Chapter 13

Sunday, June 7, 1987-Morning

Pico's sinister scheme to trick Mike Donovan and Ham Tyler into a vulnerable position, by bringing them into his germ-infested laboratory had failed. Pico knew any Human who encountered this mutant strain of Bordetella Pertussis bacteria would most likely perish without immediate medical treatment. Donovan and Tyler remained unexposed to the contaminant.

Left here in the company of Ham Tyler and ailing test subjects, Pico knew he didn't care for the so-called "Fixer" one bit. His opinion had formed months ago. Through his investigation into Juliet Parrish's past, Pico also learned about her ex-Resistance cohorts. Ham Tyler was a well-trained assassin, known for methods of torturing people whom he deemed useless. Pico didn't savor the thought of what Ham Tyler and Mike Donovan would do to him as they carried out their interrogation. Instead, his mind went back to a more urgent need, and that was to relieve himself. He'd vocalized his need more than once, but Ham Tyler ignored him.

Maybe it's one of The Fixer's methods of torture, he mused.

#

Shifting a cardboard box to his shoulder, Donovan turned the handle to the front door of Pico's lab complex. Behind Donovan, two dark haired, ex-Fifth Columnists, Robert and Howie, who'd once crossed paths with the Resistance, followed him in. All three men wore protective masks, but the stench of death penetrated through to their nostrils. Donovan swallowed, fighting the urge to gag again.

Entering Pico's lab, Donovan snatched an extra mask from the top of his box and shoved it at Ham. "Put it on."

Ham obliged while Howie went to work assessing Pico's victims.

Robert sat his container down on the lab table, asking, "What do you want me to do, Donovan?"

Donovan pulled a laser torch from the box and handed it to Robert. "Free them." He took another torch for himself, and headed to Willie's cot. As he watched the rise and fall of the sleeping Visitor's chest, an image of Julie flashed through his mind. How long is this going to take? He wanted to return to the hospital before visiting hours began.

He started to blast through the titanium reinforcements, careful not to burn Willie's delicate pseudo skin. Ham came over to assist.

Nodding in Pico's direction, Donovan asked, "Has he said anything?"

"Only that he needs to use the john," Ham replied.

Smirking, Donovan asked, "And you didn't want the delight of taking him?"

"I figured you would."

"This one's dead." Howie said, pulling a sheet over a man's face. He moved onto the next cot. "All three humans are dead."

Donovan glanced at Ham. "You get the bodies out of here. I'll take the old man to the john."

"How about we just find somewhere else to question him?" Ham suggested, continuing to cut away at Willie's restraints.

Turning to Pico, Donovan shrugged. It'll be good to get away from the smell.

As he bent down to release Pico's hands, a sticky, warm substance landed in his hair. He quickly drew his hand away to find Pico puckering his lips to spit at him again.

Donovan shot to his feet. "Wanna be a wise guy? You can just stay in that chair! It doesn't make any difference to us!"

Darting out into the hall, he searched for a restroom to wash the nasty stuff out of his hair and hand. He opened door after door, turning on light switches. Peculiar contents of one room caught his attention. Bulletin boards lined the walls, each presenting an array of newspaper and magazine articles spanning Julie's career as a scientist and Resistance leader. He studied the headlines:

BATES AWARDS DR. JULIET PARRISH TECHNOLOGICAL STUDY

EX-RESISTANCE LEADER AND WORLD RENOWN BIOCHEMIST TO WED COLLEGE SWEETHEART

A black and white photograph bearing Steve and Julie's smiling faces stared back at Donovan. Nearby he found a color photograph of himself and Julie in a similar pose.

Pico knew about us?... He purposely selected me for the interview?

Searching the walls for more clues, a series of 8 1/2 by 11 sheets of paper caught Donovan's eye. The header of each paper bore the words UNITED STATES PHARMACEUTICAL ADMINISTRATION. He skimmed through the pages, adding to his scant knowledge of Julie and Steve's contract between the USPA, and a company called Metzger Pharmaceuticals. The most revealing tidbit of information was the price Julie and Steve bid to win the contract… ten million dollars.

Donovan pulled tiny, red thumbtacks out of the corner of each paper then carried the documents back into the laboratory where Ham had Willie sitting up in bed, sipping from a cup.

"I think I found the motive." Donovan shoved the papers under Ham's nose.

Ham took them as Howie helped Willie out of bed.

A series of coughs rattled through the sickly Visitor's chest as he said, "Thank you, Mike."

"You're welcome," said Donovan, not looking at him but Ham instead. "It's the contract Julie and Steve signed."

"What's he doing with it?" Ham motioned to the old man.

"I'm sure you've come up with a way to get some answers," Donovan said.

"What's your pleasure?"

#

Selfishness. Steve attributed his desire to return to the hospital as quickly as possible to selfishness. Due to Connie's flight being delayed by fifty-two minutes, thanks to L.A.'s infamous smog issue, Steve didn't leave L.A.-X with Connie in tow until a quarter of nine.

With my fortune, Donovan and Maggie already beat me to the hospital.

No worries, Donovan will have to contend with Connie when she arrives. The revelation made Steve smile.

Fifty-seven-year-old Connie Parrish sat in the passenger seat with a round compact in hand. She powdered her nose, staring back at steel grey eyes in the mirror. A mass of graying blonde curls cascaded around her neck. She shoved the compact into a wicker handbag with gaudy orange and green flowers woven into its side then pulled out a pack of Pall Mall non-filtered cigarettes.

Steve pressed a power button, cracking the windows about an inch. He didn't smoke, and usually didn't allow others to smoke in his car. Better to let Connie have her way than start a quarrel.

"Don't crack the window. You'll let the cold air out," Connie complained.

He entered the on ramp of the San Diego Freeway.

Connie took a drag and exhaled toward her window. "Did you contact Juliet's priest for the sacrament of anointing the sick?

What priest? She doesn't attend church. He thought Connie understood that.

"No," he said. "Things transpired so fast. I just…"

Connie patted his right hand. "It's okay, Stevie. I understand. You do know the name of the priest, don't you?"

Her clammy, bony fingers laced through his making his skin crawl. "There's no priest," he said.

She shot him an incredulous stare. "Where did you plan on marrying her?"

He shrugged, shaking his head. "We never got that far in preparing for the wedding."