Life Blood---XXIV---Page No 85

just six weeks before she was found in a coma, down the river from here. . .

No more mystery. He'd been using her eggs to create

embryos, and they'd finally stopped working. Not "special"

anymore. So her "program" had been "terminated." In the river.
        My stomach was churning, bile in my throat, and I thought
I was going to throw up. I took a deep breath, slowly, and stopped myself. Before I got Sarah and we got the hell out of Baalum, I was going to smash everything in this lab.

It all had just come together. Those shots of "muscle relaxant"
he gave me up at Quetzal Manor, they had to be a cocktail of his
"proprietary" ovulation drugs. Then, with my ovaries ripening, he'd
lured me here using Sarah. He knew I'd come after her. Next he'd
"arranged" with Alan Dupre to fly me here. Finally, a sedative, and
he'd harvested 233 of my ova, which he now had out there in

those incubators. . .

But what about proof? To show the world. Morning sounds
were building up outside, so I was less worried whether the two
soldiers in the hallway were still asleep or not. Truthfully, I was so
wired I no longer cared. I clicked on a printer and began zipping
off the files of each woman he'd violated, all six.
        Disgust flowed through me like a torrent. Heart of Darkness.
"The horror, the horror." Alex Goddard had used Sarah in the
most unspeakable way possible, then tried to have her murdered.
Probably he'd just turned her over to Colonel Ramos.
        The same thing must have happened to those other women.
All "disappeared" somewhere in Guatemala. But who would
know?

One thing I knew. I was next. . .

The printer was old and loud, but thankfully it was fast. Four minutes later I had what I'd need to nail the criminal. When I got out of here, somebody would have to believe me.

While I was stacking the printouts, I resolved to call the

embassy right then, the hour be damned. I was sweating like a gazelle when the lion is closing in. Alex Goddard had just
performed primal, surgical rape on me, and now the Army was right outside. I had to get the embassy.

And that was when I realized I didn't have the number. But it had to be in a phone book somewhere.

A quick look around the office didn't turn up one. I considered
ringing the Camino Real again, to ask them to look up the
number, but then I had an inspired thought. Steve had said Alan

Dupre's number was easy to remember because it promoted his business. What was it? I couldn't remember.

Then it came back: 4-MAYAN, the six-digit number they used in Guatemala City. Call the sleazebag and ask him who can get me out of here. He's supposed to know everybody.

Dawn was bringing more and more forest-morning songs

through the thin slats of the windows. I walked over and pushed them open, running my fingers out into the air. It felt cool, the touch of freedom, and I thought for a moment about bursting through to escape. Just get Sarah now.

Instead, I walked back to the phone, clenching my fists, and
dialed Alan Dupre's number, praying and hoping it was where he
lived. Steve had called him late in the evening, so it probably was.
I'd thought I never wanted to speak to him again, but now . . .
God, let him be there.

The phone, however, just rang and rang and rang. Come on. Damn.

It rang and rang some more. Then finally—

"Who the fuck is this? We don't open till nine."

The first sound of his voice brought a wave of relief, but then his cocky attitude made me livid all over again.
        "It's Morgan James, you shit. Why did you leave me stranded
up here? You have no idea what—"

"Oh, you . . ." He paused for a cigarette cough. "You made me
walk all the way downstairs just to bust my chops. What the—?"
        "Talk to me, you prick." I still intended to strangle him. "I need
your help. You owe me. You have no idea what—"
        "Hey, lady, you didn't possibly believe taking off in that fucking
hurricane was my . . . Let's just say I was acting under duress. I all
but didn't get back."

"Well, you can start making up for that right now by springing me the hell out of here." So, somebody had put him up to it, just like I'd thought all along. But who? "I want you to look up the
number for the American embassy. And tell me the name of
somebody there who—"

"Jesus, you truly don't get the picture, do you?" He paused for another early-morning reefer hack.

"I 'get' that you—"

"Missy, it was a high official at that very establishment

'suggested' I fly you up there. Why the hell else would I do it, for

chrissake? You know I'm not a citizen of this fun house. Said party
noted that if I didn't, he could make a few phone calls about my