Michael Palmer - Fatal

"No! Absolutely not! We've got a baby sleeping in here. Now go away, please. No more interviews."

Don Cleary slammed the door shut and stalked back into his apartment, cursing the locked downstairs door and buzz-in security system, neither of which had been functional for a year or more. Damn, but it was going to be good to get out of the projects once and for all, he thought.

"More reporters?" Sherrie asked sleepily, from her spot on the sofa.

"They're crammed on the stairway like rabbits, and there're camera crews on the walk outside."

He, Sherrie, her mother, and some friends had watched the Omnivax television program after being told about it by a woman named Tricia from Lynette Marquand's office. As the woman promised, in order to protect their privacy for the moment, their names weren't broadcast on the air. Of course, after the actual injection was given, things were going to change. That, they could count on. Mrs. Marquand, Tricia said, would be happy to provide them with a publicity person who would help them after the injection to deal with the press and also to benefit financially in any way possible — and there were bound to be a number of offers.

Then, just an hour or so after the program ended, the phone had started ringing. No one who called seemed to know exactly how they had gotten the Clearys' phone number or Donelle's name. At first, he and Sherrie had been excited. They gave a taped interview to a reporter from one of the Washington television stations and allowed a photographer from the Post to come in and take a photo of them with the baby. After that, as the media crush intensified, they began saying no. Now they were getting angry.

In her cradle by the sofa, Donelle began crying.

"Damn, I woke her up," Don said. "I'm sorry, honey."

He hurried to the cradle, lifted the precious bundle in his arms, and sat down next to his wife. The baby's bleating stopped immediately. Her dark eyes opened widely and seemed to fix on his face.

"Is she lookin' at you?" Sherrie asked. "What a flirt."

"Yeah, just like her mother."

"You get out! Donny, look, isn't she perfect?"

"Yeah."

"What do you think she'll be? A dancer? Or… or a doctor? Or maybe a famous athlete?"

"I don't know and I don't care," Don said. "The truth is, there's only one thing I want her to be."

"What's that?"

"Healthy."

Over in the corner, the phone started ringing again.

It was just ten-thirty when Fred Carabetta arrived at Hal's place — a rustic but expansive lodge with half a dozen bedrooms, three fieldstone fireplaces, and a boathouse, built atop a high ledge over a pristine, five-mile-long lake. Matt and Nikki watched through the kitchen window as he maneuvered his considerable bulk out of what appeared to be a Cadillac of some sort.

"Carabetta's here," Matt called out. "It's going to be a tight squeeze in some of those tunnels, but I think he'll make it."

Hal came in from the kitchen, a camera case looped over one arm and a shotgun nestled in the crook of the other. He was dressed for their expedition in black, as Matt had suggested, and was clearly keyed up. But if he was the least bit frightened or tense, he hid it well. Knowing his uncle's sense of adventure, Matt wasn't at all surprised.

"And Freddy makes four," Hal said cheerily. "Our security man should be along soon. With whatever weapon he's bringing, plus old Hawk-Eye here, plus the handgun you have, we should at least be better prepared than you were when you and Lewis Slocumb waltzed in unarmed."

"Believe me, I am much more competent at running than shooting anyway. Hopefully, though, nothing's going to happen. It was just a fluke that the guards happened to be making their rounds when they did. They waltzed into the cave with no idea we were there. We'll just stay alert tonight. There isn't going to be any trouble."

"I expect not," Hal said. "You feel pretty sure you can get us in

there?"

"I was paying really close attention on the way in. You'll have to trust me on that. After what happened to Lewis, I just don't feel right involving the Slocumbs again, even though I think one of the other brothers would come if I asked. They've done enough. It's really a miracle Lewis is still alive." If he is still alive.

Carabetta knocked on the front door and was let in. He looked slightly ridiculous in a black pullover and watch cap, but he did have a rather sophisticated Pentax slung over his shoulder, as well as a narrow leather case that Matt suspected contained sampling gear. From the moment the OSHA official stepped through the door, he looked uncomfortable.

"Greetings, Freddy," Hal said. "Are you ready to become Numero Uno at that agency of yours?"

"I'm not certain this is such a good idea," Carabetta said. "What's the gun for?"

"We want to be prepared for any situation," Hal explained. "I don't expect any problems. But if there are, at least we'll be able to negotiate from strength."

"That shotgun is strength?"

"Actually, we have another man coming with us — a professional protector, if you will. Believe me, Fred, there's nothing to worry

about."

"Go in, observe, maybe bottle some samples of the material, and get out. That's all we want from you," Matt said.

"I… I need to talk to you, Hal — in private," Carabetta said.

"Talk to me," Matt said firmly, sensing he knew now what the man was about. "This is my project. Come on, let's go someplace quiet."

"The master suite is fine," Hal said.

Heidi, Hal's significant other, was off visiting her mother for a week. Matt led Carabetta to the expansive suite, which featured a lush sitting area, a beamed cathedral ceiling, and a panoramic window overlooking the lake. He could see Carabetta staring into the master bath, which included a rock wall waterfall that cascaded into a large hot tub. The kids' college tuitions I never had to spend was the way Hal explained the spectacular bedroom. Matt could read Carabetta's thoughts.

More.

"Okay," he said, "what's the deal?"

Carabetta pulled himself up straight and met Matt's gaze defiantly.

"The deal is, this whole affair is way more complicated than I was originally led to believe. And now there are guns and… and bodyguards, and security people who may or may not show up while we're there."

"And?"

"And I don't think what I'm being paid is worth the risk."

Matt suppressed an explosion. Without Carabetta, they really had nothing.

"How much?" he asked.

Carabetta again peered through the bathroom door.

"Another five thousand," he said quickly.

Matt had not been told specifically what the original deal with Hal was, but something his uncle said had him thinking it was around fifteen. Now Carabetta wanted five more. Twenty thousand — not a bad night's work. Matt flashed on his own anemic bank account, which could handle a five-thousand-dollar ding, but only just. Then he flashed on Armand Stevenson, and Elaine LeBlanc, and Don't-Call-Me-Bob Crook, and the security men who had rousted him from the mine offices and then attempted to eliminate the Slocumbs, and finally, on Bill Grimes.

"Five thousand and not another penny after that," he said.

"I expect to be paid first thing tomorrow. No money, no action from me regardless of what we find tonight," Carabetta countered.

You are really a credit to your profession, Matt wanted to say. "You'll get your money," he said instead.

They returned to the living room where, with a minute nod, Matt indicated to Hal that the deal was done. He then motioned Nikki into the privacy of the hallway, where he held her for a time, then kissed her lightly on the mouth.

"Thanks," she said. "I was just thinking that it's been too long. So, how much did Carabetta try and gouge you for?"