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“What else did you find out about the Raison Strain?” she demanded, scanning the story on the French pharmaceutical company.

“Nothing. I didn't ask anything about—”

“Well, maybe you should have. You had the presence of mind to ask about a horse race. If this virus is about to wipe out a few billion people, you'd think you would have the presence of mind to ask about it.”

“So now you're starting to listen,” Tom said, standing successfully this time. He looked around and reached for the bandage above his right ear. He pulled it off and felt for the wound. Odd.

“Kara?”

“It says here that Raison Pharmaceutical operates almost exclusively just outside Bangkok where its founder, Jacques de Raison, runs the company's new plant. His daughter, Monique de Raison, who is also in charge of new drug development, is expected to make the announcement in Bangkok on Wednesday.”

“Kara!”

She looked up. “What?”

“Can you . . .” He walked toward her, still feeling the scar on his skull. “Is this normal?”

“Is what normal?”

“It feels . . . I don't know. I can't feel it.”

Kara pushed his hand aside, spread his hair with her fingers, and stepped back, face white.

Tom faced her. “What is it?”

She stared, too stunned to answer.

“It's gone,” Tom said. “I was right. This was an open wound eight hours ago, and now it's gone, isn't it?”

“This is impossible,” Kara said.

Actually, it did sound a bit crazy.

“I'm telling you, Kara. This thing's real. I mean, real-real.”

A tremble had come to Kara's fingers.

“Okay.” He ran his fingers through his hair. The mob from New York City was still gunning for him, but the Raison Strain was the real threat here, wasn't it? For whatever reason, and through whatever device, he now possessed knowledge of the most damning proportions. Why him—third-culture vagabond from the Philippines, Java Hut extraordinaire, aspiring Magic Circle actor, unpublished novelist—he had no idea. But the significance of what he knew began to swell in his mind.

“Okay,” he said, lowering his arm. “Maybe we can stop it.”

“Stop it? I'm having trouble believing it, much less stopping it.”

“Bangkok,” Tom said.

“What, pray tell, are we going to do in Bangkok? Storm the Raison facilities?”

“No, but we can't just stay here.”

She broke off and walked for the kitchen desk. “We have to tell someone about this.”

“Who?”

“CDC. Centers for Disease Control. The headquarters are in Atlanta.”

“Tell them what?” Tom asked. “That a fuzzy creature told me the Raison Strain was going to wipe out half the world?”

“That's what you're saying, isn't it? This Raison Vaccine is going to mutate and kill us all like a bunch of rats? The whole thing's crazy!”

He rubbed the scar on his head. “So is this.”

Her eyes lifted to where the bullet had grazed his head not ten hours ago. She stared at his temple for a long moment and then turned for the phone. “We have to tell someone.”

He assured himself that her frustration wasn't directed so much at him as at the situation. “Okay, but you can't tell some pencil pusher at the CDC,” Tom said. “You'll come off sounding like a kook.”

“Then who? The local sheriff?” She scanned a list she'd placed in the front of the phone book, found the number, and dialed.

Tom brushed past her and began flipping through the phone book. The Roush had said that the Raison Strain led to the “Great Deception.” His mind fully engaged the problem now.

“What if I know this because I'm supposed to stop it?” Tom asked. “But who really would have the power to stop it? The CDC? More like the FBI or the CIA or the State Department.”

“Believe me, it'll sound just as crazy to the State Depar—” Kara turned, phone still plastered to her ear. “Yes, good morning, Melissa. This is Kara Hunter calling from Denver, Colorado. I'm a nurse. Who would I speak to about a . . . um, potential outbreak?” She paused. “No, actually I'm not calling on behalf of the hospital. I just need to report something I find suspicious.” Another pause. “Infectious disease. Who would that be? Thanks, I'll hold.”

Kara turned back to Tom. “What do I tell him?”

“I'm telling you, I really think—”

She held up her hand. “Yes, hello, Mark.” Kara took a breath and told him her concerns about the Raison Strain, stumbling along as best she could. She met with immediate resistance.

“I can't really tell you precisely why I suspect this. All I want is for you to have the vaccine checked out. You've received a complaint from a credible source. Now you need to follow up . . .”

She blinked and pulled the receiver from her ear.

“What?” Tom demanded. “He hung up on you?”

“He said, ‘Duly noted,'and just hung up.”

“I told you. Here.”

Tom took the receiver and punched in a number he'd found in Washington, D.C. Three calls and seven transfers finally landed him in the office of the Bureau for International Narcotics and Law Enforcement Affairs assistant secretary, who evidently reported to the under secretary for global affairs, who in turn reported to the deputy secretary of state. None of this mattered that much; what did matter was that Gloria Stephenson seemed like a reasonable person. She at least listened to his claim that he, one, had information of utmost importance to U.S. interests, and, two, he had to get that information to the right party immediately.

“Okay, can you hold on a minute, Mr. Hunter? I'm going to try to put you through.”

“Sure.” See, now they were getting somewhere. The phone on the other end rang three times before being answered.

“Bob Macklroy.”

“Yes, hi, Bob. Who are you?”

“This is the office of the Bureau for International Narcotics and Law Enforcement Affairs assistant secretary. I am the secretary.”

The big gun himself. “Uh, morning, Mr. Macklroy. Thank you for taking my call. My name is Thomas Hunter, and I have information about a serious threat here that I'm trying to get to the right party.”

“What's the nature of the threat?”

“A virus.”

There was a moment of silence. “Do you have the number for the CDC?” Macklroy asked.

“Yes, but I really think this goes beyond them. Actually, we tried them, but they pretty much blew us off.” It occurred to Tom that he may not have all day with someone as important as Macklroy, so he decided to give it to the man fast.

“I know this may sound strange, and I know you don't have a clue who I am, but you have to hear me out.”

“I'm listening.”

“Ever hear of the Raison Vaccine?”

“Can't say that I have.”

“It's an airborne vaccine about to hit the market. But there's a problem with the drug.” He told Macklroy about the mutation and ensuing devastation in one long run-on sentence.

Silence.

“Are you still there?” Tom asked.

“The earth's entire population is about to be decimated. Is that about it?”

Tom swallowed. “I know it sounds crazy, but that's . . . right.”

“You do realize there are laws that prohibit defaming a company without—”

“I'm not trying to defame Raison Pharmaceutical! This is a serious threat and needs immediate attention.”

“I'm sorry, but you have the wrong department. This is something the CDC would typically handle. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a meeting I'm late for.”

“Of course, you're late for a meeting. Everyone who wants to get off the phone is always late for a meeting!” Kara was motioning for him to calm down. “Look, Mr. Macklroy, we don't have a lot of time here. France or Thailand or whoever it is that has jurisdiction over Raison Pharmaceutical has to check this out.”

“Exactly what is your source for this information?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, how did you come across this information, Mr. Hunter? You're making some very serious allegations—surely you have a credible source.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them. “I had a dream.”

Kara put both palms to her forehead and rolled her eyes.

“I see. Very good, Tom. We're wasting tax dollars here.”

“I can prove it to you!” Tom said.

“I'm sorry, but now I really
am
late for a meet—”

“I also know who's going to win the Kentucky Derby this afternoon,” he yelled into the receiver. “Joy Flyer.”

“Good day, sir.”

The phone went dead.

Tom stared at Kara, who was pacing and shaking her head. He dropped the receiver into its cradle. “Idiots. No wonder the country's falling apart at the seams.”

A car door slammed in the parking lot outside.

“Well,” Kara said.

“Well what?”

“Well, at least we've reported it. You have to admit, it sounds a bit loopy.”

“Reporting it isn't enough,” Tom said, walking for the living room windows. He pulled aside one of the drapes.

“Why don't we make up some signs and stand on the corner; maybe that will get their attention,” Kara said. “Armageddon cometh.”

Tom dropped the drape and jumped back.

“What?”

“They're here!” Three of them that he had seen. Working their way, door to door, on their floor.

Tom sprang for his bedroom. “We have to get out of here. Grab your passport, money, whatever you have.”

“I'm not dressed!”

“Then hurry!” He glanced at the door. “We have a minute. Maybe.”

“Where are we going?”

He ran for his bedroom.

“Thomas!”

“Just go! Go, go!”

He grabbed his traveling papers and stuffed them in a black satchel he always used when he traveled. Money—two hundred bucks was all he had here. Hopefully Kara had some cash.

His toothbrush, a pair of khakis, three T-shirts, boxers, one pair of socks. What else? Think. That was it; no more time.

Tom ran into the living room. “Kara!”

“Just hang on. I could
kill
you!”

Their yelling would wake the neighborhood. “Hurry!” he whispered hoarsely.

She mumbled something.

What else, what else? The bills? He grabbed the basket of bills, crammed them into his bag, and snatched up the machete from the coffee table.

Kara ran out, hastily dressed in black capris and a yellow tank top. Her hair was tied in a ponytail, a white bag under her arm. She looked like a canary ready for a cruise to the Bahamas.

“We're coming back, right?” she asked.

“Keep down and stay right behind me,” Tom said, running for the rear sliding-glass door. He pulled back the drape—back lot looked clear. They slipped out, and he closed the door behind them.

“Okay, quick but not obvious. Stay behind me,” he repeated. They hurried down metal stairs and angled for Kara's Celica. No sign of the men who were probably pounding on their front door at this very moment.

“Keys?”

She pulled them out and handed them to him. “How do you know it was them?” she asked.

“I know. One of them had a bandage on his head. Same guy I met last night. I put my foot in his mouth.”

They climbed in and he fired the car. “Get down.”

Kara slouched in the front seat for two blocks before sitting up and straining back for sight of any pursuit.

“Anything?” Tom asked.

“Not that I can see.” She faced him. “Where are we going?”

Good question.

“Your passport is up-to-date, right?”

“Please, Tom, be serious. We can't just run off to Manila or Bangkok, or wherever!”

“You have a better idea? This is real! Those are
real
men with
real
guns back there! The Raison Vaccine is a
real
vaccine, and Joy Flyer is a
real
horse!”

She looked out her side window. “The Kentucky Derby hasn't been raced yet,” she said quietly.

“How long did I say we had before the Raison Strain became a threat?” he asked.

“You weren't even sure what year it happened.” She faced him. “If all these things really
are
real, then you need some better information. We can't just traipse all over the globe because Joy Flyer really is a horse.”

“What do you suggest, finding out exactly how to fix the problem in the Middle East in one fell swoop?”

She looked at him. “Could you do that?”

“'Course not.”

“Why not?”

Yes, why not?

“What was it the black bats said to you?” Kara asked. “Something about them being your destiny? Maybe you should talk to them instead of these white furry creatures. We need specifics here.”

“I can't .They live in the black forest! It's forbidden.”

“Forbidden? Listen to you. It's a
dream,
Tom! Granted, a dream with some pretty crazy ramifications, but just a dream.”

“Then how do I know all this stuff? Why is my head wound gone?”

“I don't know. What I do know is that
this
”
—
she jabbed at the console—“isn't a dream. So your dreams are special. You're somehow learning things in there you shouldn't know; I give you that. I'm even
embracing
that. I'm saying, learn more! But I'm not going to go running off to Bangkok to save the world without the slightest idea of what to do once we get there. You need more information.”

They entered the interchange between I-25 and I-70, headed for Denver International Airport.

“So at least you
are
admitting that this information's important. And real.”

She set her head back. “Yes. So it seems.”

“Then we have to respond to it. You're right, I need more information. But I can't very well fall asleep at the wheel, can I? And you can't keep drugging me.”