Shock

by Robin Cook

  MAY 10, 2001

  9:48 P.M.

  KURT FELT A RENEWED

  squirt of adrenaline course through his body when he caught sight of an auspicious-looking car coming up Mount Vernon Street.

  As the time had dragged on he’d become concerned that he’d made a false assumption about the women returning directly to their apartment. By nine-thirty he’d been concerned enough to pace the room, an activity that was foreign to his usual practiced serenity. If he’d been able to read, the wait would have been more tolerable, but he dared not turn on the light. Ultimately Kurt had been reduced to looking out the front window at the gaslit square, wondering what the women’s absence meant and how long he should wait before coming up with an alternative plan.

  He’d only been at the window for five minutes when a Chevy Malibu had appeared and then nosed into a parking place right next to his van.

  Kurt was quite confident it was the women, but he became certain when the car backed up to let off the passenger before nosing back into the slot. The woman who emerged was Prudence Heatherly, the chaste one. Kurt had gotten a fleeting but good look at her face from the glow of the gas lamp on the corner almost directly below him. Then he saw Georgina squeeze herself out between her car and the van. In the process one of her breasts spilled out. Kurt could see her laugh as she readjusted herself.

  “Whore!” Kurt whispered to himself with disgust. The woman was shameless in his mind, but he would soon be showing her the consequences of such lewdness. But what Kurt did not allow himself to acknowledge was that the brief flash of carnality had sexually excited him.

  Kurt was about to leave the window to finalize his preparations for the women’s arrival when his attention was drawn back to the scene below. Instead of advancing toward the door, the women had become engaged in a discussion that quickly escalated in its intensity. Even from as far up as he was, and even with the glass in between, he could hear bits and pieces of their conversation. It had definitely become an argument.

  Fascinated by this unexpected turn of events, Kurt pressed his nose against the glass to give a fuller view of the scene. Georgina had come halfway from the car to the house, but Prudence was remaining by the car and pointing to it repeatedly.

  Suddenly Georgina threw up her hands and returned to the car. With as much difficulty as she’d evinced getting out of the car, she got back in. Kurt watched with growing concern as the car backed out. When Prudence climbed back in, he inwardly groaned.

  And then, when the car took off down Mount Vernon Street, he swore.

  Kurt returned to his pacing. A mission he’d assumed would be easy was proving not to be and was now threatening to get out of hand. Where could these women be going at almost ten o’clock at night? He suggested to himself that they could be going out to dinner, but then dismissed the idea, thinking dinner had probably been part of what had kept them away for so long. And how long would they be away? And would they come back alone? The last question was a particular concern.

  Kurt had no answers, and the minutes ticked by. He went back to the window. The only people in sight were a few dog walkers with their pets. The Chevy Malibu was nowhere to be seen.

  Kurt pulled out his cell phone. Although he was embarrassed not to be able to report success, he felt it best to apprise the commander of the current situation. Paul Saunders answered on the second ring.

  “Can you speak freely?” Kurt questioned.

  “As much as can be expected on a cell phone.”

  “Roger!” Kurt said. “I’m in my clients’ home. They returned briefly moments ago but drove away without coming in, destination unknown.”

  Paul was quiet for a moment. “How difficult was it to get into the clients’ home?”

  “Easy,” Kurt reported.

  “Then I want you back here,” Paul said. “You can go back for the women later. Spencer is the problem at the moment. I need your help.”

  “I’ll be there straightaway,” Kurt said, not without disappointment. It meant that dealing with Georgina would have to wait.

  Kurt then thought he’d spend a little time looking for a spare set of keys. When he returned he wanted to be able to get in faster than he had earlier.

  “I STILL DON’T KNOW WHY YOU WON’T LET ME GO UP IN the apartment and change,” Deborah complained. “It would only take me five minutes.” She and Joanna were standing in one of the aisles of the twenty-four-hour CVS, which was more like a mini-mart than a drugstore. Drugs were only a small part of the merchandise available, which ran from car products to industrial cleaning agents.

  “Oh, sure, five minutes!” Joanna said sarcastically. “When was the last time you changed clothes in under a half hour? And it’s already after ten. If we’re going back to the Wingate, I want to get it over with.”

  “But I don’t relish stumbling around in these high heels while we do our detective work.”

  “Then put on your sneakers,” Joanna said. “You admitted your workout gear is in the trunk of your car.”

  “I’m suppose to wear sneakers with a minidress?”

  “We’re not going to a fashion show! Come on, Deborah! Have you gotten what you wanted here? If so, let’s get on the road.”

  “I suppose,” Deborah said. She was holding several flashlights, batteries, and a disposable camera. “Help me! Is there anything else we should take? I can’t think.”

  “If they sold some common sense, perhaps we should take whatever they have.”

  “Very funny,” Deborah said. “You’re being a brat, you know. All right, let’s go.”

  At the checkout register, Deborah grabbed a pack of gum and a few candy bars when she paid for her items. Soon they were back in the car and on their way out of town.

  Having spent themselves arguing for the previous half hour, they drove mostly in silence. With no traffic, they made the trip in slightly less than half the time that it had taken previously. Book-ford appeared deserted as they drove up Main Street. The only people they saw were two couples outside the pizza place. The only other sign of activity was the floodlights over the Little League field behind the municipal building.

  “I’m kinda hoping our cards will no longer work,” Joanna said as they neared the turnoff.

  “Such a pessimist,” Deborah responded.

  They drove up to the gatehouse which looked as dark and unwelcoming as it had the night before.

  “Which card should we use?” Joanna asked. “One of ours or Spencer’s?”

  “I’ll try mine,” Deborah said. She eased the car up to the card swipe and ran her card through. The gate opened immediately. “Just as I suspected: no problem with the access cards. The ironic thing is that I never thought I’d be appreciative of bureaucratic inefficiency.”

  Joanna was not appreciative in the slightest. After they’d driven onto the Wingate grounds and started up the driveway, she turned around and forlornly caught a glimpse of the gate closing. Now they were locked in, and she couldn’t shake the feeling they were making a big mistake.

  WHEN HIS CELL PHONE RANG, KURT HAD BEEN ENGROSSED in his thoughts, and the sound startled him. He’d involuntarily jerked the van’s steering wheel and for a brief moment had to struggle to get the vehicle straightened out. He was traveling close to eighty miles an hour, heading northwest on Route 2 and closing in on the turnoff to Bookford.

  With the van under control, he fumbled unsuccessfully for his phone in his jacket pocket while its insistent ring continued. Hastily he undid his seat belt. At that point he was able to get the phone out and establish a connection.

  “We have a contact,” a voice said.

  Kurt recognized the voice. It was Bruno Debianco, Kurt’s number-two man who served as the evening-shift security supervisor. He’d been in the Special Forces at the same time as Kurt and, like Kurt, had been discharged under less-than-honorable circumstances.

  “I’m listening,” Kurt responded.

  “The Chevy Malibu with the two women just came through
the gate.”

  A shiver of excitement passed down Kurt’s spine. The mild despondency he was feeling at having been ordered back to the compound to deal with Spencer Wingate vanished in a split second. Having the women on the grounds would make apprehending them as easy as a turkey shoot.

  “Do you copy?” Bruno questioned when Kurt hadn’t immediately responded.

  “I copy,” Kurt said matter-of-factly to cover his excitement. “Follow them, but do not make contact. I want the pleasure. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Ten-four,” Bruno answered.

  “There’s one proviso,” Kurt said as an afterthought. “If they try to meet up with Wingate, detain them and keep it from happening. Is that understood?”

  “Perfectly,” Bruno said.

  “I should be there in another twenty minutes,” Kurt added.

  “Ten-four,” Bruno said.

  Kurt disconnected. A smile spread across his face. The evening that had started out so promising but had turned bleak had become rosy again. Now it was a given that within the hour both women would be locked in the holding cell he’d had constructed in the basement of his living quarters, and they would be tantalizingly at his disposal.

  Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, Kurt used his speed dial to call Paul.

  “Good news,” Kurt said when Paul came on the line. “The women have returned to base on their own accord.”

  “Excellent!” Paul said. “Good work!”

  “Thank you, sir,” Kurt said. He was willing to take credit if Paul was willing to offer it.

  “Handle the women, then we’ll face the Wingate problem,” Paul said. “Call me when you are free!”

  “Yes, sir,” Kurt said. Like a conditioned Pavlov dog Kurt felt the almost irresistible urge to salute.

  “THIS IS NOT WHAT I SUSPECTED,” DEBORAH SAID.

  “I didn’t know what to suspect,” Joanna said.

  The women were sitting in the car in the Wingate Clinic’s parking area. The vehicle was pointing toward the butt end of the building’s south wing with its engine still running. The parking spot was slightly east, affording a view along the building’s rear. All the second-story windows of the rear of the wing were ablaze with light.

  “The whole lab is lit up,” Deborah said. “I thought the place would be like a graveyard after hours. I wonder if they are working around the clock.”

  “In a way it makes sense,” Joanna said. “If things are going on out here they don’t want people to know about, it would be best for them to be happening when the crowds of clinic patients aren’t here.”

  “I guess,” Deborah said. “Well, what are we going to do?”

  Before Deborah could respond, both women saw car lights appear at the base of the driveway and start up.

  “Uh-oh,” Deborah said. “Here comes company!”

  “What should we do?” Joanna demanded in a minor panic.

  “Stay calm for one thing!” Deborah said. “I don’t think we should do anything for the moment other than scrunch down as best we can.”

  BRUNO SAW THE CAR HE KNEW TO BE THE WOMEN’S EVEN before he could tell it was a Chevy Malibu. It was parked in a spot pointing toward the clinic entrance. What had caught his attention was that although the front lights were out, the brake lights were still on. Someone was sitting in the car with their foot on the brake.

  As Bruno’s black security van crested the lip of the parking area and his headlights strafed the car in question, he was able to make out the tops of two heads in the front seat. Bruno didn’t even slow, much less stop. He continued across the parking area and descended the road on the other side as if he were on his way to the living quarters of the compound.

  As soon as he knew he was out of sight, Bruno pulled to the side of the road, killed the headlights, turned off the engine, and jumped out. Dressed in black like Kurt, he was invisible in the darkness. He sprinted back up the road, then skirted the edge of the parking area. Within only a few minutes he had the Chevy Malibu in sight, and he could make out that the two women were still in the front seat.

  “I’M A NERVOUS WRECK,” JOANNA ADMITTED. “WHY DON’T we just leave? You admitted yourself that you didn’t expect this place to be in operation like it is. Now we’re bound to run into people if we go in there. What are we going to say?”

  “Calm down!” Deborah ordered. “You’re the one who insisted on coming along. That was only a van that passed by. It didn’t stop; it didn’t even slow down. Everything’s cool.”

  “It’s not cool,” Joanna said. “Now we’re trespassing to add to our list of offenses. I think we should go.”

  “I’m not leaving until I have something concrete on this place,” Deborah said. “You can stay in the car if you want, but I’m going in, although first I’m putting on my sneakers.”

  Deborah opened the door and stepped out into the crisp night air. She went around to the trunk, got out her workout shoes, then returned inside the car.

  “I just saw someone at one of the second-story windows,” Joanna said nervously.

  “Big deal,” Deborah said. She pulled on her sneakers and laced them up. “This is going to look hilarious with this short skirt, but who cares?”

  “I can’t believe you’re not worried about running into someone,” Joanna said.

  “Enough of this!” Deborah snapped. “Are you coming or not?”

  “I’m coming,” Joanna said reluctantly.

  “What do you think we should take with us?”

  “As little as possible,” Joanna said. “Considering we might have to make a run for it. Maybe we should turn the car around so that at least we could get out of here fast if need be.”

  “I suppose that’s not a bad idea,” Deborah said.

  She restarted the car, did a three-point turn, then backed back into the spot. “Happy?”

  “Saying I was happy would be a gross exaggeration.”

  “Let’s just take the flashlights, the access cards, and the disposable camera,” Deborah said.

  “Fine,” Joanna said.

  Deborah reached around and got the bag from the drugstore off the backseat. She gave one of the flashlights to Joanna and kept the other for herself, plus the disposable camera. “Ready?”

  “I suppose,” Joanna said without enthusiasm.

  “Wait a minute,” Deborah said. “I just got an idea.”

  Joanna rolled her eyes. If Deborah expected her to guess what was on her mind under the circumstances, she was insane.

  “You don’t want to know what my idea is?”

  “Only if it’s something like you think we should leave.”

  Deborah flashed Joanna an exasperated expression. “No, smart aleck! The first time we came out here to donate, we left our coats in a cloakroom. There were long white doctors’ coats in there. I think we should borrow a couple. It will make us look more professional, especially me with this miniskirt.”

  Finally the women got out of the car and hurried up the walk. They were mildly surprised to find they needed an access card to get into the building, but like at the gate, the card worked fine. Inside they found the large reception area dark and deserted. They ducked into the cloakroom, and once the door was closed they turned on the lights.

  Deborah’s memory had served them well. There were plenty of white doctors’ coats although few in small sizes. It took a few minutes to find two that were reasonably appropriate. They used the pockets for the flashlights, access cards, and disposable camera. Thus equipped, they turned out the light and reemerged into the reception area.

  “I’ll follow you,” Joanna whispered.

  Deborah nodded. She skirted the empty receptionist’s desk and started down the darkened main corridor, passing the patients’ changing room on the left, where a year and a half earlier they’d donned hospital johnnies prior to their egg-retrieval procedures. Deborah’s destination was the first stairwell, and they made it without encountering anyone. The only noise they heard was their own f
ootfalls.

  Both breathed a sigh of relief once inside the stairwell. It felt safer than the open hallway, at least until they got down the three flights and opened the fire door into the dark, dank basement.

  “No lights!” Deborah said. “It’s a good thing we’re prepared.” She pulled out her flashlight and switched it on.

  Joanna did the same, and the moment she shined it into the mausoleum-like basement hallway she caught her breath.

  “What’s the matter?” Deborah questioned.

  “My God! Look at all the old, creepy hospital paraphernalia!” Joanna said. She shined the light over a profusion of disabled wooden wheelchairs, dented bedpans, and broken hospital furniture. An antiquated portable X-ray machine with a bulbous head stood out in Joanna’s flashlight beam like a prop for an old Frankenstein movie.

  “Didn’t I mention this stuff?” Deborah asked.

  “No!” Joanna said irritably.

  “You don’t have to get mad about it,” Deborah said. “It seems that the whole rest of the building is filled with all sorts of gear from its previous mental-institution/TB-sanitarium days.”

  “It’s spooky-looking,” Joanna complained. “You could have at least prepared me for it.”

  “Sorry,” Deborah said. “But Dr. Donaldson told us about it back when we first came out here. She said the place was a museum of sorts. Remember?”

  “No!” Joanna said.

  “Well, come on anyway,” Deborah said. “It’s just a bunch of trash.” She led the way out into the corridor and headed north. Almost immediately the corridor twisted to the right and then turned again. Smaller arched openings led off on either side.

  “Do you know where you are going?” Joanna questioned. She was following close behind Deborah.

  “Not really,” Deborah admitted. “The stairway we came down wasn’t the one I came down earlier today. But I know we’re at least going in the right direction.”

  “Why did I allow myself to be drawn into this?” Joanna mumbled just prior to letting out a muffled scream.