Bloodline by F. Paul Wilson Page A

"Odder. One would expect—"
    "Odd you want? Try this: All those numbers he's multiplying by seven are prime."
    Gupta stared. "You are sure?" He looked down at the chart cover and checked through the list. "Yes, I believe you are right! Oh, this is marvelous, simply marvelous!"
    He turned and hurried from the room, leaving Jack and Abe staring at each other.
    "All prime numbers?"
    Abe nodded. "And all multiplied by another prime."
    The creep factor had just doubled.
    They stood and watched the prof stare adoringly at the Kicker Man. His eyes shone like Gawain contemplating the Holy Grail.

5

    Jack pulled his big black Crown Victoria out of the Upper West Side garage where he kept it for a monthly fee that equaled a mortgage payment in some states. He headed east through the fading light.
    Three messages left with Michael Gerhard's office voice mail had sparked no callback. Haifa dozen calls to his house had gone unanswered as well. Add to that the stuffed mailbox and maybe Mr. Gerhard was on vacation.
    And maybe not.
    Whatever the reason, a knock on his door was called for, which meant a trek out to Flatlands.
    Swell.
    The Flatlands section lay on the far side of Brooklyn. Not even a subway stop out there. He had to drive. And driving anywhere in the city lately made him crazy.
    Ten miles and forty minutes later he was driving past Gerhard's house on Avenue M. It stood midway along a line of detached, two-story, cookie-cutter houses that must have been depressingly identical when built half a century before, but changes in siding and different plantings over the years afforded them a modicum of individuality. The area had been farmland in the old-old days but was purely residential now.
    Jack slowed as he passed…
    The place looked dark and empty except for one lighted upstairs window. Maybe a security light, but Jack would have expected one downstairs as well.
    He found a parking space two blocks past and walked back. He'd dressed in construction-worker casual for the trip: flannel shirt, jeans, and six-inch, steel-toed Thorogrip Commando Deuces.
    He skirted a puddle on the front walk and stopped on the steps before the door. The place looked like it once had sported a front porch, but that had been enclosed for extra living space. He was raising his hand to knock when he noticed the steps were wet. Hadn't rained in days. He bent and touched the weather stripping along the bottom of the door… worn… with water leaking through from inside.
    Something wrong here.
    Ya think?
    His instincts urged him to turn and run—not walk, run —back to his car and get the hell out of here. But a need to know made him stay. He promised himself if he could find an easy way in, he'd take a quick look and then be on his way. If a break-in was necessary, he'd skip it and go home.
    He pressed the doorbell button and heard it ring inside. He didn't expect an answer but you never knew. As he rang it again he turned the doorknob and gave a push.
    Locked.
    He looked around. Nobody about, and he was pretty well hidden in the shadow of the door's overhang.
    He slipped around the side and found a basement window behind some bushes. He pulled out his little key-chain penlight and briefly flashed it a few times through the dirty window. The beam reflected off a pool of water within.
    Whatever was leaking had been doing so for a while.
    Jack saw no sign that the window was wired, so he tested it—not that he wanted to wade through that water, but he felt obliged to check.
    No luck.
    He could have taken off his jacket, wrapped it around his fist, and broken the window, but he'd promised himself no break-in. So he rose and walked around to the back door. No water leaking out here. He turned the knob and pushed.
    It swung inward with a melodramatic creak.
    Jack pulled his Glock from the nylon holster at the small of his back and stepped inside.
    "Hello? Mister Gerhard? This is Jack Prince. I've been trying to reach you all day. Anybody home?"
    No