He paused to pull on a pair of supple leather gloves.
Mirrored by moonbeams, a sliding glass door connected the patio with the living room. It was locked. A penlight, extracted from the packet of burglary tools, also revealed a wooden pole laid in the interior track of the door to prevent it from being forced.
The Hudstons were more security-conscious than most people, but Vince was unconcerned. He fixed a small suction cup to the glass, used a diamond cutter to carve a circle in the pane near the door handle, and quietly removed the cutout with the cup. He reached through the hole and disengaged the lock. He cut another circle near the sill, reached inside, and removed the wooden pole from the track, pushing it under the drawn drapes, into the room beyond.
He did not have to worry about dogs. The woman with the sexy voice had told him that the Hudstons had no house pets. That was one reason why he liked working for these particular employers: their information was always extensive and accurate.
Easing the door open, he slipped through the closed drapes into the dark living room. He stood for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the gloom, listening. The house was tomb-silent.
He found the boy’s room first. It was illuminated by the green glow of the numerals on a digital clock-radio. The teenager was lying on his side, snoring softly. Sixteen. Very young. Vince liked them very young.
He moved around the bed and crouched along the side of it, face-to-face With the sleeper. With his teeth, he pulled the glove off his left hand. Holding the pistol in his right hand, he touched the muzzle to the underside of the boy’s chin.
The kid woke at once.
Vince slapped his bare hand firmly against the boy’s forehead and simultaneously fired the gun. The bullet smashed up through the soft underside of the kid’s chin, through the roof of his mouth, into his brain, killing him instantly.
Ssssnap.
An intense charge of life energy burst out of the dying body and into Vince. It was such pure, vital energy that he whimpered with pleasure as he felt it surge into him.
For a while he crouched beside the bed, not trusting himself to move. Transported. Breathless. At last, in the dark he kissed the dead boy on the lips and said, “I accept. Thank you. I accept.”
He crept cat-swift, cat-silent through the house and quickly found the master bedroom. Sufficient light was provided by another digital clock with green numerals and the soft glow of a night-light coming through the open bathroom door. Dr. and Mrs. Hudston were both asleep. Vince killed her first- Ssssnap.
– without waking her husband. She slept in the nude, so after he received her sacrifice, he put his head to her bare breasts and listened to the stillness of her heart. He kissed her nipples and murmured, “Thank you.”
When he circled the bed, turned on a nightstand lamp, and woke Dr. Hudston, the man was at first confused. Until he saw his wife’s staring, sightless eyes. Then he shouted and grabbed for Vince’s arm, and Vince clubbed him over the head twice with the butt of the gun.
Vince dragged the unconscious Hudston, who also slept in the nude, into the bathroom. Again, he found adhesive tape, with which he was able to bind the doctor’s wrists and ankles.
He filled the tub with cold water and wrestled Hudston into it. That frigid bath revived the doctor.
In spite of being naked and bound, Hudston tried to push up out of the cold water, tried to launch himself at Vince.
Vince hit him in the face with the pistol and shoved him down into the tub again.
“Who are you? What do you want?” Hudston spluttered as his face came up out of the water.
“I’ve killed your wife and your son, and I’m going to kill you.”
Hudston’s eyes seemed to sink back into his damp, pasty face. “Jimmy? Oh, not Jimmy, really, no.”
“Your boy is dead,” Vince insisted. “I blew his brains out.”
At the mention of his son, Hudston broke. He did not burst into tears, did not begin to keen, nothing as dramatic as that. But his eyes went dead- blink-just that abruptly. Like a light going out. He stared at Vince, but there was no fear or anger in him any more.
Vince said, “What you’ve got here is two choices: die easy or die hard. You tell me what I want to know, and I let you die easy, quick and painless. You get stubborn on me, and I can draw it out for five or six hours.”
Dr. Hudston stared. Except for bright ribbons of fresh blood that banded his face, he was very white, wet and sickly pale like some creature that swam eternally in the deepest reaches of the sea.
Vince hoped the guy wasn’t catatonic. “What I want to know is what you have in common with Davis Weatherby and Elisabeth Yarbeck.”
Hudston blinked, focused on Vince. His voice was hoarse and tremulous “Davis and Liz? What are you talking about?”
“You know them?”
Hudston nodded.
“How do you know them? Go to school together? Live next door at one time?”
Shaking his head, Hudston said, “We… we used to work together at Banodyne.”
“What’s Banodyne?”
“Banodyne Laboratories.”
“Where’s that?”
“Here in Orange County,” Hudston said. He gave an address in the city of Irvine.
“What’d you do there?”
“Research. But I left ten months ago. Weatherby and Yarbeck still work there, but I don’t.”
“What sort of research?” Vince asked.
Hudston hesitated.
Vince said, “Quick and painless-or hard and nasty?”
The doctor told him about the research he had been involved with at Banodyne. The Francis Project. The experiments. The dogs.
The story was incredible. Vince made Hudston run through some of the details three or four times before he was finally convinced the story was true.
When he was sure he had squeezed everything out of the man, Vince shot Hudston in the face, point-blank, the quick death he’d promised.
Ssssnap.
Back in the van, driving down the night-draped Laguna Hills, away from the Hudston house, Vince thought about the dangerous step he had taken. Usually, he knew nothing about his targets. That was safest for him and for his employers. Ordinarily he didn’t want to know what the poor saps had done to bring so much grief on themselves, because knowing would bring him grief. But this was no ordinary situation. He had been paid to kill three doctors-not medical doctors, as it turned out now, but scientists-all of them upstanding citizens, plus any members of their families who happened to get in the way. Extraordinary. Tomorrow’s papers weren’t going to have enough room for all the news. Something very big was going on, something SO important that it might provide him with a once-in-a-lifetime edge, with a shot at money so big he would need help to count it. The money might come from selling the forbidden knowledge he had pried out of Hudston… if he could figure out who would like to buy it. But knowledge was not only saleable; it was also dangerous. Ask Adam. Ask Eve. If his current employers, the Sexy-voiced lady and the other people in L.A., learned that he had broken the most basic rule of his trade, if they knew that he had interrogated one of his victims before wasting him, they would put out a contract on Vince. The hunter would become the hunted.
Of course, he didn’t worry a lot about dying. He had too much life stored up in him. Other people’s lives. More lives than ten cats. He was going to live forever. He was pretty sure of that. But… well, he didn’t know for certain how many lives he had to absorb in order to insure immortality. Sometimes he felt that he’d already achieved a state of invincibility, eternal life. But at other times, he felt that he was still vulnerable and that he would have to take more life energy into himself before he would reach the desired state of godhood. Until he knew, beyond doubt, that he had arrived at Olympus, it was best to exercise a little caution.