There. Down the hall. Dr. Sheila walked slowly with her cell phone in her hand. She appeared to be pressing buttons but not speaking.
What could she be doing?
SHEILA
Sheila held down the SEND button on her cell phone then listened—not to the phone but to the nearby office doorway.
She’d entered the Lee Swann number. It might be a colossal waste of time, but she needed proof of a direct a connection between Swann and Tethys.
The fax would pick up after the third ring. If she heard three rings from Bill’s office, she’d know.
And now, somewhere beyond Bill’s door, a phone began to ring.
One … two … three … then it stopped.
She hit REDIAL with the same result.
With a sick-sour feeling in her gut she opened the door and stepped into the reception area. She stood by Marge’s desk and hit REDIAL once more. A phone rang three times inside Bill’s inner office.
She knew the source: the fax machine in the corner near the desk.
Her chest felt as if it were about to burst.
Bill, how could you?
Sheila leaned back against Marge’s desk and sobbed.
BILL
Bill sat in his home office looking at his quarterly investment statement. Then next one would be shy a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. He hoped Elise never found out. He’d already changed his contact information online so there’d never be a statement sent home again. Now if he could just keep her from looking at their tax returns next year. He looked out the window at the rain. What a mess. He was damn glad they lived at the top of a hill. No flood damage for them. They should be able to escape this whole deluge unscathed. Too bad the same couldn’t be said about the Proteus situation. The damage was done but hopefully the worst was behind them. Next week, sunny skies and a normal life. He hoped. April was at a sleep-over at a friend’s house and Robbie was in his room playing video games or doing whatever he did on a rainy night. Elise was racking up the most recent Netflix DVD for Bill and her. “Let’s do something together tonight,” she’d said. He never had time for movies but she liked the classics. The current disk was an old Hitchcock film: The Man Who Knew Too Much.
The title had startled him. Perfect description of Paul Rosko.
What was he going to do about that man? Well, he couldn’t hide forever. Whether the police or Bill found him first, his life would be over. He was the last slice of trouble pie. Sheila wasn’t strong enough to carry on this quest of hers with her blue-collar lover in the slammer, or dead.
Most likely she’d have a breakdown, like last time. No one would believe her story. She didn’t even have all the pieces. She’d tell what little she did know, then fade into obscurity never to be heard from again. Sad, but true.
His cell phone rang. It could only be one person. He snatched it up.
“Did you find him?”
“No, sir. But I follow Doctor Sheila to Admin building.”
Shen then went on to relate a confusing story about Sheila wandering the hall with her cell phone but not talking to anyone.
“Is she still there?”
“No, she home now. But was in your outer office, sir.”
A stab of panic straightened Bill in his chair. God, his computer—if she ever got to it and figured out the access code …
“What was she doing there? Did she get into the back office?”
“No, sir. I hear strange noise. I go to peek and see her sitting on secretary’s desk. She was crying.”
“Crying?”
What the hell was going on?
“Yessir. Then she go home.”
“And you’re sure Rosko’s not there?”
“No, sir. Cannot be sure. But a boy is staying with Doctor Sheila.”
The Rosko kid—had to be! Bill pumped his fist. Got him!
“Thank you Shen. You go home and rest. I’ll call you in the morning.”
Bill hung up, his mind racing. If he couldn’t find Rosko, he could use his kid to flush him out.
FOURTEEN
The gusting wind and pounding rain threatened to collapse Shen’s umbrella as he approached Dr. Sheila’s front door. Per Dr. Gilchrist’s instructions, he had dressed in a full Tethys security uniform, including a cap. As he raised his hand to knock, he hesitated. He didn’t want to be here, did not want to do this.
He did not want to kill this boy.
But Dr. Gilchrist had told him that the child was the most serious threat to Jiù-zhù-zhe’s dream and had to be removed. He also offered him another hundred thousand dollars. Already Shen had one hundred and fifty thousand dollars in an account. After this last job, he planned to take Jing and Fai away. He would have someone sell his home and the profit would be sent to him in Jamaica or whatever island they chose. And the three would live a happy, wealthy life in a new country.
After this one last job. He swore on the life of Fai that this was the last time.
Shen forced his hand forward and rapped on one of the glass panes.
As expected, no response. Shen knew that Dr. Sheila had braved the flooded streets this morning and made it to the hospital. Certainly she would have told the boy not to answer the door.
Shen knocked again. He could have broken a pane, reached through, and unlocked the door, but he preferred to talk his way in. Forced entry would raise questions. The boy’s death must look like an accident.
When no one responded Shen put down his umbrella.
“Coogan Rosko!” he shouted. “I come from Tethys hospital. Doctor Takamura is hurt. She ask for you.”
Still no response.
“She told me to come get you. She need to tell you something. She say is very important.”
He saw a shadow move toward the door, then a boy’s worried face appeared, peering at him through the glass. A handsome boy with wide, innocent blue eyes.
Shen flipped open his identification wallet and held it up to the glass.
“I am chief of Tethys Security. You must come with me.”
The boy made no move to open the door.
“Is she hurt bad?” he said, his voice barely audible through the glass.
He cupped his hand to his ear.
“Too much wind. I cannot hear you. You must come see her. She ask for you.”
Shen saw the boy look past him at the Land Rover with Tethys M.C. Security emblazoned on its side. He heard the latch snap back. The boy opened the door a crack.
“Is she hurt?”
Shen nodded. “Very bad. Her car turn over in flood. She has two broken legs. You must come. I drive you.”
The boy’s features reflected his inner struggle. He had surely been warned not to leave the house, but he was worried for Dr. Sheila.
“Okay,” he said finally, “but I have to make a call first.”
He went to shut the door but Shen stuck his foot in the way. A look of alarm flashed across the boy’s face.
“Be quick,” Shen said. “I wait here.”
As the boy turned and hurried toward the rear of the house, Shen stepped inside and pulled a Ziploc bag from his pocket. He whispered across the living room, opening the bag as he moved. The smell of chloroform wafted around him.
The boy stood at the kitchen counter, holding a slip of paper as he dialed the phone. Panic widened his eyes when he looked up to see Shen padding toward him. The struggle was brief. The boy had no chance. The chloroformed rag over his nose and mouth stilled his flailings.
As Shen lifted him into his arms he noticed the slip on the counter next to the phone. It read “IV” and then a scribbled phone number. The name meant nothing to Shen, but Dr. Gilchrist was looking for the boy’s father. He might be at this number so Shen pocketed the slip.
Minutes later he was driving the unconscious boy down the slope toward Tethys. The unrelenting torrential rain had caused the river to overflow its banks during the night. The low-lying areas of the town were flooded and, unfortunately, the Tethys Compound was in on
e of those areas. The hospital seemed safe on its rise near the rear of the campus but the river had taken charge of the parking lots and was lapping at the steps to the Admin.
Before reaching the flooded area Shen slowed and looked around. Only a few cars. The rain and the flood and the state of emergency from the governor had limited traffic to rare brave souls who simply had to be here. He turned left into the brush. When he was out of sight of the road he stopped and sat with the engine idling.
Finally he forced himself to move, to step out of the car into the downpour. Through the naked trees he heard another, deeper sound above the clatter of the rain. The roar of a swollen river. He opened the rear door and pulled the boy from the back seat. Keeping his eyes straight ahead so that he wouldn’t have to look at his burden, he carried him toward the river.
Dr. Gilchrist had instructed him to see that the boy drowned in the raging water. His death would be just one more tragic fatality associated with the flood.
When Shen reached the bank he stopped and stared in awe. What used to be a low, clear, gently flowing stream had become a high, mad, foaming, mud-colored torrent. He would not have to hold the boy under. All he need do was step to the edge of the bank and drop his arms. Even fully conscious, the boy would have no chance. But unconscious …
As he took that final step toward the edge he glanced down at the boy. And stopped. He saw his rosy checks, his unblemished, rain-beaded skin, his long-lashed eyes closed in sleep. A picture of innocence. As innocent as his own little Fai.
Shen stepped back. No. He could not do this. No amount of money was worth killing an innocent child. He should never have agreed. He had enough money now to leave with his family. Plenty in the offshore account. He would go home and tell Jing to pack and they would leave tonight.
The wonderful Jiù-zhù-zhe … she would not want this. Dr. Gilchrist must have misunderstood.
He turned and carried the boy back to the car. He drove him down to Tethys and made his way through the muddy pond that once had been the parking lot. He drove slowly, carefully, so as not to stall. He parked on the walk near the Admin steps and took the boy again in his arms. He was stirring as Shen carried him inside.
•
Bill sat at his desk and held the bottle of whiskey upside down over his paper cup but it was empty. He dropped the bottle in the metal trashcan and stared into the cup. Dry. Damn. Well that was all right. He didn’t really need it. He’d just erased all mention of Coogan Rosko from the Tethys computers. As far as the system knew, the boy didn’t exist.
Bill knew that somewhere out by the river the digital nonexistence of the Rosko boy was becoming physical nonexistence as well.
Any moment now the phone would ring with word from Shen that the deed had been done. An awful, unthinkable deed.
Well, such a thing used to be unthinkable.
He rubbed his eyes and wondered what he’d become. Killing a thirteen-year-old boy …
He sighed. No sense in dwelling on it. It had to be done. The stakes were far too high to let sentiment or moral dilemmas get in the way of Proteus. He kept telling himself that a couple more lives—no more beyond the boy and his father, he hoped—meant nothing when weighed against the betterment of millions and eventually billions of lives all over the world.
He kept telling himself that … over and over … and praying that someday he’d believe it.
The boy’s death would remove him from the equation. He might never be found. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? Then, even if the police reached the father before Shen did, what could he say? He’d sound like a madman. If the boy’s body never showed up, Rosko, with his history, would be the prime suspect. And if it did wash up, a dead body made a poor witness.
He heard a squishing sound and looked up. Shen, looking like a drowned rat, stood dripping in the doorway.
With the boy!
Bill shot to his feet with a cry. “Shen, have you lost your mind? You were supposed to—”
“I know, sir, and I will if I must, but not until I hear it from Jiù-zhù-zhe herself.”
“How dare you!” Bill shouted in a sudden blaze of fury. “Are you calling me a liar?”
Shen pinned him with his violent, all-commanding stare. Bill felt his bowels clench. He should know better than to lose his cool with Shen. Had to remember who was in control. Not Bill. Not anymore.
Shen remained impassive. Bill wished to God he could read that face, those black eyes. Was he going to strike?
“I do not wish to harm a child. But I will do so if Jiù-zhù-zhe herself tells me it is necessary.”
Pigs will fly and the damned will be having snowball fights in hell before that happens, Bill thought.
But if he challenged Shen, then he’d be the one floating dead in the river.
Very well, then, he’d pussyfoot around Shen and then deal with the kid himself.
“I’ll call her later. She hasn’t been well recently and I don’t want to wake her.”
Shen nodded, then carried the boy across the office and laid him on the settee. Bill opened his mouth to say the water would ruin the fabric, but shut it. A water-stained couch was the least of his worries.
Instead he pointed to Coogan. “It’s too dangerous to keep him here.”
Shen ignored the protest and pulled a slip of paper from his pocket as he approached Bill. He dropped in on the desktop.
“Boy was calling this number when I took him. Is important?”
Bill looked at the slip. His jaw dropped. He knew that number. The answering machine at the IV office! Was that where Rosko had been hiding?
He shook his head. You almost had to admire the man. Not only had he found a warm, dry, rent-free hiding place, but the choice was a way of thumbing his nose at Bill—or rather at his alter ego, Lee Swann.
Bill had planned to use the boy’s disappearance to flush Rosko out of hiding and bring him to Tethys. But now that Bill knew where he was, he could simply call him.
A slight variation on the original plan, but one that would work just as well.
He could dispose of both Roskos at once.
•
Paul sat on the desk of the IV office. The floor was under three inches of water, and it stank. Water dribbled in from all sides and made continuous ripples. It kept getting deeper. He wondered what Sheila and Coog were up to. He felt trapped—helpless, useless, sequestered from Coog and Sheila and the rest of the world in this Godforsaken, four-walled cage. Might as well be in prison.
He stood and balled his fists. But damn it, this time he hadn’t done anything. This time he was the victim.
He recognized the rage surge and tried the 10-9-8 breathing, but it didn’t work. He felt his blood pressure rising fast and he started pacing the cell—the office. Just like fucking prison.
Paul swung a fist at the wall and smashed through the sheet rock. His hand hurt but the rest of him felt a little better. He flexed his fingers. Blood. What the hell? He looked up and saw a three-foot gaping section of wallboard torn open, demolished. How did that happen? He remembered one punch. Only one. But there must have been more.
He was losing it. An anger blackout. The first in a long, long time. He shuddered. All those years of anger management, of rage control, all the lessons, the techniques were slipping away. If he didn’t—
The phone rang, startling him back to reality. He stared at it, listening for the message.
A man’s voice. “Pick up, Rosko. I know you’re there.”
How the hell did he know? Paul walked closer, his anger rising again.
“Rosko, it’s Lee Swann. Pick up.”
He grabbed the receiver but it bounced out of his shaking hand onto the floor. He scrabbled to retrieve it from the water.
“I want to meet with you,” the voice said. “Maybe we can work something out.”
Right, like that would happen. A meeting with Swann was an invitation to a setup. The police were probably beside this guy right now. No way was Paul going to—
<
br /> “Rosko, I’ve got your son. I think you’d better speak up.”
Coog?
“I’m here,” he managed to say, fear doubling the already high adrenaline from his anger. “I’m here.”
“I figured that would get your attention.”
Slimy bastard. Paul clenched his bloody fist.
“Meet me in a half hour.”
“Where?”
“The Tethys Administration building, first floor.”
Gilchrist’s office was on that floor. The last piece of the puzzle clicked into place. But Paul decided to keep calling him Swann for now.
“Tethys. Why am I not surprised?”
“You wanted to make a deal, well, it’s deal time. Come alone or your son goes for a swim—in the river. I don’t know if you’ve seen the river today. Quite a sight. No matter how good a swimmer he is, your boy will be coming out of that water horizontally.”
Paul took deep breaths, counted backward … nothing was working.
“Let me speak to him.”
“No.”
The flat, matter-of-fact refusal jolted him.
“Then how do I know you really have him?”
“How do you think I found out where you’re hiding? But if you still doubt me, call your girlfriend’s house. See if he answers. Let me save you the trouble: He won’t. And besides, even if I wanted to let you speak to him, I can’t. He’s unconscious.”
Paul stood frozen. He felt the heat of rage drain away as an icy calm took over. Had Bill beaten Coog? Unconscious … or dead?
No. Paul couldn’t accept that. In danger of death, yes, but still alive.
He had to do something. He couldn’t walk into Swann’s—Gilchrist’s—setup. That would mean the end of Coog and him.
He needed time, needed to throw Gilchrist off balance. Put him on the defensive. But how?
Then Paul had it. A counterpunch. A shocker.
“Yeah, well, so you’ve got Coogan. Big deal. Think that’s going to make me come running? We both know, thanks to you and Kaplan, he’s no longer my son. I know all about Proteus, and I know it turned him into someone else’s kid. So what’s he to me? Do whatever the hell you want, Swann. Why should I care what you do to some lab rat genetic freak?”
The Proteus Cure Page 33
