There was, however, another number he could try, one Arthur had asked him not use except in dire circumstances.
He dialed Arthur’s cell phone number.
The phone clicked and rang.
“Yes.”
“Arthur?”
“Who else would it be, Frik? You dialed my number.” Arthur sounded annoyed at the interruption. Still, Frik had never been so glad to hear someone pick up. “This had better be important.”
“It is. I need help. I need it fast and discreet. There’s been an accident at the lab—and—”
“Frik, where are you?”
“Trinidad. Look, I need you to get here fast. Right away. You can use the Oilstar jet. It’s at Kennedy.”
Excellent chess-player that he was, Frik automatically considered multiple options before embarking on any action, like the tone best used in this call. “Could you please,” had been easy to discard because it left Arthur with too much of a choice. Offering recompense was out. Arthur, a plastic surgeon who had specialized in burn medicine, years before had pioneered grafting and reconstruction techniques that gave disfigured victims a chance at a normal life. It had made him loved, almost worshipped. It had also made him wealthy.
Of the two alternatives left to him, Frik had chosen the imperative. If that failed, he would take the I-scratched-your-back, you-scratch-mine mental leap which generally got him what he wanted. You owe me, Marryshow, he thought, picturing the prison escape in Grenada and the half-dozen times he had saved his fellow Daredevil’s life in the intervening seventeen years and conveniently dismissing the equal number of times the roles had been reversed.
“What is this about, Frikkie? What happened?”
Frik sighed with relief and outlined a carefully edited version of the night’s events.
“You must get Paul and yourself to a hospital. You—”
“No,” This was the hardest part: telling Arthur only enough so that he’d come and help with their wounds—especially Paul’s. The scientist’s skin was dotted with great blackened patches, as though someone had taken a brush laden with tar and swiped at it. “I can’t.”
Frik could hear Arthur’s fury. “Call the hospital, get an ambulance, and … I’ll …”
Frik took a deep breath and chugged Lagavulin straight from the bottle. A friend had sent him the bottle of his favorite single-malt scotch from Argyll, Scotland, and he’d kept it for a rainy day.
As far as he was concerned, it was storming.
He couldn’t tell how bad his own burns were, but he could see only hazy fog through his left eye, and the left hand felt like it was being prickled by a hundred poisonous black sea urchins. His whole body was an archipelago of pain, the little islands only occasionally blurring together. A flash here, a flash there.
The alcohol was keeping the isles from connecting into a continent of agony, but it was also getting him drunk. He had to stay clear enough to make Arthur understand.
“We found something, Arthur. And if Paul spoke about it, at the hospital, under drugs, it would be bad—”
“You are one stubborn bastard. I should hang up. What have you done for him?”
Saaliim, Frik’s assistant, a native of Honduras who wore a perpetually thoughtful look, stood by the door, waiting to see what would happen. Frik relied on Saaliim for everything and anything. He was about the only person in the world, other than the members of the Daredevils Club, that Frik fully trusted.
“I gave him morphine from one of the kits. He’s either asleep or unconscious, I’m not sure which. I think he’ll be okay for the three, four hours it would take you to here.”
“Sooner. I’m in Grenada. Your call was transferred here.”
Thank you, Lady Luck, Frick thought.
“If I cancel tomorrow’s appointments, if I drop everything and run to you, I could fly myself over and be there in an hour, maybe less,” Arthur continued.
Being the man of integrity that you are, you’ll do exactly that, Frik thought. “Thank you,” he said, without waiting for Arthur’s full agreement. “There’ll be a car waiting for you and I’ll be sitting at the window, watching the road.”
“You expect me to work in your house?”
“I can get you anything you need.”
“Right. Like a burn center?”
“Mount Hope Medical Center has an HBO chamber but nothing for burns.” Frik had to make his friend understand. “You have to trust me, Arthur. What we found, it’s too important to risk having anyone learn about. It could change the world.”
“And changing it could use. All right, Frik, I’ll come. But I’m warning you, this had better be damn good.”
Chapter Seven
To Frik, the next hour seemed like a lifetime. Arthur had called on his way to the airport and issued instructions for what would be needed. Frik jotted them down and repeated each one, a slur creeping into his voice. When he put down the phone, he handed the list to Saaliim and told him to go out and collect everything Arthur wanted.
Saaliim was also given a second mission.
After showing Saaliim the piece of the artifact that he’d rescued from the fire, Frik ordered his assistant to search the remains of the lab and Trujold’s house and car for the three missing components of the strange object.
Reluctant to leave Frik alone for long, Saaliim returned in less than an hour. He had gathered everything Arthur needed, but he’d found nothing that in any way resembled the pieces of the artifact. Maybe he’d made the wrong choice, not taking Paul directly to the hospital. Chances were, they would have ignored his babblings there, but they could have done something to keep him alive—at least long enough for Frik to extract from him the whereabouts of the missing pieces.
Then again, he’d learned to trust his first instinct, which in this case was to keep things under tight control.
Leaving the matter of the artifact to be dealt with later, Frik settled down to wait for Arthur. Every car he saw on the road had to be his … until it was swallowed by the balmy night. He cursed himself for not arranging to have a helicopter waiting for Arthur at Piarco. The airport was only forty or fifty kilometers from the house. Marryshow, an accomplished pilot, could have been here long ago. Christ, how he hated inefficiency, especially his own, he thought, as the pain came back and he gulped more scotch. He couldn’t risk taking morphine and losing control of this situation. Have to make Arthur help me, he kept telling himself.
Car lights cut through the darkened room.
Paul, finally knocked out by the drugs, didn’t stir. Frik turned on a light. Seconds later, Arthur came into the house.
“Frikkie, I’ve just sent Saaliim to get some more things. I need you to tell me exactly what happened. By the way, you look like hell.”
Frik realized that he hadn’t done anything to clean himself up. “Like I told you, there was a fire. I—”
Arthur was already standing beside Paul. He pulled back the sheet exposing the black splotches where fire had seared the skin. “My God. If you’re up to it, hand me my bag.”
Frik handed him a medical bag that looked more like an over-sized attaché. “We have to talk,” he said.
“Let me check him first. I’ll listen to what you have to say later.”
Arthur checked Paul’s vitals. “His pulse is thready. His breathing’s ragged at best.”
Frik ventured closer. To his astonishment, Trujold had opened his eyes. Clearly, he was struggling to say something, but what emerged from his scorched lips was little more than a series of croaks. He seemed to be saying “Anny.”5rdc
“He’s trying to say Manny,” Frik said. “Manny carried him out of the flaming building.”
“Easy, Paul,” Arthur said. “Don’t try to speak.” He motioned Frik to follow him out of Paul’s earshot. “He’s a mess. Chances are he’s not going to make it. His only hope is to be moved out now.”
“No.”
“Excuse me? Paul needs things I can’t do for him here.”
Frik glanced over at Paul. He had closed his eyes and seemed to have fallen unconscious again. “Listen to me, Arthur,” he said.
“We’re talking about the man’s life.” Arthur’s harsh whisper held both contempt and anger.
“You have to know there’s a reason I didn’t take him straight to Mount Hope,” Frik said. “Not only a reason, but one that’s more important than Paul or you or me.”
“I must move him to the hospital right away, Frik,” Arthur said. “And I should take a look at you, too.”
Frik shook his head. “We found something, Arthur. In the deep test drilling area. I wanted to hide it, but Paul had already—”
Arthur looked over at Paul. “Found something?”
Frik nodded. He described—as best he could—the indescribable, and watched Arthur’s eyes narrow. This had to be a strange night for him. Flying here, seeing both of them burned, now this. Frik anticipated a barrage of questions, but when he’d finished, Arthur only asked, “Where is it?”
Frik shook his head. “That’s the point. I thought I had it. I thought I was bringing the device out of the lab. When it started melting in the heat, I knew most of it was only a goddamn replica Paul had made. Only one piece of the real thing was left. It’s right over there.” Frik nodded in the direction of a side table. On it, under a lamp, sat the one piece of the artifact Frik had. It reflected the artificial light with an unnatural eeriness. From the confused look on Arthur’s face Frik concluded that he sensed it too.
Saaliim came into the room with some ice and glasses and a small pitcher of water. Arthur grabbed the bottle of Lagavulin and poured himself a few fingers worth.
“Tell me … what did you plan on doing with the … whatever it was?”
Frik moistened his lips and looked over at Paul. Best-case scenario, the man regained consciousness long enough to disclose the whereabouts of the fragments to Frik—and then died. If he lived, the truth would come out. Or at least Paul’s fantasies of the truth.
“What were you going to do with this incredible device?” Arthur asked again.
“If I couldn’t figure out how to replicate it … control it? I was going to hide it. For as long as I could,” Frik said.
As if he had heard Frik’s words, Paul groaned slightly. An intake of air. Arthur walked over to him, looked at Paul, then at Frik. “I must move Paul now. There’s nothing more I can do for him here. Have Saaliim call for an ambulance.”
At that moment, Frik’s assistant returned to the room. “I took the liberty, Dr. Marryshow, of ordering Oilstar’s medevac chopper. It should be here shortly.” His words were punctuated by the thump thump thump of the emergency helicopter approaching.
Frik said, “Most efficient of you. Thank you, Saaliim,” but his words lacked true conviction, and the younger man averted his eyes.
Arthur turned back to Paul and rechecked the burned man’s vitals. The thumping outside became a torrent against the side of the house, and then quieted.
Two EMS techs ran into the room pushing a gurney. Frik watched them gently shift Paul from the small daybed.
“Careful,” Arthur said.
The techs looked from Arthur to Frik. One asked, in accented English, “You ’kay, Mr. Van Alman?”
Frik nodded.
“Get him on the chopper.” Arthur indicated Paul. “I’ll be right out.” The tech nodded and they wheeled Paul out.
“Frikkie, you need medical attention, too. You need to come with us to the hospital.”
Frik poured another scotch. “Arthur—I want our club to find those pieces. The Daredevils.”
He turned toward his old friend. Arthur’s face showed consternation, even anger. “I have a patient to deal with, Frik. We’ll have to have this discussion another time.”
“But—”
Arthur cut off Frik’s response by turning on his heel and walking through the door. Over his shoulder he called out, “If Paul has any relatives, I suggest you contact them.”
Frikkie downed the scotch and reached for the bottle. As he sank back into the cushions of his leather sofa, the torrent of noise outside returned. Small twigs and leaves battered the windows and walls of the house as the medevac chopper took off.
O O O
Frikkie snapped awake at the sound of the telephone. His first sensation was pain, searing, aching pain. He reached for the bottle of Lagavulin and knocked it over, but nothing poured out. Empty.
“Master Frik, you’re awake.” Saaliim’s voice was soft and full of concern. “Dr. Marryshow is on the line.”
“What time is it?”
“Half-four. Should I bring you the phone?”
Frik waggled his head to try to clear it. It took a few moments for all of the previous day’s events to return to him. “Yes,” he said at last. “Also some coffee and anything you can find for this pain short of morphine.”
As Saaliim left, Frik tried to stand. A wave of nausea passed over him and he dropped back onto the leather sofa he’d been sleeping on. His left hand was a mass of pain. His mouth tasted as if he’d washed down the embers of a campfire with a bottle of whiskey, which he supposed wasn’t far from the truth.
Suddenly the receiver of a telephone appeared in front of him. He picked it up and croaked, “Hello, Arthur?”
“You don’t sound good, Frik.”
“I’m fine if you discount the pain, and the after-effects of a bottle of scotch. The important question is, how’s Paul?”
There was a pause on the line, and Frik knew the answer to his question.
“He died twenty minutes ago.”
“Dammit. Wasn’t there anything you could do?” As soon as he’d asked the question, Frikkie knew it was a mistake.
“Had he been brought straight to a hospital instead of your house, maybe. But—”
That line of discussion wouldn’t get them anywhere, so Frik cut in, saying, “His wife died years ago, as did his parents. Saaliim is trying to locate Paul’s daughter.” The smell of fresh coffee wafted into the study.
“I think I’ve got that taken care of,” Arthur said. “Manny stopped by to see how Paul was doing. He just left. He said he can get a message to … Selene, right?”
Frik inhaled deeply of the comforting coffee aroma. “Yes. Selene. She’s not particularly fond of me. She’s one of those environmentalists.” Saaliim returned with a cup of coffee and a Vicodin. Frikkie washed down the pain pill with a swig of the liquid, which his assistant had cooled just enough with the addition of milk.
“I’m sorry to bring it up at a time like this, but …” Frik paused and took a deep breath. “The Daredevils Club meeting is less than two weeks away. Tell me that you’ll support me in this, Arthur. We have to find that device.”
“We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”
Frik took another swallow of coffee. He couldn’t wait. The sense of dread that had seized him in the lab was eating at him, trying to get another grip. “Tell me you’ll help, damn it. You’re my friend.”
Arthur would have to back him in this. You owe me, he thought again, but as they had done right after the accident, the words remained unspoken. There was silence on the line. Were it not for the background murmur of the nurses at the station from which Arthur was making the call, Frikkie would have thought that his friend had hung up.
“Your answer?”
“No, Frik. I don’t think so. The club has never been for the aggrandizement of any individual member. Besides, there’s something unsavory about all this—”
“You don’t understand. You could be throwing away the key to the universe.”
That made Arthur laugh. “Some lids are meant to remain locked, Frikkie. I’m not willing to be Pandora, here.”
“Dammit, Arthur—”
“Over my dead body, Frik. The whole thing smells wrong to me. I suppose you can bring it up at the meeting New Year’s Eve, but I’ll fight you on it.”
This time, the silence on the line was absolute.
Frik
kie put the receiver in its cradle and lay back on the sofa. The alcohol he had consumed had not fully left his system and the narcotic was beginning to numb his extremities. He tried to focus on the events of the day, and on how to proceed, but things quickly got hazy. One diaphanous plan melted into another, until he passed out cold.
O O O
At around mid-morning, Frik awoke again, stiff and groggy and in his own bed. He assumed he’d been carried there by Saaliim. Wouldn’t be the first time, he thought. He didn’t know which was worse, the pain in his hand, the tightness in his chest from the smoke-filled lab, or his pounding hangover headache.
“Saaliim!”
His call instantly brought his assistant into the room.
“Coffee, my man. And something for this pain.”
“Dr. Marryshow, he sent you some medicinals,” Saaliim said. “Right there on your nightstand.”
The younger man left the room and Frik picked up the white paper bag with a note in Arthur’s handwriting stapled to it. Inside the bag there was antibacterial ointment for the burns and a small bottle of painkillers. The note contained cursory instructions about how often to take them and a warning not to drink alcohol while he did so. At the end of the instructions, Arthur had added:
I’m leaving the island. Take it slowly for a few days, Frikkie, and don’t overdo the medication. By then you’ll have come to your senses. Arthur
Or maybe you’ll have changed your mind, Frik thought, and promptly swallowed twice the recommended dose of pills. By the time Saaliim returned with coffee, he was falling back into blackness.
For three days, Frik remembered little except pills, coffee, pain, and Saaliim’s quiet presence floating in and out of the room. By the fourth morning, he was up and trying to dress when Saaliim knocked on the door.
“Telephone, Master Frik.”
“Who is it?”
Arthur, he told himself, as the events of the past few days returned to him. He’s changed his mind.
“Missy Selene. Yesterday I told her you can’t talk. Today she don’t sound too good.”
“I’ll talk to her.” Frik sat down on the side of the bed. Saaliim plugged in the extension phone which he’d apparently kept unplugged for the last few days.
The Daredevils' Club ARTIFACT Page 5
