And he had no doubt that the same thing would happen within Ames's office. By tomorrow morning the rooms would be repainted, the carpet and door would be replaced, and Marjorie Jackson's desk-or an exact duplicate of it-would once more be standing in the outer office, with Marjorie herself again guarding the privacy of her employer.
Outside, on the road leading up into the mountains, a roadblock had been set up by a team ofTarrenTech security men. It was a mile away, around a bend, invisible to anyone coming from the town, but it was unlikely anyone would be driving that direction today. The road led only to a ski area seven miles away, and there was no reason for anyone to go up there for another two or three weeks at least.
But if Sharon Tanner tried to come down again, the roadblock would bar her way. Not that she would come down-Kennallywas certain of that. No, he and a team ofTarrenTech men would have to go after her, and hunt her- and her son-down.
Hunt them down like animals.
And then it would be over.
Jerry Harris had already explained it to him. There would be another accident, but this time it would take place far from Silverdale. There were plenty of witnesses to what had happened at the school that morning-half the student body had seen Mark being taken away in restraints.
The story was simple. His parents had decided to take him to the state facility in Canon City, but as they drove through the mountains, an accident had occurred. Blake had somehow lost control of the car on the winding mountain road-perhaps it had even been Mark's fault, perhaps the boy had suddenly gone into one of the sudden rages that had been plaguing him yesterday, and attacked his father. But the point was, the car had gone out of control, plunged off the road and dropped into one of the deep canyons below, where it had burst into flames.
There would even be bodies-burned beyond recognition, perhaps-but still, bodies that could be buried right here in Silverdale. Eulogies would be spoken and tears shed.
And then life would go on as before.
If DickKennally agreed to go along with the plan.
Harris had explained the alternative, and even now, as he gazed out at the peaceful autumn afternoon, it madeKennally shudder.
If what had been happening in Silverdale got out, the whole town would be ruined. For nearly all of them, one way or another, had let themselves be involved in theTarrenTech project that was based at Rocky Mountain High. Perhaps not actively involved, perhaps not even consciously involved, but still culpable. For some of them-and DickKennally knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was one of them-the involvement had been active. It had been he himself who had delivered JeffLaConner to Marty Ames that night a few weeks ago; he who over the years had let himself begin taking more and more of his orders directly from Jerry Harris.
It had been he himself who filed a report on the death of AndrewMacCallum that left no possibility of any findings other than the "accidental" verdict the coroner had reported only a few hours ago.
Phil Collins had been actively involved too, cooperating with Ames and Harris at every turn, doing what was asked of him to keep the program supplied with subjects. Perhaps he didn't know exactly what was going on, but surely he must have known that what Ames was producing couldn't come from exercise and diet alone. So Collins, too, was directly culpable.
Kennallyeven now couldn't begin to count how many people had been involved over the years, how many of the boys who'd played on the Silverdale teams had had their bodies altered and reformed by Martin Ames's biological alchemy.
Dozens, certainly.
And the whole town-in blissful ignorance-had gone unquestioningly along, for the project had brought them prosperity and fame.
Even the major college athletic scouts came to Silverdale every year now, eager to take their pick of the oversized, hard-playing Silverdale boys, the boys who had grown up in the fresh air and healthy climate of the Rocky Mountains.
And in Martin Ames's laboratory.
If it got out,TarrenTech would be ruined, of course, along with Silverdale.
How many of them would wind up in prison? How many of them would even survive if it were ever revealed that they had been experimenting with human lives?
The name of Silverdale would still be famous, but DickKennally shuddered as he realized what that fame would now mean.
And none of them would ever be able to put it behind them.
"There really isn't any choice, is there?" he heard Jerry Harris asking.
Finally he turned around and faced them. Jerry Harris and Marty Ames were staring at him, their eyes hard.
Even Marjorie Jackson, her face pale, her hands clasped nervously together in her lap, was watching him expectantly.
Finally, he came to his inevitable decision.
"All right," he said. "But what about the little girl? Kelly, isn't that her name?"
Suddenly the tension in the room broke. Marge Jackson, sighing with relief, stood up and went to a large coffee urn that sat on a sideboard, poured herself a cup, then poured another for her boss.
"She'll be taken care of, of course," Harris said. "Lord knows, none of this was her fault." He glanced sharply atKennally. "What about your men?" he asked.
Kennallyshook his head. "We'll keep them out of it entirely. No one but Collins and I should ever know exactly what happened out here." His eyes met Harris's. "So I'm going to need some of your men for the search party."
Harris nodded abruptly. "How many?"
Kennallyshrugged. "No more than half a dozen. I'll use Mitzi to track them, but I don't expect they'll get far." His eyes wandered to the mountains again. "Fact is, I'll bet they're just sitting up there in your wife's car, waiting for us."
The decision at last made, he rubbed his hands together briskly, eager to get started. The sooner it was over, the sooner he could begin trying to forget it had ever happened.
Kelly Tanner had been fidgeting all day long, squirming in her seat, barely listening to her teacher. She wasn't sure what was wrong, but as the day stretched on and the clock didn't seem to move at all, she got more and more nervous, until she felt as though she might jump out of her skin. But the last bell finally rang and she slithered out of her seat, scurrying toward the door to be the first one out. Erica Mason, who Kelly had already decided was going to be her best friend, caught up with her in the hallway.
"Want to come over to my house?" she asked. "My mom said we could make cookies this afternoon if we wanted to."
Kelly shook her head. "I think I better go home."
Erica's expression crumpled in disappointment, but then she brightened. "Maybe I'll come with you," she offered. "Maybe your mom will let us make cookies."
But Kelly shook her head.
Something was wrong at home, but she didn't know exactly what it was. All she knew was that something was wrong with Mark and that her parents had been fighting about it most of last night. And then her mother hadn't even come down for breakfast in the morning, which only happened when she was sick.
But her father hadn't said her mother was sick-in fact, he'd hardly said anything at all. But he'd kept looking at Mark, and Mark had gone off to school earlier than usual, and he'd hardly said a word, either.
And all day she'd had one of the feelings she got sometimes.
It wasn't anything she could identify very clearly-just a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach, and an idea that something was going to happen.
And whenever she had that feeling, she had one of her fidgety days. But she'd never had a fidgety day as bad as today. "I just have to go home," she mumbled. "There's some stuff I have to do." Turning away, she left Erica standing in the hall and hurried out into the schoolyard. She stopped to pull on her jacket, then slung her book bag over her shoulder and started home.