was on the floor, face contorted in agony, staring at the ceiling.
Bauer’s first instinct was to turn towards the fume hood, sniffing the air for escaped gases or fumes that could kill him in seconds, and then his hands found the open hood and began to close it.
He heard a single step before gloved hands seized him by the arms and neck, slammed him hard into the fume hood until he was sprawled in it from the waist up. The grip on his neck was so strong his voice was paralyzed, and bright colors flashed before his eyes. The sliding door to the fume hood came down painfully across his shoulder blades simultaneously with the sound of a glass ampoule shattering, and he took one musty breath. Gasping, then vomiting, his brain was dead before the convulsions began and his feet drummed a random tattoo on the floor. The following silence was broken by the gurgle of a freshly dead man evacuating his bowels.
Strong hands lowered him gently to the floor as the light in the fume hood suddenly came on, revealing two hooded figures clothed in black. One turned on the blower in the hood for a moment, then rearranged the positions of beakers and a broken ampoule while the other changed a bulb in the red light on one wall. The fume hood door was lowered halfway. The two people looked around the room silently, nodded to each other, then left, turning the room light on before closing the door. They walked quickly to the hall door and locked it behind them before moving along one wall down the hallway. The guard slept lightly, head nodding as one black figure, an aerosol can in one hand, stepped up lightly behind him and sprayed his head with a fine mist. The guard’s chin flopped against his chest, and he moaned softly. Both people moved to a waiting elevator and entered, pulling off their hoods with difficulty over the gas masks they wore beneath them. A moment later two students, wearing jeans and sweaters, left the building, loaded book packs on their backs. They mounted bicycles and coasted out of sight down the hill towards the awakening town as Ester Bauer arose to make morning coffee before the expected return of her husband.
CHAPTER ONE
Jack Nelson lined up on the split-receiver, a black kid with wide, frightened eyes, and watched the big Bemidji quarterback. Look right, throw left, look left, throw over the middle. That was the pattern, at least over the last four possessions, and now the guy was backed up against his goal line. The crowd screamed as the ball was snapped. Nelson gave the black kid a hard shiver, knocked him to one knee and drifted back four steps. He broke to his left, saw the receiver coming across the middle with one step on a linebacker. The ball was there, and then Jack Nelson had it, cutting against the grain and crossing the goal line before even the surprised quarterback had a chance to react. The home crowd sat in stunned silence while six busloads of students from Simenson University screamed their lungs out from the far end of the field. Jack trotted back to the sidelines to accept the congratulations of his team mates. Ten minutes later the Cougars from the new school near the Canadian border had won the first game in their second season together as a team, extending their winning streak to seven.
The droning bus ride north was quiet, each young man nursing private aches and bruises. Occasional whiffs of pine scent floated past dozing faces while outside a full moon was rising over the dark silhouettes of fir trees in the north woods. Arnie Kant dozed next to Jack. At six feet-eight and two hundred and seventy nine pounds the good-natured defensive end was called Boulder by his teammates. He found this amusing, but football he took most seriously. That day he had sacked the quarterback twice, and made seven unassisted tackles. The price was pain, which he now nursed quietly. He had closed his eyes, toughing it out like a wounded Tiger when Jack turned to whisper to him.
“Arnie, you awake?”
“Yeah.”
“You were great tonight, man. All over the field. Graham was running for his life most of the time.”
“He’s a good quarterback, Jack.”
“Sure he is, when he has time to throw. Not tonight.”
Arnie chuckled. “And when he did throw, it kept going to you.”
“Ya, sure,” said Jack. Both men laughed, and then Arnie was serious again.
“Coach Patterson said the Vikes and Packers had scouts there tonight.”
“Oh, ho, that’s why you were so up.”
“Hey, I play to win. You know I’ve got to play pro ball. Either that, or be a bum.”
“Come off it, Arnie.”
“Those scouts were watching you, too, but if they offered you a job you wouldn’t take it, right?”
“Of course not; I want to finish school.”
“I mean after graduation.”
“Well, I’ll get my commission, and then I’ve got my active duty to serve. After that I guess I’ll be an engineer for someone or maybe stay in the service.”
“See, all planned out. For me it’s play pro ball or teach little kids and collect food stamps.”
“Bullshit. I’ve seen you work with kids, and they love you. You’re weird, Arnie.”
The big man looked at the seat ahead of him and grinned. “You’re right. I could be happy living on food stamps if I had enough of them. Karen wouldn’t be a problem; I’d keep her happy even if we were poor.”
“In your dreams. I don’t know how she could handle both of us, Arnie. You know, one of these days I’m going to learn when to take you seriously.”
“I really was great tonight, wasn’t I?”
“Shut up, Arnie.” Jack turned his head towards the window and feigned sleep. Arnie smiled at the man’s muscular back for a moment, unable to remember having a closer friend or roommate than Jack Nelson. He closed his eyes and quickly drifted off into a light sleep filled with crowd noises, the impact of hurtling bodies, and pain.
* * * * *
The bus station was a study in chaos. Four busloads of students had already arrived, a pep band was playing loudly in the lobby while the mob of young people, having emptied all the candy machines, milled around looking for something else to eat. Two more buses pulled in and two more students carried off one where an elegantly stocked bar had been carefully hidden. Cans of beer were being passed around overhead and bathroom doors off the lobby were open more than closed as people relieved themselves after the long trip.
Karen Butler leaned against a ticket counter, watching the happy throng with a mixture of amusement and disdain. A bit juvenile, she thought, but somehow she shared their excitement. Her undergraduate days were past. Graduate school required focus and discipline, two traits she shared with Jack, but it was his warmth and affection that brought her to a bus station in the wee hours of the morning. She adjusted the band on her blond ponytail, and was conscious of the stares by several young men nearby when she did it. But then a tiny pompom girl wriggled up to her, smiling in a way calculated to melt even the hardest soul, and force a smile in return. Karen did not smile.
“I saw you waiting,” she gushed. “Do you want a beer or a coke, or something? Oh, he is such a hunk! You should have seen him tonight; it’s like he can read minds, you know.”
Please spare me from this, thought Karen.
“It must be great having a guy like that. I mean, Jack is so good at everything.”
Karen arched an eyebrow.
