Eden's Spell (15 page)

“Mrs. Denver, I repeat my most profound apologies. And I'll swear again by your right to bring suit against the Navy. But you told me that you wanted to reserve opinion. I'm asking you now to do just that.”

“Admiral, someone called me and told me it was all off. It wasn't anyone I knew, because I was asked not to tell anyone anything and I didn't. Something is going on here, and it certainly wasn't my fault, and I truly don't appreciate what happened!”

“Mrs. Denver, we know that. And we will discover what happened. Would it help you to know that we have full presidential approval for this experimentation? That Congress voted approval for the funding?”

“I—” What was this? An appeal to her patriotism? Yes, of course it was, she thought wearily.

“Science is slow moving, Mrs. Denver. As I said, this has been under way for years. Tested again and again in a laboratory. On mice, on chimps.”

“Admiral, that's my point! My son and I are neither.”

“But you see, I've been studying the results of 44DFS since its inception. It's true, Mrs. Denver. There are absolutely no lingering after-effects. It's as clean as a whistle. And … actually, we were ready to test on human beings. We were attempting to move as slowly and cautiously as possible.”

Katrina played with her stew. “And you did wind up with humans,” she murmured.
Oh, yes! Mike Taylor knows exactly what his drug can do!
she thought bitterly.

“Yes, we did,” the admiral said, and she should have been prepared for what was coming. “You do have every right to be concerned, Mrs. Denver. A foreign substance—on you and your child.”

“Yes.”

“You wouldn't want to take anyone's word on lasting repercussions, would you?”

“It is hard to do, yes, Admiral.”

“I can imagine. You see, we know all the effects on our lab animals, Mrs. Denver, because we watch them. We guarantee ourselves that no harm has come to their health.”

“Commendable, Admiral.”

“So, Mrs. Denver, I would assume then that—in deeply caring for the welfare of your son, and yourself, since you're alone to raise him—that you would be most anxious for us to take even greater care with human beings.”

“I don't—”

“Mrs. Denver, I'd like you to agree to stay aboard the
Elizabeth.
Just for three days.”

“No!” Katrina cried out in denial. She'd already been a guinea pig! What more did they want? She didn't want needles and pins and things stuck into her and Jason!

“Mrs. Denver, don't you want to be sure? Absolutely sure?”

“Why should I?” She demanded belligerently. “You've already assured me—”

“You've already been exposed to the substance. All we want to do is monitor your condition—”

“I don't have a condition!”

“Please, please! Mrs. Denver! Be reasonable! You have been exposed. All we want to do now is assure you and ourselves that we are right—that you are fine, that your son is fine.”

“Oh, God!” She groaned. “This isn't fair!”

“Neither is warfare, Mrs. Denver,” the admiral said tiredly. “And I've seen a lot of it! World War II, the Korean War, and Vietnam. I've seen the results of guns, atom bombs, napalm … I've seen it all, I've watched all kinds of things, conventional and modern. I'm not really telling you anything you don't know already, Mrs. Denver! 44DFS is the first humane weapon I've ever seen—a defensive weapon, Mrs. Denver. Can you think about that for a moment, please? And think about the repercussions if you don't give us a chance. It will be years and years before it's ever ready for any real military use, but doesn't the dream, just the idea itself, beat the hell out of total nuclear warfare?”

He had her; she was trapped. She opened up her mouth to speak; she couldn't.

He leaned across the table to her. “Mrs. Denver, am I asking so much? Three days of your time. All right, I want more than that, really. Three days of your time, and a little piece of your island to set up a small lab to study the water, the air, and the animals. A prefab structure. It will be gone in a month, I swear. And one more thing—your silence and cooperation for that month.”

“Wait a minute!” Katrina protested.

“Mrs. Denver, is that so very much?”

“No. Yes! I don't know!” She hesitated, aware that her real disagreement was with Mike Taylor—the man, not the scientist. It was strictly, entirely personal. She did agree with the dream, didn't she, as fantastic as it all sounded?

The admiral kept talking and she kept stumbling for answers, and then suddenly, before she knew it, she had agreed to everything.

She didn't know exactly what happened next, because it all happened in an incredible whir. Someone was suddenly in the dining room with all kinds of papers. One young officer was a notary; he was there to witness her signature. Another was there to fully explain any of the legal terminology.

Amid it all, Katrina caught the admiral's eyes reproachfully. “I think I need a lawyer!” she told him bitterly.

“I can call one.”

But it was really very simple. She read every line of the documents, discovered that there was no fine print, that she was agreeing to nothing more than had been said. There was even a clause that mentioned her full legal right to sue the Navy for previous negligence.

“Mrs. Denver, believe me, I'm not trying to trick you into anything. As God is my witness, Mrs. Denver, I'm still trying to get to the bottom of what happened in the first place!”

She started to place her wavering signature on the paper, but then she paused.

“Admiral, this isn't going to be so simple. There is my son to consider. I will not disrupt his life. Three days, yes, but I can't keep him out of school for a month.”

“Mrs. Denver, we don't intend to deny that the Navy is working on your island, studying island life forms. After this week he'll be perfectly free to go back to school.”

“Admiral, there's still going to be trouble. My in-laws live right across the water in Islamorada. They're going to be concerned; in fact, they'll probably be here soon. I work with my brother-in-law; do fishing charters, snorkeling parties, and teach scuba classes out on the reefs. And my parents live in Key West.”

Nevertheless, Katrina found herself setting her signature to the paper. She had the strangest feeling that if she didn't, things would be taken out of her control anyway.

Mike frowned as he saw the dinghy approaching the shore. There were three people in it, not two: Jason, Harry, and a third man.

For a moment then, his heart began to beat quickly. He might have been seeing a ghost. The third man in the boat bore a striking resemblance to the picture on Katrina Denver's mantel, the picture of her husband.

“There's Mike!” Jason's excited voice came to him as the trio pulled the aging motor boat to the sand. Then he, Harry, and the other man were hurrying to him.

“Mike!” Jason cried. “This is my Uncle Frank. I told him we were okay, but he wanted to see Mom anyway.”

Mike automatically stretched out a hand to the tall, thin man in jeans and T-shirt. A slight frown was bunching his dark brows, but there was a pleasant smile on his lips as he accepted Mike's hand and surveyed him openly.

“Frank Denver,” he said, “Captain …?”

“Taylor. Michael Taylor.” Mike said, glad that Katrina's brother-in-law seemed to like what he saw. “I take it that you're …”

Frank laughed easily. “Yes, Trina's brother-in-law. I assume you saw the picture of James. There's just a strong family resemblance, huh, Jase?” He ruffled his nephew's hair affectionately, then looked back at Mike. “Jason said you were here through the storm, and I'd like to say that I'm grateful for your care of my sister-in-law and Jason.”

Mike grimaced with pain. “They would have been better off without me,” he said truthfully.

Frank shook his head. “The way it came up, so suddenly, it was just good to hear that they weren't alone. We usually evacuate even the main islands, Captain. Kat's house is as solid as a rock, but even so …” He shrugged, then frowned again. “Captain, what is going on here?”

“Mike,” he replied automatically. “The Navy thought it had rented use of your sister-in-law's island, Mr. Denver—”

“Frank, please,” the other man interrupted.

“We're, uh, studying wildlife,” Mike said lamely.

“Mike, where's Mom?” Jason tugged at his hand.

Mike smiled down at him. “She's with the admiral.”

“An admiral!” Jason's eyes lit up appreciatively. “A real one?”

Mike had to laugh. “Oh, yeah! I promise that Larson is real, very real! Want to come meet him?”

“Oh, boy!”

The admiral was going to get to handle this one, too, Mike decided grimly.

“Frank, want to come?”

“Definitely,” the young man said.

Something touched Mike, something deep, that hurt. So this is what James Denver would have been like: tall, lean, browned by the sun, with dark eyes that were bright and keenly aware of the world, interested in everything, with a high capacity for laughter. Frank Denver couldn't have been more than twenty-five, but he had a sense of maturity about him.

I've just met him
—
and I like him,
Mike realized.
I would have liked his brother.

The man whose widow had stumbled into 44DFS. The woman with whom he had become so passionately involved, who had come to him, and touched what he had thought was a heart of ice, long buried.

The woman who now wanted his scalp.

“Well, shall we go then? Harry, do you mind taking your boat over? They apparently decided not to send one back for us.”

Harry saluted very properly. “Aye, Captain, at your service!”

“Yeah, let's go. I'm really anxious to see Katrina,” Frank said.

So am I,
Mike thought.
So am I!
His fingers curled into tight fists at his side. He knew he wouldn't see her. He didn't want to influence her decision in any way.

She had to do what she felt was right. If he saw her, he was going to want to touch her. If he touched her, she was going to believe that he was trying to sway her, when he simply—cared; when he just wanted to hold her, give her strength.

But she didn't want his strength. She wanted his neck!

K
ATRINA HAD NEVER SEEN
things happen so quickly in her life. One minute she was in the gracious environment of the richly carved and paneled dining room with its Old World flair; the very next she found herself in a roomy but sterile cubicle.

Just as the papers had been ready for her, so had the room. There was a typical hospital-style bed, soothing music, a bedside stand, and even some kind of a VCR system—all incredibly neat and clean. Just like the white gown she'd been given to wear.

She'd been brought in by a nurse, a young lieutenant who was certainly one of the most beautiful women Katrina had ever met. She was sophisticated looking, with a perfectly made up face and a short cap of gleaming brown hair. Katrina had been given her rank and last name, but the nurse had cheerfully told her, “I do get so sick of titles! Please call me Amy!”

Amy had taken her blood pressure and her pulse, checked her temperature, and pricked her finger for a sample of blood. Then she had left her, promising that she was only a ring of the bedside buzzer away.

There was a cabin connected to hers, and Katrina had explored it with no hesitancy. It was, she knew, for Jason. She was a little stunned and resentful at the speed of things, and felt no qualms whatsoever about completely checking the room inside-out herself.

It was while she was in that room that a new man made an appearance in her life.

“Mrs. Denver?”

She walked through the connecting door to her own cabin and instantly decided that she liked the man who had addressed her. He was probably about five nine, slim and wiry, graying slightly, and good-natured looking, with a pair of gold-rimmed glasses that slid down his nose as he looked at her.

“Hi.” He offered his hand. “Stan Thorpe, Mrs. Denver. I've come to talk to you about the phone call.”

She told him about the call; he made notes. He muttered that the two officers sent to the island to make sure that it was clear should have found her anyway, shook his head, then smiled. “We will find out what happened, Mrs. Denver!” he promised her, and she felt like laughing because it was becoming such a standard promise.

“Can I get you anything? Coffee, tea, soda?”

She shrugged, not really wanting anything. Yet it seemed that he wanted an excuse to stay, so she asked for hot tea.

“Will do,” he replied, pleased.

He returned with the tea quickly, and settled in the recliner across from the hospital bed.

“How did you fare through the storm, Mrs. Denver? We would have reached you much sooner without her blowing in, you know.”

He was so pleasant, but she sensed that his conversation wasn't idle. And to her horror she blushed.

“We were fine through the storm. My house was built very sturdily, with lots of pilings. There was no flooding. And living here, I always have Sterno, canned stuff, candles, and the like.” She hesitated a second, then asked bluntly, “Are you for the project?”

“I am.”

“And—are you a friend of Captain Taylor's?”

He laughed. “Yeah, well, Mike and I go back a long way.”

“Then what do you think of Captain Stradford? He doesn't seem to think too much of—of 44DFS—isn't that it?”

“Umm. 44DFS,” Stan murmured. He shrugged again, hunching forward a bit in his chair. “Al's a conventional kind of guy. He believes in old and tried and true methods—and he doesn't often feel kindly toward the enemy.”

“Oh,” Katrina murmured. “And that's why he's so against Mike Taylor?”