Victor let his head sink into his hands. What he needed was a plan. Jorge was an unwanted distraction. The man exuded a reckless, haughty confidence that said, “I’m a killer and I’m sitting in your office and you can’t do a thing about it.” It was difficult for Victor to concentrate with Jorge watching over him.

“You don’t look like you’re doing much work to me,” Jorge said suddenly. “VJ said that you needed to leave because you had a lot of work to do. I suggest you get busy unless you want me to call VJ and tell him that you are just sitting around holding your head.”

“I was just gathering my thoughts,” Victor said. He leaned over and pressed his intercom. When Colleen responded, he said, “Bring in my messages and let’s get to work.”

For the first hour, Marsha occupied herself by looking through some of the hundreds of periodicals in the bookcase. But they were over her head; all were highly technical, devoted to theories and experiments on the cutting edge of biology, physics, and chemistry. She got up and paced the room and even tried the door, but, as expected, it was locked.

She sat down at the table again, wondering what course of action Victor would take. He would have to be very resourceful. VJ was an exceptional adversary. He’d also have to have an enormous amount of moral courage, and in light of his NGF experiments, she had no idea if he had it in him.

Just then the bolt of the lock was thrown and VJ stepped in. “I thought maybe you could use a little company,” he said cheerfully. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” He stepped aside and Mary Millman walked in smiling, her hand outstretched.

Marsha stood up, searching for words.

“Mrs. Frank!” Mary said, shaking her hand with enthusiasm. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing you. I thought I’d have to wait for at least another year. How are you?”

“Fine, I guess,” Marsha said.

“I thought you ladies would enjoy chatting,” said VJ. “I’ll be leaving this door ajar; if you’re hungry or thirsty, just let one of Martinez’s people know.”

“Thank you,” Mary said. “Isn’t he wonderful?” she said to Marsha after he was gone.

“He’s unique,” Marsha said. “How did you get here?”

“It’s a surprise, isn’t it?” Mary said. “Well, it surprised me too, at the time. I’ll tell you how it happened.”

“What next?” Victor asked. Colleen was sitting in her usual spot, directly across from him. Jorge was still back on the couch, lounging comfortably. Colleen shuffled through her papers and messages. “I think that does it for now. Anything you want me to do?” She rotated her eyes toward Jorge meaningfully.

“Nope,” Victor said as he handed over the last document he had signed. “I’ll be heading home. If there are any problems, call me there.”

After a quick glance at her watch, Colleen looked back at Victor. “Is everything all right?” He’d been acting strangely ever since he’d returned with the Chimera security guard in tow.

“Everything is just hunky-dory,” he said, slipping his pen inside his top drawer.

Colleen looked at her boss of seven years. He’d never used that term before. She stood up, gave Jorge a dirty look, and left the room.

“Time to go,” Victor said to Jorge.

Jorge pulled himself up from the couch. “We going back to the lab?” he asked in his heavy accent.

“I’m going home,” Victor said, getting his coat. “I don’t know where you’re going.”

“I’m with you, friend.”

Victor was curious if there would be any troubles as he tried to drive off the site. But the guard at the gate saluted as usual. The fact that a Chimera guard was accompanying him drew no comment from the man stationed at the gate.

As they were crossing the Merrimack, Jorge reached over and turned on the radio. He searched for and found a Spanish station. Then he turned up the sound to nearly deafening levels, snapping his fingers to the beat.

It was clear to Victor that Jorge was his first hurdle. As he drove up the drive and rounded the house he began to think of his alternatives. There was a root cellar below the barn with a stout door Victor felt he could secure. The problem was luring the man into it.

As they got out of the car, Victor let the garage door down, wondering if he could sneak up on Jorge and bop him on the head just as he’d been hit when he’d first stumbled onto VJ’s lab. Victor opened the door into the family room and left it open for Jorge, who insisted on walking behind.

Victor took off his coat and draped it over the couch. Being a realist, he decided he couldn’t hit the man. He knew he’d hit him either too softly or too hard, and either would be a disaster. He’d have to try something else. But what?

Victor was at a loss until he used the downstairs bathroom. Spotting a bottle of aspirin in the medicine cabinet, he remembered the old doctor’s bag he’d been given as a fourth-year medical student. He’d used it all the way through his training and, as far as he could remember, it was still filled with a variety of commonly prescribed drugs.

Emerging from the bathroom, Victor found Jorge in front of the family room TV, flipping the channels aimlessly. Victor went upstairs. Unfortunately, Jorge followed. But in the upstairs study, Victor again got him interested in the television. Victor went into the closet and found the black bag.

Taking a handful of Seconal, Valium, and Dalmane, Victor put the bag back, slipping the pills and capsules into his pocket. When he backed out into the room, he discovered that Jorge had found the Spanish cable station.

“I usually have a drink when I get home,” Victor said. “Can I offer you anything?”

“What do you have?” Jorge asked without taking his eyes from the TV.

“Just about anything,” Victor said. “How about I make up some margaritas?”

“What are margaritas?” Jorge asked.

The question surprised Victor; he had thought margaritas were a popular South American drink. Maybe they were more Mexican than South American. He told Jorge what was in them.

“I’ll have whatever you have,” Jorge said.

Victor went down to the kitchen. Jorge followed, going back to the TV in the family room. Victor got out all the ingredients, including the salt. He made the drinks in a small glass pitcher, and, making sure that Jorge wasn’t paying attention, opened each of the capsules and poured the contents into the concoction. The Valium went in as is. There was still some sediment on the bottom even after Victor had vigorously stirred the mixture, so he put it on the blender for a moment. Then he held the pitcher up to the light. It looked fine. Victor estimated there was enough knockout power in the concoction to take someone through abdominal surgery without stirring.

Victor took a tiny sip. It had a bitter aftertaste, but if Jorge had never had a margarita, he wouldn’t know the difference. Victor then put the salt around the rim of the glasses. He made his own drink out of pure lemon juice. When he was ready, he carried the two poured drinks and the pitcher over to the coffee table.

Jorge took his drink without taking his eyes from the TV. Victor sat back and watched it himself. Some kind of soap opera was on the tube. Victor didn’t understand Spanish, but he got the drift quickly enough.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Jorge swallow his drink, then lean forward and pour himself some more. Victor was pleased he was enjoying it so much. The first sign of an effect came quickly enough: Jorge began to blink a lot. He couldn’t focus on the TV. Finally he looked over at Victor, trying to focus as best he could. The alcohol must have carried the drugs into his system efficiently enough. Jorge had barely touched his second glass and he could barely keep his eyes open.

All of a sudden, Jorge tried to get to his feet. He must have realized what was happening because he threw his glass across the room. Victor put his own glass down and grabbed Jorge as he tried to dial the phone. Jorge even attempted to pull out his knife, but his movements were already too uncoordinated and slow. Victor easily disarmed him. In another minute, Jorge was out cold. Victor laid his limp body on the couch. He got some parenteral Valium he kept upstairs and administered the man ten milligrams intramuscularly as a backup. Then he dragged his body across the courtyard and down alongside the barn. He got him into the root cellar and covered him with old blankets and rags to keep his body temperature steady. Then he locked the door with an old padlock.