“What do you mean flipped?”
“Are you sure you want to hear the details? It’s not pretty.”
“Goddam it, Bratz, who do you think you’re talking to, some grade-school virgin? Just tell me what happened.”
“Okay. Like I said, Stu was getting pretty bad. Holding his head, groaning. Wouldn’t talk except to cuss me out. I left him alone. Then, when the two guys came in with our dinners, he let out a howl and went for them.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean he went after those guys, punching, kicking, clawing, biting. He was trying to kill them. I was so stunned it took me a minute to get up and start toward him. Before I got there, three more security goons rushed in, and they all grabbed Stu and fought him down to the floor. It took all of them to do it.” Lloyd Bratz hesitated, chewing his lower lip as he remembered.
“What happened next is worse than anything I’ve seen in my life. I was in Nam, and I’ve seen some bad things.”
Dena reached out and touched his hand. He looked at her gratefully.
“Stu never quit fighting them,” he said. “He heaved and twisted and humped his body, throwing those five guys around the room like they was stuffed with straw. All the time he was screeching in this terrible unearthly voice. The skin on his face and his arms got all blotchy red and started to break open like blisters. I heard something crack like a rifle shot. It took me a minute to realize that Stu just broke his own leg. The five guys tried harder to hold him still, but the more they tried, the more Stu thrashed around. I could hear his bones cracking and snapping, and he never quit. He gave one last heave, and blood and gunk came pouring out of his mouth. That was the end of it. Stu was dead. He literally tore himself apart.”
Dena looked down at the cigarette that had burned to the filter and gone out. She dropped it into the ashtray. The shaved patches under her arms were damp with sweat. She shivered.
“I’m sorry,” Lloyd said. “You wanted to hear the story, and there’s no way I could have prettied it up.”
“I know.” Dena was a little surprised that her voice sounded so calm. “What are you going to do now?”
“I don’t know. Try to get help somewhere. Find Helen.”
“What can I do?” Dena said.
“Get the word out, that’s all.”
“What word, Lloyd? What the hell is happening here?”
A blaze of light flashed across the bedroom curtain. Bratz peeled back the edge and looked out.
“They’re here,” he said. “Have you got a back door?”
Dena nodded. “This way.”
She led him out to the kitchen. A cool draft of night air blew in through the window where he had entered. Someone knocked in the front.
Dena slid back the bolt and opened the door that led to the small backyard. Two men, big men, stood outside. Lloyd Bratz tensed for a moment as though he might charge; then his body sagged. The men stepped forward. Each of them took one of his arms.
“Who are you?” Dena said. “Where are you taking him?”
“Plant security, ma’am,” said one of the men. “Mr. Bratz is under quarantine.”
“Wait just a minute — ” Dena began.
She broke off at the sound of a footfall behind her and spun around. Another man in a Biotron security uniform stood in the doorway leading to the front of the house. Behind him was Dr. Frederich Kitzmiller.
“I am very sorry for this intrusion, Dr. Falkner,” he said. “Have you been harmed?”
“Of course not,” Dena said. “What’s going on here?”
Kitzmiller nodded a signal to the men behind her, and Lloyd Bratz was taken out through the back door. He did not resist.
“It is a rather involved story,” Kitzmiller said.
“Yes, I’m sure it is,” Dena said. As the shock wore off, she was starting to get mad.
“Please make no judgments until you have heard my explanation,” he said. “If you will come to my office in the morning, we will discuss the whole matter.”
“Your real office?” Dena said.
Kitzmiller permitted himself a chilly smile. “My so-called friendly office. I am told that people feel more comfortable there.”
“I’ll be there,” Dena told him.
“Thank you. Good night.”
Dr. Kitzmiller and the men from security went away, and the night was again silent and dark. Dena lay in bed with the lamp on, smoking and thinking. It was not until an hour before dawn that she slept.
Chapter 10
Dr. Kitzmiller was waiting when Dena walked into the office at nine on Thursday morning. He wore one of his standard gray suits and a muted tie. The smile he put on to greet her looked as though it hurt his face.
“Thank you for coming, Dena,” he said. “Please sit down.”
This is going to be serious, she thought. When Dr. Kitzmiller used your first name, he meant business. She eased into the chair facing him.
“I trust you slept well.”
“No one else broke into my house after you left, if that’s what you mean.” She was not going to make it easy for him.
“I am sorry about that,” Kitzmiller said. “A most unfortunate occurrence.”
“You said you were going to explain some things to me,” Dena reminded him.
“Just so.” He arranged the single sheet of paper before him so the edges were perfectly squared with the desk. “I assume you and Mr. Bratz discussed some of these matters last night.”
“We talked.”
“May I ask what he told you?”
“Lloyd said there was an accident of some kind during a spraying test from the helicopter. He said you had him and Stu Anderson locked up in the infirmary and kept them there under guard.”
Dena waited for some kind of reaction from Kitzmiller. When there was none, she went on.
“He told me Stu apparently contracted some kind of an illness that affected his mind. It finally killed him. Lloyd escaped from the infirmary, he said, but he was afraid the guards were close behind him. It turned out he was right.”
Kitzmiller compressed his lips into a thin line. He shifted uncomfortably in the padded swivel chair. “And do you accept Mr. Bratz’s version of what happened?”
“I have no reason to doubt him.”
“No. Quite right.”
“Is it true, doctor?”
“In essence, yes.”
Dena stared at him. She realized that what she wanted to hear was a denial. “And what about Stu?”
“I am coming to that.”
“He is not in Brazil.”
“No.”
“Where is he? What happened to him?”
“Please allow me to explain in an orderly manner. There are important details that Mr. Bratz omitted, or of which he is unaware.”
“I’d like to hear them.”
“There was, as he said, an unfortunate accident that occurred during a routine aerial dispersal test. The canister of purple dye, such as is normally used for these tests, was somehow exchanged for one containing an experimental pesticide that had been rejected and marked for disposal.”
“Pesticide, you say.”
“That is correct. Our products at Biotron include both experimental fertilizers and pesticides.”
“I am aware of that, Dr. Kitzmiller.”
“Yes, of course you are. As I say, there was an accidental switch of the canisters. Most regrettable.”
“Criminally careless, I’d call it.”
“Perhaps. But please remember we cannot afford to be emotional over such incidents. There is an ongoing investigation, and procedures will be adjusted to ensure that it does not happen again.”
“Just how dangerous was this pesticide?” Dena asked.
“We don’t know. I can tell you it was considered unsuitable for the use for which it was intended.”