take? Weeks? Months?"
"I don't know."
"Just the kind of definite answer I like."
Victor said, "I need time to find out what Jerry was trying to prove. What it is Viratek's working on—"
"You had one of his files," said Jack. "Why didn't you read the blasted thing?"
"I'm not a virologist. I couldn't interpret the data. It was some sort of RNA sequence, probably a viral genome. A lot of the data was coded. All I can be sure of is the name: Project Cerberus."
"Where is all this vital evidence now?"
"I lost the file. It was in my car the night I was shot. I'm sure they have it back."
"And the film?"
Victor sank into a chair, his face suddenly lined by weariness. "I don't have it. I was hoping that Cathy..." Sighing, he ran his hands through his hair. "I've lost that, too."
"Well," said Jack. "Give or take a few miracles, I'd say this puts your chances at just about zero. And I'm known as an optimist."
"I know where the film is," said Cathy.
There was a long silence. Victor raised his head and stared at her. "What?"
"I wasn't sure about you—not at first. I didn't want to tell you until I could be certain—"
Victor shot to his feet. "Where is it?"
She flinched at the sharpness of his voice. He must have noticed how startled she was—his next words were quiet but urgent. "I need that film, Cathy. Before they find it. Where is it?"
"Sarah found it in my car. I didn't know it was yours! I thought it was Hickey's."
"Who's Hickey?"
"A photographer—a friend of mine—"
Jack snorted. "Hickey. Now there's a ladies' man."
"He was in a rush to get to the airport," she continued. "At the last minute he left me with some rolls of film. Asked me to take care of them till he got back from Nairobi. But all his film was stolen from my car."
"And my roll?" asked Victor.
"It was in my bathrobe pocket the night Sarah—the night she—" She paused, swallowing at the mention of her friend. "When I got back here, to the city, I mailed it to Hickey's studio."
"Where's the studio?"
"Over on Union Street. I mailed it this afternoon—"
"So it should be there sometime tomorrow." He began to pace the room. "All we have to do is wait for the mail to arrive."
"I don't have a key."
"We'll find a way in."
"Terrific," sighed Jack. "Now he's turning my ex-wife into a burglar."
"We're only after the film!" said Cathy.
"It's still breaking and entering, sweetie."
"You don't have to get involved."
"But you're asking me to harbor the breakers and enterers."
"Just one night, Jack. That's all I'm asking."
"That sounds like one of my lines."
"And your lines always work, don't they?"
"Not this time."
"Then here's another line to chew on: 1988. Your federal tax return. Or lack of one."
Jack froze. He glowered at Victor, then at Cathy. "That's below the belt."
"Your most vulnerable spot."
"I'll get around to filing—"
"More words to chew on. Audit. IRS. Jail."
"Okay, okay!" Jack threw his arms up in surrender. "God, I hate that word."
"What, jail? "
"Don't laugh, babycakes. The word could soon apply to all of us." He turned and headed for the stairs.
"Where are you going?" Cathy demanded.
"To make up the spare beds. Seems I have houseguests for the night...."
"Can we trust him?" Victor asked after Jack had vanished upstairs.
Cathy sank back on the couch, all the energy suddenly drained from her body, and closed her eyes. "We have to. I can't think of anywhere else to go...."
She was suddenly aware of his approach, and then he was sitting beside her, so close she could feel the overwhelming strength of his presence. He didn't say a word, yet she knew he was watching her.
She opened her eyes and met his gaze. So steady, so intense, it seemed to infuse her with new strength.
"I know it wasn't easy for you," he said. "Asking Jack for favors."
She smiled. "I've always wanted to talk tough with Jack." Ruefully she added, "Until tonight, I've never quite been able to pull it off."
"My guess is, talking tough isn't in
"I don't know."
"Just the kind of definite answer I like."
Victor said, "I need time to find out what Jerry was trying to prove. What it is Viratek's working on—"
"You had one of his files," said Jack. "Why didn't you read the blasted thing?"
"I'm not a virologist. I couldn't interpret the data. It was some sort of RNA sequence, probably a viral genome. A lot of the data was coded. All I can be sure of is the name: Project Cerberus."
"Where is all this vital evidence now?"
"I lost the file. It was in my car the night I was shot. I'm sure they have it back."
"And the film?"
Victor sank into a chair, his face suddenly lined by weariness. "I don't have it. I was hoping that Cathy..." Sighing, he ran his hands through his hair. "I've lost that, too."
"Well," said Jack. "Give or take a few miracles, I'd say this puts your chances at just about zero. And I'm known as an optimist."
"I know where the film is," said Cathy.
There was a long silence. Victor raised his head and stared at her. "What?"
"I wasn't sure about you—not at first. I didn't want to tell you until I could be certain—"
Victor shot to his feet. "Where is it?"
She flinched at the sharpness of his voice. He must have noticed how startled she was—his next words were quiet but urgent. "I need that film, Cathy. Before they find it. Where is it?"
"Sarah found it in my car. I didn't know it was yours! I thought it was Hickey's."
"Who's Hickey?"
"A photographer—a friend of mine—"
Jack snorted. "Hickey. Now there's a ladies' man."
"He was in a rush to get to the airport," she continued. "At the last minute he left me with some rolls of film. Asked me to take care of them till he got back from Nairobi. But all his film was stolen from my car."
"And my roll?" asked Victor.
"It was in my bathrobe pocket the night Sarah—the night she—" She paused, swallowing at the mention of her friend. "When I got back here, to the city, I mailed it to Hickey's studio."
"Where's the studio?"
"Over on Union Street. I mailed it this afternoon—"
"So it should be there sometime tomorrow." He began to pace the room. "All we have to do is wait for the mail to arrive."
"I don't have a key."
"We'll find a way in."
"Terrific," sighed Jack. "Now he's turning my ex-wife into a burglar."
"We're only after the film!" said Cathy.
"It's still breaking and entering, sweetie."
"You don't have to get involved."
"But you're asking me to harbor the breakers and enterers."
"Just one night, Jack. That's all I'm asking."
"That sounds like one of my lines."
"And your lines always work, don't they?"
"Not this time."
"Then here's another line to chew on: 1988. Your federal tax return. Or lack of one."
Jack froze. He glowered at Victor, then at Cathy. "That's below the belt."
"Your most vulnerable spot."
"I'll get around to filing—"
"More words to chew on. Audit. IRS. Jail."
"Okay, okay!" Jack threw his arms up in surrender. "God, I hate that word."
"What, jail? "
"Don't laugh, babycakes. The word could soon apply to all of us." He turned and headed for the stairs.
"Where are you going?" Cathy demanded.
"To make up the spare beds. Seems I have houseguests for the night...."
"Can we trust him?" Victor asked after Jack had vanished upstairs.
Cathy sank back on the couch, all the energy suddenly drained from her body, and closed her eyes. "We have to. I can't think of anywhere else to go...."
She was suddenly aware of his approach, and then he was sitting beside her, so close she could feel the overwhelming strength of his presence. He didn't say a word, yet she knew he was watching her.
She opened her eyes and met his gaze. So steady, so intense, it seemed to infuse her with new strength.
"I know it wasn't easy for you," he said. "Asking Jack for favors."
She smiled. "I've always wanted to talk tough with Jack." Ruefully she added, "Until tonight, I've never quite been able to pull it off."
"My guess is, talking tough isn't in
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