David Dun - Unacceptable Risk

She had to get him out of New York. The only complicat ing factor was the journals and Michael could come back to Ithaca for those-if and when they arrived. Fortunately, Michael had revealed a goal similar to hers. Now it was time for her to seal the deal.

She called Michael and said she might be up to twenty minutes late for dinner. Then she called her on-again, off- again boyfriend in LA, thinking she might break it off. But as they talked, she considered how abrupt this was; she was excited but uncertain; then she thought of Sam's self-control. After a newsy chat she followed her habit and said, "I love you" to a boyfriend whom she no longer loved, then hung up.

It took Michael only a few minutes to put on a sport coat and tie. As he waited, he felt an acute sense of embarrass ment and tried hard to get his composure so that he could pretend that what just happened never happened. Like men everywhere, he needed something to distract himself while he waited for the lady. Picking up one of his science journals, he read about a newly discovered painkiller that was one thousand times more effective than morphine and de rived from one of the five hundred or so molecules that make up the deadly toxin of the cone snail. People with chronic- pain syndrome were being freed from their misery, and there were few things, other than Grady, that he could think of that were more exciting. The drug was called Ziconotide. At the moment he needed something like that, only effective in killing the sex drive, which at this point was becoming a form of pain.

Grady had encouraged him to look the part with his editor, although for him that meant his jungle clothes. He suspected that the traditional business garb was because she wanted him to blend in with the street crowd, but he didn't argue. Eventually she emerged from her room looking like the mod els he had seen in American magazines. She wore a black knit dress with an eye-catching plunge at the neckline. It cer tainly did not hide her figure. Michael was aware that deep within their brain Homo sapiens had programmed certain body ratios that were associated with fertility. Males seemed to equate this hourglass configuration with mating behavior and, in fact, found it quite inspirational in that regard. Clearly, the dress fully retained his sense of inspiration.

Just as he was about to walk out the door, the phone rang. It was Rebecca.

"Looking forward to seeing you tonight and tomorrow," she said.

"We are about ready to leave."

"I wanted to mention, a man was here looking for you today. He left you a letter, said he was a fellow scientist and that it was urgent. He asked if there was any way I could get in touch with you. I think he thought you were probably still in the Amazon, although I'm not sure about that. I told him I thought I might have a rare opportunity to get you on the phone and said no more."

"Good. My friend Grady is convincing me that we must not tell people that I am in New York. Bring the letter to din ner tonight if you have it. Did the man leave a name?"

"Yes. He did. Although he wanted assurance that I would give his name to no one but you and I assured him of that. It's all quite mysterious."

"Who is he?"

"Georges Raval."

Grady took charge of the taxis. With them in the taxi were Yodo and one other. Their entourage followed in second and third taxis.

When they entered the taxi, she sat close and for a mo ment put her hand over his. The warmth of it traveled through his body.

"Won't it be exciting when you can get started on your work?"

"I want so bad to get back to it. And to spend some time in a new place."

"Do you know where?"

"The mountains of the Pacific Northwest, maybe. There's an almost unspoiled block of wilderness there. Well, more than one. This one's near the Salmon and Klamath rivers."

"Maybe you can satisfy Sam's concerns and get started on your work all at once," she said, and looked at him squarely for the first time since entering the taxi. "Maybe…"

"Yes?"

"Maybe it would be good to go there soon."

"You want me to do what Sam wants."

"I want you to do what you want. But not to die trying."

Her body was next to his and her thigh was touching his for its full length and he could sense that they both wanted the same thing.

Then his cell phone rang.

"I have your journals," Dr. Lyman said.

"Oh, thank goodness. Thanks for calling. You made my evening. I'll be right back to you. Will this number work for my return call?"

"It'll work. Be here for half an hour."

"Grady, I need to talk with you now, in private."

"Sure. Driver, could you pull over for just a minute?"

They got out onto the curb and Michael drew her away from a nervous-looking Yodo.

"You have to make a choice. I'm going to be honest with you and I expect you to be honest with me."

"Okay."

"My journals are at Ithaca. I'm going alone, unless you want to come. Nobody else."

"That's crazy."

"No, it's not. Two of us won't be noticed. This looks like a president's motorcade."

"I see. We'll dress and act like nobodies and pull in driving an old Chevy. Sam will never go for it."

"It's not up to him where I'm concerned. I guess you would be different."

"Let me ask one thing. If I go with you and we get the jour nals, can we meet the bodyguards on the way back and then lock the journals up in a vault, except for what you need?"

Michael thought about that for a moment. He sensed he needed to give her something or he would end up going alone.

"Okay. We meet the guards halfway between New York and Ithaca."

"I'll call Sam."

Michael shook his head and chuckled. "Always Sam."

A letter had come from Gaudet. After locking the door to his office, Baptiste removed it from the envelope. The mo ment he had found it in his residential mailbox, he had stud ied it, trying to determine its authenticity. He did not note this letter on any incoming-mail log nor did he make a copy for any file:

France has its interests and I have mine. Time is running out for France if you don't want to lose the discovery of the century. Perhaps we should talk about our mutual interests.

Maybe there were times when one made a deal with the Devil. It was shocking that Benoit had communicated so easily and that Gaudet obviously believed her. There seemed to be no end to this woman's intrigue.

It was late in the afternoon, so he locked up early and left the building. With Benoit's instructions committed to mem ory he proceeded to a computer where he could not be traced. According to Benoit, he could send the e-mail on any day within five minutes of four o'clock in the afternoon. Walking down Boulevard Mortier and then turning onto Cros, he went for a few more blocks until he came to an Internet cafe. There were a series of work stations, at least twenty in all, and each one tied into the Internet. After paying the fee of ten Euros, he sat down and logged on to a free e-mail Web site. With little effort he opened an account under the name Sailorsea. Using that account, he drafted an e-mail to Jvaljean@wanadoo. fr. net.

It seems we have some issues. How do I know that you are Devan Gaudet? How do I know that you can help me? Why would you want to?

He sent it at precisely 4:01 p.m., then sat and watched the in box for his account. At 4:14 p.m. he received this reply:

You have the confidence of Benoit Moreau or you would not be writing me. If I am not Gaudet, I am at least someone in her confidence. Yes? So do you be lieve her or not? Only a government-size entity can af ford what the technology is worth. Because of Benoit, I am willing to work with the French. Call me at 212- 555-2729 U.S.

Baptiste went and purchased a card with one hundred minutes of long-distance talk time. He then walked his route through the Belleville church and nodded at the priest as he walked down the side of the main sanctuary. Once out of the church, and certain he wasn't being followed, he went down a back alley and took a different route than usual to the small cafe where he had previously used the phone. Unusually concerned, he passed this phone, went down the street a block and into a video place, where he browsed around before asking his daughter's friend, who worked there, if he might use the phone. As he hoped, he was shown to the back office, where he closed the door. He punched in the number on the card and then the pin number and then the overseas code for the United States followed by the number. He assumed he was calling a recently rented cell phone.