Fever Dream

"As I said, it was highly confidential."

"But she was Slade's executive secretary," Pendergast interjected. "Heavily motivated. She'd see everything that went across his desk."

Phillips didn't reply.

"What kind of a relationship did she have with her employer?"

Phillips hesitated. "Slade never discussed that with me."

"But you heard rumors," Pendergast continued. "Was the relationship more than just professional?"

"I couldn't say."

"What kind of a man was Slade?" Hayward asked after a moment.

At first, it appeared as if Phillips wouldn't answer. Then the defiant look on his face softened and he fetched a sigh of resignation. "Charles Slade was an amazing combination of visionary brilliance and extraordinary caring--mingled with unbelievable greed, even cruelty. He seemed to embody both the best and the worst--as many CEOs do. One minute he could be weeping over the bed of a dying boy... the next minute, slashing ten million from the budget and thus orphaning the development of a drug that would have saved thousands."

There was a brief silence.

Pendergast was looking steadily at the lawyer. "Does the name Helen Pendergast or Helen Esterhazy ring a bell?"

The lawyer looked back, not the slightest glimmer of recognition in his eyes. "No. I've never heard either of those names before. At least, not until you showed up at my door, Agent Pendergast."

Pendergast held the door of the Buick open for Hayward. She paused before getting in. "See how smoothly that went?"

"Indeed." He closed the door, walked around the vehicle, and slipped in himself. The irritation she had noted earlier seemed to have disappeared. "And yet I'm rather curious."

"What about?"

"About your representations about me to our friend Phillips. Telling the man I would have threatened him, used his son's criminal record against him. How do you know I wouldn't have handled him as you did?"

Hayward started the car. "I know you. You would've hammered the poor man down to within an inch of his life. I've seen you do it before. Instead of a hammer, I used a carrot."

"Why?"

"Because it works, especially with a man like that. And it'll help me sleep better at night."

"I hope you don't find the beds at Penumbra disagreeable, Captain?"

"Not in the least."

"Good. Personally, I find them most satisfactory." And as he turned his face forward, Hayward thought she saw the ghost of a smile flit across it. All of a sudden she realized she might have been mistaken in assuming how he'd have handled Denison Phillips IV. But, she mused, now she never would know.

56

Itta Bena, Mississippi

THE ROAD RAN FLAT THROUGH THE SWAMP outside the small town, cypress trees on either side, a weak morning sun filtering through their branches. A faded sign, almost lost in the landscape, a

Longitude Pharmaceuticals, Inc.

Established 1966

"Greeting the Future with Better Drugs"

The Buick bumped and vibrated on the poor road, the tires slapping the asphalt. In the rearview mirror, Hayward could see a dot approaching that soon resolved itself into Pendergast's Rolls-Royce. He had insisted they take two cars that morning, claiming to have various research errands of his own, but she was pretty sure he was just looking for an excuse to get out of her rented Buick and back into his more comfortable Rolls.

The Rolls rapidly approached, exceeding the speed limit by a generous margin, moved into the left lane, and flashed past her, rattling the Buick as it went. She got just a glimpse of a black-cuffed, pale hand raised in greeting as it passed.

The road went into a long curve and Hayward soon caught up to the Rolls again, idling at the gate to the plant, Pendergast speaking with the guard inside the adjoining guardhouse. After a lengthy exchange in which the guard went back and forth to the telephone several times, both cars were waved through.

She drove past a sign reading LONGITUDE PHARMACEUTICALS, INC, ITTA BENA FACILITY and into the parking lot in time to see Pendergast checking his Les Baer .45. "You're not expecting trouble?" she asked.

"One never knows," said Pendergast, returning the gun to its holster and patting his suit.

A crabgrass lawn led to a complex of low, yellow brick buildings surrounded on three sides by the fingers of a marshy lake, full of swamp lilies and floating duckweed. Through a screen of trees, Hayward could see more buildings, some of which looked to be overgrown with ivy and in ruins. And beyond everything lay the steamy fastness of Black Brake swamp. Staring toward the wetland, dark even in the bright light of day, Hayward shivered slightly. She had heard plenty of legends about the place, growing up: legends of pirates, ghosts, and things even stranger. She slapped away a mosquito.

She followed Pendergast into the main building. The receptionist had already laid out two badges, one for MR. PENDERGAST and the other for MS. HAYWARD. Hayward plucked her badge and attached it to her lapel.

"Take the elevator to the second floor, last door on your right," said the gray-haired receptionist with a big smile.

As they got into the elevator, Hayward said: "You didn't tell them we were cops. Again."

"It is sometimes useful to see the reaction before that information is known."

Hayward shrugged. "Anyway, doesn't this seem just a little too easy to you?"

"Indeed it does."

"Who'll do the talking?"

"You did so well last time, would you care to do the honors again?"

"Delighted. Only this time I might not be so nice." She could feel the reassuring weight of her own service piece, snugged tight under her arm.

The elevator creaked up a single floor, and they emerged to find themselves in a long linoleum hallway. They strolled down to the far end and came to a door, open, beyond which a secretary worked in a spacious office. A faded but still-elegant oak door stood closed at the far end.

Hayward entered first. The secretary, who was quite young and pretty, with a ponytail and red lipstick, looked up. "Please take a seat."

They sat on a taupe sofa, beside a glass table piled with dog-eared trade magazines. The woman spoke from her desk in a brisk ma

Hayward leaned toward her. "I'm afraid you can't help us, Ms. Farmer. Only Mr. Dalquist can."

"As I said, he's busy. Perhaps if you explained to me what you needed?" Her tone had dropped a few degrees.

"Is he in there?" Hayward nodded toward the shut door.

"Ms. Hayward, I hope I've made myself clear that he is not to be disturbed. Now: one more time, how can we assist you?"

"We've come about the avian flu project."

"I'm not familiar with that project."

Hayward finally reached into her pocket, removed the shield billfold, laid it on the table, and opened it. The secretary started momentarily, leaned forward, looked at it, and then examined Pendergast's shield, which he had removed as well, following Hayward's lead.

"Police--and FBI? Why didn't you say so up front?" Her startled look was quickly replaced by undisguised a