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help them, because he had long ago decided that all the years of having been dismissed as being unworthy of the gringos’ attention would best be avenged by the simple act of forcing them to realize that they had been wrong; that he had always been their equal. He’d always been their equal, though he’d never had their power.

Now, because of an accident on the very site of the ancient massacre, that power had come into his hands.

The skill he would need he had acquired over long years of hard work. Now he would combine that skill with the power they would give him to rebuild Alex Lonsdale into something far more than he had been before his accident.

Slowly and carefully he began making the preparations to rebuild Alex Lonsdale’s mind.

In the demonstration of his own genius, he would have his own revenge.

“But why can’t he do it here?” Ellen asked. Several hours of fitful sleep had eased the exhaustion she had felt that morning, but she still found it impossible to absorb every word Marsh had spoken. Patiently Marsh explained it once again.

“It’s the equipment. It’s extensive, and it’s all built into his O.R. It simply can’t be moved, at least not quickly, and not into our facility. We just don’t have the space.”

“But can Alex survive it?”

This time it was Frank who answered her question. “We don’t know,” he said. “I think he can. His pulse is weak, but it’s steady, and the respirator can go in the ambulance with him. There’s a mobile ICU in Palo Alto, and we can use that.”

There was a silence, then Marsh spoke, his voice quiet but urgent. “You have to decide, Ellen. This waiver needs both our signatures.”

Ellen gazed at her husband a moment, her thoughts suddenly far in the past.

Raymond Torres. Tall and good-looking, with dark, burning eyes, but no one anyone would ever consider going out with. And he’d been smart, too. In fact, he’d been the smartest person in her class. But strange, in a way she’d never quite understood, nor even, for that matter, cared about understanding. He’d always acted as though he was better than anyone, and never had any friends, either of his own race or of hers. And now, suddenly, the life of her son depended on him.

“What’s he like?” she suddenly asked.

Marsh looked at her curiously. “Does it matter?”

Ellen hesitated, then slowly shook her head. “I don’t suppose so,” she replied. “But I used to know him, and he was always … well, I guess he seemed arrogant, and sometimes he was almost scary. None of us ever liked him.”

Marsh smiled tightly. “Well, he hasn’t changed. He’s still arrogant, and I don’t like him at all. But he might be able to save Alex.”

Once more Ellen hesitated. In times past, she and Marsh used to spend hours discussing their problems, listening to each other, balancing their thoughts and feelings, weighing what was best for them. But in the last few months—or had it become years?—that easy communication had been lost. They had been too busy—Marsh with the expanding Medical Center, herself with the expanding social life that had accompanied the building of the Center. What had been sacrificed, finally, was their ability to communicate with each other. Now, with Alex’s life hanging in the balance, she had to come to a decision.

She made up her mind. “We don’t have a choice, do we?” she asked. “We have to try.” She picked up the pen and signed the waiver, which she had not bothered to read, then handed it back to Marsh. A sudden thought flashed through her mind.

If Raymond Torres thinks it will work, why won’t he take responsibility for it?

Then she decided that she didn’t want to know the answer to that question.

CHAPTER SIX

Carol Cochran covered the telephone’s mouthpiece with her right hand and called up the stairs, “Lisa? It’s for you.” She waited a few seconds, and when there was no answer, she called out again: “Lisa?”

“Tell whoever it is I’m not here.” Lisa’s voice was muffled, and Carol paused a moment, wondering if she ought to go upstairs and insist that Lisa take the call. Then she sighed. “She says she isn’t here, Kate. I’m sorry, but she just doesn’t want to talk to anyone right now. I’ll have her call you back, all right?”

Hanging up the phone, Carol mounted the stairs, and found Kim standing in the hall.

“Her door’s locked, and she won’t come out,” the six-year-old reported.

“I’ll take