Adrian Lowe’s face glowed with pride. “Miss Simmons, my former student Gary Lasch brought me here after I had been hounded out of medicine. He believed in me and my research and was devoted to lending me the support I needed to carry out my tests and experiments. Then he sent for Peter Black, another of my former students, and one who had been Gary ’s classmate. That proved not to be the wisest move, in retrospect. Possibly because of his problem with alcohol, Black has turned out to be a dangerous coward. He has failed me on a number of occasions, although most recently he has helped to hand me the greatest achievement of my career. In addition, there is Calvin Whitehall, who was kind enough to arrange our meeting, and who has been an ardent supporter of my research, both financially and philosophically.”
“Calvin Whitehall did what?” Fran asked, a shiver of alarm running down her back.
Adrian Lowe looked puzzled. “Why, he arranged this meeting, of course. He suggested you would be the appropriate media contact. He made the arrangements with you and verified with me that you would be coming.”
Fran chose her next words carefully: “Exactly what did Mr. Whitehall tell you I would do for you, Doctor?”
“My dear, you are here because you are going to produce a thirty-minute interview with me that will then allow me to share my achievements with the world. The members of the medical establishment will continue to excoriate me. But even they over time, as well as the general public, will come to embrace the wisdom of my philosophy and the genius of my research. And you, Miss Simmons, will lead the way. You are going to publicize that program in advance and place it on your own prestigious network.”
Fran stood silent for a moment, both dumbfounded and horrified by what she had heard. “Dr. Lowe, you do realize that you will be exposing yourself, and Dr. Black, and Calvin Whitehall to possible criminal prosecution?”
He bristled. “Of course I do. Calvin has willingly accepted that as a necessary part of our important mission.”
Oh dear God, Fran thought, he’s become dangerous to them. And so have I. This laboratory is also dangerous to them. They’ve got to get rid of it-and us. I’ve walked into a trap.
“Doctor,” she said, trying to sound calmer than she felt, “we’ve got to get out of here. Immediately. We’ve both been set up. Calvin Whitehall would never let you go public with all this, especially on television. You must realize that!”
“I don’t understand…” the doctor responded, an almost childlike confusion crossing his face.
“Trust me. Please!”
Dr. Lowe was standing next to her by the laboratory’s center island, his hands on the Formica surface. “Miss Simmons, you’re not making sense. Mr. Whitehall-”
Fran grabbed his hand. “Doctor, it isn’t safe here. We have to get out.”
She heard a faint noise and felt a sharp draft. At the far end of the room the window was being raised. “Look!” she screamed pointing to the shadowy figure, barely visible against the night.
She saw the flicker of a tiny flame, watched as an arm lifted it, then seemed to pull back. Suddenly she realized what was happening. Whoever was outside that window was going to throw a firebomb into the room. He was going to blow up the laboratory-and both of them with it.
Doctor Lowe pulled his hand from her tight grasp. Fran knew it was useless to run, but she also knew she had to try. “Doctor, please.”
But in a lightning movement he reached below the counter of the island, pulled out a shotgun, racked back the slide with a loud, ominous click, then aimed and fired. The noise deafened her. She saw the arm holding the flame disappear, then heard the thud of a body. An instant later flames shot up from the porch.
Dr. Lowe pulled a fire extinguisher off the wall and thrust it at her. Then he ran to a wall safe, opened it quickly, and frantically began to search through it.
Fran leaned out the window. Flames were licking at the shoes of their would-be assailant, who lay on the porch. He was groaning and clutching at his shoulder, trying to stem the gushing flow of blood. Fran pressed down with her finger, and a stream of foam sprouted from the extinguisher, putting out the flames directly around him.
But the fire had spread already to the railing of the porch and was seconds away from reaching the steps. Some of the flaming liquid from the firebomb had also flowed between the floorboards of the porch, and she could see flames already licking underneath. It was clear to Fran that no extinguisher could save this house. She knew also that if she opened the door to the porch, the flames would sweep through the laboratory and engulf the oxygen tank.
“Doctor, get out,” she shrieked. He nodded, and with his arms full of files, he ran out of the laboratory and down the hall. She could hear the clatter of his feet on the stairs as he descended.
She looked back out onto the porch. There was only one way to try to save the life of the injured man, which she was determined to try to do. She could not leave him to be blown up when the laboratory went. Holding the extinguisher, Fran squeezed herself out of the narrow window and onto the small porch. The flames had returned, inching closer to the wounded man and threatening soon to climb the house’s outside wall. Spraying foam from the fire extinguisher in the space between the window and the stairs, she created a temporary path. The would-be killer was lying almost at the top of the steps. Fran set the extinguisher down, put her hands under the man’s right shoulder, and with all her strength, she lifted and rolled him. For an instant he teetered at the top step, then in an end-over-end motion that brought agonized cries from his lips, he tumbled down the stairs.
Fran tried to straighten up but lost her balance in the slippery foam and fell, her feet going out from under her. Her head struck the top step, her shoulder banged against the sharp edge of the next one, her ankle twisted as she finally dropped to the ground.
Dazed, she managed to scramble to her feet just as Dr. Lowe came around the side of the house. “Grab him,” she shouted. “Help me to get him clear before the whole place explodes.”
Their assailant had fainted during his tumble, and was now a deadweight. With superhuman strength, Fran assumed most of the burden but still managed, with Dr. Lowe’s help, to pull Lou Knox nearly twenty feet before the explosion Calvin Whitehall had planned so carefully took place.
They headed for safety as flames leaped skyward and debris rained around them.
85
After Fran left, Molly went upstairs and into the bathroom, where she stood in front of the mirror, studying her face. It looked unfamiliar, as if she were looking at a stranger-one she didn’t particularly care to meet. “You used to be Molly Carpenter, didn’t you?” she asked her mirror image. “Molly Carpenter was a very lucky person, privileged even. Well, guess what? She’s not here anymore, and you can’t go back to pretending to be her. You can only go back to being a number who lives in a cell block. Doesn’t sound like a lot of fun, does it? And maybe it’s not such a great idea.”
She turned on the taps to fill the Jacuzzi, tossed in scented bath salts, and walked into the bedroom.
Jenna had said she was going to stop at a cocktail party before coming over. Her housekeeper would deliver dinner. Jenna will look gorgeous, Molly thought. Then she made a decision. I’ll surprise her-tonight I’m going to have my one last fling at being Molly Carpenter.
An hour later, her hair washed and shining, makeup camouflaging the circles under her eyes, dressed in pale green silk slacks and a matching cowl-neck shirt, Molly waited for Jenna to arrive.