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Lately—since Swain—she had been able to sometimes think of Zia without the crippling pain of grief, with more a fond and sad remembrance. But looking at Dr. Giordano and knowing he was the reason she no longer had Zia, everything rushed back at her in full force. She clenched her jaw to keep from moaning aloud, and fought the burn of tears. It wouldn’t do for “Charles” to start weeping.
They had all—she and Averill and Tina—fretted because Zia seemed to catch every bug that went around. By the age of ten she had already had pneumonia twice. Whether her immune system had been weakened by the deprivation of her first few weeks of life, or she was just unlucky, didn’t matter. Every winter Zia had been ill several times, and she had always caught at least one summer cold that would inevitably turn into bronchitis. She would have been almost certain to catch such an influenza as Dr. Giordano was planning to unleash on the world, and what were the odds she would have been one of the unlucky ones who died?
In trying to stop that from happening, Averill and Tina had set in motion a train of events that had led to that very outcome anyway. The irony of it was bitter.
Hard on the heels of pain came a hot rush of hatred, so strong that she shook with it. She sucked in a harsh breath, trying to wrestle her emotions back under control before she did something stupid and blew everything.
Walking beside her, Damone gave her a curious look. Lily covered for herself by turning her head and giving another cough. She just hoped the latex on her jaw held up under all this stress. Even more, she hoped that Damone didn’t notice that she had a mustache, but not even a hint of a five o’clock shadow on her face.
They walked down a long hall and turned right. “This is my office,” Dr. Giordano said, indicating a door with his name lettered on it in gold, and another keypad entry. “Next to it is the main laboratory, which I would like to show you. It is where I do my most important work. Monsieur Fournier, you should perhaps remain outside.”
Lily nodded. Swain took one of the notebooks and circuit testers from her and said, “We won’t be long.” She leaned against the wall the way she’d seen men do, the picture of patience as the three men went into the laboratory. She was just glad Damone hadn’t chosen to remain with her.
They were out within ten minutes, Swain making notes. She hoped he’d used his trusty little recorder to get the tonal codes of the keypad when Dr. Giordano had entered it, because that time the doctor had been very careful to shield the keypad with his body when he was punching in the sequence. They would need to get into both the lab and the office to set charges.
“Charles,” Swain said absently, “I want you to check the GF modulator on the 365 BS detector in the doctor’s office.”
“Yes, sir,” Lily croaked, diligently writing down the gibberish. She had no idea what a GF modulator was, or if such a thing even existed, and the only BS she knew of was what was coming out of Swain’s mouth almost every time he opened it. It sounded impressive, though, and gave her an excuse for being in Dr. Giordano’s office.
It was that way throughout the tour; whenever they “inspected” an area that Swain deemed on their hit list, he would reel off a set of instructions designed to get either himself or Lily back in that area. Not once did he repeat himself, probably because he couldn’t remember all the numbers and initials he’d used before. Dr. Giordano was obviously impressed by Swain’s comprehensive knowledge, though Damone’s expression was more enigmatic. Lily suspected Damone would be a hard sell on anything, which further underscored how much he must have trusted Georges Blanc, in order for him to have accepted Blanc’s recommendation.
At last they were finished, and Swain gave a brief smile. “That will do, I think. Now, if you gentlemen will excuse us, we’ll check those items I mentioned to Charles, and then we’ll sneak around hiding our little surprise packages. This will probably take . . . an hour, perhaps a little longer. Then we’ll have some fun with your employees that I hope will impress on them how vigilant they should be, and then we’ll have that evacuation drill.”
“Of course,” Damone said, and gave a very Continental little bow. “Thank you both for coming. If you don’t mind, I won’t remain here. Dr. Giordano knows far more about the facility than I, and he is the heart of all the research here. It has been very good to meet you.” He shook hands with Swain, then extended his hand to Lily and she had no choice but to accept his handshake. She tried to grip his hand firmly, and gave it one brisk shake before letting go and slipping her hands into her pockets.
Damone gave her a long, unreadable look, but said nothing and took his leave. Something in her relaxed a little in his absence. He’d been nothing but polite, but she had often felt his gaze boring into her as if he sensed something odd about her but couldn’t quite decide what it was.
After Damone had left, Lily and Swain returned to the van and began dividing the charges between them. Her notes told them where the charges needed to go. Swain had shown her how to use the detonators; there was nothing to it. Destruction was always a lot easier than construction.
“Almost finished,” Swain said. “You okay? You almost lost it there at the beginning.”
So he’d noticed that her emotions were getting the best of her. “Yes,” she said, her eyes dry and her hands steady. “I’m ready.”
“Here we go, then. I’d kiss you for good luck, but your upper lip is hairy.”
“Just for that, I’m going to wear the mustache to bed tonight.” Joking felt strange, given what they were about to do, but in a way the humor anchored her. She just hoped that, come night, they both would be still alive and together.
“That’s a scary thought.” He shrugged his shoulders, as if working out the tension. His blue eyes were deadly serious as he surveyed her. “Be careful. Don’t let anything happen to you.”
“Same here.”
He looked at his watch. “Okay, let’s hustle. I want all of these planted within half an hour.”
They reentered the building and, after one long look, went in opposite directions. Neither of them looked back.
31
Because Swain had numbered the rooms on the blueprint and marked the charges accordingly, Lily knew which charges went where. He’d shown her where to place them for maximum effect, but hidden well enough that they were likely to stay hidden until they could get the buildings evacuated.
It’s almost over. The thought kept running through her mind as she walked the hallways of the complex, not making any attempt to avoid detection. Almost no one paid her any attention, and no one questioned her. It was as if, just by being inside the complex, she’d proved her right to be there. The Nervis and Dr. Giordano had become acutely aware of security after the first incident, but for everyone else it seemed to be business as usual. The workforce was light, anyway, since it was the weekend. Those who were there were probably dedicated to the point of being blind to everything else, or tired and resentful that they were working when most others weren’t. The end of the workday was growing near, and a lot of people were just killing time.
It’s almost over. Fo
r four long months she’d had one aim: vengeance. But this had grown into something larger than her personal vendetta against the Nervis, something more important. What Averill and Tina had started, she was about to finish, in honor of a young girl who had died while she was still trembling on the cusp between childhood and adolescence.
Lily’s own life had taken a bizarre turn when she was eighteen, but she’d hoped to see Zia live a normal, happy life: marry, have children, be in step with most of the world’s population. Those who went with the flow, who fit in with the crowd, often had no idea how very lucky they were. They belonged. She had wanted Zia to belong, to have the things she herself either had never had or had been forced to give up.
What a special child Zia had been! As if she had somehow known her life would be short, she had spent it in a fizz of effervescence. Everything had been a source of wonder and joy to her. And she’d been a chatterbox, trying to get everything said that could be said, talking at a mad pace until they’d had to laugh and tell her to slow down.
