“Dr. Fletcher,” I say. “Open the door. Right now.”
So he does. Lamont gives me an approving look.
“Well done,” he says.
“I’ve been practicing,” I say.
Once we’re inside, Lamont goes into full exploration mode. His eyes are darting everywhere. I’m noticing things I missed the last time I was here. Like the scruffy little cot in the corner where Fletcher’s been sleeping.
“Anybody else here?” Lamont asks.
“Just me,” says Fletcher, scratching his head. “And by the way, it’s four in the morning.”
Lamont points down the dark corridor that leads off the main lab. “What’s down there?” he asks.
“Storage,” says Fletcher.
But when Lamont starts to move in that direction, Fletcher tries to block his way. Lamont has had enough. He points to Fletcher’s battered chair.
“Go,” says Lamont. “Sit.”
Fletcher obeys.
Lamont feels for a light switch at the entrance of the hallway. A small ceiling bulb pops on. It casts about as much light as a match. But it’s enough for us to see that the corridor branches off in two directions, left and right.
“You go that way,” says Lamont, pointing down the left passage. “Be careful.” He heads right.
After about ten yards, it looks like my route is pretty much a bust, just brick walls and a dusty wood floor. The light from behind me is almost running out. I keep my hand on the wall and look down toward the end of the corridor. I think I see a staircase.
“Maddy! Back here!” It’s Lamont.
When I find him, he’s standing in a little alcove with three doors leading off it. He’s tried them all. All locked.
“Get Fletcher!” he says. “And tell him to bring his keys.”
On my way back to the main lab, I have a better idea. I know Lamont is the professional detective here, but I decide to just cut to the chase.
Fletcher is slumped in his chair, his head in his hands. He looks up.
“What?” he says. He’s tired. He’s nervous. Maybe scared.
“Julian,” I say. “Take me to the lady.”
Fletcher gets up from his chair and walks to his desk. He pulls out a fat ring of keys. No cards or pass codes in this place. He looks like an old-time jailer.
When we get to the alcove, Lamont is still tugging on the door handles, one after the other. The doors are solid. They don’t even budge.
“Open these doors!” Lamont shouts at Fletcher. “All of them!”
“We only need one,” I say.
Fletcher walks to the center door. He inserts the key. Pushes the door open. A light inside pops on automatically. We’re in a room identical to the one where I found Lamont. Same walls. Same floor. Same hatch.
Lamont is angry now.
“Is she here?” he shouts. Everything echoes.
Fletcher is silent, looking down at his feet.
“I said, is she here?”
I walk over to the hatch. I look at Fletcher.
“Open it,” I tell him.
Fletcher reaches up and pulls down on the lever. The hatch door drops down. My heart is pounding. I look at Lamont. He’s barely breathing. His hands are balled into fists.
Fletcher grabs the drawer handle and leans back. The drawer eases out.
In one glance, I know it’s her. It’s Margo Lane.
As pretty as her picture.
CHAPTER 47
LAMONT TOOK A deep breath. He leaned in over Margo’s body. The last time he saw her face, she had looked so scared. Now she looked serene, like she did when she was sleeping. He brushed her hair with the back of his fingers. Lamont felt tears brimming in his eyes and a tightness in his throat. He shook it off. He looked at Fletcher.
“Let’s get started,” he said. “Bring her back.”
“That’s not possible,” said Fletcher.
“What do you mean?” said Lamont. “You brought me back! Do what you did for me!”
“I’m sorry,” said Fletcher. “I was told that the lady was dead. The contract stated ‘care in perpetuity.’ I’ve never been in this room. I never even knew her name.”
Maddy stepped forward. She pointed to the tubes and electrical wires.
“So why are the infusion lines still running? And the power?”
“I don’t know,” said Fletcher. “Look. I’ve never seen her before. She’s been in here since before I was born. I only know what I was told—there’s a lady back there. She’s deceased. Just leave her.”
“I don’t believe it!” said Lamont. “Look at her! She can’t be…”
Apart from the stains on the bow of her dress and some makeup smears, Margo looked like she was resting after a night at the ballet.
Maddy looked at Fletcher.
“Get everything ready,” she said. Lamont looked defeated and destroyed. Maddy could see how much he loved this woman. How much he needed her. How much he wanted her to be alive.
Fletcher was back with his controller and two bags of saline solution. He looked anxious. Beads of sweat were popping on his forehead.
“I’m telling you,” he said. “This won’t work.”
Maddy tugged at Lamont, trying to nudge him out of the tiny room.
“Lamont,” she said. “Wait outside. You don’t want to see this.”
Lamont didn’t move. He looked at Fletcher.
“Do it,” he said calmly.
Fletcher connected the controller to the table base, and then hung the bags of saline at the head of the table. He connected a syringe above the IV tube running into Margo’s ankle.
Maddy pulled Lamont by the elbow.
“Stay back,” she said. “He’s going to give her a jolt.”
Lamont moved back, but only a step. His eyes were locked on Margo’s face. Fletcher looked at Maddy. Maddy nodded. Fletcher cranked the control dial.
Margo’s body arched off the table and settled again. Lamont flinched, but didn’t move. Fletcher set down his controller and pressed the plunger on the syringe.
“Saline going in,” he said.
He waited a few seconds and then cranked the controller dial again. Margo’s body vibrated on the table from head to toe. Fletcher cut the power and waited.
Nothing.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Like I told you, she’s not really here anymore.”
Lamont slumped back against the wall and slid to the floor. He covered his head with his hands and began to sob. Maddy knelt beside him, her hand on his shoulder. Fletcher unplugged the controller.
Maddy could feel Lamont’s body heaving. Slowly, he regained his breath. He pressed back against the wall and struggled to his feet. He walked the few steps to the side of the table. He rested his palms over Margo’s bare shoulders and lowered his face toward hers. Gently, very gently, he kissed her cheek.
Maddy took a deep breath. She felt a heaviness in her chest. Then she noticed something. Margo’s left toe. It was twitching.
“Lamont!” Maddy shouted. “Do exactly what I tell you! Right now!”
Lamont looked up, stunned and confused.
“Do what?” he asked numbly.
“Breathe into her mouth!”
“What?” he said. “What are you talking about?”
Maddy brushed past Fletcher and moved to the head of the table. She reached over and gently pressed Margo’s cheeks until her lips parted.
“Don’t touch her!” said Lamont.
“Do it!” said Maddy. “Put your lips over hers, hold her nose, and push some air into her lungs!”
Lamont hesitated. Then he leaned forward. He gently pinched her nostrils. His closed his lips over Margo’s lips. He exhaled slowly.
Margo’s chest rose and fell. But that was just mechanics, not a sign of life.
“Again!” said Maddy. “Faster! More air!”
Lamont tipped Margo’s chin up for a better angle. He pressed in and gave her two more quick, forceful breaths. He pulled b
ack, waiting. Suddenly, Margo’s eyes popped open. She blinked.
“Lamont!” she said with a scratchy voice.
“Margo!” Lamont said softly. He leaned in close to her, laughing and crying at the same time.
Fletcher dropped the controller. This was finally too much for him. He stepped around the perimeter of the room and backed out.
“Everything’s okay,” said Lamont. He hovered over Margo, gently stroking her hair. “Don’t be afraid. I’ll explain everything.”
Lamont squeezed Margo’s left hand, feeling the warmth return to her fingers. Her head was still resting on the foam support. She didn’t have enough strength to lift it yet.
“Khan poisoned us,” said Lamont. “At the restaurant. But I managed to get us here, to the lab. Fletcher was ready. The process worked. We’re alive. It’s unbelievable! We’re both alive.”
“How long since…?” Margo asked.
“A long time,” said Lamont softly. “A very long time.”
“I don’t remember anything,” she said.
“You will,” said Lamont. “Trust me. Things come back. Sometimes in pieces. But they come back.”
Slowly, Margo lifted her head. Lamont put his arm under her shoulders to support her. She looked slowly around the room and saw Maddy standing against the wall across from the table. Margo squinted, trying to bring her into focus.
“Who’s that?” she asked.
Lamont waved Maddy closer. She took a couple tentative steps toward the table and leaned her head forward.
“Margo,” said Lamont, “this is Maddy. She’s a friend.”
Maddy moved another step closer and gave a small wave.
“Maddy,” said Lamont. “Meet Margo Lane.”
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” said Maddy. “How do you feel? Can I get you anything?”
Margo gave her head a small shake as the color began to seep back into her cheeks. She sat up a bit and took a deep breath.
“How about a cocktail?”
CHAPTER 48
I DECIDE TO give Margo and Lamont a few minutes alone. I step out of the vault and wander back down the hall into the lab. Nobody there. Fletcher didn’t just leave the room. He left the building. The front door is half open.
I walk slowly around the lab table. I pick up one of Fletcher’s notebooks and start leafing through it. It’s filled with page after page of calculations and diagrams in really bad handwriting. There’s a small table with a coffee machine in one corner. In the opposite corner there’s a file cabinet. Just like the one in Poole’s office. Same vintage brand. Tempting.
I ruffle through the cords and papers on the table. I see a flash of metal.
The key ring! Fletcher must have dropped it when he came back to get the controller. I scoop up the ring and walk over to the cabinet. But I can tell right away that none of the keys is small enough to fit into the lock.
I find the next best thing—a paper clip. A nice thick one. I bend the clip open so that one end sticks out like a probe. I stick it into the lock and wiggle it back and forth, up and down. Then it snaps off.
“Dammit!”
I pat my pockets. I pull out a pencil stub, a few pennies, and then—a metal pin for my scooter! I always carry a spare in case a wheel comes loose. I use the end of the scooter pin to pry out the broken paper clip. Then I stick the pin into the lock and give it a twist.
I feel a little resistance, then a click. I hold the pin in place with one hand and give the file drawer a tug with the other. Success! The drawer rolls open. Inside, there are more notebooks and a stack of manila folders with handwritten labels: CONTRACTS. FORMULAS. DESIGN. SECURITY. Most of the files are all bent and frayed. But there’s one that stands out. Like it hadn’t been touched in a very long time. The label says PROCEDURES.
I pull the folder out. It’s filled with with medical notes and anatomical diagrams, like a hospital chart. I flip through the pages. I recognize plans for the hatch and the slide-out table. There are lots of electrical symbols and weird chemical formulas. And here’s the design for the controller. Pretty cool.
The last sheet in the folder catches my eye because it has the initials “M.L.” at the top. It doesn’t take a famous detective to guess whose initials they are. I look down the sheet. It’s an intake form. “September 6, 1937. Female. Age mid-20s. Height 5'5". Weight 115 lbs. Comatose. Ingestion of toxin / unknown origin. +/- 1 hr.”
I flip through to the last page, where I see a diagram of a female body in a black line drawing. There are notes all over it. Hard to read. I turn the page sideways to read what they’re about.
Oh my God.
“Maddy!” Lamont’s calling from the back room. “Where are you?”
I fold the paper, slide it into my pocket, and close the drawer.
“Coming!”
Take it slow, I’m thinking. Lamont is back. Now Margo is back. Count your blessings. That’s two medical miracles in a row. And maybe the notes were wrong or mixed up. I should probably put what I just read out of my mind.
Because what it said is not possible.
CHAPTER 49
WHEN I GET back to the vault, Margo is standing. Not too steady, but at least she’s on her feet. Lamont has one arm around her waist.
“My shoes,” says Margo. “What happened to my shoes?”
“Sorry,” Lamont replies. “Lost in the shuffle.”
“The floor is so cold,” says Margo.
Lamont sweeps her up into his arms.
“Better?” he says. Margo smiles warmly and nuzzles his neck.
“My hero,” she says. She winks at me. “He really is.”
“Yeah,” I say. “He kind of grows on you.”
“Lamont, I want to go home,” says Margo, flicking the stained black bow over her chest. “I need to get out of this filthy dress.”
“Don’t worry about that,” says Lamont. “Maddy will find you something to wear.”
Margo looks me up and down. I can only imagine what’s going through her mind. The kind of dress she’s wearing only exists in the rich sectors, and in old movies. Definitely not in my collection.
“Margo, we can’t go back to your place right now,” Lamont explains. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that her stylish midtown apartment was probably occupied by squatters. “And Maddy’s apartment is too dangerous.”
“What about your mansion, Lamont? I have some clothes in the closet there.”
Lamont looks at me.
“Lamont!” says Margo. “Don’t tell me you’ve sold it!”
“Of course not,” says Lamont. “It’s just…not a good place for us at the moment. For right now, until you get stronger, we need to stay here.”
“I found some stairs down the hallway,” I say. “I’ll see if there’s any room on the second floor.”
“Don’t be long, dear,” says Margo. “I have a terrible chill.”
I head back out into the hallway and take the branch off to the side where I was exploring before. When I get to the stairs, I can see daylight coming down from above. The sun must be rising. Partway up, there’s a landing with a dirty window. At the top of the stairs there’s a metal door. I give it a shove. It doesn’t move. I put my shoulder into it and it swings open. Suddenly, I’m looking at a warehouse floor the size of a soccer field. I could fit Grandma’s apartment in here about ten times!
I can see a few walled-in spaces at the far end. Maybe storage rooms or offices. There’s a row of windows running along one whole side. The windows must be facing east, because the morning sun is pouring in. The ceilings are about two stories high. I can hear birds fluttering around somewhere in the rafters.
This is one hell of a hideout. I think the Shadow will approve.
I run halfway back down the stairs and call out.
“Lamont! Margo! Come on up!”
I hear Lamont’s footsteps on the stairs and then see him come around the corner. Margo is walking on her own now, still in her bare feet. At the top of
the stairs, I pull open the door.
“Take a look!” I say.
Lamont and Margo step to the doorway and peek in.
“Excellent,” says Lamont. “This will do.”
“Lamont!” says Margo. “You cannot be serious!”
“It’s just for a while,” says Lamont, “until I figure some things out.”
“Please,” says Margo. “Figure it out quickly. I’m not a factory girl.”
CHAPTER 50
RIKERS ISLAND WAS barely an island anymore. Tidal water now covered all but a few acres of the original prison compound, along with the narrow causeway. Most of the outbuildings and facilities had succumbed to rot and rust. But the cell blocks, designed in the 1920s, had been built to last. And where others saw ruin, World President Gismonde had seen opportunity. What ruler wouldn’t want his own private penal colony?
Jessica’s six-by-ten-foot cell had a bare tile floor, white cinder-block walls, a metal cot with a thin mattress, a steel toilet with a square sink above it, and a single barred window.
She was wearing a scratchy prison jumpsuit. Bright yellow. Her own clothes were in a bin somewhere. Probably burned by now, she figured. Jessica had barely slept in the past twenty-four hours. By now, she had become attuned to every sound on her corridor. The clanging echo of metal doors. Long intervals of silence punctuated by sudden shouts and screams. Overnight, she’d heard a man singing loudly in what sounded like Russian. That ended around dawn. Now the only sound came from the boots of the guards as they patrolled slowly back and forth.
Then she heard something new. A low, growing murmur from the far end of the corridor, and the echo of footsteps moving with purpose—in her direction.
A jailer appeared at her cell. He shouted back down the corridor, “Open C-Thirteen!” Jessica’s cell door rolled back with a hard clang. She stood up from her cot. A man in a somber black suit entered the cell, flanked by the jailer and a huge guard. Jessica recognized the man at once. Who wouldn’t? But he still felt the need to announce himself.
“Mrs. Gomes,” he said. “I’m Sonor Breece.”
“I know who you are,” said Jessica. “Why am I here? What do you want? When can I leave?”
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