Life Blood---XXVII---Page No 99

handling all the paperwork, so they can grease everything through
the INS. But I still don't understand how it is we're—"
        "Honey, I know exactly what's happening." I'd long since
figured out that Alex Goddard and Colonel Ramos were working
hand in glove. But I still couldn't bring myself to tell him how he
and I were going to be used. It was just too sick. "Listen, not long
from now I think I'm supposed to be taken down there to the
village for some kind of rite, as part of this whole disgusting
operation, and then after that he's going to use . . . You don't want
to hear. We've—"

"You know, Ramos and a bunch of G-2 thugs are here to take
away a batch of little kids," he rambled on, not seeming to hear
anything I was saying. He was off in his own world, trying to sort
out things in his head. "But what I can't figure is, how can they just
take children from here and nobody tries to stop them? Are these
indigena so terrified—?"

"Listen, please." Now my hallucinations were returning in
spite of all I could do, trails of light that glimmered off all the
objects in the room, and I didn't know how much longer I'd be
coherent. I'd have to talk fast. "We've got to get Sarah before
daylight. She's down in the village. I tried to get her out of there
yesterday, but—"

"Is she okay?" He stared at me and his eyes cleared for a moment. "I mean, is she able to—?"

"No, she's not okay. She's hallucinating worse than ever. I'm
sure he's giving her more drugs. Really heavy stuff."
        "So how—?"

"Hopefully, we're going right this minute. There's a river. But if

that doesn't work out, there's something I can do to buy us a

month's time. Alex Goddard's got a laboratory here, just down the
hall, in back of his office. It's the evil center of this place. So if I
can get in there and dump all his petri dishes, his in-vitro culture
mediums . . . Baby, it's all so disgusting. But I'm going to take care
of it."

I was starting to have real trouble just stringing words

together into sentences. My hallucinations were still growing, the
loud whispers of light, but I did manage to tell him how I thought
we could get Sarah and elude the Army, if we did it before sunup,
though my plan probably came out pretty jumbled. Yet I felt that if
we did it together, we could take care of each other. . .

Then, with my remaining strength, I launched into action.

"Let me check the hall. I just want to shut down his lab. Call it . . . call it insurance. Five minutes, and then we'll be out of here."
        It also would be a kind of justice, to even the score for what
he'd done to Sarah and to me.

I leaned Steve back against the wall, then walked slowly

across the tile floor to the door and tested it. Surprise, surprise, it was locked. I again tried the knob, an old one, then again, but it wouldn't budge, just wiggled slightly. He'd locked us in.

Now what?

Then I remembered the time Steve and I were in a similar

situation. When we got locked in my room at the Oloffson in Portau-Prince, he'd just taken his Swiss Army knife and unscrewed the knob, then clicked it open. He'd made it look like a piece of cake, but he had a way of doing that.

He was barely conscious, so this time I'd have to do it myself. I glanced around at his bag.

"Is your Swiss still in there?"

"I think . . ." His mind seemed to be wandering. Then he gave a weak thumbs-up.

I went over and zipped it open. Be there, I prayed. We really could use a break.

I rummaged through telephoto lenses and film canisters and underwear. Then I found it, zipped inside a water-repellent baggie and stuck in a side pouch.

I snapped it open and went to work, him watching me, his head nodding as he struggled to stay conscious.
        The main difference between this time and Haiti was, here I
didn't know what was on the other side and I was having
hallucinations of multicolored snakes.

"You're doing great," he said finally, seeming to come a bit more alive.

And I was. Out with the screws, off with the knob, in with the
small blade, and click. Maybe we just think men's mechanical
skills are genetically hard-wired. Maybe it's all a secret plot to
elicit awe.

I closed the knife and shoved it back into his bag, then turned
to him.

"Honey, I'm just going to be a second. While I'm gone,

practice walking."

"Be careful, please." He gave a cautionary wave. "They don't want us leaving here alive."