him, he reminded himself, considering where the man was from and what he represented. Besides, Hench himself was just as touchy about punctuality.
Hench climbed out of his car and walked diagonally across the garage until he saw the gray Dodge Caravan parked in the same place it always was for their meetings--in the farthest southern corner beside a row of laundry bins.
As Hench moved toward the car, he felt a touch of uneasiness come over him as he always did before these clandestine meetings. Forcing himself to relax, he climbed into the passenger seat and smiled. The gray-haired gentleman in the driver seat did not smile back. Despite the fact that they were in Arizona, the middle-aged man's fair complexion gave the impression that he'd never spent a moment in the sun.
"Close the door," the man said, his voice flat.
Hench complied, ignoring the man's chilly reception. After all, this man controlled the money, much of which had flowed back to Ford and directly to Hench's research. And though they were as beholden to Hench as he was to them, they had the ultimate say in how the money was used. Hench merely provided a vehicle for that cash.
Hench looked over at the man. "I assume you're ready for another requisition?" Hench asked, knowing better than to waste this man's time with small talk.
"We are indeed. We are very close to a breakthrough. We can't slow down now."
Hench nodded. "I have someone in mind already. I just need to talk to the family."
"Excellent. That never seems to be a problem for you."
"No, it won't, but there is another problem."
The man turned slightly in his seat. "I assume you mean Josh Logan," he said, more statement than question.
"Yes, but how did--"
"Dr. Hench. When you have as much at stake as we do, you can't afford not to know everything. I assure you, however, he won't be a problem much longer."
Hench felt the hairs on his neck stand up. "I'll ... leave it to you, then."
The man leaned toward Hench with ominous eyes. "Please do."
* * *
After Arthur Hench left the parking garage, the driver of the Dodge Caravan reached behind his neck and peeled back the prosthetic mask he wore for the meeting. It was imperative that his identity be kept hidden.
No one must ever know , he thought, as he started the van.
Never.
Chapter 14
There must be some mistake.
Governor Earl Teaks stood over the bloated raw flesh on the stretcher and refused to believe that it was his daughter. Couldn't be.
Alley Teaks was all wonderful ribs and bones with skin as soft as an infant. This girl was naked, her few patches of unburned skin blackened with silver nitrate. She was getting oxygen through a nasal cannula, one leg was gone below the knee and there were drains in the truncated blob that had once been her other foot.
A darkness came over Teaks. He willed himself not to faint, instead concentrating on his daughters face.
"Alley?"
Feverish eyes turned toward him. Swollen cracked lips spoke. "Daddy?"
"It's all right, sweetie, I'm here."
A long silence. Then, "I'm sorry, daddy."
"Don't try to talk." Teaks was doing all he could to keep from collapsing.
A nurse appeared. Stiff, authoritative. "I think that's all she can handle right now."
"Can't I just sit here?"
"I believe the doctor wants to see you. Maybe when he's finished."
* * *
Dr. Timothy Busfeld sat transfixed on the lab values on the report in front of him. The girl was in severe shock and septicemia was only hours away. She was seeping fluid from everywhere, her platelet count was all but exhausted, and her lungs were badly burned. They had managed to stabilize her overnight, but now she was in a downward spiral.
She'd be dead in a few hours.
It hit Busfeld particularly hard. He himself had lost a child just two years earlier in an accident. It had left him with a hole in his heart he thought he'd never recover from.
A soft rap on his door jerked him from his sad reverie.
"Dr. Busfeld?"
"Come in, Governor Teaks. I'm pleased to
Hench climbed out of his car and walked diagonally across the garage until he saw the gray Dodge Caravan parked in the same place it always was for their meetings--in the farthest southern corner beside a row of laundry bins.
As Hench moved toward the car, he felt a touch of uneasiness come over him as he always did before these clandestine meetings. Forcing himself to relax, he climbed into the passenger seat and smiled. The gray-haired gentleman in the driver seat did not smile back. Despite the fact that they were in Arizona, the middle-aged man's fair complexion gave the impression that he'd never spent a moment in the sun.
"Close the door," the man said, his voice flat.
Hench complied, ignoring the man's chilly reception. After all, this man controlled the money, much of which had flowed back to Ford and directly to Hench's research. And though they were as beholden to Hench as he was to them, they had the ultimate say in how the money was used. Hench merely provided a vehicle for that cash.
Hench looked over at the man. "I assume you're ready for another requisition?" Hench asked, knowing better than to waste this man's time with small talk.
"We are indeed. We are very close to a breakthrough. We can't slow down now."
Hench nodded. "I have someone in mind already. I just need to talk to the family."
"Excellent. That never seems to be a problem for you."
"No, it won't, but there is another problem."
The man turned slightly in his seat. "I assume you mean Josh Logan," he said, more statement than question.
"Yes, but how did--"
"Dr. Hench. When you have as much at stake as we do, you can't afford not to know everything. I assure you, however, he won't be a problem much longer."
Hench felt the hairs on his neck stand up. "I'll ... leave it to you, then."
The man leaned toward Hench with ominous eyes. "Please do."
* * *
After Arthur Hench left the parking garage, the driver of the Dodge Caravan reached behind his neck and peeled back the prosthetic mask he wore for the meeting. It was imperative that his identity be kept hidden.
No one must ever know , he thought, as he started the van.
Never.
Chapter 14
There must be some mistake.
Governor Earl Teaks stood over the bloated raw flesh on the stretcher and refused to believe that it was his daughter. Couldn't be.
Alley Teaks was all wonderful ribs and bones with skin as soft as an infant. This girl was naked, her few patches of unburned skin blackened with silver nitrate. She was getting oxygen through a nasal cannula, one leg was gone below the knee and there were drains in the truncated blob that had once been her other foot.
A darkness came over Teaks. He willed himself not to faint, instead concentrating on his daughters face.
"Alley?"
Feverish eyes turned toward him. Swollen cracked lips spoke. "Daddy?"
"It's all right, sweetie, I'm here."
A long silence. Then, "I'm sorry, daddy."
"Don't try to talk." Teaks was doing all he could to keep from collapsing.
A nurse appeared. Stiff, authoritative. "I think that's all she can handle right now."
"Can't I just sit here?"
"I believe the doctor wants to see you. Maybe when he's finished."
* * *
Dr. Timothy Busfeld sat transfixed on the lab values on the report in front of him. The girl was in severe shock and septicemia was only hours away. She was seeping fluid from everywhere, her platelet count was all but exhausted, and her lungs were badly burned. They had managed to stabilize her overnight, but now she was in a downward spiral.
She'd be dead in a few hours.
It hit Busfeld particularly hard. He himself had lost a child just two years earlier in an accident. It had left him with a hole in his heart he thought he'd never recover from.
A soft rap on his door jerked him from his sad reverie.
"Dr. Busfeld?"
"Come in, Governor Teaks. I'm pleased to
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