Deciding it was too risky, he tried to think of an alternative. The hospital pay phones were too public, and it was a long walk to the nearest gas station, all of it along well-traveled roads where somebody in scrubs might attract the attention of any cops in the area. So it came down to relative risk. Make a choice and hope it was the right one. Door number one or number two. Where was the tiger?
He lifted the receiver of his phone and quickly pressed the disconnect button with the index finger of his left hand. Gripping the receiver against that same hand with his thumb, he unscrewed the mouthpiece with his other hand and inspected the mechanism inside. He didn’t see anything that might be a bug, but of course, he didn’t know what a bug looked like.
Resigned to this option, he reassembled the mouthpiece, then turned to his computer, looked up the number he needed, and made the call.
“I’d like a cab sent to Monteagle Hospital.” His voice didn’t echo or sound unusual in any other way. Did that mean the phone was okay?
“Pick me up at . . .” He hesitated, wondering where the safest location would be. In a bold move, he said, “The Emergency entrance. This is Dr. . . . Demarco. How long? Ten minutes? That’ll be fine.”
He hung up, grabbed his clothes, and left the office. Returning to the lab, he got a simple nose-and-mouth mask from a box near the fume hood and pulled it on. It was going to look a little odd for someone to be wearing a mask in the hallway, but it was better than being recognized if he should pass anyone.
Once again, taking the most obscure route possible, he made his way to a maintenance door about twenty yards from the Emergency entrance, where he could wait for the cab behind a big tank of liquid oxygen hidden by a dense cotoneaster hedge. His idea in coming there was that a guy in scrubs walking to a cab wouldn’t look out of place. But now the mask had to go. He pulled it off and tossed it on the ground.
While waiting for the cab, he wondered once more if his phone had been bugged. If so, Lenihan and his men could be posted out of sight waiting for him to show.
There were three ambulances sitting near the ER entrance. Any of them could have detectives inside ready to jump out and grab him. He looked at the vehicles in the ER parking lot, where he saw two vans, more potential hiding places for cops.
By the time the cab arrived, Ash had become so convinced he’d put himself into a trap, he couldn’t leave the safety of the hedge.
The cab sat there, waiting.
But if he didn’t go now, when would he have another chance?
Finally, tired of the indecision, he stepped into the open. His eyes went to each of the ambulances, then to the vans in the parking lot.
No movement in any of them.
He started walking at a brisk pace, his eyes darting over the landscape, the tension in the moment making it harder to breathe than when he’d been in the machine room.
He was halfway there now, and nothing had changed.
Two thirds of the way . . .
The emergency room doors flew open . . . a uniform . . . cops . . .
But then he saw a gurney and another uniformed figure pushing it—two paramedics, that’s all.
He reached the cab, pulled the door open, and lunged inside. “I’m Dr. Demarco. Let’s go.”
He gave the cabbie the location of the convenience store where he always made his sensitive calls on the phone out front, then looked back at the rapidly disappearing ER, incredulous that he’d made it.
At the pay phone, he let that cab go and called another, using a different name, wanting to create a rift in the continuity between the hospital and his ultimate destination should Lenihan start questioning cabbies.
While waiting for the second cab, he quieted the rumblings in his stomach with a packaged ham and cheese sandwich, a bag of chips, and a Coke. When the second cab arrived, he had the driver take him to an ATM, where he withdrew the maximum amount he could get. With the next address he gave the cabbie, he made the guy’s night.
Chapter 41
THE CAB PULLED to a stop beside the darkened farmhouse. While they were coming up the drive, Ash had been looking for cops. He’d never spoken to anyone at Monteagle about owning this place, so it seemed unlikely that Lenihan would know about it. But the possibility still bothered him.
“This the right address?” the cabbie said, prompting him to make a decision.
“It’s correct.”
“Don’t look like anyone’s expecting you.”
“But of course that’s not your concern, is it?”
Ash paid the considerable fare and, even though his net worth would soon be an irrelevancy, added a measly tip. He picked up his bundle of clothing and got out.
Before the unhappy cabbie had even reached the road out front, the crickets on the property went back to work, creating a din that made Ash feel he’d be safe here for the short time it mattered.
It was a cloudy night, and the moon was obscured, so it was too dark for him to read his watch. But he’d checked it at the convenience store and judged that it was now around nine o’clock, too late to get started. But that was fine with him, for he was worn out.
He went up on the porch and let himself inside. With all that had been going on, he’d never gotten around to having the utilities cut off, and there were lights if he wanted them, which he didn’t. No use showing passersby there was someone here. Again moving by memory, he went up the stairs, surprised at how much creakier they seemed in the dark, and entered the largest bedroom, where he cast around with his foot until he found the empty shoebox he remembered leaving there. He then lay down on the floor, put his clothing under his head, and drew the shoebox close to his face. Lulled and comforted by sweetly aromatic residues that took him back to his first home on this earth, he soon fell into the deep dreamless sleep of the innocent.
ASH WOKE AT first light, made a pit stop in the upstairs bathroom, then went downstairs and out the back door to the barn, where he unlocked the big main door and threw it open. Most of the barn he made available to whoever was renting the farmhouse. But there was a section in the back he’d kept locked. He went there now and opened that door.
Inside were some tools and an old blue pickup truck he used to carry supplies for maintenance and repairs of the place. He grabbed a shovel and went back outside. Hustling around to the rear of the barn, he scraped aside some strategically placed dead leaves and began digging.
Ten minutes later, he reached down into the hole he’d made and pulled out a zip-top plastic bag containing the gun he’d used to kill Sam and Ann Fairborn. He took the shovel and the gun back into the barn and stowed the gun under the driver’s seat of the truck. He then slipped the key into the truck’s ignition and turned it. The old vehicle hadn’t been used in months, but it had always been reliable. And today it was again, for after cranking a couple of times, the engine started and ran smoothly.
He drove the truck into the yard, got out, and closed the main barn door, reviewing in his mind what he needed. There was a well-equipped tool box in the back of the truck, but he’d have to pick up welding equipment, rebar, duct tape, some hose and a clamp, and a canary. If nothing went wrong, he should have everything ready by tonight. Then came the hard part.
“HOW DID YOUR case go?” Chris said into the phone to Michael, trying to be polite before she poured out her news. She’d called him an hour ago, but he couldn’t come to the phone because he was involved in an unscheduled surgery.
“It was a tough one,” Michael said.
“Then they were lucky to have you as the surgeon.” Unable to hold back any longer, she blurted out what she’d learned. “They caught Ash.”
“How’d they find him?”
“Tracked him from a couple of cabs he took yesterday to get away from Monteagle.”
“How do you know that?”
“Leni
han’s office called. They also said the Atlanta police are grilling Dewitt, hoping he’ll turn on Ash to save himself.”
“Sounds like something that could be very productive.”
“As they say on TV—wait, there’s more. The cops in Newark have thrown a blanket over the entire Iliad operation and have arrested Paul Danner.”
“Looks like we did some good.”
Chris’s reply was interrupted by the sound of the buzzer from the lobby. “Hold on. Someone’s calling me from downstairs.”
She put the receiver down and walked to the intercom. She pressed the button so she could respond. “Yes, who’s there?”
“One of your neighbors from the third floor,” a male voice said. “I’m afraid I’ve backed into your car. I’m dreadfully sorry, but I’ve created quite a bit of damage and wanted to let you know. I’ll pay for it of course, but you should probably take a look. I don’t think your car is driveable.”
Not again, Chris thought. “How could you hit it that hard in the parking lot?” she said, making no attempt to conceal her irritation.
“I’m a fool, I know. My foot slipped off the brake and hit the gas.”
“All right. I’ll be right down.”
She went back to the phone and picked up the receiver. “Michael, I’ve got a minor crisis here I need to deal with, so I have to go.”
“What happened?”
“Someone backed into my car.”
“That’s incredible. Same side as the other damage?”
“I don’t know, but the person who did it thinks I won’t be able to drive it now.”
“If I can help in any way, let me know.”
“I will. Thanks.” Chris hung up, grabbed her handbag, and hurried to the elevators.
She thought she’d find the guy who’d called waiting for her in the lobby, but it was empty. Believing he’d returned to the accident, she went outside.
The parking lot was nicely landscaped with lots of trees and shrubs dividing it into sections. It was one of the features that had made her choose to live in this development. There were no assigned spaces in the lot, but each tenant was expected to park in a specific area. Hers was section D, off to the right, behind section C.
Arriving there after a short walk, she saw a blue pickup with its back end hard against the rear fender of her car on the previously undamaged side. Even before she got close, she could see collision ripples in her fender and pieces of taillight on the asphalt . . . and something that looked like a sheet of paper stuck to her car in front of the damage. But she didn’t see the truck’s owner anywhere.
When she reached the two vehicles, she took a quick look at the damage, which certainly didn’t appear as though it would make her car undrivable, then reached down for the note.
She’d just begun to read it when she was grabbed from behind, and a cloth impregnated with a pungent odor was pressed to her face. She tried to struggle free, but her assailant had one arm wrapped around her, pinning both her arms and crushing her back against his chest. The chemical in the cloth went up her nose and infiltrated her brain, making her feel as though her feet weren’t touching the ground. Then she was falling—into a deep black pit.
Chapter 42
CHRIS OPENED HER eyes, disoriented and slightly sick to her stomach. Gradually she became aware that she was sitting on the floor, her back against a hard surface. In front of her, slightly to her left, was a chrome kitchen chair, and beyond that, she saw vertical stripes.
Where was she?
Then the accident in the parking lot came back to her: the cloth against her face, the smell . . . but now she could place the odor. Chloroform. She vaguely recalled regaining consciousness earlier in some kind of closed container with her hands and feet bound. And she’d felt the sensation of movement. Then, after a long interval, the motion had stopped and the container was opened. That’s all she could remember.
She struggled to her feet, her palms picking up dirt and grit as she used them to help herself. Standing, she became even more nauseated, and it felt like someone was stroking a huge brass gong in her head.
The light in her immediate surroundings was poor, but seemed brighter in the direction of the vertical stripes. She shuffled in that direction and found herself confronting a series of metal bars of the type used to reinforce concrete. Beyond the bars was a larger room, obviously a basement, illuminated by a single bare light bulb.
She heard a door open, and someone came down the stairs, which were on the other side of the basement, angled so they hugged the far wall. Legs clothed in green scrubs came into view, then a torso, then . . .
Ash.
It was Ash.
How could that be? He was . . . Then, even though her mind was still recovering from the chloroform, she realized it hadn’t been Lenihan’s office that had called her. It had been Ash, to make her relax and not be suspicious of his scheme to get her outside.
He left the steps and came over to stand by another chrome chair that matched the one in her cell. He was unshaven, and his hair was uncombed.
“I see you’re awake,” he said.
“What are you doing? Why am I here?”
“Do you know what you’ve done to me by your meddling?”
“Whatever happens to you now is your own fault. You can’t blame me.”
“Oh, but I can. And I do. I’ll tell you this, I’m not going to be taken. I won’t go through that . . . be humiliated in front of the world. I won’t.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Kill myself. It’s the only way.”
Dreading the answer, Chris asked the next obvious question. “What about me?”
“We’re going to die together. You wanted to be part of this. Now you are.”
The trials Chris had been through in the last few days had taken more out of her than she’d thought was in her. Now she was faced with another. And she didn’t think she could bear it.
“How will you . . . ?”
“Carbon monoxide.” He turned and pointed at the upper part of the wall behind him. “There’s a hose already in that hole up there. All I have to do is hook the hose to the tailpipe of my truck. It’s a slow way to die, but I want you to have time to think about it as it happens and to feel it coming.”
“When are you going to do it?”
“I don’t want to be found looking like this. So in the morning, I’m going to get some decent clothes and get cleaned up. I’d guess we’ll be dead before lunch.”
“And in the meantime, I stay here, with no toilet and nothing but that chair to sit on?”
“There’s a bucket and a roll of toilet paper back there in the corner. And that’s more than you deserve.”
Ash’s mind was obviously so monstrously warped Chris felt there was no way she could reason with him. But she had to try.
“Eric . . . look at it from my perspective. I had the responsibility to protect everyone in the hospital from any infectious organism that might arise from my father’s transplant. When those people died, I had to investigate. It was my job, and I felt I had let everyone down. How could I have done nothing?”
Ash looked at her for a few seconds, his jaw muscles flexing. His face began to twist like a child about to cry. “At the little school I attended when I was a kid, if anyone misbehaved, the teacher would banish them to the room where we put our coats, and where those who could afford to bring one kept their lunch until it was time to eat. In my home, some days there was no food at all in the house, and I’d go to school so hungry I’d kick another kid or act up in some other way just so I’d get sent to the coat room. While I was there, I’d steal little bits of food from the other kids’ lunches . . . a cookie, a couple of raisins, some meat from a sandwich . . . Not enough from any one lunch to be noticed.” Tears sprang to his
eyes, and he wiped at them with his fingers. “So I’ve paid my dues in this world. I’ve earned the right to enjoy life, and that virus was my ticket.”
“Eric, I can sympathize with what it was like for you as a kid, but my God, that didn’t give you the right to destroy people.”
His expression suddenly hardened. “Yet I’m expected to accept what you did.”
“It’s not the same.”
“You destroyed me.” A vein rose in the center of his forehead. “I am so sick of people getting in my way. It’s happened my whole life. People just will not mind their own business. They’ve got to pick and pry and ridicule, and talk behind your back, interfere with everything you want to do. We’re a pernicious species, and you’re right there among the worst. So don’t try to justify yourself to me, because I know exactly what you are.” He raised a dismissive hand. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” He turned and walked away. At the steps, he paused and looked back at her. “This didn’t have to happen. You’ve only yourself to blame.”
He went up the stairs and closed the door. Then the light went out, plunging Chris into utter darkness.
She’d been through so much in the last few days she wasn’t ready to give up hope that she’d find a way out of this. At the same time, she was acutely aware that on Stone Mountain and at the Newark waterfront, she’d had help. Here, she was alone.
During the short time the light had been on, she’d realized Ash had fashioned her cell by constructing a barred door over the open end of a small alcove that had probably once served as a coal bin. While talking to him, she’d seen that the brick wall to her right continued past the bars as one of the basement’s perimeter walls. Considering how narrow her cell was, it was reasonable to suppose that the brick wall to her left was not backed by dirt, but merely divided the basement, which meant if she could get through that wall, she’d be free, at least free of her cell. Then . . . She cut off any thought about what she’d do next so she could concentrate on the problem at hand.
The Judas Virus Page 34
