Michael Palmer - Fatal

For fifteen minutes, they sat there, Ellen's tears dampening her granddaughter's hair. The children had all raced off to class. The playground was empty. Lucy, rocking less than usual, stared vaguely off in that direction.

"I love you, baby," Ellen said finally, helping the girl to her feet and back toward the car. "Come on, let's get going. Gayle is waiting for you at school."

At eleven, Ellen was just a few miles from Rudy's cabin. She flipped on the radio and found a static-filled news broadcast just in time to catch the report from Rockville. In the unanimous vote promised by First Lady Lynette Marquand, general use of the Omnivax multivaccine had been approved. In just a few days, she would be present at a Washington, D.C., neighborhood health center as Secretary of Health and Human Services Dr. Lara Bolton administered the first injection of the drug. After that, inoculation with Omnivax would be required for all newborns and eventually for all older children as well.

Let the games begin, Ellen thought bitterly.

She felt anxious but keyed up as well. There really had been no choice for her. She had done what she had to do. If she had plowed forward with a negative vote on Omnivax, and something had happened to Lucy, she would simply have been unable to go on.

There was no mention in the news report that Ellen had abstained from voting. Rather, the focus of what she heard of the report was the political implications of the Marquand administration keeping a pledge made to the American public. Perhaps over the next day or so, she thought, her statement would get some press. Perhaps not. It really didn't matter.

Her hands tightened on the wheel as her mind's eye pictured the arrogant thug sitting so calmly in her living room, reeking of cigarette smoke. The bastard had done his job well. He had convinced her that, if he so wished it, none of her loved ones would be safe, and there really wasn't a damn thing she could do about it. What she hoped he did not know was that he had only won the first round. She had thrown a light jab in the form of her press release, but she felt certain her statement was nothing that would bring reprisals. Now she had to find a way to strike a more substantial blow — ideally a mortal one. In addition to protecting Lucy, by allowing the vote to proceed she had bought the time needed for Rudy Peterson to complete his work.

She cut off the main road onto an unmarked gravel drive that cut through a meadow festooned with wildflowers. Sunlight glinted off the colors. The sound of insects and scent of late summer filled the air. At the end of the drive, nestled in a young wood, was Rudy's rough-hewn cabin. Rudy had been Howard's college roommate and, later, best man at their wedding. He was for many years a biostatistician at the FDA before he was prematurely nudged into retirement by reorganization. But that hardly told the story of the man. Despite his long-term friendship with her husband, Ellen had always thought of Rudy Peterson as the anti-Howard. Where Howard was handsome and dashing, Rudy was introspective, philosophical, and hardly the physical specimen women would chase after. Howard's humor was slapstick and ridicule; Rudy's, droll and subtle, with just a pinch of cynicism. Howard had turned out to be more flash than substance. Rudy continued to be a steady, loyal friend, who had never said a strongly negative word about his former roommate. In fact, he was the only one of their pre-divorce acquaintances who had managed to maintain a relationship with both of them.

Ellen parked behind Rudy's ancient pickup, surveyed the house, then walked around to the back. There was no sense looking for him inside on a day like this. A narrow, well-worn dirt path wound from the small backyard through the woods to Rudy's pond. It was a neat little pond, five acres he had said, fed by mountain streams, and stocked with trout and bass by a company who made a business of doing that. Rudy, in his rowboat, was out there in the middle, gazing up at the hills, pausing now and then for a cast. He was wearing his trademark Tom Sawyer — style straw hat. Even at this distance, Ellen could smell the cherry tobacco from his pipe. According to a well-run study from Scotland, he had told her, one pipeful a day of cherrywood tobacco added 3.2 healthy years of life, whereas two or more pipefuls were responsible for minus 5.

She sat down in the shade on the shore, but it wasn't long before he spotted her and waved.

"Ahoy," he called out. "Be right in."

Ellen watched as he reeled in, shipped his rod, and rowed toward her. As soon as he had been let go by the FDA, Rudy had closed up his apartment in Rockville and moved out to the cabin full-time. Never married, he had a brother and a niece and nephew, some good friends, and passions for carpentry and classical piano, which he played better than most. Still, Ellen always worried that he spent too much time alone, and she made it a point to call once a week or so, and to drive out for an overnight every few months, bearing enough home-cooked food to last a few weeks. Since her appointment to the select commission on Omnivax, the calls and visits to her friend had been more frequent.

Rudy tied up on the trim little dock and then exchanged kisses on the cheek. He had a round, boyish face that looked as if it had yet to feel a razor. The hair on his head was completely gone, save for a silver monk's fringe. Ellen and others felt he bore enough resemblance to actor Gavin MacLeod to call him Captain. He had responded by painting "The Love Boat" on the stern of his skiff.

"Where are the fish?" she asked.

"I throw them back. By this time of the season most of them know me by my first name. They bite on the hook just to come up and visit. Once in a while one of them will mess himself up enough that I'll have to bring him home and make a meal of him."

"It's good to see you."

She put her arm around his shoulders as they walked back to the cabin.

"So," he asked after fixing two cups of tea, "how did the vote go? Did you throw a monkey wrench into their machine?"

Ellen had spoken to him after Lynette Marquand's promise, but not since the visit from the man with the harelip scar.

"I didn't go in for the vote."

Rudy's eyebrows arched just a bit.

"So," he said, "I assume our friendly neighborhood vaccine is now the law of the land."

"Twenty-two to nothing."

"With one abstention."

"With one abstention. The first dose is scheduled to be given in a few days."

"The first of millions."

"Tens of millions, thank you," she corrected glumly.

"It's not ready," he said.

She brightened up.

"You have proof?"

"Not exactly. But as I told you before, we're closing in on something."

"Tell me."

Rudy looked at her kindly, then shook his head.

"You first," he said. "I'm a patient man, but there's a hole the size of Georgia in the middle of this conversation."

"I'm sorry, Rudy. I know how worried you used to get about me after Howard left. I wanted to tell you what caused me to abstain without having you get too upset. I just couldn't figure out how."

"Now, that's what I call one hell of an interest-piquer."

Ellen smiled ironically.

"I suppose it is," she said. "I'm sorry. You know me, the queen of worrying about people worrying. Rudy, the day before yesterday a man broke into my house and was waiting for me when I got home. He was huge and reeked of cigarette smoke, and had a thick scar right here above his lip. He sat there smiling while he produced pictures of Lucy, at school, in the yard, even one in her bedroom, and implied that she would be kidnapped and killed in a horrible way if I cast the vote that sent Omnivax back to the drawing board."

Rudy exhaled, whistling softly. "I'm sad to say I'm not that surprised. This big daddy vaccine means a lot of things and a lot of money to a lot of people. You can describe the bastard?"