One Rule - No Surrender, page 17
part #2 of One Rule Series
Thalma handed him her drink. "I think you're going to need this."
He downed the drink in one desperate gulp. She held out a hand. He stared at it as a person might regard a venomous lizard, but after a moment latched onto it and allowed himself to be tugged to his feet. Thalma steered him across the room and deposited him in the club chair. She rolled the computer chair over and sat facing him.
"I require medical care," he said, feeling his left elbow. "I believe you've dislocated my olecranon – perhaps even fractured it."
"We'll get to that. First, we need to talk."
Thalma poured him another drink, which he readily accepted.
"Before I say anything," he said, "I need to know who you work for. I assume an agency of the U.S. Government? FBI? DHS?"
Thalma shook her head. "All you need to know is that I work for the good guys. You work for the bad guys. From now on, you'll be working for the cause of good, for whatever that's worth to you."
"I can't speak for the ethics of all those in my company, but I'm hardly a bad guy myself. I'm doing good work that will benefit humanity."
"Like dropping a date-rape drug in my drink?"
"As I've told you," he spoke through his teeth, "I did not drug your drink. That's pure supposition on your part."
"If we're going to have a healthy relationship, you'll need to start being truthful with me. And I mean completely truthful."
"Why on earth would I want to have a healthy relationship with you?"
"Consider the alternative."
Their gazes locked. Thalma smiled faintly. Dr. MacDougal lowered his eyes, unclenched his jaw, and gulped down his second shot of Bombay Sapphire.
"I should warn you that I have an extremely accurate bullshit detector," said Thalma. "I also have no patience for bullshit. That combination tends to prove painful for the liars I deal with."
"If you work for a federal law enforcement agency, I will offer my cooperation in exchange for immunity and witness protection. And I'll need that in writing."
For a moment Thalma toyed with pretending to be a federal agent, but aside from the difficulties of maintaining that façade, the idea made her skin crawl. She was confident she could get what she wanted her own way.
"We're not a government agency, but if you decide to work with us, we'll do what we can to protect you," she said. "We could get you a new identity, if it came to that. But I think it would be better if you continued your employment with World Security Group International, as our agent, pretending to follow their program while giving us sufficient heads-up to prevent their operations."
"They'd find out eventually, and I would be a dead man."
"I thought you weren't sure about the morality of your employers?"
MacDougal glowered at her. "How do I know you have the power to go up against WSGI? It not only works with governments all over the world – it owns large shares of many of them."
"True. But doesn't the fact that we know about you and your operation here tell you something?"
"If I did work with you, I'd need assurances – proof – that you can protect me."
"What kind of proof and/or assurances?"
MacDougal waved a hand. "I don't know. Some kind of proof that you have the resources to take on World Security Group International?"
Thalma thought about that. She – they – were close to obtaining what might be an invaluable asset in what was sure to become a war with the mighty corporation. In that moment she knew that destroying WSGI would be a prime objective. At least her prime objective. Ever since they'd attacked her place and tortured Louis, their days had been numbered in her mind.
"We might find a way to satisfy you about that," said Thalma. "But for now you need to satisfy me by telling me everything – and I mean, everything – about your current operation."
"What do you know about it?"
"You're planning to infect a few vaccine-exempt kids from the vials in the envelope. But I need to know which kids and the precise details in terms of timing, etcetera."
Dr. MacDougal stared sourly off into space. Outside, a commercial jet passed by overhead, lights flashing, and a foghorn blew in from Puget Sound.
"If they knew that I told you," he began.
"We've already established that. And I've said we'll do everything we can to protect you."
"Why should I trust you?"
"I guess you'll have to trust your own judgment. Or take a leap of faith."
"What will you do if I refuse to cooperate?"
"Why don't you use your imagination?"
Dr. MacDougal rubbed his left elbow, released a deep, shuddering sigh, and started to speak.
MAGGIE LISTENED with an amazed grin as Thalma shared the details of her discussion with Dr. Frederick MacDougal. Four families and seven children had been identified as the infection targets. Two of the families were on Murphy's prime suspect list, including Ken Albright and his three step-children, and Greg Minton, who had one daughter – both Synthatalle employees. Of the other two families, Sam and Ellen Gordon, with two children, both worked for the Washington State Department of Health while Sherry and Harold Griming were employed as a schoolteacher and state senator respectively. All four couples had knowledge that their children were going to be the unwitting guinea pigs in the WSGI operation. Dr. MacDougal did not know, but suspected, that both Albright and Griming had received substantial funding from WSGI – or WSGI had something over them.
"You trust this scumbag doctor not to rat us out?" Maggie asked.
"Nope. But it seemed like a worthwhile gamble. I'm fairly sure he believed me when I told him we'd be watching and listening to him 24/7. Why wouldn't he?"
"I'm sure he does. But the moment someone notices him doing something wrong and they put the squeeze on him..."
"That might be a good opportunity to give him one of those assurances he wants by taking out whoever's squeezing him."
Maggie smiled and shook her head. "You make it sound so simple. Not to take anything away from you – that was some bold move you laid on him. I guess we'll have to run this by Murphy and see what he says."
She launched the encryption program while Thalma gazed out the window, once again watching the brightening grey of twilight envelop the city. It had been another hard day's night.
"You could get some sleep, you know," said Maggie. "This could take a while, and I doubt we'll be doing anything until tomorrow, if then. MacDougal's not scheduled to make the deliveries for two days."
Thalma nodded. As if on cue, weariness invaded her bones.
"Are you ever going to tell me where you were those two days?"
Thalma gave her a tired smile. "No."
Chapter 12
THALMA DROVE UP TO Squak Mountain in Issaquah with a sense of fulfilling the inevitable. Dr. MacDougal was being a good boy, staying home after emerging from the nearby Harbor Medical Center with a soft cast around his elbow, which had suffered a small fracture. Murphy and his team were busy digesting the latest intel, offering no hints of what Thalma and Maggie might be expected to do next, so it was time for some sightseeing.
Of course it was much more than sightseeing. It was performing that ancient exercise in futility: attempting to come home again. She told herself that as she rolled deeper into the pine-forested hills, but all the ironic emphasis in the world couldn't spare her the raw sense of longing she always felt when she thought of her childhood home.
It wasn't as if she'd had a great childhood there. But it was her childhood, and there had been moments where her life had seemed magical.
There were risks returning to her mom's home. Despite Murphy's assurances, it was at least remotely possible that the government or private interests had some method in place of observing the house. But after driving up and down the road for twenty minutes and seeing nothing suspicious, Thalma decided to risk that.
She pulled up across the street and gazed up the grassy hill to the older two-story home. It was late-morning, and her mother wouldn't be due back from work until nearly six. She'd timed her visit accordingly.
She left her rental Mustang – a second rental for convenience – and walked up the driveway affecting a casual air. Her mom's yard was largely shielded from her neighbors, but someone could see her and report to her mom. Or call the police. But if the past was any indication, her mom had no friends among her neighbors, and Thalma probably didn't look suspicious enough to warrant a call to the police.
She moved off the driveway and around the house to the backyard. A few things were different – a flower garden had supplanted her sandbox and a large bird house towered in place of her old swing set – but the huge oak that she'd practiced being superhuman on stood as proudly as ever. Only now it didn't look quite as tall. At the time, she'd felt she was falling from the Empire State Building.
Thalma stood by the rear sliding glass door, peering into the living room and adjoining kitchen. Some of the décor was different – a leather couch and chair set, a big screen television, new granite kitchen countertops, stainless steel fridge, a light-grey Berber carpet instead of green shag – but the same dark walls and narrow hallways predominated. A sense of being compressed, controlled.
And something else: faint strains of music issuing from somewhere in the house. For a panicked moment Thalma considered bolting, but then she took a breath and decided her mom had probably just left a radio or stereo on somewhere. Or maybe her mom had taken the day off? One sign would be the sliding glass door; when she was home, it would typically be unlocked. But she was religious about locking everything when she was gone – a practice which had sent Thalma scrambling for the hidden house key on more than a few occasions after school when she'd forgotten her own.
Thalma gave the sliding glass door an experimental tug. To her surprise – and returning panic – it slid open. So her mom was home? Yet that music – she could hear it clearer, now – was some modern popular song, a top-forty kind of song...Katy Perry? Her mother – the mother she knew – loathed top-forty pop music.
A rustling behind her made her spin around. A young girl, maybe twelve or thirteen, emerged from the trees at the far edge of the property and marched toward her with a scowling, proprietary air. More than the surprise at her sudden appearance, Thalma was struck by a sense of familiarity – by a strange instant's thought that she was seeing her mom stepping out of the trees and approaching her – but in a child's form.
"Can I help you?" the girl asked in indignant tones. She stopped suddenly, noting the opened sliding glass door. "What? Are you trying to break into my house?"
"Your house?"
"Yes, my house." The girl folded her arms on her chest. "Who are you?"
"Who are you?"
"As I said, the person who lives here. The person whose house this is." She frowned a little.
"You're claiming to own this house?" Thalma felt mentally sluggish, as though she couldn't quite grasp something that was right in front of her.
"My mother owns it. But I think that makes it mine, too."
Thalma felt as if someone had poured liquid nitrogen into her veins. Movement wasn't possible. Not even the concept of movement. She was locked in place, a newly born statue. Yet her thoughts, at first frozen as well, began to break free like chunks of ice in a warming stream.
"Your mother?" Thalma whispered.
"Yes. Elena Engstrom."
Thalma reached back with one hand for support, but there was only air. It had always been just her and her mother. No sisters, no relatives, not even grandparents, who had moved back to Norway, and to Thalma's knowledge never communicated. Thalma knew she had relatives, but her mom had always refused to talk about them, as she'd refused to talk about so many things.
The girl was cocking her head and peering at her, a puzzled frown forming. "So...who are you? And why did you open the door? You don't look like a burglar or whatever."
Thalma wasn't sure how she should answer, or even if she should answer. The simplest solution - to turn and walk away and try to forget it all – wasn't very realistic. But what she said now could change her life in an instant – beyond how it already had just changed – and she wasn't sure she was ready for that.
Meanwhile, the girl's face suddenly flushed with dawning comprehension.
"Wait a minute! You're her, aren't you?" A grin broke out. "The long-lost daughter my mom never likes talking about? Thalma!"
Thalma let several seconds pass before saying, "Your mom doesn't like talking about a long list of things."
"So I'm right? I'm really right? You're the famous Thalma? I've never seen a good photo of you, but you fit how she described you."
Thalma gave a heavy nod. The moment of running had passed. She'd crossed a threshold, and while the path forward wasn't clear, there wasn't any turning back.
"Yes," she said. "I'm Thalma."
"I knew it!" She started to perform a little dance, but calmed herself with an obvious effort. "I'm Laura."
They both stood alternately studying each other and looking away, as if seeking counsel from someone unseen. A red squirrel bounced out from behind Thalma's old climbing tree and offered a chattering commentary. How could Murphy have missed this? Thalma wondered. Having a daughter was a pretty damn critical piece of information.
"Want to, uh, come inside?" the girl asked, not meeting Thalma's eyes.
"I..."
"Have you had lunch? I could fix something. Or we could just talk?" She noted Thalma's hesitation. "Mom won't be home until nearly six."
Thalma didn't feel quite ready to enter her old house again, particularly with someone she didn't know who was claiming it as her own.
"I have a rather large appetite," Thalma said, working up a rueful smile. "Maybe it would be better if we ate out. Would you like to go to a restaurant?"
"I don't know. My mom told me I shouldn't get in a car with a strange person." She was smiling.
"I definitely qualify."
Laura laughed. "Me, too. I'm a card-carrying weirdo. But for the record, my mom never actually told me that." Her smile faded. "She doesn't offer advice very often."
"Elena never told me that, either. But if she had, she'd probably be more worried for the stranger in the car."
"Ha, right, I bet you were like that girl in Kickass" – she frowned as Thalma stared at her. "It is sort of how I think of you, I guess, like this outlaw badass."
The idea that this girl had been thinking about her in an admiring way – or in any way – introduced a buzzing cognitive dissonance in her head.
"Mom wouldn't talk to me for almost a week when you fought those cops who shot your dog and you were all over the news for days! But if someone shot my dog, I might shoot them, too. I love dogs! And everyone has the right to do what they want with their own bodies! The drug war is complete bullshit! Marijuana has anti-cancer healing qualities, you know."
Thalma stared at the girl, the storm of her words blasting her in the face like one of those endless winds back in the South Dakota prairie.
"Um...thanks." Thalma looked around. "Do you have a dog?"
"No. Mom won't let me. I'd like to have a really big, powerful dog like your Rottweiler! Maybe even something bigger, you know, so I could ride around on it." She giggled. "No one would ever mess with me with a dog like that."
Thalma was at a loss – stuck somewhere between being charmed and wanting to stuff a sock in the girl's mouth.
"Why don't we get something to eat," she said. "Anything you want. My treat."
"Good, because I have exactly twenty-three dollars and seventy-five cents in savings. Um, just let me wash my hands and get something." She paused as she started past Thalma to the door. "Gosh, I can't believe it – my famous fugitive sister! Shouldn't we hug or something?"
Thalma made no move to her – remaining as statuesque as she had been from the moment of the "big reveal."
"But you didn't know you had a sister," said Laura, thinking it through. "You must be freaking out."
"A little." Thalma gave her a weak smile. "You're really not bothered by my being an outlaw?"
"Well, I wish you weren't a fugitive. But as I said, you were only defending yourself. Everyone has the right to do that."
"But you do understand that most people wouldn't see it that way? That you can't talk about me to your friends or anyone else?"
"Of course. I'm not an idiot!"
"Good."
"Come in." Laura made a motion to grab Thalma's arm, but retracted her hand at the last moment. "I'll just be a second."
"I think I'll wait out here."
"Okay. Please don't run off. Where are you staying, anyway?"
"A hotel on the wharf."
"Cool. That's one of my fave places in Seattle."
Laura disappeared into the house for a minute or two. When she returned, they walked down to the rental car.
"Are you here to visit Mom?" the girl asked.
"No. I'm here on business."
They climbed in the Mustang and headed back down the hill.
"What are you in the mood for?" Thalma asked.
"Fried squirrel?"
Thalma's laugh was unsure. "Not seriously, I assume."
"Ha, no - Mexican. Las Margaritas isn't bad. It's downtown, on Front Street. I'll show you."
They arrived just as the last of the noon crowd was dissipating, and took one of the empty patio tables outside the restaurant. Laura wasted no time ordering when the server arrived with a menu.
"The Parrallada Nortena, please." She gave Thalma a guilty smile. "You said I could order anything."
Thalma checked the menu. "That's a dinner for two. Is that for you or both of us?"
"Of course! I could never eat that much alone."
"Let's add the Trio for Two. Just in case."
The waitress retreated with an impressed arch of her eyebrows.
"That's going to be way too much," said Laura. "You don't know how large the servings are here."
"It won't matter."
They sipped iced tea as a smattering of people passed by and moist seventy-something breezes lightly stirred the air around them. Laura eyed Thalma over her tea.
