“She still had the virus in her system. There was no way to be sure it wouldn’t just infect the new heart. They… they can’t afford to waste replacement organs on someone who’s a risk.”
“Because of the shortage of organs,” Sara said, nodding a little. Sadness filled her eyes.
“They put her on a ventilator. After a couple of days they… well, they told me there was no hope for recovery. She was in so much pain, so weak. She slipped under before we could make a decision. So I had to make it for her. I knew she wouldn’t have wanted to suffer, and it was only a matter of time.”
He had to stop for a second. He hadn’t talked about it, to anyone, not since it happened. Doing so dredged up vivid memories, like it was happening all over again. Clarissa’s hands, so weak they couldn’t hold his, so he held hers. Before they put her on the ventilator, he’d told her it would be okay. She’d answered in her weak voice that he was being stupid—she knew what was happening inside her body. Better than anyone, probably, because she was dying from something she’d studied for a decade.
Sara reached out and touched his upper arm. “You ended it for her? You took away her pain?”
He nodded. The tears were coming now. He couldn’t stop them anymore. Her eyes still closed, eyes that would never open again. The nurse pulling the IVs, removing the breathing tube. Her breaths coming in tiny, shallow gasps. The nurse walking out, shutting the door, leaving the two of them together to ride it out to the end. Till death do them part.
Sara’s hand on his arm, gently sliding up and down. “What did you do then?”
More memories, just as vivid. The rage he’d felt. All his sorrow and hurt channeled into pure aggression.
“I got in my car and went to see Fischer.”
“To talk to him?”
“No,” Colding said. “To kill him. I tackled him as soon as I saw him, really fucked up his knee. His face was a sheet of blood by the time they pulled me off. Army was going to court-martial me, but Fischer pulled strings. Got me a dishonorable discharge, and I was out.”
“What did you do then?”
“Nothing,” Colding said. “Sat on my ass for six months. Got fat. Felt sorry for myself. Collected unemployment. Missed my wife. Then Danté Paglione called me. Genada was trying to solve the organ-shortage problem. They had multiple lines of experimentation, but one involved getting women to carry transgenic animal pregnancies.”
“Carry… are you kidding me? Is that even legal?”
“No. A Genada scientist named Galina Poriskova ratted out the experiment to Fischer. Danté had a second line of research that would solve the organ-shortage problem forever, but if Fischer busted them for the human experiments, that second line would never be completed. I offered to come aboard, but only if Danté scrapped the human experimentation for good. Wasn’t what he wanted to hear, but Danté needed me. I knew how Fischer worked, how USAMRIID operated. Danté shut down the experiments. By the time Fischer got to Genada, there was no evidence of wrongdoing.”
“Danté is smart,” Sara said. “Ruthless, but smart. Hire the guy who would do anything to stop people from dying the way his wife died, right?”
“Transparent as hell, but also dead-on.”
“And Tim? How did he come into the picture?”
“He did some contracting for USAMRIID,” Colding said. “Research stuff. That’s where I met him. He was a double PhD candidate in genetics and bioinformatics. I know some of the science, but needed my own guy to make sure Genada was staying honest. I hired him to come along for the cleanup. Once Galina left, Danté threw money at him to make him stay and replace her.”
“But how did Danté find you? How did he know about you, and Fischer, about your wife?”
“Same way he found you when I had the idea for the C-5. Magnus and Danté have a high-level contact. From the NSA, I think. The contact can get at all kinds of service records, and more. We found you, found out you were behind on payments for your 747. Then I came to talk to you and what happened… happened.”
“Yeah,” Sara said. “I remember. Which brings us full circle. Why didn’t you at least call me, or say good-bye?”
“You gotta understand… my wife had been dead all of seven months when I met you. You talked about a connection? Well, I felt it, too, but I couldn’t feel that way when her grave was barely cold. I couldn’t betray her memory like that.”
Sara stepped forward until their chests touched. She reached up and caressed his cheek, her fingertips somehow warm despite the frigid temperature. “No wonder you’re so gung ho for this project, Peej. I thought you were a rotten douchebag, but now I know I was wrong—you’re not all that rotten.”
Colding laughed. “Wow, am I glad I bared my soul to you.”
Her smile faded, and she touched his cheek again. “Any woman would just melt inside if she knew how you felt, Peej. You did what you thought was right, to honor your wife’s memory. But now she’s been gone a lot longer than seven months. It’s okay to move on with your life.”
Colding leaned toward Sara and kissed her. Her lips were soft and warm, and he forgot all about the cold.
NOVEMBER 13: I HATE IT WHEN YOU CALL ME BIG POPPA
Implantation +4 Days
ONE OF HIS cell phones buzzed. Lower-left inside jacket pocket. Only one person had that number. Magnus quickly walked to his office and shut the door behind him. He didn’t need to share these calls with Danté. Not just yet, anyway.
Danté’s will seemed to be faltering. They’d reached that point before. With Galina. Magnus, of course, had fixed that, just like he would fix things now.
He answered the phone. “Go ahead.”
“Well helllooooo, Big Poppa.”
The incoming area code said 702—Las Vegas. All he knew about Farm Girl was that she had once worked for the NSA. Maybe she still did. Judging from the crap sound of the call, she had already bounced the signal through a dozen relay points and was nowhere near Vegas.
“You sure know how to throw a party,” she said. “Dad is looking for you and your friends in the dairy industry.”
Magnus nodded. Dad was Fischer. She wouldn’t have called for just that. Didn’t take a rocket scientist to know CIA assistant director Murray Longworth would still be driving Fischer to track down Rhumkorrf and Jian. Longworth did not like loose ends. “So why doesn’t Dad come ask me himself? He knows where I live.”
“He is,” she said. “He’s coming to see your brother.”
Magnus felt his eyes narrow and his lip curl. He forced himself to relax. If Fischer tried to screw with Danté, the man had another thing coming.
“How close is Dad to finding my friends?”
“Doesn’t have a clue where to start. Heck, Big Poppa, even I don’t know where they are.”
That was as close as you could get to a compliment from this woman—if Farm Girl couldn’t find you, you couldn’t be found. Colding and Danté had really pulled it off, hiding the project right under the Americans’ noses.
“Dad’s frustrated,” Farm Girl said. “If your friends stay quiet, I don’t think he’ll find them at all.”
“Glad to hear it. Anything else?”
“I need to expand my wardrobe a bit. Things get more costly every day.”
Farm Girl wanted more money. Well, fuck it, she could have more money. Thanks to her intel, Genada was the only horse left in the xenotransplantation race.
“That’s fine,” Magnus said. “Maybe Santa will be nice to you this year.”
“I like Santa. I love to sit on his lap.”