David Dun - Unacceptable Risk

Baptiste ordered security not to let Benoit contact any one. He would do all the talking to the admiral that needed to be done. It was a dangerous career move, but the relief it provided him made it seem worth the risk. Preventing Ad miral Larive from initiating a meeting with her would be more difficult. As he was thinking through how he would ap proach the admiral, his phone rang. It was Figgy.

"Somebody just tried to kill Sam and got his girlfriend instead."

"Why in the hell are we talking on an open line?"

"Because I don't give a shit, and besides, nobody is listening and it wouldn't matter to me if they were."

"There is actually a Sam?"

"I said cut the shit," Figgy barked.

"Who did it? Gaudet?"

"I was worried it might be you or your boss."

"No way. Get it straight. We want Sam to lead us to Chaperone. If someone is trying to kill him, it's no doubt Gaudet and we don't have a clue to his whereabouts."

"You're sure."

"I'm certain. Keep your eye on the ball. There is a lot of money to be made."

Baptiste hung up. Now was the time to meet Gaudet. He would need an alibi-a way of legitimizing the meeting if someone found out. He went to the admiral.

David Dun

Unacceptable Risk

The man was smoking one of his cigars and that normally meant he was in a good mood. It was rare of the admiral to have a cigar in his office. The room was large, with a desk at one end and a more informal conference area at the other, and the office permitted a great deal of pacing on the admiral's part.

"I have a tip that Gaudet wants to talk," he began.

The chief puffed extra hard on his cigar and Baptiste could see a brightness in the eyes.

"How do you talk with Gaudet in the future?" the admiral questioned.

"I dial a cell phone number."

"Do you have it all down in the file?"

"Oh yes."

"What kind of a deal could the French government make with a man like Gaudet?"

"Offer to buy Chaperone," Baptiste answered.

"Yes, except I thought he doesn't have it."

"But he's a dog in the hunt with a lot of inside information."

"We haven't found Raval?"

"Not yet."

"And Sam?"

"Figgy says not yet."

"Sam brought down Grace Technologies so I know his or ganization is effective. What are they doing, then? That's what I'm getting at."

"Trying to catch Gaudet."

"We all claim to be trying to stop Gaudet. Where is Sam now?" the admiral inquired.

"New York. Michael Bowden is there too, Figgy says."

"We all need Bowden, that's sure. It alone is enough reason to go there. Now, how do you get Bowden on our side? Never mind. I don't need to know. You just need to do it. And get Chaperone. I have been told that France must win this race in the strongest possible terms. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir," Baptiste said. "There is one more thing."

"Yes?"

"I don't want you to think I'm crazy, but I believe we should consider temporarily releasing Benoit Moreau to assist us."

"You're right, I think you're crazy. Why?"

Baptiste explained Benoit's plan for getting the technology for France in exchange for a pardon-Bowden's knowl edge of the source of the molecule, Gaudet's knowledge of the vector technology, and Raval's knowledge of the Chaperone immune system process.

"You actually think she could do all that?"

"It doesn't hurt us to let her try. The only risk is that she will escape."

"It'll be your risk, then. If you believe in her, I'll go with a temporary release on your say-so. Submit a memo arguing strongly for her temporary release in the best interest of the Republic and I will take it to the minister."

Benoit Moreau walked out of the government lab that day. Pulling a good travel bag on wheels behind her, she caught a cab for Charles de Gaulle International Airport.

Grady and Michael left the car off campus on the street after having looked for fifteen minutes for a place to park. It had taken them a couple days to recoup from Anna's tragedy and for Grady to become functional. They had remained in New York until the third evening getting ready and making one last somber visit to Anna's bedside.

Dressed like students, they carried backpacks loaded with volumes of an old encyclopedia they'd borrowed from the bed-and-breakfast. Traversing the Eddy Dam footbridge, they wound up past a tennis building to Hoy Road, until they finally found their way to Tower Road and Corson Hall, a bi ological sciences building at Cornell University. Michael wore a stocking cap and Grady an old fur-lined leather cap from the Salvation Army. Unless one knew exactly what he was looking for, it would be tough to spot them. Because the Kevlar under their parkas made their bodies appear some what full, a trained eye would note the possibility of body armor. Now that she was on her own, Grady wasn't as anx ious to argue about the Kevlar. They had traveled in the night then took a hotel room and napped, without incident and without any hormone jokes. Both of them were serious and aware of the risks.

Yodo and the bodyguards were staying completely out of sight, back at the bed-and-breakfast, leaving the impression that the entire group, including their charges, had planned a couple of days indoors.

It was cold and looking like snow. Walking across cam pus, thinking about her aunt, wishing she could be at her side, Grady began to think about her own life, and to fanta size about actually living in a place filled with biology, math, poetry, weighty with thoughts but light on earthly responsibility. For a moment she wondered: was such an idyllic life really that appealing? If she wanted it, she could have it, her aunt would give it to her in a second, and so would Sam, for that matter. It was she who had maneuvered herself out of her classes and into the Amazon and then to New York, and now she was here with a pistol in her purse and no bodyguards.

Looking around with studied casualness, she tried to spot someone that didn't look like a student-maybe a forty- year-old with some flesh on his bones and a mug portraying the cold solitude of a professional criminal. It was a notion from the movies. Sam had explained that some of the deadliest killers were nondescript, never standouts. If Gaudet had any professional killers trailing them, they wouldn't be easy to spot.

Corson Hall was a mostly brick three-story building of nondescript modern architecture. Dr. Lyman's offices were on the second floor. They went in a small side door, feeling safer than if they had charged through one of the main entrances, where she imagined that Gaudet might have someone posted. The faculty offices were typical, modest, with personalized memorabilia according to the tastes of the oc cupant. As they looked from the doorway, they saw two men in bulked-up suits in chairs in the hallway. One read a paper, the other a book, but they both looked up the moment the quiet electronic chime went off-obviously triggered by opening the door. Grady suddenly knew why it had been so effortless to talk Sam into this mission. She felt both mildly pissed and quietly reassured. Sam wasn't really prepared to let her die yet. As they approached the office of Dr. Lyman, they noticed an open door to an office across the way. In it was a third man, no doubt with a Howitzer in his coat.

At the appointed hour of 11:00 a.m. Michael and Grady approached Dr. Lyman's partially opened door and pushed it a little farther to find a rugged-looking, trim man, fiftyish or so, and quite handsome. He sported a mustache that was well trimmed and Grady noticed a wall filled with pictures of this man with various graduate students and natives in a jungle setting. A field biologist, apparently.

"Pretty heady stuff sitting around with my own private army. They go everywhere with me except inside the classroom and the bathroom. My wife gave them milk and cookies last night. Different group, though, on nights. Michael, how are you?"