Memoria

by Alex Bobl

  When Bow's fingers snapped in Frank's teeth, the researcher went white. His eyes bulging, he tried to pull his fingers free. The scalpel now clenched in his teeth, Frank headbutted him again. The blade brushed Bow's cheek and fell onto the bed.

  Bow recoiled, groaning. He stumbled to the table and, clutching at the cuts with one hand, groped for a weapon with the other. The tools and steel boxes clanged onto the floor.

  Frank squinted to look at his chest. The scalpel lay on his stomach. He jerked, leaning to the left, and pushed it off into his outstretched hand. He had to hold it by the blade in order to turn the end toward the strap.

  Disregarding pain from the cuts, he concentrated on keeping the blade in his hand slippery with blood. He flexed his wrist until he managed to make an incision in the strap. His hand could move more freely now. Twice more the blade slid across the leather until only a thin strip remained intact.

  By that time, Bow had stopped groaning and picked up one of the syringes filled with the greenish liquid.

  The strap snapped. Frank's fist holding the scalpel shot forward. At the same time, he jerked his head to one side. The syringe pierced the headrest. The scalpel, Bow's chest.

  William Bow's eyes opened wide. He hiccupped, let go of the syringe and collapsed to the floor.

  Frank was already unstrapping himself, hurrying to get up and lock the door. He sat up, dangling his feet. The room swayed and swam before his eyes. His body refusing to obey, he couldn't grab at the armrest. Nauseous and feverish, Frank started shaking...

  When he came to he was lying on the floor. The wounded Bow whimpered next to him. Frank managed to get on all fours and forced his limbs to carry him to the door. Locking it was almost beyond him. His head spun; his fingers kept sliding off the thumb lock. He tried and failed to scramble to his feet. This had to be the painkiller's side effects Bow had warned Claney about.

  He finally locked the door and stretched out under it, breathing deeply. It was essential he got some rest. Getting himself into an adrenaline-powered frenzy wouldn't do him any good. He had to hurry, though: somebody could walk in any minute, either a tech or Dickens himself.

  He crawled over to Bow. Grabbing his shoulders, he sat the researcher up and leaned his back against the equipment stand. Bow's head fell onto his chest. Blood oozed over the lab coat, the scalpel's thin handle showing in its folds. Frank took a couple of deep breaths and patted the man's cheek. His hands didn't obey him, but it was enough for Bow to perk up. He groaned and moved his hand trying to reach for the scalpel.

  "Where's Maggie?" Frank croaked, grabbing his wrist. "Where do you keep her father?"

  Nausea overcame him. He couldn't suppress it any more and opened his mouth almost instinctively throwing up onto Bow's lab coat. Frank wiped his mouth and felt much better. Leaning against Bow's shoulder, he got up and repeated his question.

  Bow grinned and snorted.

  "You can't get out," he spat out a blood clot. "No good trying." He grinned again, glancing at the syringe under the bed, its needle bent.

  Frank turned, taking in several round plastic gates that looked like tomography scanners. He bent down, grabbed the man's shoulders and jerked him up.

  The researcher groaned. Frank pushed him onto the bed and started strapping him in.

  "Once I pull the scalpel out, you'll bleed to death," he spat out the bile. "But if you tell me where they keep Maggie, I'll leave you here. I won't hurt you any more. I promise."

  Bow's eyes glistened under the lamp. Frank bent down to pick up the remaining syringes and showed them to the researcher.

  "Something tells me it's not saline. I can inject both and I'll take my time doing it. I'm sure you'll like it."

  Bow was now staring at him, his eyes wide. Looked like Frank found the right tool.

  "Where's the girl and her father?" He shoved one of the syringes into his pocket and removed the needle top off the other.

  "They're... not far from here."

  Bow's left arm wasn't strapped in completely as Frank had cut one of the belts. The researcher bent his elbow pressing his hand to his chest.

  "Don't!" Frank didn't want him to disturb the scalpel in his chest. Maybe that was what Bow counted on, hoping to terminate his ordeal. The blade must have gone through the lung close to the heart. Another inch, and he'd have already been dead. "Where are they?"

  "The girl's at the end of the hallway..." Bow's hand fell onto the armrest. "Her father next to her. There's," he glanced at the wall to his right, "there's nobody in his room now. They're busy with the girl." He had trouble speaking. Every quick breath between phrases brought blood up to his lips.

  Frank dropped the syringe. Without taking his eyes off Bow, he reached inside the only steel box left on the table. He groped inside for a square of muslin and pulled it out to wipe Bow's face. Red spots covered the muslin. For a second, he stared at his hand. He'd completely forgotten he'd cut his fingers with the blade.

  He wiped Bow's face, tore a strip of fabric off the hem of his lab coat and wrapped it around his bleeding hand. The researcher breathed in fits, his throat seething. His eyes were closed. Frank didn't know much about medicine but he remembered the coach telling him that with a perforated lung, you should plug the wound straight away otherwise the lung would curl up and collapse. Apparently the blade didn't block it completely allowing for a slight stream of air to seep through. That could alter the pressure in the chest cavity and then...

  Frank rummaged through the table looking for something to block the wound with. Nothing. Bow could die at any moment leaving him none the wiser.

  "I'll help you, I promise," Frank said. "If you can tell me how." Was he really going to save the life of this cowardly asshole? After him betraying Kathleen and torturing Barney? He who knew what his bosses were about to do to Maggie and thousands of people...

  Bow hissed and open his tearful eyes, glistening with the fear of death.

  "The medicine cabinet..." he managed. "The first aid kit."

  He tried to raise his left hand, pointing. Frank stepped into the far corner and opened the cabinet. One half of it was a locker with lab coats on hangers. The other had many shelves. Frank found the first-aid kit on top of the upper one.

  He opened a sterile packet and folded a square of gauze to form a swab. Then he picked up some antiseptic and a box of plasters and went back to the bed. There, nausea overcame him. He closed his eyes trying to concentrate and stop his head from spinning. Then he walked over to Bow and ripped open the chest of his shirt. He cut the plaster into strips and had the antiseptic bottle open and ready. Then he pulled out the scalpel. Immediately he poured some antiseptic onto the wound, pressed the compress down and secured it with plaster strips all around.

  Bow jerked twice. When Frank had pulled out the scalpel, his eyes rolled up and he coughed out a clot of blood. When Frank pressed the bandage down hard securing it, more blood came out.

  It had taken but a couple seconds. The pale researcher's breathing became more even, and the seething in his throat calmed down.

  "What did Claney mean?" Frank asked. "What signal was he talking about? Tell me."

  He licked his lips, dry with anxiety, and glanced at the door. Did he hear voices? He waited, then took another gauze square out of the first-aid kit, drenched it in water and wiped Bow's face. He repeated his question.

  The researcher opened his eyes and croaked,

  "Dickens will turn on the transmitter... The signal goes to the satellite... then back to the bracelets..."

  "What for?"

  "To activate... the capsules..."

  "Which capsules?" Frank closed his eyes. Too complicated. Claney was too smart for him. Too many questions to ask and answers to hear. He didn't have the time.

  "The capsules... introduced during the Vaccination. The vaccinated subjects will obey Claney's orders."

  The researcher closed his eyes again. A spasm shook his body. Had he not been strapped, he'd have fallen off the bed. />
  "Talk!" Frank squeezed the man's sharp chin. "Can you hear me? What's the objective behind the Vaccination?"

  "Destroy... the migrants. Make civilians into puppet soldiers. And then..." he stopped.

  "Then what? Use the capsules to give them fighting skills? To attack the camp? And then what?"

  Bow didn't answer. His body slumped.

  "Bow?" Frank patted his cheek. "Wake up!"

  Someone pulled the doorknob and knocked. Frank looked around.

  "Bow? We're ready," a voice said. "We're waiting for you."

  "Coming!" Frank gave a loud cough, waited and pressed his ear to the door.

  Footsteps, barely heard, proceeded along the hallway to the left. Frank glanced at Bow. He seemed to be out for quite a while. Frank looked himself over and opened the cabinet. In less than a minute, he had on a clean T-shirt: shoulders too narrow, but when he draped a lab coat over it, he looked like one of their mnemotechs.

  He still needed to get himself an electronic bracelet. Without it, he couldn't get out of the building.

  Frank picked the syringe up off the floor and removed the bent needle. He came close to Bow and took his hand. Turning it palm upward to expose the bracelet, he placed the end of the needle into a barely visible slot, just like Barney had taught him. It clicked. Frank pressed the titanium links one by one, and the bracelet opened.

  Using the same method, he locked the bracelet on his own hand. After a moment's hesitation, he decided to give Bow a body search. The only thing he found in his pockets was a crumpled piece of paper. But on his neck hung a small round key on a silver chain looking very much like one of those used to unblock a computer. Frank had a funny feeling it might come in handy. He hung the key around his own neck and gave the place one final check. He had a bad feeling about something, but couldn't quite put his finger on it. Only when he stepped to the door and raised his hand to unlock it, he noticed the bloodied cloth. Too conspicuous. He had to redress it.

  Frank removed the dirty cloth, rinsed his hand with water and reached for some plaster out of the first-aid kit. The hand was still damp, but the plaster held. Then he walked back to the door and unlocked it.

  Before he could step out, a tall dark-haired man in a lab coat stepped in, nearly knocking him over.

  "Who the hell are you?" the man said.

  "I'm the new intern," Frank bluffed.

  "The new what?" the man frowned.

  Frank punched him in the stomach. The man doubled up. Frank grabbed the tech and dragged him inside. After two more knee kicks to the face, he hurled the man onto the floor and locked the door behind him.

  Shit. If this was one of the tech team, the others would soon start looking for him.

  Frank quickly replayed everything he'd heard within the last hour. Claney had told Bow to finish here and get busy with the girl. The researcher had replied that the team was ready to start the moment he arrived. Which meant the techs were all waiting for him now.

  The man on the floor groaned and stirred. Frank turned him around, grabbed his lapels and jerked him up into a sitting position with his back to the wall.

  "How many techs in the team?" he gave him a good shake. "How many of you are there?"

  "Three," the man froze, open-mouth, staring at the bed behind Frank's back.

  Admittedly, Bow's bloodied frame lying on the bed meant for his victims would have scared anyone. Even that fish-eyed blond bastard. Frank gave the tech another shake.

  "Take me first to the girl. Next, to Barney.

  "To whom?"

  "The old boy in the intensive care. Understood?" Frank hissed into the tech's face.

  "Yes!" he nodded readily.

  "If you try to fuck me," Frank produced the syringe out of his pocket, "you'll get a dose of this."

  The man's eyes opened wide. He groaned. Frank rose pulling him up by the collar.

  "Come on, then. And no tricks." He was dying to find out what that was in the syringe that scared the techs shitless. But he had a hunch not to ask now.

  "And..." the man started, his eyes fixed on Bow.

  "Don't worry about him," Frank opened the door and pushed the tech out. "I've given him first aid."

  He had to flaunt the syringe in front of the man's nose before the tech could concentrate on his orders. Finally, he worked out what Frank wanted and walked along the right side of the hallway. There was only one door in that direction.

  "Is the girl in there?" Frank glanced behind his back. There, next to the surgery he'd just left, was another door, and after another ten paces or so, two glass panels. On the wall next to them, an electronic lock flashed a red light. Above them, a semisphere of a security camera clung to the ceiling.

  Frank stood up straight and followed the tech trying to walk as naturally as he could. They had only two meters left to cover when the door in the end of the hallway opened, letting out another lab coat.

  Chapter Twenty-One. Chasing Tails

  Bud Jessup hurried to board the chopper waiting on its landing pad in front of the stadium. He could use some rest. He'd never thought that one day he'd have to choose between honor and duty. Still, Salem needed him in town where he and his men tried to stay in control. The radio in his hand didn't stop. Reports were coming in from all over New York. Long queues were already lining up at Memoria's branches, getting longer with every minute. The "skill sale" had begun.

  Its first hour had been the hardest for Jessup. Memoria's security had uncovered his team who'd had to abort the surveillance of Binelli. Listening to their frequencies hadn't given him much, either. He had the Feds and the Secretary of Homeland Security on his back, but Jessup chose to ignore their calls knowing it would cost him his job. Probably, already had.

  The chopper pilot saw him, reached up and started flipping switches overhead. The ignition went on. The motor pulsated. Slowly, the rotor blades started turning.

  The reporter sat in the back. He hunched up in his seat, too scared to move, afraid of whoever might be watching. Jessup shared his anxiety. He didn't want to let the reporter out of his sight. It was unlikely Memoria would go so far as to kill them both together, but still. Gizbo might not be the only mole in his department. That would explain Memoria's quick reactions to their HQ surveillance as well as their switching to scrambled messages. Jessup didn't want to lose his only trump card, albeit insignificant. He knew they would do whatever was necessary to seize the reporter.

  "Captain, sir?" he thought he heard to his left.

  A sentry on the guardhouse balcony waved and shouted, his words drowned out by the chopper drone. Another couple of seconds, and he wouldn't have heard him.

  "Would you come over here, sir?"

  Jessup stopped. He glanced at the helicopter and crossed his arms in front of him, signaling to the pilot to kill the motor. Then he hurried to the guard house. Could they have received a message from the camp? The leaders could have complained about Memoria's invasion on the radio. They could have sent a messenger to the guard house. Also not unlikely, some of the migrants could express their desire to leave the perimeter in order to participate in Memoria's "skill sale". He could tell Jessup what was going on in the camp.

  "What's up?" the rotor noise had almost stopped by the time Jessup reached the turnstiles.

  "Come quick, sir! He's wounded!"

  "Who now?" Jessup flung the staff room door open. On the bench by the wall lay Nicholas Floyd. Jessup's long-time camp informer.

  The duty officer leaned over him, the opened first-aid kit by his feet on the floor. Floyd's neck and chest were dressed with bloodied bandages. The duty officer pulled the syringe out of Floyd's shoulder and turned his wide weather-worn face to Jessup.

  "Not good. Got two bullets to the neck and heart area, sir. He could barely speak."

  "What did he say?"

  Floyd lay with his eyes closed.

  "He brought you this, sir," The duty officer handed Jessup an opaque plastic container one-tenth of an inch thick. "He want
ed you to have it."

  "What for? What is it?" Jessup opened the container. Inside was a memory chip. "Call the meds!" he looked at the door. "Get him into the chopper!"

  He lifted the transmitter and contacted the police clinic for an emergency surgery.

  Floyd opened his eyes and gave him a weak smile. Then he started gasping.

  "His heart might stop!" the duty officer shouted. "Get the defibrillator!"

  One of the cops was already running to the bench with a plastic box in his hands. He pushed the lid open and brought out the electrodes.

  The duty officer grabbed a knife and cut through the bandages. But Floyd had already stopped breathing. His eyes glazed over.

  "Charge?" the cop placed the electrodes onto Floyd's chest.

  "Full charge," the duty officer said.

  "Clear!"

  The defibrillator clicked. Floyd's body jerked with the electric pulse.

  "CPR and heart massage."

  Well-trained, they acted in unison, trying to bring the man back from the other side. But Floyd's eyes remained dead.

  "Again," the cop placed the electrodes onto his chest. "Clear!"

  Another click. The body jumped.

  "CPR!"

  Jessup stepped to the wall and leaned his heavy body against it watching Floyd. He didn't look as if he could make it.

  "Pointless," he finally said.

  The duty officer looked up at him,

  "Blood loss too serious, sir."

  "I can see that." Jessup sighed. "Did he say anything at all? What's going on in the camp?"

  "He just gave us your name, sir, and this container."

  A car braked by the guard house. A door slammed. Several voices spoke at once. The radio in Jessup's hand sprung to life, giving him a bad feeling. He put the sound up to hear Salem's voice through the gremlins.

  "No!" he exclaimed, disbelieving. "When?"

  "This afternoon," Agent Archer said entering the room. "Anna Gautier and two more leaders have been killed in the Council building. I need all the men you can spare in the Bronx before the migrants cut the electricity and water from the city. We can't afford that to happen."