Silent Treatment

'I knew one of the women on that list ofhis.'

Stallings nodded. 'That's why I keptsignaling you to stop. Kevin, these people mean business. We were on our wayback to the city when I asked Lancelot what would happen if I decided not toparticipate in this program. He said that he really didn't believe anythingwould happen. He explained that only one knight had ever refused to participate- Sir Lionel. That was about a year ago. But before The Roundtable could decidewhether or not he'd be allowed to continue with them, he got some sort of foodpoisoning and died.'

'Oh God,' Kevin groaned. 'I know all aboutthat guy. When he died, his company lost its seat on The Roundtable completely.In fact, it was probably given to you. My boss used him to illustrate what Iwould cost our company and myself if I was ever removed and not replaced. ButJim, Lionel didn't die from food poisoning. It was from a coronary after thefood poisoning. He died in the hospital, just like. .'

'Go ahead, say it. Just like EvelynDellaRosa and heaven only knows about how many other patients with expensivediseases.'

Kevin felt ill.

'Did Lancelot make it sound like Lionel'sdeath was something they engineered? I mean, did he say it like a threat?'

'I don't know for sure. He's got thissmile that's impossible to read.'

Kevin nodded. He'd had the same responseto Pat Harper.

'Well, he just kept smiling through thewhole Lionel story. I wasn't sure what to make of it, but it gave me thecreeps. I didn't know what to say to him.'

'So how was it left?'

Stallings looked away again.

'I have until tomorrow night to come upwith the first set of names and transfer the funds.'

'Oh, no. And who gets the money? Theknights? The guy who. . who does it?'

'I don't know. But if you multiply my twoor three clients by two or three for each of the others, that's a hell of a lotof money.'

'And every one of those people just. .dies?'

'They're all pretty sick. And there are somany hospitals and patients in the city that apparently no one really thinksabout there being anything out of the ordinary going on … Loomis, what are wegoing to do?'

'Listen, maybe the whole thing is justsome sort of loyalty test,' Kevin offered desperately.

'You know you don't believe that.'

'Jim, I don't know anything. Why couldn'tyou just blow the whistle?'

'On what? On who? I have no proof ofanything. Not even the name of a single patient. Besides, if The Roundtabledoes get exposed, I go down along with the rest of you. What about my family,my kids?'

'Well, what then? Show up at the meetingand just beg them to stop?'

'It's a possibility.'

'What about Sir Lionel and his foodpoisoning?'

'That's why I decided to chance sharingall this with you. If there are two of us, I think as long as we sticktogether, we might be able to convince the rest of them to stop.'

'I need to think about this.'

'Just don't take too long. I only haveuntil tomorrow to give them the names and. . and I don't think I can do it.'He checked the time. 'Listen, I'm due back at the office in a few minutes.Please, Loomis, please. Don't say a word to anyone until we talk again. Okay?'

'I promise.'

'Not to your boss, not to your wife, notto anyone.'

Stallings was genuinely terrified. And ifhe was right about The Roundtable, Kevin had no trouble understanding why.

'I'll call you before tomorrow night,'Stallings said. They exchanged business cards, and each wrote his home phonenumber on the back. 'And Kevin, please wait five or ten minutes after I gobefore you start back.'

'I'll be in touch.'

Sir Gawaine took his briefcase and headedoff toward the subway station. Kevin stood there, numb and unseeing, his mindunwilling to sort through what had just been shared with him, except toacknowledge that if the situation was as Stallings believed, the possibilitiesopen to them were all unacceptable.

'Mister! Hey, mister!'

Kevin turned, startled. Two youths inshorts and Yankee caps stood on the sidewalk. They looked about ten — his sonNicky's age. Each wore a basketball glove.

'Yes, what is it?'

'Our ball, mister. It's right by yourfoot. Could you throw it to us?'

Kevin picked up the scuffed, grass-stainedhardball and tossed it back. The taller of the two boys snagged it easily, in away Kevin had watched Nicky catch a thousand of his throws.

'Thanks, mister,' the youth called. 'Nicearm. Nice arm.'

Chapter26

The night was warm and extremely muggy — the sort of night that invariably brought out the most vivid versions of thedream. He lay facedown on a sheet that was already drenched. His fists weretightly clenched and every muscle in his body was taut. At some level, he knewthat it was all in his past, that he was only reliving the hideous experiencein his mind.

But as always, he was powerless to wakehimself.

'. . Hyconidol almost matches, atom foratom, the pain fiber neurotransmitter chemical. That means I can fire thosenerves off all at once and at will. Every single one of them. Think of it, Mr.Santana. No injury … no mess … no blood. Just pain. Pure pain. Except inthe work I do, hyconidol has absolutely no clinical value. But if we ever domarket it, I thought an appropriate name for it might be Agonyl. It'sincredible stuff, if I do say so myself. A small injection? A little tingle. Alarger one? Well, I'm sure you get the picture.'

Ray's mouth becomes desert dry. Thepounding within his chest is so forceful that he feels certain The Doctor cansee it.

Please don't do this, he screams silently. Please. .

Perchek's thumb tightens on the plunger.

'I think we'll start with somethingmodest,' he says, 'equivalent, perhaps, to nothing more than a little coolbreeze over the cavities in your teeth. Our interest is in the identities ofthe Mexican undercover agents, Mr. Santana. Mr. Orsino will write down anynames you choose to give. And I should warn you. Some of the names we wish youto give us we already know. It would be most unpleasant for you should we catchyou attempting any sort of stall or deception.'

'Go fuck yourselves. How's that for astall or deception?'

The Doctor merely smiles.

The last voice Ray hears before theinjection is Joe Dash's.

There are three ways a man canchoose to handle dying…

The plunger of the syringe is depressedjust a bit.

In less than half a minute, Rayexperiences a mild vibration throughout his body, as if a low-grate electriccurrent has been turned on. His scalp tightens. The muscles in his face twitch.He rubs his fingertips together, trying to rid them of an unpleasant numbness.Perchek, meanwhile, has taken a handheld stopwatch from his valise.

'I would expect that miniscule dose tolast one minute and twenty seconds,' he said. 'Higher doses persist somewhatlonger. Although in this business, for you, time will become quite relative. Afew seconds will seem like an hour. A minute like a lifetime. Have you somenames for us?'

'Cary Grant, Mick Jagger, Marilyn Monroe.. '

Perchek shrugs and depresses the plungeronce more. The sensation doubles in intensity and quadruples in unpleasantness.This time, the pain is more burning than electric. Hot knives cut into Ray'shands and feet, into his abdomen, groin, and lower back. Sweat bathes him withthe suddenness of a summer thunderstorm, stinging his eyes, soaking hisT-shirt.