Michael Palmer - Extreme Measures

Bubbling crimson rivulets trickled from each ear.

Laura battled an intense dizziness and nausea as people rushed at her from all directions. it was then that she realized the man lying there-the man who had called her by name before givine up his life for hers-was wearing a tan windbreaker" Lie down." 'INTO, leave her be."

"Are — you all right?"

"Did anyone call an ambulance?"

"Shit, look at this guy."

"Did anyone get a license number?"

"Look, man, I know dead, and this guy is dead."

"Don't move, dear. Everything's going to be all right."

"Hey, look, man, this guy's packin'. See, he's got a piece in his waistband."

"I'm all right," Laura heard herself say. "Please help him if you can.

I'm all right. I'm fine."

"Lady, no one's gonna help that dude except a priest." Laura glanced over at the gun in the dead man's belt, and knew that it was he who had fought off the attackers on the East Boston docks. Over the protests of several people, she forced herself to her feet. Gingerly, she tested her arms and legs.

"Please, leave me alone. just leave me alone," she begged.

She knelt by the man's body, and after finding no pulse, checked his jeans for a wallet. The thin billfold she withdrew from his right front pocket identified him as Roger Ansefl of Ocala, Florida. Laura knew the identification was false. She studied his pallid face.

"You knew Scott ' didn't you?" she whispered.

"You've been trying to help me find him all along."

Gently she reached up and closed his eyes. In the distance she could hear the wailing of sirens. She stood and walked slowly through the crowd, which was now a circle at least ten deep. Far down the street she could see the flashing lights of an approaching patrol car.

The last thing she wanted was any kind of publicity. Unobtrusively, she worked her way around the mob; no one seemed to realize that she was the one involved in the accident. Then she slipped away down a side street, through an alley, and hailed a cab.

She ordered the cabbie just to drive, and leaned back in the seat, trying desperately to sort out what had happened and why. She wanted so to believe that the hit-and-run driver was some sort of madman, someone insane on alcohol or pills. But no amount of reasoning could convince her of that. Someone wanted her dead-someone who had been following her at the same time as had Roger Ansell. Surely whoever it was-knew where she was staying. Did they know about Eric as well?

She stopped at a phone and once again called White Memorial. This time she was told that Eric had signed out and could not be reached for the rest of the day. She had the cabbie drive for another twenty-five minutes, then ordered him back down Harrison Avenue. A patrol car, parked on one corner near the accident scene, suggested there was still perhaps some questioning going on. But otherwise the street seemed as normal to her as the horrible events that had occurred there seemed dreamlike.

After considering and then rejecting sevibral possibilities, Laura paid the driver off on Boylston Street and mounted the grimy stairs to Bernard Nelson's office. Thirty minutes later she was seated beside the detective in his Volvo wagon, on the way to his South Shore home.

Nelson chewed on his cigar stub as she brought him day by day through her stay in Boston.

"You've come far, child," Nelson said, "and in a very short time.

I don't impress easily, but you have impressed me. Say, listen, I've been considering taking on an apprentice. Perhaps you'd be interested in applying for the position?"

"I'll consider it," Laura said, uncertain 'of the seriousness of the offer.

"So," Nelson said, "what do you want to do about all this?"

"I'm not sure. I don't see that there's much to be gained from going back to Captain Wheeler."

"Neither do I. At least there's no big rush.

"I guess it's worth calling that man Harten in Virginia."

"Maybe. But I wouldn't expect him to admit anything. That's the way those people operate. My guess is he's the one responsible for sending that note to you. I would bet he was using you as bait to flush out whoever had killed your brother, The man who died back there was probably assigned, to make sure you weren't hurt."

"That's terrible."

Expediency is the name of their gain specially when one of their people is missing or dead."

"So what's left?"

"Well, I don't know about you, but I certainly find this Devine character intriguing. I'd like a chance to visit his establishment."

"what makes you think he'd talk to you?"

"Who said anything about talking to him?"

"You mean break in?"

"Hey, easy with those terms. We call it searching for the truth."

He nodded modestly. "It's sort of my specialty."

"May I come?"

"I'd prefer you didn't. But considering that you might sign on as my apprentice, I suppose I could work you in."

"When?"

"As soon as I'm certain he's not home. Maggie will clean up those scrapes of yours and fatten you up with some of her lasagna. Then, after dinner, we'll give Devine a call. If necessary, we'll send him off to pick up a body somewhere in the suburbs."

"Your usual fee?"

"Actually," Nelson said, swinging off Route 3 onto the exit ramp,

"searching for the truth runs a bit higher.

Haven Darden's office and laboratory filled most of the fifth floor of the Proctor Research Building. Eric found the medical chief hunched over a microscope. A white-coated technician was at work nearby, but otherwise the huge space was deserted.

Darden glanced up at him, nodded a greeting, and then returned his attention to the scope.

"This is pig work," he said. "I could train a high schooler to do it… unfortunately, I couldn't pay him. So he.-e I sit."

"Money's tight."

"I should say." Darden made a few final notes and then pushed himself away. "So, it would appear that Dr. Marshall has placed himself into some sort of treatment facility, and out of the running for the E.R. position. I would say things look very good for you."

"I'm not counting on anything. I have reason to believe that certain people in this hospital will do whatever they must, to see that I'm out of this place as quickly as possible."

"Would you like to expand on that?"

"Soon. Soon I would very much like to do just that. But right now I have more pressing matters on my mind."

"Such as?"

"Such as getting Reed Marshall well and back at his job."

"You mean that?"

"I do."

"Well, from what I understand, Dr. Marshall has made one hell of an error."

"I'm not so sure."

"Explain."

Eric leaned against the slate edge of the laboratory bench.

"Dr. Darden, I've come up here because I was hoping you might be able to tell me something about tetrodotoxin.

" Darden's dark eyes smiled. "So, it's zombies you're after, is it?" he said.

Eric set the E.K.Gs on the counter.

"This one is from the woman Reed pronounced dead, and this is from a man I pronounced dead in February."

"I assume he did not subsequently awaken?"

"Actually, I can't tell you for sure. His body's disappeared."

"Excuse me?"

"I've been able to trace the man's body to a 'funeral home near here, but I have reason to believe the mortician is into some sort of diversion of bodies."

"Fascinating," Darden said. He folded his notebook. "So, would you like to discuss this rogue mortician, or would you like to accompany me to my office for a crash course in voodoo?"

"I'll take the lesson for now," Eric said, "but I hope I can discuss this other business with you soon."

"Of course you may. I'm a bit cramped for time right now, so I shall have to give you a pared-down course.

"That's fine."

"But let me say in advance that what you shall learn is not what you want to hear."