Hylton nodded—a little stiffly, Eric thought. “I'll have people nearby,” he said.
As they were leaving, Eric tossed him the hospital gown. “I loaned him some clothes: black pants, blue shirt. He insisted on keeping the coat.” Eric's eyes brightened. “He said you needed it back, Johnson. I'd say he plans on returning it personally.”
“Back to the hospital?”
Eric nodded. “As soon as he finishes whatever he's got his brain fixed on.”
“Do you think he'll make it?” Phil Rutgers asked.
Eric recalled how the wound had looked. How Lockmann had muttered in his delirium. He sighed. “No,” he admitted bluntly. He grabbed his keys off the desk, and followed the other men outside. “I think you should get everyone into the act,” he told Hylton.
“Already have. You just happened to be off-duty.”
Eric grinned. “Consider me back on duty now.”
* * * *
“It's Hylton. He wants to talk to you.” Wallace handed the phone to Cole.
“Calloway,” Cole said tersely. He was angry, and he figured that bastard Hylton ought to know it. He'd orchestrated this little manoeuvre, probably so he could move Jace and Rick without interference. That gave Cole a pretty good idea of Hylton's estimate of his talents. Hiring him had been a necessary evil—short of thunking him over the head—to get him out of the way.
Now, Cole was stuck here, because he wasn't about to abandon Simon. Stuck here while Jason was dying, and Rick was wandering around trying to hide from his keepers. Cole felt like shoving the phone up Mr. Hylton's sneaky ass.
“Do you know where Rick could have gone?”
“What did you do to him? Why's he hiding from you?”
Steven sighed. “I don't know,” he admitted. “We need to find him. I'm sending a helicopter for you.”
“I can't,” Cole told him bitterly. “You set this up, Hylton. Simon's on the inside, and I'm not going to let another one of my friends die because of you.”
“Kerrington can handle it. Wallace can take over.”
Cole snorted with derision. “That fills me with confidence,” he said sarcastically.
“Look—Rick didn't leave because he was angry. He left because he had something to do. He stopped in to see Eric Sterner, who thinks Rick was fixed on helping your friend Jace. It had something to do with Denaro.”
“That doesn't sound like Rick. He wouldn't want anything to do with her.”
“It doesn't make sense, but Sterner says he's delirious—and that he blames himself for Jason's illness.”
Cole thought about it for a minute. “Send the helicopter. Just make sure it has a laptop on board, that I can tie in to this connection.” He hesitated. “What makes you think Rick wasn't just mad at you guys, and stomped off in a huff?” He knew it'd be a damn site harder to find him if that were true.
“Because he left us a goddamn note, Cole,” Steven said. “He claims he has a few errands to run.” Steven hesitated, as he fought down a lingering trace of amusement. “He told us not to worry.”
Hylton could hear the smile in Calloway's voice. “Sounds like he was ‘mad’ all right—the insane kind. I'll be ready when you get here.”
“Already on our way.”
Chapter Twelve
Unless he could somehow sneak into the lab at the hospital, make himself invisible, and instantly access everything he needed, Rick knew there was only one place he could go: Entadyne. He needed to run a dilution series, and find a way to hide these samples. He had all his lab stuff at hand for the dilutions, and what better place to hide something lethal, than among chemicals and other vials almost equally lethal? Dead was dead. The disadvantage with Denaro's stuff was its ability to spread.
He considered destroying SA22 outright. It had mutated him, destroyed Denaro and a number of Genetechnic employees, and was now speedily killing Jace. But, the concern that had jumped into his face—the one he'd been blinded to by his aversion to all things Denaro—was still with him. If the virus that infected humans was transmissible via plants—if it could be maintained in plant reservoirs of infection—then they had a double hazard here. If any part of Denaro remained—and he sincerely hoped they'd incinerated her corpse—then it was a biological hazard of terrifying proportions: a virus that could destroy both plants and animals. Humans weren't the only victims, and they wouldn't be the only vectors, either.
His mind began to wander, and he worried about Denaro's rats. About other vials that might be hidden in other places. I need to talk to Hylton, he realised. I should have left the vials there—in Eric's house—and told Steven about them.
Except I still don't trust him.
No—it wasn't Hylton. It was the world he inhabited. The world that Caroline Denaro had belonged to, and that Rick couldn't quite understand. A world where deadly serums were hidden, even from those who commissioned them. A world where words differed from actions, and both differed from personal opinions and beliefs. Rick gave a wry smile. I'd trust Hylton with my life, but I can't trust him with the lives of a million others. Because, in that instance, Hylton might not be acting alone. He might have the weight of his organisation squeezing his back—shoving him into the proverbial corner.
Rick knew he had only as long as the aspirin lasted to get this done, and return to the hospital. After that, he wouldn't be able to trust himself with diluting this shit, and he might not have the clarity he needed to disguise the vials.
He drove into the lot at Entadyne. There were three other cars in the spaces, none of them inhabited. A few passionate pathologists might be in their labs today, but they'd be there because they either had work to catch up on, or because of personal projects using lab equipment. Like me, Rick thought. In either case, they'd be using the solitude to get things done. Rick decided it was unlikely anyone would want to see him any more than he wanted to see them today.
The thing that bothered him now was time. He was certain that as soon as he swiped his card, or punched in his number, they'd be on to him. Despite his note, he knew Hylton would be searching—it was his butt that would be in the sling if Rick were captured or killed. Rick once again felt that qualm of distress, that he was causing so much trouble to so many others.
But, it's to help others that you're doing this, Rick. Still, he was finding it small consolation.
He was also afraid that after this, they'd lock him up. For good. It made it all the more important that he find his own way back to his bed: so they'd feel they could trust him. Or, maybe it'll just make them so scared they have no control over me that they'll find some nice cell where I can while away my days.
Whatever happened, they couldn't know what he was about to do to Jace. Otherwise, Jace would become just as much of a lab specimen as Richard Lockmann. Not an acceptable proposition for someone who'd planned to spend his life practising medicine.
* * * *
“He's at the lab. His number was just punched in on the keypad.”
* * * *
Rick hesitated only briefly, to slurp water from the drinking fountain. The box of vials felt heavy in the coat pocket. Then he took the elevator upstairs, and forced himself into some semblance of the speed for which he was quickly becoming renowned.
He re-marked the box, and sequestered it at the back of the Hazardous Chemicals cupboard, where it would be hidden among the dusty vials in the rear. This cabinet was kept locked. Everyone on the staff had access, but it was thought that the turning of the key would trigger the user to don proper safety gear and use appropriate precautions.
As Rick diluted SA18, he hoped Caroline Denaro had known what the hell she was doing. He reassured himself with the reminder that most of her rats had survived—until she'd destroyed them, or they'd become infected with Wound Tumour Virus. Despite the time constraints, he made himself go over it three times—just to make sure he wasn't making any mistakes.
Rick could tell from the way his hands were shaking that the fever was returning. He went
over to his book shelves, and quickly searched for something on counter measures against metal poisoning in plants. He shoved the two volumes into Johnson's capacious pockets, and headed for the door.
He glanced back once, to make sure he'd covered his tracks. Other than the beaded water in the sink, there was no clue that he'd done anything but visit his bookshelves. He blinked his eyes, as he tried to clear them. Then, he wobbled out into the hall.
It would take Hylton a while to get access to the building, but there'd be nothing to stop him from waiting outside. Rick wondered what he should do. He was looking out the window, at the parking lot below, when a helicopter settled slowly on to the tarmac.
* * * *
“Rick?”
He spun to see one of his co-workers, Frank Joyce.
“Jesus Christ, Rick! What's happened to you?! Is it the pneumonia again?”
Pneumonia was a helluva lot easier to explain than a bullet wound. “Yeah, Frank. D'you have any aspirin?”
Frank dragged him over to a first-aid kit, and started to rummage through it. “Sorry, Rick. No aspirin. Unless you want one of these aspirin substitutes?”
Rick shook his head. “Can't. I'm allergic.”
“What are you doing here?”
“You know how behind I'm getting in my work. I was feeling so much better that I came by, but now the fever's coming back.” Rick had suddenly realised there might be a way out of this after all. “Could you drive me to the hospital?”
“All I've got is the bike—”
“That's great. A lot faster than waiting for a cab.”
Frank nodded. “We'll have to go out the back,” he said apologetically. “I park it in the garage.”
“I'm ready.”
Frank practically had to carry Rick down to the basement. “Maybe we should call an ambulance,” he said. “What about your car?”
“I came by cab,” Rick lied. “So I wouldn't have to drive.”
Rick was counting on the reluctance most people felt at calling an ambulance. Frank wasn't any different. “Okay,” he said. He swiped his card, punched in his code, then sauntered back to the bike. “You ready?”
Rick was so ready that his muscles were tied up in knots. “Mary told me how fast you drive this thing,” he said with a smile. “I never believed her.”
Frank grinned. “Well, if you're up to it, and you think you can stay on, what d'ya say we play ambulance?”
Rick grinned, even though his stomach sank at the thought. Riding with Cole in the Rumbler was bad enough. At least there, you didn't have asphalt passing below you at 150 kilometres per hour. “Sure,” Rick lied. “If you get pulled over, I'll be your excuse.”
The garage door was already beginning its automatic descent. “I hate that,” Frank complained, and Rick didn't know whether he meant being pulled over, or the automatic door. “You ready?” he asked again, revving the engine.
Rick's “Yeah", sounded at nearly the same moment as Frank's hasty, "Duck!" They cleared the door and tore off down the road.
* * * *
When the DSO finally got access, Cole was in the lead. When the elevator doors opened, he ran ahead, toward Rick's office. “Rick!” he yelled. “Where are you?” He checked hurriedly under benches and in alcoves. “He's not here!” he told Hylton. “But he was. He left his keys on the counter.”
“Spread out and look for him,” Hylton ordered. “Don't expect an answer. He might be unconscious.”
Fifteen minutes later, there was still no sign of Lockmann. “We'll have to search the whole building,” Hylton said wearily. He turned to Finlay. “Has anyone left since we arrived?”
“No, but just before we got here, a Frank Joyce opened the loading door.”
“Do you know him?” Steven asked Cole.
Cole shook his head. “No—though Rick once said Joyce drives his motorcycle the way I drive the Rumbler.”
“Expand the search. You're in charge, Finlay.” He turned to Cole. “You're with me. We're going to look for a motorcycle travelling like a bat out of hell.”
* * * *
“Where would he go?”
“His house. Or back to the hospital. Didn't he say something about returning Johnson's jacket?”
“His coat,” Hylton said absently.
“Then he'll do it.”
Hylton looked disbelieving.
Cole took affront at his expression. “What d'ya think Rick's doing? Leading you on some kind of wild goose chase?” He was yelling, and Steven wasn't sure how much of it was due to trying to top the noise of the helicopter's engine, and how much to anger. “Rick's doing this for some reason. It may be crazy, but to him it's valid. If he wanted to take off, he would've done it before this, when he was healthy. And he damn well wouldn't have left you a goddamn note!”
“And he wouldn't be going places where we could find him.”
“Right.” Cole thought about it a moment. “It'd be a helluva lot easier on him just to let you ‘catch up’ with him,” he said disparagingly. “But my guess is you'll interfere with what he still needs to do.”
“Which is?”
Cole shrugged. “Damned if I know,” he admitted. “Maybe he's not thinking too clearly.” He pulled over the laptop and scanned the data that had come in while he was helping search the building. “It's like I said before,” he told Hylton, referring now to the computer, “Simon's on his way back. He's done what he can at that other place. He wants to help find Rick. Now that he knows Rick got shot, and how badly Jace is doing.”
“How did he come by that information?” Hylton asked angrily.
“Someone must have told him that the facility struck by ground charge couldn't supply because it wasn't doing well and was on a shaky footing.”
Hylton rolled his eyes.
“Then he must've heard that a side flash from another storm hit and penetrated a second facility, causing internal damage, with non-functioning systems.” Cole grinned at Hylton. “Simon wrote back: ‘with that much damage, only a qualified lightning inspection, to ensure that all systems are returned to working order, would suffice’. Get it?” he asked.
“God help me,” Steven Hylton replied. “Unfortunately, yes.”
* * * *
The tree thing was out. Rick stared at the ledge he'd sat on only hours before, and wondered how he was going to get up there, without being seen. Hell, how was he even going to get into the hospital without help?
He wondered if the window was still open in Jason's room. When had he done that? It seemed forever, but it couldn't have been more than twelve, fourteen hours ago. Maybe not even that long.
Who would be up there now? And how many of them were there?
I'm thinking too much, he finally decided. Or maybe not enough, because I don't have any ideas yet.
What would the DSO be watching for? Richard Lockmann, or anybody who looked like he had a hole in his chest. Bad guys and assassins. They'd also be waiting for one of the many people who knew him here to recognise him.
He shoved that thought aside, and pulled the coat collar higher, to hide his face.
They'll be looking for someone fast—or someone trying to sneak around and blow the place up—-or someone trying to pass as a doctor, he thought, remembering the people who'd shot him —or someone skulking in and out of the shadows. Rick wondered if they'd be looking for a patient: one whose chest seemed okay, but who had an injury somewhere else.
He could hear an ambulance siren in the distance. As it pulled in, he decided to take advantage of the confusion. As they unloaded their patient, Rick pulled off one shoe, and chucked it into the bushes. Then, pulling up the coat collar even higher, he hobbled over to one of the attendants. “Could you help me?” he asked, trying to balance gingerly on one foot.
The man was startled, but offered him a shoulder. “What happened?” he asked.
“I think it's infected,” Rick replied.
They followed the gurney in through the doors. Rick's hand was so
hot the other man could feel it through his shirt. He laid a hand briefly on Rick's forehead. “Did you know you have a fever?” the paramedic asked.
Rick nodded. “I thought so.”
Once inside, the man hesitated. He'd been about to lower the guy into a chair, but he didn't like the way he was looking. “Do you think you could sit for a minute? While I arrange for someone to look at your foot?”
Rick had seen the two DSO agents on the door. It's like a circus parade, he thought. The elephant had just entered the ring, but they didn't notice, because they were expecting a high wire act. They thought he'd come with the others—in the ambulance—so they'd put him down as one of the clowns. Rick shuddered with laughter, but then he couldn't seem to stop it. He just kept shuddering.
It took his helper only a moment to re-think his decision. If he left the guy out here, he'd probably be on the floor by the time he got back. He helped him to his feet once more, turned around and headed through the doors, to search the emergency ward for an empty bed.
* * * *
Rob Samuelson knew he wasn't doing things according to plan. Chesner wanted to catch Lockmann and the DSO off-guard—not at a time when every bristle on their backs was up and they were ready to react. But, opportunity was knocking, and Samuelson didn't see how he could forego it.
He'd had his people on stand-by; ready to act at a moment's notice. When one of their people in the parking lot had reported a man with a weird heat signature standing near the building, Samuelson had set things in motion. What Samuelson couldn't figure out was why Lockmann was here at all. If he'd wanted to avoid his keepers so much, why had he come back?
Whatever the reason, Richard Lockmann was here, in the building. And, through a clever ruse on Lockmann's part, the DSO had missed his entrance. The fact that he was avoiding the DSO made this too big an opportunity to miss. With luck, they'd never know Lockmann had returned, let alone that he'd disappeared again.
Lockmann's mistake had been including himself with the ambulance party. Any other ambulance party but this one would have been okay. The difference was that this ambulance party was Samuelson's. Staged, directed, and with all the players—save one—owned by him. Samuelson realised his own mistake had been in hiring a real paramedic. Because Lockmann was reportedly in a bad way, and he'd no idea where Lockmann would turn up, Samuelson had hired a real paramedic, to hold things together until Chesner's medical people could get to the scene. It also lent their charade an air of authenticity that it might otherwise have lacked.
Light Plays: Book Two of The Light Play Trilogy Page 19
