their home in West Boxford at 479 Plum Island Road.
   As she pulled in, Marsha was glad it had stopped raining. But as she opened the door to her car, she wished she’d taken one of her down coats. The temperature was dropping rapidly.
   The Blakemore house was a cozy structure reminiscent of the kind of houses seen on Cape Cod. The windows were mullioned and painted white. Arching over the entranceway was a latticed wood arbor. Marsha climbed the front steps and rang the bell.
   Mrs. Blakemore opened the door. She was a stocky woman about Marsha’s age, with short hair turned up at the ends. “Come in,” she said, eyeing Marsha curiously. “I’m Edith Blakemore.”
   Marsha felt the woman’s stare and wondered if there was something amiss with her appearance, like a dark spot between her front teeth from the fruit she’d just eaten. She ran her tongue over her teeth just to be sure.
   Inside the house was every bit as charming as the exterior. The furniture was early American antique with chintz-covered couches and wing chairs. On the wide-planked pine floor were rag rugs.
   “May I take your coat?” Edith asked. “How about some coffee or tea?”
   “Tea would be nice,” Marsha said. She followed Edith into the living room.
   Mr. Blakemore, who had been sitting by the fire with the newspaper, got to his feet as Marsha entered. “I’m Carl Blakemore,” he said, extending his hand. He was a big man with leathery skin and dark features.
   Marsha shook his hand.
   “Sit down, make yourself at home,” Carl said, motioning to the couch. After Marsha sat down, he returned to his own seat, placing the paper on the floor next to his chair. He smiled pleasantly. Edith disappeared into the kitchen.
   “Interesting weather,” Carl said, attempting to make conversation.
   Marsha could not rid herself of the uncomfortable feeling she’d gotten when Edith had first looked at her. There was something stiff and unnatural about these people but Marsha couldn’t put her finger on it.
   A boy came down the stairs and into the room. He was just about VJ’s age but larger and stockier, with sandy-colored hair and dark brown eyes. There was a tough look about him, and the resemblance to Mr. Blakemore was striking. “Hello,” he said, extending his hand in a gentlemanly fashion.
   “You must be Richie,” Marsha said, shaking hands with the boy. “I’m VJ’s mother. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Marsha felt an exaggeration was in order.
   “You have?” Richie asked uncertainly.
   “Yes,” Marsha said. “And the more I heard, the more I wanted to meet you. Why don’t you come over to our house sometime? I suppose VJ has told you we have a swimming pool.”
   “VJ never told me you have a swimming pool,” Richie said. He sat on the hearth and stared up at Marsha to the point that she felt even more uncomfortable.
   “I don’t know why he didn’t,” Marsha said. She looked at Carl. “You never know what’s in these children’s minds,” she said with a smile.
   “Guess not,” Carl said.
   There was an awkward silence. Marsha wondered what was going on.
   “Milk or lemon?” Edith asked, coming into the room and breaking the silence. She carried a tray into the living room and put it on the coffee table.
   “Lemon,” Marsha said. She took the cup from Edith and held it while Edith poured. Then she squeezed in a little lemon. When she was finished, she settled back. Then she noticed that the other three people were not joining her. They were just staring.
   “No one else is having any tea?” Marsha asked, feeling progressively self-conscious.
   “You enjoy it,” Edith said.
   Marsha took a sip. It was hot, so she placed it on the coffee table. She cleared her throat nervously. “I’m sorry to have barged in on you like this.”
   “Not at all,” Edith said. “Being a rainy day and all, we’ve just been relaxing around the house.”
   “I’ve wanted to meet you for some time,” Marsha said. “You’ve been awfully nice to VJ, I’d like to return the favor.”
   “What exactly do you mean?” Edith asked.
   “Well, for one thing,” Marsha said, “I’d like to have Richie come over to our home and spend the night. If he’d like to, of course. Would you like to do that, Richie?”
   Richie shrugged his shoulders.
   “Why exactly would you like Richie to spend the night?” Carl asked.
   “To return the favor, of course,” Marsha said. “Since VJ has spent so many nights over here, I thought it only natural that Richie come to our house once in a while.”
   Carl and Edith exchanged glances. Edith spoke: “Your son has never spent the night here. I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
   Marsha looked from one person to the other, her confusion mounting. “VJ has never stayed here overnight?” she asked incredulously.
   “Never,” Carl said.
   Looking down at Richie, Marsha asked, “What about last Sunday. Did you and VJ spend time together?”
   “No,” Richie said, shaking his head.
   “Well, then, I suppose I have to apologize for taking your time,” Marsha said, embarrassed. She stood up. Edith and Carl did the same.
   “We thought you’d come to talk about the fight,” Carl said.
   “What fight?” Marsha asked.
   “Apparently VJ and our boy had a little disagreement,” Carl said. “Richie had to spend the night in the infirmary with a broken nose.”
   “Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” Marsha said. “I’ll have to have a talk with VJ.”
   As quickly and as gracefully as she could, Marsha left the Blakemore house. When she got into her car, she was furious. She sure would have a talk with VJ. He was even worse off than she’d thought. How could she have missed so much? It was as though her son had a separate life, one entirely different from the one he presented. Such cool, calm deceit was markedly abnormal! What was happening to her little boy?

11. Saturday Afternoon

   Victor regained consciousness gradually. Through a haze, he heard muffled noises he couldn’t make out. Then he realized the noises were voices. Finally he recognized VJ’s voice, and the boy was angry, yelling at someone, telling them that Victor was his father.
   “I’m sorry.” The words carried a heavy Spanish accent. “How was I to know?”
   Victor felt himself being shaken. The jostling made him aware that his head hurt. He felt dizzy. Reaching up, he felt a lump the size of a golf ball on the top of his forehead.
   “Dad?” VJ called.
   Victor opened his eyes groggily. For a moment the headache became intense, then waned. He was looking up into VJ’s icy blue eyes. His son was holding his shoulders. Beyond VJ were other faces with swarthy complexions. Next to VJ was a particularly dark man with an almost sinister expression on his face, heightened by the effect of an eyelid that drooped over his left eye.
   Closing his eyes again and gritting his teeth, Victor sat up. Dizziness made him totter for a moment, but VJ helped steady him. When the dizziness passed, Victor opened his eyes again. He also felt the bump again, only vaguely remembering how he’d gotten it.
   “Are you all right, Dad?” VJ persisted.
   “I think so,” Victor said. He looked at the strangers. They were dressed in the typical Chimera security uniforms, but he didn’t recognize any of them. Behind them stood Philip, looking sheepish and afraid.
   Glancing around the room to orient himself, Victor first thought he was back in his lab because he was surrounded by the usual bevy of sophisticated scientific instrumentation. Right next to him he noticed one of the newest instruments available on the market: a fast protein liquid chromatography unit.
   But he wasn’t in his lab. The setting was an inappropriate combination of high-tech with a rustic background of exposed granite and hewn beams.
   “Where am I?” Victor asked as he rubbed his eyes with the knuckles of his index fingers.
   “You are where you aren’t supposed to be,” VJ said.
   “What happened to me?” Victor asked as he tried to get his feet under him to stand.
   “Why don’t you just relax a minute,” VJ said, restraining him. “You hit your head.”
   “That’s an understatement,” Victor was tempted to say. He reached up and felt the impressive lump once more, then examined his fingers to see if there was any blood. He was still confused but his head was beginning to clear. “What do you mean, ‘I’m where I’m not supposed to be’?” he asked as if suddenly hearing VJ’s comment for the first time.
   “You weren’t supposed to see this hidden lab of mine for another month or so,” VJ said. “At least not until we were in my new digs across the river.”
   Victor blinked. Suddenly his mind was clear. He remembered the dark figure who’d clobbered him. He looked at his son’s smiling face, then let his eyes wander around the unlikely laboratory. It was as if he’d taken a step beyond reality where mass spectrometers competed with hand-chiseled granite. “Exactly where am I?” Victor asked.
   “We are in the basement of the clock tower building,” VJ said as he let go of Victor and stood up. VJ made a sweeping gesture with his hand and said, “But we’ve changed the decor to suit our needs. What do you think?”
   Victor swallowed and licked his dry lips. He glanced at his son only to see him beaming proudly. He watched as Philip nervously wrung his hands. Victor looked at the three men in Chimera security guard uniforms—swarthy Hispanics with tanned faces and shiny black hair. Then his eyes slowly swept around the high-ceilinged room. It was one of the most astounding sights he’d ever seen. Directly in front of him was the yawning maw of the opening into the sluice. A slime of green mold oozed out of the lower lip with a trickle of moisture. Most of the opening was covered with a makeshift hatch made of heavy old lumber. The huge wooden trough that used to carry the water through the room had been dismantled to serve as raw materials for the hatch, the lab benches, and bookshelves.
   The room appeared to be about sixty feet across and about a hundred feet in length. The largest of the old paddle wheels still stood in its vertical position in the center of the room like a piece of modern sculpture. A number of the laboratory instruments were pushed up against its huge blades, forming a giant circle.
   At both ends of the room were several heavy doors reinforced with metal rivets. The walls of the room on all four sides were constructed of the same gray granite. The ceiling consisted of open joists supporting heavy planking. In addition to the largest of the paddle wheels, most of the old mechanical apparatus of huge rods and gears that had transmitted the waterpower were still in their original places, supported from the ceiling joists by metal sheaths.
   Just behind Victor was a flight of wooden stairs that rose up to the ceiling, dead-ending into wooden planks.
   “Well, Dad?” VJ questioned with anticipation. “Come on! What do you think?”
   Victor rose to his feet unsteadily. “This is your lab?” he asked.
   “That’s right,” VJ said. “Pretty cool, wouldn’t you say?”
   Wobbling, Victor made his way over to a DNA synthesizer and ran his hand along its top edge. It was the newest model available, better than the unit Victor had in his own lab.
   “Where did all this equipment come from?” Victor asked, spotting a magnetic electron microscope on the other side of the paddle wheel.
   “You could say it’s on loan,” said VJ. He followed his father and gazed lovingly at the synthesizer.
   Victor turned to VJ, studying the boy’s face. “Is this the equipment that was stolen from Chimera?”
   “It was never stolen,” VJ said with an impish grin. “Let’s say it was merely rerouted. It belongs to Chimera, and it’s still on Chimera grounds. I don’t think you could consider it stolen unless it left the Chimera complex.”
   Walking on to the next laboratory appliance, an elaborate gas chromatography unit, Victor tried to pull himself together. His headache still bothered him, especially when he moved, and he felt quite dizzy. But he was starting to think the dizziness could be attributed as much to the revelation of this lab than the blow to his head. This was something out of a dream—a nightmare. Gently touching one of the chromatography columns, he assured himself it was real. Then he turned to VJ, who was right behind him.
   “I think you had better explain this place from the beginning.”
   “Sure,” VJ said. “But why don’t we go into the living quarters where we’ll be more comfortable.”
   VJ led the way around the large paddle wheel, passed the electron microscope, and headed for the end of the room. When he got there, he opened the door on the left. He pointed to the door on the right: “More lab spaces through there. We never seem to have enough.”
   As Victor followed VJ, he noticed over his shoulder that Philip was coming but the security guards paid them no heed. Two of them had already sat down on a makeshift bench and started playing cards.
   VJ led Victor to the room that indeed looked like living quarters. Rugs in various sizes and shapes had been hung over the granite walls to provide a warmer atmosphere. About ten rollaway cots with bed linens cluttered the floor. Near the entrance door was a round table with six captain’s chairs. VJ motioned for his father to have a seat.
   Victor pulled out a chair and sat down. Philip silently sat down several chairs away.
   “Want something to drink? Hot chocolate or tea?” VJ asked, playing host. “We have all the comforts of home here.”
   “I think you’d better tell me what this is all about,” Victor said.
   VJ nodded, then quietly began. “You know I’ve been interested in what was going on in your lab from the first days you brought me to Chimera. The problem was nobody let me touch anything.”
   “Of course not,” Victor said. “You were an infant.”
   “I didn’t feel like an infant,” VJ said. “Needless to say, I decided early on I needed a lab of my own if I were to do anything at all. It started out small, but it had to get bigger since I kept needing more equipment.”
   “How old were you when you started?” Victor asked.
   “It was about seven years ago,” VJ said. “I was three. It was surprisingly easy to set the lab up with Philip around to lend the needed muscles.” Philip smiled proudly. VJ went on: “At first, I was in the building next to the cafeteria. But then there was talk about its being renovated, so we moved everything here to the clock tower. It’s been my little secret ever since.”
   “For seven years?” Victor questioned.
   VJ nodded. “About that.”
   “But why?” Victor asked.
   “So I could do some serious work,” VJ said. “Watching you and being around the lab I became fascinated with the potential of biology. It is the science of the future. I had some ideas of my own about how the research should have been conducted.”
   “But you could have worked in my lab,” Victor said.
   “Impossible,” VJ said with a wave of his hand. “I’m too young. No one would have let me do what I’ve been doing. I needed freedom from restrictions, from rules, from helping hands. I needed my own space, and let me tell you, it has paid off beyond your wildest dreams. I’ve been dying to show you what I’ve been doing for at least a year. You’re going to flip.”
   “You’ve had some successes?” Victor asked hesitantly, suddenly curious.
   “Several astounding breakthroughs is a better description,” VJ said. “Maybe you should try to guess.”
   “I couldn’t,” Victor said.
   “I think you could,” VJ said. “One of the projects is something that you yourself have been working on.”
   “I’ve been working on a lot of things,” Victor said evasively.
   “Listen,” VJ said, “my idea is to let you have credit for the discoveries so that Chimera can patent them and prosper. We don’t want anybody to know that I’m involved at all.”
   “Something like the swimming race?” Victor asked.
   VJ laughed heartily. “Something like that, I suppose. I prefer not to draw attention to myself. I don’t want anyone to pry, and people seem to get so curious when there’s a prodigy in their midst. I’d prefer you to get the credit. Chimera will get the patent. We can say I’ll offer you my results to compensate for space and equipment.”
   “Give me an idea of what you’ve turned up.”
   “For starters, I’ve solved the mystery of the implantation of a fertilized egg in a uterus,” VJ said proudly. “As long as the zygote is normal, I can guarantee one hundred percent implantation.”
   “You’re joking,” said Victor.
   “I’m not joking,” VJ said somewhat crossly. “The answer turned out to be both simple and more complicated than expected. It involves the juxtaposition of the zygote and the surface cells of the uterus, initiating a kind of chemical communication which most people would probably call an antibody-antigen reaction. It is this reaction that releases a polypeptide vessel proliferation factor which results in the implantation. I’ve isolated this factor and have produced it in quantity with recombinant DNA techniques. A shot of it guarantees one hundred percent implantation of a healthy fertilized egg.”
   To emphasize his point, VJ pulled a vial out of his pocket and placed it on the table in front of his father. “It’s for you,” he said. “Who knows, maybe you’ll win a Nobel Prize.” VJ laughed and Philip joined in.
   Victor picked up the vial and stared at the clear, viscous fluid within. “Something like this has to be tested,” he said.
   “It’s been tested,” VJ said. “Animals, humans, it’s all the same. One hundred percent successful.”
   Victor looked at his son, then at Philip. Philip smiled hesitantly, unsure of Victor’s reaction. Victor glanced at the vial again. He could immediately appreciate the academic and economic impact of such a discovery. It would be monumental, revolutionizing in-vitro fertilization techniques. With a product like this, Fertility, Inc., would dominate the field. It would have worldwide impact.
   Victor took a deep breath. “Are you sure this works in humans?” he asked.
   “Absolutely,” VJ said. “As I said, it’s been tested.”
   “In whom?” Victor asked.