He couldn't figure out what the hell Rutgers was about now. There was a man with him, who was directing their activities, and was obviously excited about what they were doing with the lamps. He also, apparently, had some theories about their effects on the patient. They'd pulled the sheet down off the victim, and were aiming the lamps so the man in the bed could get the full benefit of the rays. Rodrigal smirked. Did they really think a tan was going to help him?
All eyes were on the victim now, and Rodrigal felt comfortable abandoning the subterfuge, and observing the man directly.
At first he thought it was a trick of the light; that the plastic shielding of the isolation suit had somehow altered his perceptions. For, as he stared, the colour of the man's skin began to change. It started in a place where the light intensity was highest, then spread in a wave of colour through his body. In moments, he'd gone from somewhat sallow, to a rich brown.
Rodrigal glanced at the monitors. The heartbeat had stepped up, and respiration had increased slightly—not enough to match the man's pulse—but definitely more than the comatose pattern he'd exhibited before.
The lamps had only been on him five minutes when he began to shift restlessly on the bed. Rodrigal watched, fascinated. In the background, he heard someone crow triumphantly, “It worked!”
The restlessness that had first manifested itself as twitching limbs seemed to suddenly coalesce. The man's activity ceased, and he abruptly opened his eyes.
Rodrigal was expecting bloodshot, confused, unfocused, pain-filled—anything but this. This man's eyes were far from confused, and about as unfocused as a hawk's. He spotted Rodrigal, and grinned, then very deliberately looked away, so as not to draw attention to his presence. Rodrigal, stunned, couldn't figure it out.
There were other things he couldn't figure out, either—like how his eyes had come to be like that. Like fractured crystals of vivid green, that seemed to capture the light and refract it. Not the result of any virus Rodrigal had studied. Not like any eyes Rodrigal had ever seen.
Then, he reminded himself where he was: Genetechnic. Whatever was wrong with the man now, Rodrigal didn't think it had anything to do with a virus.
Just then, the man pulled out his own IV, climbed out of bed, stretched, then began to pace. He pushed the lights back himself, so he'd have more room to move, while still remaining within their perimeter. “How long was I out?” he asked. “What about Denaro?”
“She's still on her way.” Vizar's words were said grimly, almost like an obituary.
“Did you turn out the lights?”
“All but the emergency ones.” Vizar shook his head. “It slowed her down, but didn't stop her.”
The green-eyed man nodded, obviously disappointed at the news.
“Are you sure you're up to this?” Rutgers asked him.
“What happens if you leave the light?” Vizar added.
The crystalline eyes focused on Vizar, and Rodrigal saw an expression of resignation darken the man's face. “I lasted several hours before. If I store up enough, I should be okay for a while.”
The man then glanced at Raeiti, and Rodrigal knew the man's keen mind had already determined that the balance of power had changed. Rodrigal was certain of it in the next moment, when the so-called “victim” confronted the man in charge—the one who'd been crowing about their success with the lights. “Both you and Denaro need my help,” he said bluntly, “But Caroline doesn't need any more victims. I want you to clear this place. Bring back the helicopters.”
“No,” Vizar said firmly. “We need to contain her.”
In the next instant, the man with the odd eyes had twisted the man around, and gripped him from the back.
* * * *
Geraldo was stunned. He didn't know anyone could move that fast. He saw Finlay raise his gun, and shook his head. He wanted to see what would happen. He'd recognised both Lockmann and Vizar from photos. Was Lockmann out of his mind?
* * * *
“You won't hurt me,” Vizar said. It was a statement of fact. Vizar knew it, and so did everyone else in the room, with the exception of the newcomers.
“You're right, Vizar,” Lockmann admitted. “But I thought you might want to be the first to greet Caroline as she arrives. Her former employer—I imagine she has special feelings for you.”
Terror flickered in Vizar's eyes. “Can't you see what's happening? We need to stop her—before she gets away.”
“I've given you a way to slow her down—maybe even a way to help her,” Rick told him. “You don't need the rest of these people. Let them go.” He turned to Rutgers. “Would you be willing to stay, Doctor? To make sure I get it right?”
Phillip Rutgers nodded. If Lockmann could put himself in the proximity of that Thing, it would be cowardly not to at least offer him some support.
Rick asked Rutgers quietly, “After we do this—if she's suffering—?”
Rutgers sighed. “I'll see to it.”
Rick nodded. “That's settled, then. Call in the helicopters—before Denaro gets here.”
“That won't be necessary,” a voice said from the background. Geraldo stepped forward, flanked by Finlay. They had their weapons raised. “We've got your travel arrangements covered.”
* * * *
“He's no longer contagious,” Rutgers assured Rodrigal. “We've done all the standard tests. Even his blood work's okay.”
Rodrigal nodded, relieved. “What about his other symptoms?” He wasn't specific—he didn't have to be. Rutgers had no trouble understanding what he meant.
“Let's just say they're not virus-related.”
Rutgers was obviously hiding something—protecting someone. Rodrigal had a feeling it wasn't Genetechnic.
* * * *
Raeiti's people, and most of Rutgers’ staff, had been ushered to the roof, and Hylton had commandeered the laboratory room. Now, Hylton watched as Simon Kerrington entered the room, and saw his friend for the first time.
Kerrington was good, but he couldn't quite conceal his start of surprise at Richard Lockmann's appearance. “Nice tan,” he muttered.
Lockmann froze, and spun around. In seconds he'd cleared the space between them. “Simon!” he exclaimed happily. “What are you doing here?” He peered at him through his isolation suit. “You look terrible! What's happened to you?”
But, Simon was staring at Rick's eyes. “What did they do to you, Rick?” he asked quietly. He recalled what Cole had said: "Rick thinks Denaro found a way to insert groups of plant genes into animals—"
“You wouldn't believe it if I told you,” Rick whispered.
Simon reached out and gripped his arm. “Are you okay?”
Rick nodded, but a trace of sadness momentarily darkened his eyes. “I'll be all right,” he said.
Simon saw him straighten his shoulders, and recognised the gesture. Rick wasn't about to wallow in self-pity, or even give in to the momentary twinge of melancholy. Simon gave him a quick, brotherly hug. It was good to know that some things about Rick hadn't changed.
Rick smiled, glad for the support. Simon hadn't reacted to him with any kind of aversion, which was a concern that had been niggling at the back of his brain. Rick had noticed the stunned glances he'd received, but any of his requests for a mirror had been staunchly ignored. He kept thinking about Denaro, and the way she looked—and wondering whether he was similarly repulsive. Simon had reassured him.
But, hell! Simon shouldn't even be here—
“Come over here,” Rick said, pulling Simon far away from the door. He found him a chair and more or less forced him into it.
Then, he turned angry eyes on Vizar and Hylton. It was apparent that Simon had been injured. He jumped to the obvious conclusion—that one of the two men before him was responsible. “What did you do to him?” he asked furiously, all the while wondering if a similar fate had befallen Cole and Jason. “And why the hell did you bring him here?”
Simon tried to conceal his smile. He looked at Hylton, to see
how he was taking Rick's reprimand. Hylton was frowning, and beginning to look angry himself.
Richard Lockmann didn't give the two men any time to answer. Picking up Raeiti's discarded phone, he tossed it to Hylton. “Get someone down here to escort him to the roof.”
“I think it's time someone reminded you, Dr. Lockmann, just who's in charge,” Hylton said, his voice rising in anger.
At that, Zeneeba cleared his throat. He'd just been talking with Rutgers and Rodrigal. “As to that, Mr. Hylton? I think he is—in charge, I mean.”
Both Hylton and Simon looked at him in astonishment.
“If you want to contain the virus? He's the only one who'll be able to get us out of here alive.”
* * * *
Jason parked the Rumbler in the shadows, but he knew it was still too visible for safety. Especially at a place like this.
There were lots of buildings, some of them quite tall. It reminded Jason of the university he'd attended before med school, and he tried to pinpoint where the action was—where the DSO and its helicopters were likely to have landed.
It was getting late, and except for the humming of a nearby transformer, the scene was relatively tranquil. Every once in a while, though, a door would bang, or a voice would be raised in anger. He tried to decide where the faint noises were coming from.
He finally realised the reason they were so faint was because they were up on a roof. The sounds were drifting down to him, and varied in intensity according to where the people were standing. Jason stared upwards, scanning as much as he could see of the roofs from his awkward vantage point outside the fence.
In the end, he picked the place out more by the activity within the building than without. Lots of lights were being shifted around on the top floor. Straining his eyes in the dark, he could barely make out the edge of the helicopter prop over the rim of the roof.
“I hate roofs,” he muttered. But it made sense that they'd bring Rick to the roof, to transport him out of there. Even if they decide to kill him first.
But, Simon had insisted he'd find another way out—a way to beat the assassin, and bring Rick out of the building. Away from the DSO. Away from Genetechnic.
He must be pretty confident he can do it, Jason thought. Otherwise, he wouldn't have asked me to be here.
Jason was no fool. He knew that if Simon had doubted his ability to succeed, he wouldn't have emphasised his failure by having Jason on the scene—to confront him with Rick's murder. No, Simon had every intention of doing his damnedest to pull this off.
He has the means. Jason had made sure he had a powerful sedative in his arsenal. If Simon gets the chance to use it.
And the strength.
Jason had given Simon enough painkillers to keep his pain at a low threshold, but Simon had insisted on “keeping his edge".
Jason sighed, and began to look for a place to get over the fence. Whether or not Simon was able to get Rick out, he was going to need help. Especially if he alienated his employers by knocking out their assassin.
No barbed wire; no sign saying “electrified". What kind of high security place was this? His question was answered in the next moment as a security vehicle drove past. And Jason finally noticed the cameras along the fence.
You stupid jackass! It's too late now. Jason averted his head and determinedly scaled the fence. After all, if someone was watching, they must have already decided he was trying to break in. There was no point in disappointing them. Nevertheless, Jason hustled. He took Cole's knapsack—which was now full of medical gear—and lowered it to the ground, then dropped down beside it, wincing slightly as his broccoli-coated bruises contacted the hard surface.
Well, there was one consolation. If they didn't catch him, they'd never have a chance of recognising him from the video. The green smears on his exposed skin were effective camouflage.
He felt confident for nearly half a minute. Then he caught a whiff—of himself. He'd almost adapted to his sour cabbage-type stink, until a stray breeze caught the odour and flung it back at him. Jason frowned. Now, not only did he have to worry about them seeing him, and hearing him—he had to avoid them smelling him. It was going to be a very long night.
* * * *
“What I'm saying is: keep the gear on, and—for God's sake—don't shoot her. No matter how much you're tempted.”
“Why not?” Hylton wasn't comfortable with the spiritual slant Lockmann's reasoning had taken. It made him question the man's sanity, and doubt the wisdom of acquiescing to any of his commands.
Rick sighed and went over it again. “Because Denaro can do nearly as much harm out of her body as in it. I got WTV—among other things—” a flicker of wry amusement danced in his eyes, “from her out-of-body presence.” Understanding Hylton's reaction, he hesitated to use the word “spirit” or “soul". He looked at Vizar. “Maybe you should show them the videos.”
Vizar shook his head. It wasn't the only thing that was shaking. The hand that was holding the phone had a distinctive quiver, too. “It's too late, Lockmann,” he said.
Rutgers was taking some of Lockmann's blood, to prepare an antiserum. “Hold still,” he commanded.
“Didn't you hear what Vizar said?” Rick asked. “There's no time for this.”
“I'm almost finished,” Phillip argued. “We need this, Rick.”
Rick glanced at him quickly. It was the first time the other man had used his first name. “In case my efforts fail?” he asked quietly.
Rutgers nodded. He patted Rick on the back. “Yeah,” he said. “I'm sorry.”
* * * *
Simon overheard their conversation. He'd refused to be taken to the roof, no matter how much Rick had insisted on it. Rick, faced with Simon's adamant refusal, had finally yielded. Simon was flattered to notice, however, that he wasn't taking any chances. At Dr. Richard Lockmann's command, Simon had been relegated to the farthest corner of the room. With Rick between him and that distant door.
Simon didn't like it. Whatever Denaro had become, Rick shouldn't have to tackle her alone. Not after what he'd been through during the last month. Simon looked up, and met Rick's crystalline eyes. Not after what had been done to him. It didn't take a science degree to realise that fundamental changes had been made to Rick's body—changes that were far more than skin deep.
Simon had trouble believing that—after all their plotting and plans—it wasn't the DSO who was in control here. Any more than Genetechnic was. Dr. Richard Lockmann, the one they'd tried to manipulate, dissect, and bury—was directing them all.
Except for Angsley. Rick was alive and well, but Angsley's presence was like a blot on Simon's feelings of relief. He was the one pawn who still gave Hylton ultimate control over the game. And Simon couldn't judge what was in Hylton's mind.
Hylton was not, by nature, a killer, but he might see Lockmann's altered form as a hazard. It was no good to hope that Hylton wouldn't find out about the genetic changes; he had a way of discovering hidden facts. A lack of contagion might not be enough to protect Rick. Hylton might consider it important to conceal any evidence that Genetechnic's mutation of a human being had been successful.
The other thing that was bothering Simon was just how successful Rick's mutation had been. Rick's energy levels, his speed—they were things Hylton might consider valuable. Far too valuable to let Rick go.
Simon stayed in the background, and watched.
* * * *
Jason Stratton was discovering once again that breaking-and-entering was never going to be one of his specialities. First the roof—and now this.
On the surface, it had all looked fairly straightforward: find the building, find Simon and Rick, find a way out. Well, he was nearly certain he'd found the building, and that meant he'd found Simon and Rick. Only, the way out now seemed pretty easy, he thought, glancing back at the Rumbler. It was the way into the building that was the hassle.
The whole damn thing was plastered with Biohazard signs, and there were large “Caution!” an
d “Danger!” strips strung across the doorways. Knowing what he did now, about Denaro and her virus infection, left him in no doubt as to why they'd sealed this building. But, he did wonder why they'd bothered to open up the top floors.
It didn't make sense. Unless there was a tunnel connecting this building to one of the others, all the entrances and exits were sealed. Had Genetechnic figured out what they were dealing with, then? And were they limiting its spread by using helicopter traffic only?
Or, maybe it was Rick they considered the “biohazard".
Jason made himself stand in the shadows and think it through. In the rucksack he had a mask, gloves, goggles, and a white coat. But that was the extent of his protection against the virus.
But, he'd been in contact with Rick for hours. Hell, he'd even attempted to give him mouth-to-mouth. If anyone was going to contract this stuff from Rick, it'd be him.
Unless Rick hadn't been in a contagious phase then. Jason shrugged and struggled to pull the small crowbar out of the rucksack. It was Cole's, for prying the hubcaps off his precious Rumbler.
Whatever I do will probably set off the alarm system.
No, he argued with himself. They can't afford to have it on. Not if they're opening and closing doors all over the upstairs.
Jason stuck Cole's crowbar into the narrow space between the door and the jamb. The metal was strong, and Jason found he had to bend things a little. So strong, in fact, that he actually bent the crowbar a little, too. “Oops,” he muttered. The thing looked more like a cursive question mark now than a pry bar.
Another pry or two and the door came open, and Jason took an involuntary step back. This floor was pitch black, and he didn't exactly relish the idea of moving around in a biohazard area without any light. And his preparations hadn't stretched to including a flashlight.
In the near distance, he heard the sound of a car. Damned Security! That made it now or never. He was too exposed to stay where he was, and he couldn't exactly leave the door ajar, either.
Light Play: Book One of The Light Play Trilogy Page 26
