“You wanted her contained,” Raeiti told him. “A corpse is contained.” He smiled grimly. “Whatever the hell you've done here shouldn't be repeated. If that's your goal, I'll shoot you myself.”
Rick snickered. He knew it was ill-advised, but Raeiti's words struck that vein of levity he'd been trying to suppress.
Raeiti turned the gun toward Lockmann. Surprise flickered in his eyes when Rutgers, Stacely, plus two of his own people stepped in-between.
“Not until that thing's dead,” Shaine told him. She was standing off to his left. “Or we're out of here.”
"We're out of here!" Raeiti said. Money or not, he couldn't operate in a situation where he couldn't maintain control.
“No,” Daniel Vizar informed him. “The helicopters are mine, remember? They're gone.”
“Take the stairs—”
“The building's sealed, Raeiti,” Vizar said. “Barred and locked from without. It'll stay that way until I give the word.”
Raeiti glanced over at the barred windows, then lowered the gun he'd just levelled at Vizar's heart.
“Sacchara!” Vizar called to Justin, trying to bring him back from wherever he'd gone. Justin stared at him blankly, then his eyes slowly focused. “Take her—” He nodded at Shaine, “—back to the video room. See if you can re-route those sequences of Denaro down here.” He glanced at Rick. “It's time Dr. Lockmann had a look.”
Chapter Twelve
“How good are you at deception?” Simon asked, chewing. Since he'd had a painkiller, the food had become a lot more appetising.
Jace was halfway through a box of cookies he'd brought from Cole's house. “You've played poker with me.”
“That lousy?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Because they're going to want to know where I am.”
“Not only you,” Jace said nonchalantly.
Simon looked up quickly. “What're you talking about?”
“Cole. I swear he has some fool plan in mind.”
Simon groaned. “At Genetechnic?”
Jason nodded. “I think he's hiding somewhere. I went up to the floor a few minutes ago, and poked my head out of the elevator. There were about ten of your people up there, searching.”
“Did they see you?”
Jason shook his head. “No. But it was close.”
“You have his keys, don't you?”
Jason looked at him quickly. “How'd you know that?”
Simon pointed to the bag of food in Jason's lap. “You never eat that well on your own. Besides, that's Cole's rucksack.”
“He let me use the Rumbler.”
“Well, unless he has a spare key, he has no transportation. He'd never hot-wire the damn thing—he wouldn't want to scratch the paint breaking into it.” Simon was trying to think it through. “So, unless he wants to make his rescue effort in a cab, I don't think we have to worry.” Suddenly, Simon pushed the tray away, and started gathering his stuff together. “What am I thinking of?” he asked. “I'm gone, Cole's gone, you're gone—”
“Oh, shit!” Jason said. “They're going to think Genetechnic did it.”
“Help me, Jace.” Simon stood up and grabbed his gun. “Take that stuff and let's go.”
“Wait a minute—” Jason wanted to grab some more bandages and first-aid supplies. He had a feeling they might need it.
“Rick doesn't have a minute,” Simon said, his face rigid. “If I'm right, they'll be on the roof right now.”
* * * *
Richard Lockmann forced himself to focus on the screen. He didn't want to accept what he was seeing. Nothing in his experience—not even Denaro's little out-of-body traipsings—had prepared him for the atrocities he was witnessing. It was like a B-grade horror movie. Except he personally—he rubbed his chest, remembering the chilling feel of her—knew the star.
He understood now why they were so afraid of him. He remembered his light comment about “Typhoid Mary” and cringed. His eyes lifted from the monitor, and he looked around at the other people in the room. Hell, he was afraid of himself.
Bending down, so his face was close to the image, he re-ran the part where Denaro had attacked Sy Morgan. With his gorge rising, he zoomed in on the cut in Morgan's arm, noting how Denaro licked the wounded portions. It had been the same with Solomon, except she'd been responsible for the wounding. She'd deliberately abraded the skin, before inoculating the tissues with her saliva.
“There's a pattern here,” Rick told them. He pointed to the wounds. “She wants direct contact with sub-epidermal tissues. See that—” He froze the picture. “She's introducing her saliva into the wound.” Rick swallowed hard. “Like a leafhopper, or an aphid with its stylet.” He looked up at Vizar. “Insects do it to feed.”
“The idea has no appeal for you?” Rutgers made it sound amusing, but Rick guessed that was for Raeiti's benefit. Rutgers really wanted to know whether he was experiencing any of Denaro's dietary preferences.
Rick gagged. “Are you out of your mind?” he asked grimly. “I'll stick to water.” He wiped a sheen of moisture off his brow, and tried to resume where he'd left off. “It could be compulsive behaviour—some kind of internal pressure to spread the virus.”
“Vengeance is more likely,” Vizar said. But, he asked, “So you think her physical appearance is purely the result of the virus? You don't think any of the gene sequences she was working with were introduced as well?”
Rick knew he was on dangerous ground. Any admission of change to Denaro's morphology was just a small admission away from the changes in his own. If Vizar guessed the extent of the physiological alteration, Rick might well keep his “specimen” status forever.
No, he decided, that's too far-fetched. They wouldn't be able to hold me here.
Rick considered the numbers and natures of the people in the room. Hired to rectify a mistake? To end what Denaro started? Somehow, he didn't think Genetechnic's—or Daniel Vizar's—motives were that altruistic. They'd be more likely to want to hide the evidence; to conceal their results from public censure.
To re-coup some of their losses?
He glanced toward the door, and met Raeiti's eyes. He remembered the man's words, “A corpse is contained.”
In his view, I'd be better off dead. He'll do his best to make it happen.
Not Vizar, though. He'd want to conceal his mistakes. After that: percentages, patents. Ownership. Richard Lockmann, patent number God-knows-what: the first truly transgenic man. If Genetechnic could claim a large enough percentage of his genome, he'd never own himself again. Simply because he wasn't human any longer.
Rick pushed the thought away. Ridiculous. The important thing now is to find a way to contain this virus.
And to answer Vizar's question. Vizar was still waiting. Rick looked up, his mouth open to speak, and saw the expression on Vizar's face. He already knows, Rick realised. They must have run dozens of tests on Denaro over the past month, and she was his employee.
He authorised and paid for all of this.
Rick looked back at the monitor—at the frozen image of Denaro infecting Solomon with her saliva. When Vizar had asked him about Denaro's research notes, Rick had acted confused.
He may not have all her notes, but he must have had a good idea what she was working on, Rick guessed. And he condoned it.
Now, he wants to know how much I'll admit to. Whether I'll confirm her transgenic status. Whether I'll admit to my own. “If gene sequences were introduced, they're not being manifested. This is WTV. She has tumours all over her face and body. The virus is probably affecting her internally as well.” Rick sighed. He suddenly felt very tired.
“What's SA22?” Vizar asked.
Lockmann looked up, all traces of friendliness gone from his eyes. “Everyone's entitled to a few secrets,” he said coolly. “That was one of Caroline's.”
* * * *
Jason helped Simon up the last flight of stairs. Then, at Simon's insistence, he stayed behind. Simon approached the
helicopter alone.
Hylton was so furious that he nearly slid the door off the track. He climbed out, and gestured to two of his people to follow him.
Simon stood there so coolly that Jace was momentarily envious. He didn't know what Hylton's position was, but if his command over assassins was any clue, he apparently had the power of God in some circles.
Jason's envy faded with Hylton's first bellow. "Where the hell have you been?!" It was unnecessarily loud, even over the whup-whup noise of the engine. It was evident Hylton felt he'd been played for a fool.
Simon yelled back. “I went out for a stroll, and got lost. Lucky I made it back it time.”
“It's not going to work, Kerrington. You're out of this one.” Hylton had lowered his voice, but Jason could still hear him clearly.
Then, two men came over to Simon—one on either side. It was obvious to Jason that Hylton intended to reinforce his decision, if necessary. Jace took a step out of concealment, then waited, to see what Simon would do. He was ready to back him up, if he needed it.
Geraldo took Simon's right arm in a tight grip.
Jace, seeing it, cringed. Simon's bad side. That had to hurt.
Before Jamaal could similarly restrain his left arm, Simon launched a powerful punch, that flattened Geraldo. Then he tripped Jamaal, knocked him down, and—with a knee placed firmly in the man's back, used his good hand to force Jamaal's arm up behind his back, nearly to the breaking point.
“You need me,” Simon panted. He released Jamaal, then extended his left hand to David Geraldo, to heft him off the tarmac.
Hylton's lips creased in what might have been a smile. “Nicely orchestrated, Gentlemen,” Hylton said. “It's a shame Genetechnic isn't likely to be as co-operative.”
Geraldo rubbed his jaw. “Orchestrated, my ass,” he said. He looked to Hylton, who nodded. Geraldo grinned, and gave Simon a small shove. “Get in, before I shoot you in the other shoulder.”
* * * *
Jason watched the entire scene in a kind of appalled amazement. It was like some kind of bizarre machismo game from another world. His perspective was from that of someone who'd helped patch Simon back together. He had a feeling Simon's colleagues’ measure of merit was consistent with the litres of blood they lost, or the number of people they'd flattened that day. Jace had always considered Simon to be above average intelligence—not the kind to enjoy profitless games at someone else's expense.
He didn't understand until he was on his way—revving up the Rumbler to a roar as he followed the directions Simon had given him. Hylton had been running his own kind of test: to see if Simon could still handle himself. To find out whether his injury or experience had weakened him to the point where he couldn't perform—to the point where he couldn't take on or take out someone he valued as a friend.
For better or for worse—Simon had passed.
* * * *
The rumble of the helicopter stirred Cole from an uneasy sleep. He glanced at his watch and jumped. He had only an hour left.
He crept into the corridor, all the while watching carefully for activity on the stairs. Someone was at the top—he could see the door jiggling.
His first thought was that Genetechnic was coming back for seconds—the seconds being Simon, Jace and him. Cole ascended the stairs, and hid behind the door. This wasn't the landing pad for emergency patients—that was on top of one of the other wings. Who else would have a helicopter? If it's someone who's supposed to be there, they'll have a key. Cole twisted the lock.
All the way down on the elevator, he congratulated himself on having put a few rocks in Genetechnic's path. But by the time he'd stolen a jumbo pair of track pants, a sweatshirt, and an over-sized pair of Reeboks, he was feeling pretty “rocky” himself.
* * * *
Jason couldn't believe it. One moment he'd been there in the shadows—watching Simon board the helicopter—and the next, he heard the click of the door lock. “I don't believe this!” he complained as the helicopter lifted away.
What made it worse was the extra pass the helicopter made over his location. They shone their light right on him, and he had the impression more than one hand was waving. Hylton had known all along that he was there. He just wanted Jason to know that he knew.
Jace rattled the door, then pounded on it. “Damn it to fuckin’ hell!” he swore, and felt a little better. There must be another way off the friggin’ roof. Jason set off to check the perimeter.
Simon had admitted to walking along the ledges, but it wasn't a very appealing idea to Jace. Instead, he decided to try to peel the cover off the air duct to get into the building. He kept thinking of Simon, and Cole, and wondering whether Hylton's preparations included providing a medic for his people. Bandaging, maybe. A medic, no. Jason didn't think anyone in his profession would be willing to travel in the same team with an assassin. Killers and curers rarely looked at life the same way.
* * * *
Caroline had returned to Solomon's chambers, to rouse her body and begin the long journey through the levels above. It was no longer enough to lure the others to her side.
She had too little time, and too much to accomplish.
It had always been her motto, and it had worked well to explain away the lack of personal relationships, the call to glory that kept her at her lab, the elaborate living quarters with no one to visit.
Now, however, the driving force was physical; her biological clock was on its last few swings. Soon, the pendulum would cease its swing altogether. The obsession that drove her now was as hot as any longing for children that had ever stirred her to sexual lust. The viral titres in her body were peaking, and her internal population explosion was forcing her forward, in an effort to relieve the pressure of her disintegrating tissues. If her mind had remained intact, she might have realised that contaminating others could neither relieve her own suffering, nor provide the legacy that had always been her goal. But, lust, legacy, pain, intellect, and vengeance had become confused. The only thing that remained was the brief, fearful winging of the out-of-body, and the realisation that her presence had a power it had never possessed in the past. Caroline shifted, and everything around her jumped.
Her movements were painful, and slow. Raeiti had placed sentries along the way, but Caroline had already learned how to deal with the singular: a quick out-of-body slip, and her prey was neatly snagged on the connective. Unable to move; unable to flee.
Caroline moved on.
* * * *
Simon realised almost immediately they weren't heading for Genetechnic. They were flying west instead of south, and Simon guessed they were on their way to pick up some equipment. Probably isolation gear, and maybe the odd virologist or two. Simon wondered what a virologist looked like. “Odd” was probably the operative word.
He knew he was deliberately trying to avoid thinking about Rick, and what the virus had done to him. His friend was probably dead by now, and they were going to be acting as little more than glorified pall-bearers. It bothered him that Rick's remains would probably be delved into and analysed by a dozen different hands, and bits of him shelved in labs all around the country. If I can, I'll do my best to stop that, too.
Jason was going to be a problem. If Simon returned “empty-handed"; i.e., without Rick, Jace would assume Simon had allowed Angsley to assassinate him, or had done it himself. Either way, there was a chance Jace wouldn't believe Rick had died of natural causes—or as close to natural causes as someone who'd been given a plant virus by a ghost could be. Put that way, the entire situation seemed ridiculous.
Except there was nothing ridiculous or amusing about losing a close friend. Friends were a luxury he wasn't supposed to permit himself, but Rick and Cole and Jason had been close to him long before he'd started working for the DSO.
Rick was absent-minded about almost everything that wasn't related to fungus and viruses. Yet, he'd never forget Simon's birthday. Or let him be alone at Christmas. Cole was generally pre-occupied with a long li
ne of females during the holidays, and Jason would be caught up in a series of staff parties at the hospital. Whether Richard Lockmann was busy with a female companion or not, he'd make a point of taking Simon to any parties at other friends’, and make certain he had plenty to occupy his mind so he wouldn't have time to think about being alone. Rick realised that for some unspoken reason, Simon couldn't allow himself the luxury of close female companionship, so he'd make a point of including him in his own activities. Thanks to Rick, Simon always had a Christmas tree—even though it was often some weird species of plant that Rick had been cultivating at the lab. And, come Christmas morning, there was always some gift lying on his doorstep. Simon felt tears welling in his eyes.
Simon knew there were things Cole never talked about. Episodes in his past when Rick had been there to listen—and to bail him out. Well, more than once, Rick had also been there for Simon. Jace and Cole may have been shocked at his occupation, but he had a feeling Rick wouldn't have been in the least surprised. And if, on occasion, a work-related problem slipped out, or if something that was eating at Simon's conscience spilled over into their conversation, Rick was neither alarmed nor judgmental. He'd conveniently “forget” Simon's revelations, just as easily as he'd forget his keys.
Simon was suddenly glad of the dark. By the time they reached their destination, he might have the time to wipe away any traces of his concerns.
* * * *
“She's coming.” Raeiti was on the phone, and his words put the fear of God into the other people in the room. “Call back the helicopters, Vizar!” Raeiti lifted his gun, and faced the door.
“I need options. What can we do?” Vizar asked Lockmann. Daniel Vizar knew he could order the helicopters, but that wouldn't solve the problem. Denaro had roamed beyond these walls easily enough. He needed a way to get rid of both sides of her.
Rick couldn't answer Vizar's question until he'd found the answers to some of his own. “Am I contagious?” Rick asked Rutgers.
“Your numbers of antibodies to WTV are beginning to level out, which makes it likely no new virus is being produced. Antigen in your blood has dropped drastically over the past eight hours. However, I'm still picking up antigen in the labelled tissue samples, especially those areas with viral arrays.”
Light Play: Book One of The Light Play Trilogy Page 23
