Dr. Sergey Kaidanov huddled like a hunted animal in a copse of cottonwoods and watched the cottage as daylight faded. Kaidanov had not had a decent sleep since fleeing from the lab. A damp, uncombed beard covered the lower half of his face and his clothes looked a size too big on his emaciated frame. The woods were damp and the cruel wind blowing off the Gorge chilled the fugitive, but running for his life had inured Kaidanov to hardship and made him cunning and cautious. He was also desperate. The newspapers said that someone had died in the lab. If it hadn’t been for the monkey, the police would have found two bodies. Then there was his escape in Las Vegas. His car had been parked in the shadows of the motel lot. He had been about to start it when another car driven by the same person who’d attacked him in the lab pulled into the space in front of his motel room. Kaidanov had watched until his pursuer was inside. He had only been a few blocks from the motel when he figured out that he must have been traced through his credit card. It took another moment to remember that he’d told the whore that he was taking an early flight. Kaidanov had skipped his flight and used his credit cards sparingly since Vegas, living on fast food and sleeping in his car. He smelled and he was unshaven, but he was still alive. After tonight, he might even be safe. Headlights lit up the cottage. Moments later a Mercedes parked out front. Kaidanov checked his watch. It was 7:29. Arthur Briggs had arranged to meet him at 7:30 so they would have time to talk before Briggs’s associate arrived. The lights went on in the cottage.
Kaidanov scurried across the road. He’d checked out the cottage earlier and he knew that there was a back door. He made a wide circle around the house. There was a farm next to the cottage, but the land directly behind the house was heavily wooded. Kaidanov raced from the cover of a stand of trees and knocked on the back door. A moment later Arthur Briggs let him into a small kitchen. “Dr. Kaidanov?” he asked.
The scientist nodded. “Do you have something to eat?” he asked. “I haven’t had any food since breakfast.” “Certainly. There’s not much, but I can make you a sandwich.” “Anything. A drink would help.” Briggs motioned toward a kitchen table and started toward the refrigerator.
As he passed the kitchen door Briggs saw someone enter the front room.
He stopped, puzzled, then walked out of the kitchen. Kaidanov stood, tense as a startled deer. He heard Briggs say, “What are you doing here?” He was out of the back door before Briggs screamed, “Run!” and shots rang out. Kaidanov plunged into the woods as the kitchen door slammed open. He had planned his escape route earlier and he never slowed. He could hear branches snap and the underbrush crackle behind him. He made a sharp turn and circled back toward his car, pausing briefly before racing on to make sure his pursuer kept going straight ahead. Through a gap in the trees, Kaidanov saw someone of average height dressed in a black windbreaker. A hood concealed the killer’s face, but there was no doubt in the Russian’s mind that this was the same person who tried to kill him at the lab. Kaidanov had parked his car half a mile up a side road where it could not be seen from the street that ran in front of the cottage and could not be discovered without a thorough search. The engine started right away. Kaidanov left the headlights off until he was on the highway headed east. He had no idea where he was going. All he cared about was that he was still breathing.