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«Myself,» Richard whispered. He thought, And yet not myself. The Ngaa!
Richard cupped his hands around his mouth as he ran and shouted, «Zoe! Zoe! Stop!»
She stopped, turned to look back over her shoulder. Her eyes widened.
«Zoe!» Richard called. «Don't go with him!»
She looked first at Richard, then at the man beside her, confused.
The man turned, smiling with Richard Blade's face, smiling triumphantly. His hand shot out and grasped Zoe by the wrist. She screamed and tried to pull away.
Desperately Richard put on a burst of speed.
He had almost reached them when, with a sharp bang like a pistol shot, they vanished.
Howling, anguished, Richard hurled himself full-length on the pavement where they'd been standing, clutching at the coarse weeds that thrust themselves up through the cracks.
The weeds were black and crumbly, as if they'd been burned, and the surface of the stone in that one area was so hot it hurt his fingers.
In the air he could smell, faintly but distinctly, the acrid stench of ozone.
Chapter 11
The three men sat in Dr. Colby's office. The room was no longer dim, as it was during therapeutic sessions, but flooded with morning sunlight. Richard sat on the couch, Dr. Colby nearby in his usual chair, and J behind the heavy darkstained desk.
Richard said, «What do you intend to do now, sir?» The question was addressed to J.
J sighed. «For the moment, nothing.»
Richard stood up to face him angrily. «Nothing?»
«Calm down, Richard,» the old man said soothingly. «We have our men combing the neighborhood, of course, but…»
«Your men? Is that all?» Richard advanced toward the desk. «What about the local authorities? The police? The FBI?»
«It's best we keep this to ourselves,» J said tonelessly. «Some word of it might get back to the Prime Minister…»
Richard's fist crashed down on the desk, leaving a crack in the veneer. «What are you saying, J? That you're pla
J templed his fingers. «That is essentially correct. You understand…»
Richard broke in, «Yes, I understand. Any sort of bad news might influence the Prime Minister to shut down the project.»
«Quite so,» J admitted.
A new thought flashed into Richard's mind. «Or is there more to it? J, have you told the PM about the Ngaa?»
«Well, as a matter of fact, no.» At last J's voice betrayed a hint of embarrassment.
Blade was angry. «I don't like this, J. I don't like it one damn bit.»
«I didn't expect you to like it, Richard. I did, however, expect you to listen to reason.» J looked up with troubled eyes at the giant looming over him. «Would it help, really, to broadcast our little problems all over the world? Think, my boy, think! Would all the police we could possibly summon find your Zoe if the Ngaa chose to keep her hidden?»
«Perhaps not.» Richard's broad shoulders slumped.
J leaned forward. «Dr. Colby and I believe the Ngaa and Zoe are somewhere in the neighborhood. Isn't that right, doctor?»
Colby agreed quickly, «Yes, sir. It is Richard the Ngaa is trying to influence. The Ngaa will stay close to Richard, and keep Mrs. Smythe-Evans with it.»
«Let me look for her,» said Blade. «Set me free and let me look for her.»
«That I ca
Richard thought, We shall see about that.
«And not a word to them about the Ngaa,» J added. «Is that understood?»
«Yes, sir,» Richard responded.
J studied his face suspiciously. «You worry me more when you say yes than when you say no. You must realize that if we lose Zoe-and I don't think we will-she is one of us now. She's a soldier, like you and I, and expendable.»
«Expendable. Yes, sir.»
«So you will obey my orders?»
«To the letter, sir.»
«I hope you won't take this personally, but I'm going to lock you in your room until the examiners arrive. A routine precaution, since you've given me your word…»
«Of course, sir. If I were in your place, I wouldn't believe me either.»
Dr. Colby stifled a nervous laugh.
London and Berkeley have one thing in common: fog.
Berkeley's normal pattern was summer fog and winter rain, but the drought had made nonsense of normality and turned meteorology from a science into a gamble. The fog came now almost every night, though the season was all wrong for it, and instead of drifting in from the sea, it built up on cold windless evenings over the inland marshes east of the Berkeley hills, finally, in the frigid hours before dawn, spilling through the gaps in the coastal range to cascade in silent gray cataracts down upon the sleeping city and out toward the Golden Gate.
Richard lay on his bed, fully dressed and wide awake, watching the fog outside his window.
And snoring.
The snoring was for the benefit of J and whoever might be listening on the headphones down the hall. Was the fog thick enough yet? Yes. Soon it would start to thin again as the first rays of the morning sun burned it off.
The time to move was now.
Still snoring lustily, Richard rolled carefully out of bed and, on stocking feet, tiptoed to the door. He stopped snoring a second to listen, then proceeded to remove the hingepins from the hinges, first the top hinges, then the bottom.
He returned to his bed and picked up his pillowcase, from which the pillow had been removed. He put his te
Then he stopped snoring and waited.
Nothing happened.
He got up and once again padded noiselessly to the door. From his pocket he took a short length of wire he had earlier removed from the lightcord of his bedlamp. The wire was thin, no more than a few strands he had carefully separated from the rest, but he was sure it would be strong enough for his purposes.
He looped it around the door hinge and gently opened the door on the hinge side. The room, fortunately for him, had never been intended to hold a determined escapee. Colby had not bothered to change the hinges he had inherited from the ballet school that had been the building's previous tenant.
Richard squeezed through into the dimly lit hallway, then, pulling on the wire, drew the door back into its frame so that from the outside there was no way to tell the hingepins had been removed. Smiling, he pulled out the wire and pocketed it.
Still in stocking feet he moved swiftly to the door of the room where the tranquilizer pistols were kept. The combination padlock was no serious problem, though he missed the faint, almost imperceptible clicks of the falling tumblers the first time he tried, and had to spin the dial and start over. The second time it opened easily.
He entered the closet and found the pistols, six of them. With his bare hands he bent the barrel of each weapon slightly, enough to keep it from firing accurately, except for the sixth, which he left intact and dropped into his sack, along with several boxes of tranquilizer darts. If these darts are intended for me, he thought, they'll be powerful, powerful enough to knock a man unconscious.
Remembering that the guard would soon be coming to check his room, Richard left the closet and locked it quickly, then descended the back stairs into the pitch-dark kitchen. Guided mainly by memory he threaded his way through the stoves, tables and shelves to the pantry, where, again by memory (for he had watched everything that was happening even before he had begun to speak), he found the burglar alarm and shut it off.