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Biology 103-which I hated-was coming back. Plant-extract categories. Looks like he actually is doing research on the flora here. But… still, what does he need my ova for?
I scrolled on. Scientific terms that meant nothing. Then, toward the end of the alphabetical list, I came to the word QUETZAL.
What was that? I clicked on it and-lo and behold-up came a short list of names. Six in all, organized by dates about a year apart, and each a woman.
My God. First I assumed they were patients from Quetzal Manor who'd come here for fertility treatment, though each was indicated "terminated" at the end, whatever that meant. But as I scanned down, I didn't want to see what I was seeing. The name next to the last was S. Crenshaw. She'd been "terminated" too.
The bottom was M. James. But I hadn't been "terminated." Not yet.
I slumped back in the chair, trying to breathe. How much more of this horror could I handle? Finally I leaned forward again and with a trembling hand clicked on S. Crenshaw.
A lot of data popped up, including three important dates. The first was exactly three weeks after the one in her passport, the Guatemalan entry visa. The second was ten months ago, the third eight months ago. After each was a number: 268, followed by 153, and finally 31.
The count of her extracted ova. Kill him. Just kill him.
A lot of medical terminology I couldn't interpret followed each number, but the note at the end required no degree.
"Blastocyst material from embryos after third extraction shows 84% decrease in cellular viability. No longer usable."
My God, had he made her permanently sterile?
While that obscenity was sinking in, I went back and clicked on my own name. The date was today, the number was 233. He'd just taken 233 of my ova. I stared at the screen and felt faint.
No medical analysis had yet been entered, but it didn't matter. I stared at the screen, feeling numb, for a full minute before clicking back to Sarah's page. Yes, I was right. The last date was just six weeks before she was found in a coma, down the river from here…
No more mystery. He'd been using her eggs to create embryos, and they'd finally stopped working. Not "special" anymore. So her "program" had been "terminated." In the river.
My stomach was churning, bile in my throat, and I thought I was going to throw up. I took a deep breath, slowly, and stopped myself. Before I got Sarah and we got the hell out of Baalum, I was going to smash everything in this lab.
It all had just come together. Those shots of "muscle relaxant" he gave me up at Quetzal Manor, they had to be a cocktail of his "proprietary" ovulation drugs. Then, with my ovaries ripening, he'd lured me here using Sarah. He knew I'd come after her. Next he'd "arranged" with Alan Dupre to fly me here. Finally, a sedative, and he'd harvested 233 of my ova, which he now had out there in those incubators…
But what about proof? To show the world. Morning sounds were building up outside, so I was less worried whether the two soldiers in the hallway were still asleep or not. Truthfully, I was so wired I no longer cared. I clicked on a printer and began zipping off the files of each woman he'd violated, all six.
Disgust flowed through me like a torrent. Heart of Darkness. "The horror, the horror." Alex Goddard had used Sarah in the most unspeakable way possible, then tried to have her murdered. Probably he'd just turned her over to Colonel Ramos.
The same thing must have happened to those other women. All "disappeared" somewhere in Guatemala. But who would know?
One thing I knew. I was next…
The printer was old and loud, but thankfully it was fast. Four minutes later I had what I'd need to nail the criminal. When I got out of here, somebody would have to believe me.
While I was stacking the printouts, I resolved to call the embassy right then, the hour be damned. I was sweating like a gazelle when the lion is closing in. Alex Goddard had just performed primal, surgical rape on me, and now the Army was right outside. I had to get the embassy.
And that was when I realized I didn't have the number. But it had to be in a phone book somewhere.
A quick look around the office didn't turn up one. I considered ringing the Camino Real again, to ask them to look up the number, but then I had an inspired thought. Steve had said Alan Dupre's number was easy to remember because it promoted his business. What was it? I couldn't remember.
Then it came back: 4-MAYAN, the six-digit number they used in Guatemala City. Call the sleazebag and ask him who can get me out of here. He's supposed to know everybody.
Dawn was bringing more and more forest-morning songs through the thin slats of the windows. I walked over and pushed them open, running my fingers out into the air. It felt cool, the touch of freedom, and I thought for a moment about bursting through to escape. Just get Sarah now.
Instead, I walked back to the phone, clenching my fists, and dialed Alan Dupre's number, praying and hoping it was where he lived. Steve had called him late in the evening, so it probably was. I'd thought I never wanted to speak to him again, but now… God, let him be there.
The phone, however, just rang and rang and rang.
Come on. Damn.
It rang and rang some more. Then finally-
"Who the fuck is this? We don't open till nine."
The first sound of his voice brought a wave of relief, but then his cocky attitude made me livid all over again.
"It's Morgan James, you shit. Why did you leave me stranded up here? You have no idea what-"
"Oh, you…" He paused for a cigarette cough. "You made me walk all the way downstairs just to bust my chops. What the-?"
"Talk to me, you prick." I still intended to strangle him. "I need your help. You owe me. You have no idea what-"
"Hey, lady, you didn't possibly believe taking off in that fucking hurricane was my… Let's just say I was acting under duress. I all but didn't get back."
"Well, you can start making up for that right now by springing me the hell out of here." So, somebody had put him up to it, just like I'd thought all along. But who? "I want you to look up the number for the American embassy. And tell me the name of somebody there who-"
"Jesus, you truly don't get the picture, do you?" He paused for another early-morning reefer hack.
"I 'get' that you-"
"Missy, it was a high official at that very establishment 'suggested' I fly you up there. Why the hell else would I do it, for chrissake? You know I'm not a citizen of this fun house. Said party noted that if I didn't, he could make a few phone calls about my residency status, my pilot's license… Let's just say it was an offer I didn't see fit to take issue with."
"Oh, my God." I felt like a knife had just plunged into my back. "Was his name Barry Morton? Please tell me."
"Taking the Fifth on that one," he said coughing again. "But you've got primal instincts."
I heard a noise outside and sank lower in the chair. What was I going to do now?
"Listen, do you have any idea where Steve is? They're looking-"
"No shit, Madame Sherlock. I had a long, deeply uninspiring interrogation by a couple of upscale assholes who showed up here in an Army Jeep. They wanted to know where the fuck he was, when I'd supped with him last. Let me inform you, love, you got my old heartstrings buddy in some decided doo-doo."
"I feel guilty enough about that as is, so stop." In spite of all Alex Goddard had done, I felt horrible about Steve, like a self-involved witch. "But do you know where he is now?"
"Haven't the foggiest fucking idea, never heard of the jerk. Shit, hang on." The line went silent, and I could feel my pulse pounding.
Outside the office door, I heard footsteps approaching down the hall. Please, God, please. But then they passed by, terminating where the two soldiers had been dozing. Next I heard the tones of a solid dressing-down in profane Spanish.
"Tu heres un pedaso de mierda!"
Then came a familiar voice from the receiver. I couldn't believe it.
"Morgy, why in hell did you let Alan take you up there by yourself?" His tone had a sadness, and a deserved pique, that cut me to the core.
I think I stopped breathing.
"Oh, baby, thank God you're…" I was expecting the door to burst open any moment. Men with AK-47's. "Do you know the Army's looking for-?"
"You're completely nuts. I got halfway to Belize and called the motel to see how you were doing, and they told me you'd taken off with this asshole. So I turned around and drove back here. It was after midnight and the Army thugs had just left. Morgy, I'm coming to get you. Soon as the gas stations open. I know a back road to Mexico. We've got to get out of this fucking country immediately."
"Don't try to drive up. It's too dangerous. Can you get Alan to fly you? Sarah's here and she's been turned into a space cadet. I don't know how I'm going to pry her away." I stopped to try to assemble my thoughts. "He's got soldiers watching me. I've got to smuggle her out somehow."
I couldn't bring myself to tell him what was really going on.
"Let me talk to Dupre a second. The fucker. I can't believe he did this to you. But maybe we can come up with something. Otherwise, I may just kill him with my bare hands."
I heard a cough, which told me Alan had been listening in on an extension. It teed me off, but then-he did have to be in on this. Shit. The idea of relying on Alan Dupre for anything…
"Well, do it fast. I broke into Alex Goddard's office to use this phone and… just hurry."
"You got it."
Now the sound of firm, officer-like boot steps stormed past the door, headed out this time, after which the two young soldiers began berating each other in high-pitched Spanish.
"Hace falta tener cojones!"
"Hijo de tu chingada madre!"
More and more light was creeping through the slatted windows. A glance at my watch showed the time to be six sharp, but the embassy was no longer an option.
"Listen," Steve said coming back on, "there's some rain due for tonight, but he says he thinks we can try. He claims there's a clearing about a quarter of a mile down a gravel road that goes south. With the rain as cover, maybe we can put down just after dark. Think you can find a way to get Sarah and meet us?"
"I'm not even sure she can walk, at least not far, but we'll be there." I was flashing on her back in the square, proclaiming her happiness. Would I have to drag her out, carry her on my back? Well, I would. "There's some kind of 'ceremony' on for tomorrow morning. The Army's going to be here in double strength because of it, but maybe it'll make for some confusion that'll help. Still, she's-"
"Damn, this is going to be big-time dicey."
"Honey, let me tell you as much as I can about the layout of this place. Just in case."
Which I did. The main problem was, I didn't know exactly where Sarah was.
"Is there anybody there who could help you?" he asked when I'd finished.
"I'm not hopeful." I paused. "Listen, can you get your hands on a gun or guns?"
"What are you… Don't even think about it! That's the best way to guarantee we all get killed. I'm not taking on the Guatemalan Armed Forces. And you're not either. We've got to keep this very low-tech. The dark and the rain, that's what we use. They don't shoot back."
At that moment I wanted nothing more than to shoot Alex Goddard. I'd have done it if I'd had the chance. Happily. But I knew Steve was right.
"Okay, look, what time?"
"We'll try to set down about, say-"
There was a crackle as the yellow diodes on the phone erupted in a high-pitched whistle, cutting the connection.
No! My God, had somebody been listening in?
So when exactly was he coming? Around dark? That would probably be about eight o'clock. Or maybe nine…
I was closing the phone case when I heard a sound from outside, as though someone had passed the door, then come back to listen.
All right. Get going.
I gathered the printouts, then headed back through the laboratory, where I took a long, last look at the petri dishes being incubated. Should I just dump them now? But then he'd know for sure that I knew.
The time would come, and soon.
As I eased myself back into the fake-stone OR and closed the door, the dawn outside was steeped in forest sounds, clacks and whistles and chirps. That was good, because I needed some stray noise to mask what I was going to do next. Take control.