“Now.” The two of them stared at each other for a moment, and then Louise rose and made her way out of the suddenly silent room. When she was gone, Hamlin turned his attention to the others. The four of them had been with the project since the beginning, and no matter what happened, he knew he could count on their loyalty. But what about Louise Bowen? Could he count on hers? Probably not. It was one more thing he would, in the end, have to deal with himself. He sighed and began issuing orders. “Well pack all the records and as much of the equipment as we can. Paul Randolph is sending three trucks from Boston.” A note of sarcasm crept into his voice as he watched his staff exchange doubtful glances. “They’ll have to be enough, since they’re all we have.” He paused for a few seconds, then began speaking again, his voice as bitter as his words. “I told Randolph this was a stupid idea. We should have moved to the desert somewhere or out of the country. Using this place was asking for trouble.” His voice rose dangerously. “Ten years of work—ten years! And after six months out here it’s gone. Gone! It makes me—” Hearing the tone of his own voice, he bit back his words. “Never mind,” he said, forcing himself to hold his emotions in check. “Let’s get started. It’s going to be a long night.”
Louise Bowen climbed the stairs slowly. She had made a mistake, and now the price for that mistake was going to have to be paid.
It didn’t seem right: the mistake had been so small, and the price was so high.
All she had done, really, was hesitate. She had found Randy’s room empty and started for the stairs, intent on telling Hamlin that Randy was gone. But then she had hesitated.
Instead of going downstairs, she had gone up to the attic, certain that she would find Randy there. The attic had been empty, but the ladder, normally folded up against the roof, was down, and the skylight was propped open. She had climbed the ladder and looked out over the roof just in time to see Randy slip, catch himself, and start down the tree.
At that point Louise had hesitated no more. She had hurried downstairs to report what had happened, but it was already too late. Randy was gone, and now the others would have to follow.
Louise opened the door to Adam Rogers’s room. Adam, his unruly hair falling over his forehead, was propped up in his bed. He looked at Louise apprehensively. “Did they find Randy?”
“No,” Louise admitted. Now came the hardest part. “But since everyone is up, we’ve decided to have a little party. We’re all going down to the dining room, and then we have a surprise for each of you.”
Adam’s face broke into an eager grin, and he scrambled off the bed. “Shall I get dressed?”
“No,” Louise said quietly. “You’ll be fine just the way you are.”
Then, as Adam scampered down the stairs, Louise continued along the hall, stopping at each room to repeat what she had told Adam to Jerry Preston and Billy Mayhew. And both of them, their eyes glowing with anticipation, had followed Adam down the stairs. Her heart breaking, Louise, too, made her way to the dining room, forced herself to smile at the three boys, then went on through the kitchen and into the lab. George Hamlin turned to look at her.
“Are they ready?”
Louise nodded and tried to swallow the lump that had formed in her throat. “I—I told them we were going to have a party,” she said, her voice shaking. “Can I make them some cocoa?”
Hamlin scowled in barely contained fury. “Cocoa? You want to make cocoa for them?”
Louise’s expression hardened with determination. “They don’t have to know what’s going to happen,” she said. “Can’t they at least think it’s a party? It will only take a minute.”
Hamlin glanced at the clock, then back at Louise. Then, realizing it would take as long to argue with her as it would to let her have her way, he shrugged indifferently. “All right,” he said. “You have fifteen minutes.”
As Louise set about making the cocoa, she used the time to compose herself. Whatever happened, she must not let the children see how upset she was. It would be easier for them if they suspected nothing. Forcing a smile,