"And delay its implementation by two or three years," Harvey interrupted.

"Markey is trying to make us start all over again."

"Well, it could have been worse. He could have closed us down all together."

Max waited to hear Harvey's response, but when none was forthcoming, he stepped into view.

"Good morning, doctors."

They were both standing over a microscope. Their heads swiveled toward the doorway at the sound of Max's voice.

"Good morning, Lieutenant."

Max's eyes moved about the room.

"Where's your lab chief this morning?"

"Winston O'Connor? He's taken a few days off."

Max nodded vigorously, his fingers twirling a pencil as though it were a baton. He began to circle the lab, picking up and putting down items at random.

"You two look lousy," he said.

"Been a bad day," Harvey replied.

"How so?"

"I received a visit from Ray Markey this morning."

"The guy from Washington?"

"That's right."

"What did he have to say?"

Harvey recounted his conversation with Dr. Raymond Markey.

Max nodded, continuously moving about the lab, his eyes never swerving in the general direction of the speaker. To those who did not know him, he appeared not to be paying attention.

He did, however, stop and examine Eric Blake as though seeing him for the first time. Nice shoes, expensive suit, monogrammed dress shirt, power tie, matching suspenders.

Looked a little stiff. Acted more than a little stiff. Actually, Eric looked more like a Wall Street wheeler-dealer than an altruistic doctor.

When Harvey finished, Max picked up a test tube, examined it, and said, "Interesting."

Eric snatched the tube from the lieutenant's hand.

"Do you mind?" he asked irritably.

"These are important experiments."

"Sorry." Max paced off in another direction. Judging by the few sentences Max had overheard in the hallway, Eric Blake did not see Dr. Markey's visit as reason to panic. In fact, he did not seem concerned at all. Again, interesting.

You're missing something here, Max. Something big. Think, dammit.

But nothing came to him, just a steady, annoying nudge in his brain.

"So let me get this straight," he said.

"Markey wants to turn Michael into a guinea pig to see if SRI works?"

"Something like that, yes."

Once again Max nodded.

"Then we can't hide Michael with the other patients. But then again, there's no reason to hide him anyway, is there?"

Eric stepped forward.

"Hide him? What are you talking about?"

"Its okay, Eric," Harvey replied.

"The lieutenant and I have talked it over already. We've decided to placed the cured patients in a police safehouse to protect them from this Gay Slasher."

"Where?" Max smiled.

"Its a secret hence the word 'safehouse."

"From us?"

"Yes."

"But I don't see why," Eric continued.

"Can't we just improve security and leave them in here?" "We could," Harvey said, "but we both felt this was the better solution. It would be much too disruptive to have a ton of policemen all over the place and try to operate a first-class medical facility.

And another thing. Martino was killed in this very building while I was still here. It would be impossible to guarantee their safety."

"What about their medical treatment?" Eric asked.

"The lieutenant has assured me that he has a qualified man who will follow our very specific instructions, right, Lieutenant?"

"Correct. We won't touch them without your go-ahead."

"And for right now I have informed the lieutenant that the patients are not to be touched or handled in any manner." || Eric said nothing. | Max cleared his throat.

"Now that we have that settled, how many cured patients are still alive?"

"Three," Harvey answered.

"And to answer your other ' question, no, there would be no reason to hide Michael from the killer since he is not a cured patient. I might suggest, however, a few extra men at the entrances."

"Okay," Max agreed.

"Where are the three patients?"

"They're all here."

"Good. Did you have a chance to go through Dr. Grey's private files yet?"

Harvey nodded slowly.

"Do you have a list of Dr. Grey's missing files?"

"Here." Harvey handed Max a piece of paper and stepped back. Max glanced over the list of names. He shook his head, took the pencil out of his mouth, and scratched a line across three names:

Krutzer, Theodore Leander, Paul Martino, Riccardo Singer, Arnold Trian, Scott Whithoroon, William

"Let me guess," Max said wearily.

"The three surviving HFV negative patients are Krutzer, Leander, and Singer."

Harvey nodded.

Max pocketed the list and headed for the door.

"Then let's start preparing them for the move to the safehouse."

"Fine. Eric, I'll see you later."

"Okay."

After the two men left the room, Eric Blake walked toward his private file cabinet. He bent down, unlocked the bottom drawer, and reached way into the back. His fingers deftly lifted away loose papers, digging down to the bottom where they hit warm glass.

Eric quickly made sure that no one was looking before he pulled out a test tube filled with blood.

Police Sergeant Willie Monticelli was three years away from his pension. He was a twenty-seven-year veteran of the force, having worked homicide for over a decade. Sounded like glamorous work to many but usually the job was about as exciting as watching paint dry. It consisted of running down useless leads, interviewing hostile people who knew nothing, writing up painstaking progress reports which were never read, and worst of all, surveillance.

Right now Willie Monticelli was on his second day of surveillance. The first day had produced the usual nothing.

Zippo. Subject X had not done one thing that could be labeled even slightly suspicious. Day 2, however, was another matter.

On Day 2, Subject X had flown to Washington, DC.

Earlier in the morning Willie had followed Subject X to La Guardia Airport where he purchased a ticket for American Airlines flight 105 to Washington. Willie did likewise. When Subject X landed at Dulles International Airport, he rented a car from Hertz. Willie did likewise. Now they were both driving down Rockville Pike. Destination still unknown. Willie was not worred about losing the grey Chevy Camaro in front of him. He was the best tail-man in the business.

Willie could stick to a guy's tail like sweaty thighs to a car seat.

He shook his head. Twitch Bernstein had done it again. The kid was stranger than a duck on bad acid, no question about it, but Willie reviewed his nearly three decades on the force and could think of no better man to lead a homicide investigation.

The kid was more than just smart; hell, there were a lot of smart guys in homicide. No, Willie thought, it was Twitch's very weirdness that raised him above the others. Twisted and warped realities were no problem from Bernstein. The kid understood the loony mind.

Subject X's car turned, stopped in front of a guard's post, and then continued forward. Willie stopped his car and looked at the sign.

NATIONAL INSTITUTES OF HEALTH

Sara undressed quickly, sat on the cold examining table and waited. She passed the time by reading Dr. Carol Simpson's medical diplomas twice and counting the tiles on the floor.

Ninety- four in all.

Carol Simpson arrived with an apologetic smile.

"Sorry," she said.

"It's been a busy week."

"I understand."

"How are you feeling?"

"Okay."

Carol took in a deep breath, held it, and then let it go.

"Look, Sara, there are two things I can do. I can dance around awkwardly and pretend I live in a vacuum and never heard about Michael's condition or I can just come out and say I'm sorry. If there is anything I can do..." "Just one thing," Sara said.