Given that Heathrow Airport alone serviced eighty million passengers a year and that wasn’t the only way to enter the country, it was a long shot. He was counting on the fact that Dresden had a short window of time for both her exit and entry and would go for a fast and simple option.
Cole checked the computer, noting the estimated time it had left to run its comparison program. It would finish in the early hours of the morning. He decided to kip down in his office in a bunk bed instead of wasting time traveling to and from home. He checked his watch. It was 8:10 p.m. in New York and Bex would be landing soon.
Chapter 7
Columbus General Hospital, Manhattan
Monday, 23 April
Quest Biorobotics Enterprises comprised the research arm of Columbus General Hospital. It was attached to the hospital like an impertinent finger, rising another eight floors above the highest point of a building closed like a fist. From the tenth floor, Sophie Dresden was afforded glimpses over the narrow expanse of water known as East River. It wasn’t the view that appealed to her, however, it was QBE’s location. From Ruby Street she was an easy walk away from the New York City Police Department. She had even strolled through James Madison Plaza, gazing at the fortress-like red brick building rising up from 1 Police Plaza, nursing a strong sense of smug superiority that she was hiding right under the police commissioner’s nose.
Turning her back on the view, Dresden watched Lander flexing his legs in the lightweight exoskeleton as he moved towards his bed. Together they had chosen QBE because it was the leading exponent of meshing robotic components with human capabilities. Before handing over research money, Dresden had reviewed the medical institute’s experience. Their researchers were expert in the creation of realistic limb prosthetics and wearable body assistance garments and were taking their research to the next level—a prototype exoskeleton that would be the lightest version on the market.
She and Lander had had lengthy discussions with Dr. Wyatt Tomei, the center’s CEO. Dresden’s largesse to the institute had secured Lander’s position in the trial. Tomei had made her well aware of the impressive successes QBE had for improving or gaining mobility for stroke-based patients. He had assured her this success could be repeated for patients suffering long-term spinal cord injuries.
She didn’t fully understand the technology being used but she had grasped the basics. The exoskeleton Lander was using was capable of transferring mechanical power to his lower limbs through nerve-based transmission. This involved a direct link from his brain, converting thought processes into synaptic functions. Lander’s brain formed the thought of lifting his leg and the electrical impulses fired the robotics to move.
That movement held the lurching grace of a toddler navigating his first steps, Dresden thought as she watched her husband with loving eyes. The exoskeleton, which looked to Dresden like a series of braces around his ankles and knees with a harness supporting his lower torso and a power pack, was supple enough to be hidden under loose clothing. She remembered Dr. Tomei’s confidence that, with sufficient practice, Lander’s gait would mimic natural human movement.
“At QBE we aim to offer practical solutions. This suit weighs a mere 28 pounds. We’ve stripped off much of the complexity used by other robotics designs and the lighter weight means we get much better power consumption. That breakthrough puts us ahead of the pack. Once this trial is successfully completed we’ll be commercially releasing wearable robotics that faithfully mimic human movement with a little added bonus. Your husband will be able to carry twice as much weight as he could before he became paralyzed because of the extra power to his legs. I promise this suit gives such a natural gait that, with the exoskeleton hidden under clothes, your husband will be able to pass as a man with only a slight eccentricity to his walk.”
Ignoring the wheelchair resting at the foot of the bed, Lander managed a one eighty degree turn before lowering himself into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. He shot his wife a triumphant look and raised his hand in a fist pump. Dresden relaxed her tensed shoulders. A tender smile played around her lips as she took in his still boyishly good, though rough-hewn, looks. Lander’s eyes twinkled in a way that made her feel the two of them were complicit in a joke against the world.
“Time for bed, my darling,” she said.
“‘The longest day soon comes to an end’,” he returned with a weary smile. “I clocked up 2.4 kilometers on my legs today.”
She moved forward to unhook the framework from his body, disconnecting the various wires one by one.
“How many kilometers did you clock up today?” he asked.
Dresden was careful to keep her movements controlled as she slid the harness down his right leg.
“I told you I couldn’t come to the hospital today because I had some details to finalize before we leave New York for Costa del Sol.” She kept her voice light, her head bent to avoid his searing, accusatory gaze, as she fretted over the wires.
When she moved to strip the attachments from his left leg, his hand whipped out to grip her wrist. His powerful fingers squeezed until she squirmed. There was nothing amiss with his upper body strength.
“I saw the BBC World News today. There was an explosion at Shoreditch County Court that killed Felix Nutkin amongst others. You took a stupid risk going to London. And for what?”
“You’re hurting me, Lander.”
“Sophie, when we heard the news about Nutkin I told you to leave it alone. We’re so close to making this dream happen, why did you have to risk it for nothing?”
He released her. A red circle remained around her wrist but she ignored it. She picked up the exoskeleton, carrying it to its stand in the corner of the room to plug it into its recharging station. When she turned to face him he was lifting his legs one at a time onto the mattress.
“Felix Nutkin shot you and escaped without penalty. He’s the reason we’re here in New York and the reason you haven’t been out of that wheelchair in twelve years. He’s the reason behind everything I did, including ruining my career,” she snapped.
“Nutkin is a blemish on your record, Sophie. You took the law into your own hands when you killed Nutkin and innocent bystanders.”
Chagrin spoiled the euphoria she had been feeling. Lander was right, of course. Despite being the mastermind behind the Fairchild serial killings, she had never been the one to soil her hands. She hated that she had disappointed Lander. When she spoke her voice was apologetic.
“I was in London for less than twenty-four hours and I went to Heathrow the moment I detonated the bomb, before the police could cordon off the area. I promise you I didn’t do anything to risk our dream.”
He snorted and batted her hands away when she closed in to fuss over his sheets.
“Sitting in a café a few hundred meters away from dozens of police officers and court security is not being careful. Don’t tell me you were careful, you were angry! You were angry and you wanted revenge and you didn’t take the time to think your actions through. The police could very well trace your movements back here.”
Dresden sighed.
“You’re right of course, Lander. It was stupid and risky. But you can’t tell me you don’t feel better now that the bastard who shot you is dead!”
Lander’s eyes narrowed as he held her gaze. “And what about that copper, the one who caught you? Did you go after her too?”
Her heartbeat accelerated. His words brought to the fore an image of Bex Wynter’s face and an accompanying rush of rage as she remembered the way Bex had ruined her well-laid plans. She couldn’t let Lander lose faith in her by thinking she was contemplating revenge on that score as well.
“No, Lander, I won’t risk my freedom for that woman.”
“Good. We don’t need to give the police more reasons to keep hunting for us.”
They broke off their conversation when the door opened and Tomei stepped into the room. Plain tortoiseshell-framed glasses hid muddy brown eyes, a neatly trimmed beard co
vered a weak chin, and an expensive suit masked a weedy frame. Yet beneath the bland exterior, Dresden sensed a volatile element that came through sometimes in a sharp comment or an intercepted look.
“Good evening, Dr. Tomei. Could you please tell my husband to relax and stop overexerting himself?”
Tomei nodded in their direction, his only acknowledgement of Dresden’s playful tone. He consulted the small electronic tablet in his hand.
“Today has been strenuous for you. You’ve been in the exoskeleton for eight hours. How are you feeling at the end of the day?” he directed his questions to Lander.
“He’s exhausted,” Dresden answered for him.
“Not exhausted, just tired,” Lander corrected. “The suit cut out twice today, though. It left me stranded and I had to call for assistance.”
“You promised the suit would be ready so we could leave by the end of this week,” Dresden said.
Anxiety set her twitching fingers to adjusting Lander’s bedcovers, straightening his night tray. Her discussion with Lander had jangled her nerves. Now she wondered if her impulsive actions could have trained a spotlight on QBE for anyone searching hard enough.
“I promise you it’s a minor programming glitch,” Tomei said in a flat voice.
“But it’s something simple that can be done this week?” Dresden knew her voice was terse, but hell’s bells, she had plowed a shit load of money into the facility on the promise of the miracle of making Lander walk again.
A flash of annoyance unleashed across Tomei’s features before he controlled it.
Dresden pressed closer to him.
“If you need another donation to make it happen faster, we’re happy to oblige,” she murmured.
“A donation is always received with gratitude. Thank you. I promise you and patient 82TP912 will walk out of QBE together, leaving that wretched wheelchair behind you forever.”
Dresden closed her eyes and heaved a sigh.
“Thank you, Doctor, that’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”
* * *
Wyatt Tomei closed the door on his office. A slight tic twitched the skin around his right eye. His anger didn’t show in a quick, explosive fuse. It burned deep like a rumbling volcano with only minimal evidence.
Behind his desk, on a custom made shelving unit boasting no less than five different woods in its cabinetry, sat the plaques and trophies he had earned for QBE, not for the facility’s innovation or excellence but for its financial integrity. An institute of this size and magnitude existed because of Tomei’s strategic financial prowess, not because of his PhD in biological engineering.
He seated himself behind his desk, taking a tooled key and a special magnet from his inside suit pocket to unlock the bottom drawer. His Kittinger Williamsburg reproduction partner’s desk was a personal indulgence. He knew the medical researchers within the facility sneered at his ostentatiousness. Let them. He was the one who wielded the purse strings and decided whose research earned the funds. He enjoyed fostering a dog-eat-dog attitude amongst them.
Without fumbling, he unerringly slid aside the magnetic catch before slipping the key into the ornamental brass lock.
Once open, he thumbed through several smart phones nestled together. They each had their purpose. He snatched the phone he wanted and rang the single number in its contact list. He wanted the bonus Dresden promised so he needed the technical glitch sorted.
“Yes?”
Tomei sighed heavily into the speaker, making the person at the other end of the line aware of his disappointment.
“What do you want?”
Tomei was pleased by the edge of strain in the voice.
“Don’t play games with me. We had a deal. You know what you promised. What you haven’t done is deliver,” Tomei said.
Now the heavy breathing came from the other end of the receiver.
“It’s not as easy as you think. It will be ready soon.”
“Soon is too vague. I have clients waiting on this technology to fix the outage glitch in our power packs and provide security that’s hack proof. I’ll give you until midnight on Thursday to deliver the software.”
“I don’t know if I can deliver in that time frame.”
“Then I don’t know if I can keep your wife safe.” Tomei picked a photo of a middle-aged couple out of the same drawer. It had been taken with a long distance lens. The details of the blonde woman’s face were blurred but she was recognizably attractive. A sign she took good care of herself. “It’s a shame because she’s a very pretty woman.”
“I am complying! I told you it just takes time.”
“‘The two most powerful warriors are patience and time’,” Tomei said, remembering a phrase he’d heard patient 82TP912 quote once. Tomei couldn’t remember the name of the author who had penned the words. “Unfortunately for you both are now used up. I have no more patience and you have no more time.”
“Please don’t hurt her. I’ll make your deadline.”
The voice now sounded wretched. Tomei allowed a smile to flutter over his lips.
“That’s all I need to hear. For now.”
He replaced the phone in his desk drawer, but kept hold of the photo.
In some ways it was a shame his source had complied so quickly and easily because his minion, Hardcastle, enjoyed twisting the thumbscrews. Tomei tapped the photo thoughtfully against his fingertips. Just to be on the safe side he would pass the photo onto Hardcastle anyway. Holding the woman as insurance meant Tomei could issue orders to strike if needed.
He closed his eyes and steepled his fingers in front of his face. For a brief moment he gave into the pleasure of imagining what he would do once he pocketed the promised bonus from Dresden. An errant thought popped into his head.
Leo Tolstoy.
That was the writer patient 82TP912 had quoted. Tomei chuckled. Time and patience might have been king in Tolstoy’s day, but Tomei preferred today’s gods: hustle and money. Tomei’s mantra was “all or nothing” and only hustle and money would get him there.
Chapter 8
JFK Airport, New York
Monday, 23 April
A half an hour before midnight, local time, Bex walked through the baggage claim, exited the JFK terminal and entered her father’s car. She recognized the shiny new model SUV, looking more like an armored car than a suburban ride, only because he was standing beside it waiting for her.
Steven Kirwan wasn’t a hugger. Even though she’d been absent from New York for nearly a year, he didn’t move in for a clinch. Instead, he grabbed her cabin bag and settled it into the vehicle’s cargo hold.
Bex ran a hand over the vehicle’s gleaming chrome-clad grille. The tinted windows were so dark it was impossible to see inside without cupping her hands to the glass.
“New car, Dad?” she said as he returned to the driver’s side.
His eyes darted past her, scanning the crowds, before returning her gaze.
“I wanted a more reliable ride. Hop in before I get a fine for standing too long.”
Bex hoisted herself into the cab, sinking into the soft leather of the passenger seat.
“Looks powerful,” she said, eyeing the Lincoln Navigator’s ten-speed auto transmission.
“I bought it because it’s quiet. Its active noise canceling mics make this the quietest rig in its class.”
“I’m guessing it also has plenty of tech toys for you to play with.”
“You can never have too much safety technology,” he said quietly. “Cross traffic alerts and blind spot information should be as standard as forward and rear sensors these days.”
She watched her father check the rear view mirror, side mirrors and flick another glance around outside before starting the engine. The climate control kicked in keeping the cabin at a comfortable temperature as they cruised towards the airport exit.
He opened the center console. “If your phone needs charging…”
“Thanks, Dad.” Bex slotted her phone into the ch
arging bay.
“That seat’s set for your mother, so adjust it to suit.”
“I’m fine, Dad. It’s just a car.”
This was as personal as her father was likely to get, Bex mused wryly. At Heathrow Airport, before boarding her plane, Bex had phoned her mother to let her know about her impromptu visit to New York. While she didn’t believe she would have time for socializing, Ruth Kirwan worked as a paralegal for a prestigious law firm in Armonk and Bex had a vague idea that one of the partners could shed a different view on the legal bind she found herself in. Then she had discovered her mother was packing for her own trip.
“I’m sorry I’m going to miss your trip to New York, Bex!” Ruth’s voice had sounded excited rather than upset at the news. “Your father surprised me with tickets to Paris! He’s booked us into a twelve night cruise along the Rhine.”
“Are you talking about my dad, Steven Kirwan, workaholic extraordinaire?”
“Can the sarcasm, Bex. You know your father’s way of caring for the family is to provide for us,” Ruth admonished.
Bex was used to her mother’s “clarifications”. It was always “What your father really means…” as though Steven spoke a different language and Ruth was his interpreter. Perhaps that wasn’t far from the truth for Bex and her brother. As children she and Bram had learned early to keep out of his way because Steven’s expectations were, if they didn’t adhere to the schedule he planned for them, the least they could do was not compromise his. Not that avoiding him was difficult because he wasn’t home much. Setting up his own computing business had taken every ounce of energy and every minute of his day.
“What do you mean ‘surprised you’? Dad must’ve planned it. He never does anything spontaneously, certainly nothing like a trip abroad.”
“If your dad planned it he never breathed a word to me. I had no inkling until he said I’d be on a plane tonight! I think maybe my nagging to slow down is actually having an effect on him.”
Bex Wynter Box Set 2 Page 45
