Runaway Heart (34 page)

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Authors: Stephen J. Cannell

Tags: #Fiction, #Thrillers, #General

BOOK: Runaway Heart
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They went into a small bedroom that Herman had been using as an
office, then began packing his
Shilling Lawyer's Guide
and several thick
volumes of landmark federal precedents. After he retrieved his black suit,
Herman grabbed his toilet kit, and they hurried back into the main room.

 

"Once an alarm blows in Malibu, the
cops have a four-minute response time," Captain Pettis said over the
secure
sat-phone.
"If Dave and I try to do this with just the two of us we might lose
containment."

     
Vincent Valdez was on the line from DARPA's L.A. office with
General "Buzz" Turpin conferenced in from D.C. When nobody spoke,
Pettis continued:

     
"This is the same DU that took out the computer thief in San
Francisco. He's right here in the van with us. Captain Silver says he's good to
go."

 
    
"If you use
a Development Unit, make sure he has on the abort-destruct vest," General
Turpin said. "If it goes wrong I don't want anything left. And Vince . .
."

     
"Yes, sir."

     
"If you use the DU, make sure it doesn't go nuts and start
shredding corpses again. Be sure you two sanitize the crime scene before
clearing out this time."

     
"Roger that." Pettis clicked off the transmission.
"Okay. Just Strockmire and Toshiabi are in there—maid's day off. No
fuck-ups."

     
Captain Silver opened the cage, then led the chimera to the front
of the van. Pan jumped up on the seat and sat looking out of the windshield.
Seeing his intelligent gray eyes, Pettis thought Pan's face and ears were
uncannily human, but the rest of him seemed more like a standard chimpanzee.
Except for the hands. He had hands exactly like a grown man. On his forehead
was a new satellite-transmitter camera unit the size of a quarter, mounted on a
white tennis headband.

     
"Two people this time," Captain Silver instructed as he
picked up the file photo of Herman Strockmire and showed it to the Chimera. Pan
reached out, took the photo, then held it up and studied it. Pettis watched,
thinking how strange Pan was. Half man, half beast.

     
Captain Silver grabbed Sandy Toshiabi's DL picture that had just
come off the sat-link, then handed it to Pan. The chimera looked at it and
cocked his head.

     
"No shredding and no urinating," Silver said.
"We've practiced this stuff. You know how to do it, right?"

     
Pan reached down onto his aim and typed on the small computer
strapped there.

     
"Pan understands,"
the mechanical voice responded
from his vest speakers.

     
"Good."

     
"Get him in the other vest," Pettis said.

     
"Is that really necessary?" Captain Silver protested.

     
"Direct order from the general. You heard."

     
Norman Pettis grabbed the abort-destruct vest and handed it to
Pan's trainer, glad that Captain Silver was in the van, because he hated to
touch these strange animals. He watched as Dave Silver unbuckled the normal
computer clothing, removed it, then put on the slightly bulkier abort vest.

     
"Pan, I'm going to give you the knife," Captain Silver
said. "You kill these people with the knife. I will also give you a
Particle Beam-99. Do not use the PB-99 unless you must. It is only to help you
get away if you are trapped."

     
Pan fingered his armband, hitting several keys.
"Pan
understands."

     
Silver then handed one of the particle-beam weapons to Pan, who
dropped it into a webbed holster on his vest. Silver put leather gloves on
Pan's hands so he could run on all fours, and handed him a knife. Pettis had
once witnessed Pan kill a vicious, attacking Doberman in less than three
seconds with the combat knife. He opened the door and let the chimera out of
the van.

     
The men watched as Pan ran on all fours, streaking across the
street, easily vaulting over the alarmed wall and disappearing onto Barbra
Streisand's property.

 

 

 

 

 

THIRTY-FOUR

 

W
here could he have gone?" Susan was
standing in
the main salon of the boat, panic washing over her.

     
"If I know Herm, he's not going to quit on this," Jack
said. "So where'd he go?"

     
"Zimmy sent that gene map to Dad's computer, and the computer
is at the beach house."

     
"Nah. . . come on, he wouldn't go over there. Your dad's
smarter than that."

     
"He's . . ." she stopped. "He's . . . well, I think
. . ."

     
"Streisand's house? You can't be serious. We used her car in
Montrose. They'll run the plate and have the beach house completely staked out.
Herman might be a tad mistake-prone, but is he a complete bonehead?"

     
She glowered at him. "Damn it, Jack, if he needs that gene
map to file his lawsuit, then he'll go and get it. That's the way he is."

     
"How can he file a lawsuit?"

 
    
"Knowing him, he'll come up with
something. A temporary restraining order. . . use the gene map as proof of the
chimera's existence. That's probably gonna be hard to get in as evidence, but
Dad is resourceful, and the evidentiary rules are more lax for a TRO. He'll
charge that these chimps are having their DNA illegally messed with, then try
and get a restraining order to prevent it."

     
"What's his cell number?" Jack asked. "I hate
calling it, but we gotta stop him from going there."

     
"Won't help. I've got his phone." She pulled it out of
her purse and showed it to him.

     
Jack went to the phone in the salon, picked it up, and pulled out
the business card Susan had given him two days ago. He dialed Streisand's
number, but got Herman's answering machine in the guest house. "You've
reached the temporary L.A. office of the Institute for Planetary Justice,"
Herman's tired voice announced. "We are off creating havoc for world
polluters and environmental criminals, so leave a message and we'll take it
from there."
BEEP.

     
"Herman, it's Jack. Pick up that chimera file and get the
hell out of that house. It's not safe. Don't stop to call me until you're out
of Malibu. I'm at 949-555-1242." He hung up and looked into Susan's
worried expression. "He's out creating havoc for world polluters."

     
She nodded. Both of them sat there brooding, trying to figure out
what to do next.

     
"I think we should try to head him off," she finally
said, her face a mask of apprehension.

     
"If he left right after we went to dinner, we'll never make
it in time."

 

Paul Nichols was doing a line of kickass
Poluo Blanco when his computer's incoming mail feature beeped. He wiped the
residue off his nose, went to the screen, and read the transcription of Jack
Wirta's phone message. Octopus had picked up the keyword,
Chimera,
and
located the point of origin in area code 949. He punched out a code on his
keyboard, accessing a GPS map and a stored record of the call to Streisand's
house along with the precise longitude and latitude of the caller, which was
displayed on the electronic map. The call had originated from the third-to-last
boat slip at the end of Lido Island. He tried to still his cocaine rush as he
dialed the command room at DARPA headquarters in L.A.

     
Jack felt a slight sway from the stern of the boat. He reached
over, flipped off the lights, and whispered, "Somebody just came
aboard."

     
"Dad?"

     
He felt the boat rock again as two more people came aboard. "
'Fraid not," he whispered.

     
Earlier Jack had seen a spear fishing locker located in the
forward bulkhead across from where they were now standing. He opened it,
grabbed three spear guns along with a handful of shafts, then led Susan into
the master stateroom, closed the door, and locked it. Then he'd guided her into
the master bath where he remembered seeing an overhead fire hatch in the
shower.

He heard footsteps outside in the
companionway.

     
Jack pushed open the fire hatch, then helped Susan scale the
ladder. Once she was out on the foredeck he handed up the three spearguns and
spears. She looked puzzled and started to say something, but Jack put a finger
to his lips, then followed her through the hatch and closed it.

They knelt on the wide teak bow of the
Bertram Sport-fisher while Jack loaded and cocked all of the guns one at a
time, pulling the spear shafts back, straining the rubber tubing until the
triggers clicked and they locked in place.

     
"Why those?" she whispered.

     
"No noise. Pick 'em off one at a time," he whispered.

     
"Kill them?" She was appalled.

     
"Susan, we're down to basics here. We can do the dying, or
they can. How do you want it?"

     
Someone was coming forward. Jack pushed Susan behind a mahogany
locker, then crouched down beside her. A figure dressed in SWAT gear appeared
silhouetted against the moon. The man must have sensed him, because the
commando spun suddenly, holding one of the strange laser weapons. He was
pointing it right at them. Jack fired the first spear.
Fong. Thump!

The shaft buried itself deep in the
man's chest. He groaned, toppled over the rail, and fell loudly into the water.

     
As soon as the splash sounded, they heard a shout below and feet
running.

     
Jack grabbed Susan's hand. "Come on, we're goin'
swimming." They jumped off the bow into the bay, with

     
Jack clutching two unfired spear guns. Once they hit the cold
water, and fought their way back up to the surface they started stroking away
from the boat. In soaked clothing, they were making way too much noise. Jack
stopped swimming and pulled up the second spear gun. He treaded water, holding
the weapon at the ready, kicking his feet hard to stay afloat.

     
Susan kept going toward a line of sailboats moored halfway across
the channel. The moonlight made them easy targets.

     
A second man ran to the bow of the boat, knelt down, and aimed his
weapon. Jack fired.

The spear flew high and wide, hitting
the wheelhouse just above the window. It thunked and quivered, embedding itself
deep into the wood next to the man's head. He scrambled back off the bow.
Sorry
about that, Ted.

     
Jack dove, and made his way underwater, after Susan. With each
lunging stroke, his back knifed with pain.

     
Finally, he caught up to her. She had stopped and was treading
water, waiting for him.

     
"Keep going, around that boat. Get underwater," he
gasped, swallowing a mouthful of water.

     
They both dove just as two laser weapons zapped. A horrible
tingling sensation electrified the water all around them. But the laser
weapon's particle beam was quickly dissipated by the water.

Underwater, Jack saw the dim outline of
the moored sailboat, now only three yards away tied to two cans in the center
of the channel. They frog-kicked toward it and somehow reached the far side
before they surfaced, totally winded.

     
"Let's go. Keep the boat between us and them." he
instructed. "We gotta get to that beach." Jack pointed to an
expensive residential island that was another fifty yards beyond. As they
reached the shore, they heard the CDF troops swimming after them.

     
"Let's get out of here!" Jack grabbed Susan's arm and
they sprinted up the small beach between two bay-front houses, then onto the
residential street beyond, where a few cars were parked. Jack ran to a classic
Jag XKG convertible.

     
He broke out the window with a Rockette-worthy kick. Then he
reached through, unlocked the door, got in, and found the ignition wires. He
pulled them out, twisted them, and almost immediately the Jag purred to life.

     
Susan ran to the passenger side and jumped in as Jack put the Jag
in gear, powering away from the curb. He roared down the narrow street, then he
turned right onto the Coast Highway.

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