Shadowfires

Eric's
personal project diary is in here, too. All of his practical and
philosophical thoughts on the subject.”
    Ben was surprised that she had answered. Was she finally prepared
to let him in on at least some of her secrets?
    “What subject?” he asked. “What's this particular research project all about?”
    She did not respond but blotted her sweat-damp fingers on her
blouse before easing the safe's dial backward toward the first number of the second combination.
    “Concerning what?” he pressed.
    “I have to concentrate, Benny,” she said. “If I overshoot one of
these numbers, then I'll have to start all over and put the first set in again.”
    He had gotten all he was going to get, the one little scrap about
the file. But, not caring to stand idly by, having nothing else to do
but pressure her, he said, “There must be hundreds of research files
on scores of projects, so if he keeps just one of them here,
it's got to involve the most important thing Geneplan's currently
working on.”
    Squinting, and with her tongue poked out between her teeth, she
brought all of her attention to bear on the dial.
    “Something big,” he said.
    She said nothing.
    He said, “Or it's research they're doing for the government, the
military. Something extremely sensitive.”
    Rachael put in the final number, twisted the handle, opened the
small steel door, and said, “Oh, damn.”
    The safe was empty.
    “They got here before us,” she said.
    “Who?” Ben demanded.
    “They must've suspected that I knew.”
    “Who suspected?”
    “Otherwise, they wouldn't have been so quick to get rid of the file,” she said.
    “Who?” Ben said.
    “Surprise,” said a man behind them.
    As Rachael gasped, Ben was already turning, seeking the intruder.
The flashlight beam caught a tall, bald man in a tan leisure suit and
a green-and-white-striped shirt. His head was so completely hairless
that he must have shaved it. He had a square face, wide mouth, proud
nose, Slavic cheekbones, and gray eyes the shade of dirty ice. He was
standing on the other side of the desk. He resembled the late Otto
Preminger, the film director. Sophisticated in spite of his leisure
suit. Obviously intelligent. Potentially dangerous. He had
confiscated the pistol that Rachael had put down with her purse when
she had come into the office.
    Worse, the guy was holding a Smith & Wesson Model 19 Combat
Magnum. Ben was familiar with-and deeply respected-that revolver.
Meticulously constructed, it had a four-inch barrel, was chambered
for the.357 Magnum cartridge, weighed a moderate thirty-five ounces,
and was so accurate and so powerful that it could even be used for
deer hunting. Loaded with hollow-point expanding cartridges or with
armor-piercing rounds, it was as deadly a handgun as any in the
world, deadlier than most.
    In the beam of the Eveready, the intruder's gray eyes glistened strangely.
    “Lights on,” the bald man said, raising his voice slightly, and
immediately the
room's overhead lights blinked to life, evidently engaged by a voice-activated switch, a trick that suited Eric Leben's
preference for ultramodern design.
    Rachael said, “Vincent, put the gun away.”
    “Not possible, I'm afraid,” the bald man said. Though his head was quite naked, the back of his big hand had plenty of hair, almost like a pelt, and it even bristled on his fingers between the knuckles.
    “There's no need for violence,” Rachael said.
    Vincent's smile was sour, imparting a cold viciousness to his broad face. “Indeed? No need for violence? I suppose that's
why you brought a pistol,” he said, holding up the thirty-two that he
had snatched off the desk.
    Ben knew the S&W Combat Magnum had twice the recoil of a forty-
five, which was why it featured large hand-filling stocks. In spite
of the superb accuracy built into it, the weapon could be wildly
inaccurate in the hands of an inexperienced shooter unprepared for
the hard kick it delivered. If the bald man did not appreciate the
tremendous power of the gun, if he were inexperienced, he would
almost certainly fire the first couple of shots high into the wall,
over their heads, which might give Ben time to reach him and take him
out.
    “We didn't really believe Eric would've been reckless enough to
tell you about Wildcard,” Vincent said. “But apparently he did, the
poor damn fool, or you wouldn't be here, rummaging in his office safe. No matter how badly he treated you, Rachael, he still had a weakness for