Michael Palmer - Fatal

"No. Go on."

"Well, two cases were brought to me for autopsy a couple of weeks apart. One had killed herself, the other had been shot in a bar fight. I recognized the names from our initial field trials and began to suspect that was the connection. Then you got involved with that miner, Rideout, and I was certain. Lasaject was too close to being included in the supervaccine to allow anyone to stumble on the connection, so I simply had to identify those unfortunates who had the side effect and send the late Mr. Grimes and his people to deal with them. I assume he is late."

"Actually, he's very much alive and talking to the state police right now."

"Nephew, nephew, you never were a very good liar. And Mr. Sutcher?"

"Well, let's just say things got a little rocky for him."

Matt glanced over at Ellen.

"Ah," said Hal, "the redoubtable Mrs. Kroft, yes?"

"A lot of people are dead because of you," Ellen said icily.

"Life can be very hard sometimes."

"Jesus, Hal, who in the hell are you?"

"Just a guy trying to make ends meet. You want to come in for some tea? Of course, I don't allow shotguns in the house. Or better still, why don't you all just leave."

"Hal, we're not going anyplace until you're tied up and waiting for the state police."

"Well, I simply can't permit that," Hall said, with disturbing, singsong confidence. "So I suppose I'm going to have to dispose of you all, beginning with your friend who insists on pointing that gun at me. You're a Slocumb, I presume?"

"Ah surely am," Lyle said proudly.

The words were barely past his lips when a shot exploded from where Hal's car was parked, driving Lyle backward into the fender of the truck, clutching his belly. He managed a single, wild shot before he dropped the shotgun, stumbled, and fell heavily on his side.

Standing by the garage, smirking, was Larry, the massive killer Matt was supposed to have murdered, then incinerated.

Matt was just turning to help Lyle when Larry shot the man again, this time in the chest. Lyle, who had been up on one elbow, slumped back onto the gravel and was still. Comfortable with his handiwork, the killer turned the gun on Matt.

"I've been waiting for this chance," he said. "You'll never know how much I've been waiting."

Matt felt his heart stop as he saw the man's sausagelike finger tighten on the trigger.

"No!" he cried.

"Larry, wait!" Hal ordered. "I'll tell you when."

Matt felt his knees about to buckle, but beside him, Ellen stood her ground defiantly and even put her arm through his.

"Killing us won't solve any of your problems," she said to Hal. "Too many people know."

"Would you care to give me a list of them, Mrs. Kroft? I didn't think so. But please, don't worry. I can take care of myself. Matthew, I'm sorry about this, really I am. You know I care for you a great deal. Always have. But this is business, and you have become a definite liability. As you see, my man Larry, here, is very much alive. Believe it or not, I conjured up that murder-incineration story on the spot, with you hanging on the other end of the line and Dr. Solari about to visit the FBI. Brilliant, don't you think?"

"You're sick," Matt said.

"Now, Larry, here, is very anxious to shoot you, but I am a sporting man, as well as one who doesn't want bodies with bullet holes floating around in the lake. That wouldn't appear very accidental. So, I am perfectly willing to have you and Mrs. Kroft step over that fence" — he indicated the split-rail fencing that paralleled the side of the drive — "and step off the edge. Who knows, maybe you'll miss the rocks."

"Give it up, Hal," Matt said, regaining a modicum of composure. "There're way too many loose ends that are all tied to you. You know, you can still come off looking like a hero in this business by telling the police you are blowing the whistle on Lasaject in order to save all those unborn children from spongiform encephalopathy."

At that moment, out of the corner of his eye, Matt saw movement from the direction of the truck. Lyle!

"The bullet or the drop, Matthew?" Hal was asking. "Your choice."

Frantic to stall and keep Hal's and Larry's attention fixed on him, Matt rejected the notion of some sort of outburst in favor of pandering to Hal's ego.

"Hal, tell me one thing," he said, "that was you who slipped that note about the toxic dump under my door, wasn't it?"

Hal sighed and nodded with exaggerated modesty.

"If you really must know, yes. I am aware of pretty much everything that goes on around here, and I knew about that unusual — um — storage facility almost as soon as it was established. I sent the note to you figuring that as long as you were chasing after your vendetta against the mine, you were no threat to my interests. Brilliant, no?"

Lyle had moved under the open door of the truck and was pulling himself inside. Matt took a step toward his uncle. Larry moved forward to intervene, his pistol ready.

"Oh, give me a break," Matt cried, raising his voice angrily. "You're not nearly as brilliant as you think. You've made one miscalculation after another." He laughed loudly. "Man, you must have swallowed your gum when Nikki Solari arrived in town. That's where you and Grimes blew it. You should have just let her go back to Boston. You got worried that if somehow word got to me about Kathy Wilson, there was every chance I'd start looking for explanations other than the mine, and figure out the truth. So you went after her. That was a mistake, Hal. A big mistake."

More movement. Somehow Lyle had found the strength to drag himself inside the cab.

"Big words for someone in your position," Hal said, no longer cheery, "but words for which I have no patience. Now make your choice. Larry, if they don't choose the drop, I want Mrs. Kroft shot first, please." He pointed to a spot just above his own ear. "Right here from two feet."

"You killed all those people for money?" Matt asked stridently, wondering if Lyle was lying dead on the seat of the Ford.

His uncle's smile was coldly patronizing.

"Not for money, nephew," he said. "For a great deal of money. I have owned more than forty percent of Columbia Pharmaceuticals for years and I was running out of funds to continue losing on the accursed company. Can you imagine what it's like being my age with my tastes and no money? With what we're being paid per dose of Lasaject, my financial concerns are about to be over. That's over with a capital 'O.' Now, sir, I have things to do. You have not behaved at all like a respectful godson, and so, from this moment, you have ten seconds to choose your punishment… nine."

"Hal, no, please!" Matt screamed at the moment the truck's engine rumbled to life. "Stop!"

Larry and Hal whirled toward the noise. Lyle, his eyes virtually closed, the bridge of his nose resting on the steering wheel, threw the Ford into first, floored the accelerator, and popped the clutch. Spewing gravel, the truck shot ahead, straight at Larry. Mouth agape, the massive gunman fired off three shots. The Ford's windshield shattered, and it looked to Matt as if at least one of the bullets had hit Lyle in the forehead. But nothing short of a cement wall was going to stop the truck now. The front bumper caught Larry at the knees. His gun spun to the ground as he was lifted up onto the hood, his moon face not two feet from Lyle, who looked to Matt to be unconscious or dead. Still, Lyle's foot held the gas. The Ford shattered the rail fence, sped through ten feet of shrubbery, and hurtled off the edge of the precipice like a hang glider taking flight. Then, in what seemed like slow motion, the nose of the truck tilted downward, spilling Larry into the void before disappearing. Moments later there was a loud explosion from the rocks below.

By the time Hal Sawyer turned back from the scene, his godson was standing there calmly, with Larry's gun leveled at him.