Michael Palmer - Fatal

What do you think, Howie? Expect to see your new bride on a magazine cover anytime soon? Barmaid Monthly?

Ellen set her groceries on the front seat, chastising herself for her pettiness. Most of the time she managed to keep her anger and hurt in decent check. It didn't feel good at all when she had a slip. The supervaccine was too much, too fast. She thought of the horrible arithmetic Steinman had presented to her: lives lost or ruined if she voted for the drug versus lives lost or ruined if she voted against it. Based on the current level of knowledge of vaccines, it was really no contest. But that was precisely the main point for which Cheri and Sally and the others were crusading — an increase in our level of knowledge.

Ellen pulled into the garage and brought her bundle in through the kitchen door. Despite the unpleasant association with Howard, she really did love the place, from her window herb-garden, to the huge oak in the backyard, to the pesky squirrels, to the small balcony off her bedroom where she often sat and watched the first sunlight of the day filter through the trees. It was really a very lovely -

Ellen set down her package and sniffed the air. Had someone been smoking in the house? One of Howard's pet peeves with her was her overdeveloped sense of smell, and one of her pet peeves was cigarette smoke in any form. Still sniffing curiously, she walked down the short hallway to the living room. Then she cried out and stumbled backward, clutching her chest to keep her heart from exploding.

Sitting calmly in the easy chair next to the fireplace was a large, powerfully built man. He was dressed expensively in a gray suit and black shirt — open collar, no tie — and ornately stitched cowboy boots. His head, square as a block of granite, was topped by thick, jet-black hair, combed straight back and held in place with some product that glistened. His hard, narrow eyes looked as black as his hair, and his wide mouth was accentuated by a short, thick scar that ran from the center of his upper lip to the base of his nose — possibly the result of surgery to repair a harelip.

"Golly, I'm sorry to have startled you, Mrs. Kroft," he said, with a pleasant, gravelly voice and the cheerful, easygoing manner of a used-car salesman. "Please have a seat, have a seat."

Ellen remained fixed where she was. There was no evidence the huge intruder had smoked in her house, yet the reek of cigarettes was definitely coming from him. She debated running, but in truth, she didn't have the sense that she was in any immediate danger. The man had already gotten into her home. If he had wanted to harm her, he wouldn't have been waiting placidly in her living room.

"Who are you? What do you want?" she demanded.

The man smiled patiently.

"Who I am doesn't matter. What I want at the moment is for you to sit down… over here." He motioned to the sofa next to his chair.

Ellen hesitated, then took a breath and did as he demanded. At close range, his eyes were more than dark, they were frighteningly cold. His thick, heavy-knuckled fingers rested in his lap, curled around a large manila envelope. The little finger of his left hand bore a gold ring with a square-cut diamond that must have been three carats or more.

"Now," Ellen said, "what are you doing here?"

"I represent a group that is very interested in getting Omnivax into circulation as soon as possible. That is all you need to know."

"So? What has that got to do with me?"

His expression tightened. Ellen thought she saw a brief tic at the corner of his mouth. Still, he managed a patronizing grin.

"Mrs. Kroft," he said, his tone still chillingly calm, "I have neither the time nor the patience for games. Both you and I know the significance of the unfortunate promise Lynette Marquand made to the world."

"And?"

"And I have it on good authority that you are the only person who might force her to honor that pledge."

"Who do you work for? The President? The drug people? Who?"

The huge man sighed impatiently and ignored the questions.

"Mrs. Kroft, I am going to have to insist on your word not to block the planned release of Omnivax."

"What do you have in that envelope," she asked, "bribe money?"

"Oh, I have no intention of trying to bribe you, Mrs. Kroft."

There was something chilling in the way he said the words. He passed over the envelope. Ellen opened it, removed the photographs it contained, and gasped. Inside were half a dozen sharp, professional quality black-and-white eight-by-ten snapshots of Lucy. Lucy heading into school, hand in hand with Gayle; in the playground; at home in the yard; even asleep in her bedroom.

"You wouldn't dare harm this child," Ellen rasped.

The man simply looked across at her placidly. She wanted to leap up and claw the smugness off his face.

"I will do whatever it is I have to do," he replied firmly. "Look at me and don't doubt me for a second. If you do, you and you alone will be responsible for the consequences. The people I work for have given this matter utmost priority. If you disappoint us in any way, I promise you that your granddaughter will simply disappear… forever. What happens to her after she vanishes you don't even want to speculate about. And, depending on how angry my employers are, that may well only be the beginning."

Her anger muted by the sheer arrogance of the monster next to her, Ellen could only glare at him.

"Do I make myself clear?" he asked. "Do I?" For the first time, he raised his voice.

"Y-yes," Ellen managed.

"You can go to the police if you want, but I promise you two things. Number one, we will find out, and number two, they will be able to do nothing to prevent what I have promised you will happen. Clear?"

"Yes."

"Good. We have an understanding, then?"

"Yes," she said again, now perilously close to tears.

"Wonderful," the man said, standing.

Stretched upward his full length, with his broad shoulders and massive head, the killer was daunting. As calmly as he might pick up the morning paper, he leaned down and retrieved the envelope and photographs. The cigarette stench of him at such close range had Ellen close to vomiting. He then took a cell phone from his pocket, flipped it open, and dialed a number with one button push.

"We're all set," he said simply.

Seconds later a car pulled up outside.

"I thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Kroft," he said. "And your family, I am sure, thanks you for your levelheaded decision making. There's no need to show me out."

He closed the drapes to the picture window and, with a final grin, left. Ellen raced to the window, and stuck her head between the drapes, hoping to pick up the license plate number. But the car, a nondescript sedan, was already rolling off down the street.

Matt seldom awoke remembering a dream and even less often was aware he was dreaming while one was still in progress. But this time, at some level of his mind he did know. He was at once a participant and observer, legitimately terrified, yet strangely detached and analytical.

It was a huge Gila monster, orange scales glinting in patchy sunlight. The venomous lizard, tall as a building, was swaying through a dense forest, its thick tail knocking over trees, its stubby legs crushing everything in its path. Its black tongue snapped out like a whip, shearing the tops off pine trees. Again and again it slammed itself against a rocky hillside, sending boulders hammering down close to where Matt was standing. All at once there were men with guns — indistinct shadows firing continuously, burying shot after shot into the lizard. The Gila reared up on its hind legs, balancing on its tail, searching for the source of its pain. More men… more guns… more shots… more flashes… more bellowing… and now blood, spewing from a hundred wounds along its flank. The massive orange and black head swayed from one side to the other, powerful jaws opening and closing on nothing but air.