Fully dressed now, he turned to the screen; fully expecting to see the pallid remnants of Denaro's failing body. What he saw made him start—immediately recalling him to the other trigger for the alarms: movement. Caroline Denaro wasn't there.
In a panic, Aaron raced for the anteroom to the isolation chamber. It was there that all the protective gear was kept, so it could be sanitised with every departure. As he ran, Aaron Solomon admitted the truth to himself: if the gear hadn't been there, nothing on this earth would have sent him moving in that direction. He had no desire to encounter this patient “in the flesh"—or lack of it. But he'd be damned if he'd be caught unprepared if she was roaming around loose.
He knew as soon as he opened the door that he was too late. Not only was Caroline in the room, but she wasn't alone. There was a man lying face up on the floor—his breathing harsh and laboured—and the sweat streaming off skin that was already becoming puffy and distorted. Sy Morgan was lying half in, and half out of Caroline's room—almost as though he hadn't known which direction to run.
Aaron stood there for a moment, stunned, then realised he was making a mistake, and tried to cover his mouth and nose with his shirt. I don't want to breathe her air! his panicky mind screamed, and he reached for one of the isolation suits—intent on grabbing it and making a run for the door.
“No!” Caroline grunted at him, and some part of his mind wondered how her voice could find a way out between all the tumorous outgrowths that comprised her face. Then, he realised that her body wasn't alone—that the voice had come from somewhere to his right, and he twisted in terror, only to find that some part of her—incomplete, translucent, and appallingly incomplete—drifted amidst the yellow suiting.
“You can't be two places at once!” he screamed.
“I'm not,” a voice told him calmly, and it was then he realised that the two entities were, in fact, connected—by an illusory umbilicus that stretched directly across the distance—and through his own solid substance.
Aaron Solomon tried to run, but he felt like an insect impaled on a pin. Illusory as the connective might appear, she had somehow impinged on his nervous system, and his legs were refusing to hold him.
But, he could still see. Enough, anyway, to watch as the less amorphous of the two Carolines reached for him, to hold him tightly in her arms. The swollen coarseness of her rubbed painfully against him, abrading the exposed skin on his arms and neck. He knew, even before the fiery burning started in his skin and chest, that it was already too late. No amount of protective gear was going to help him now.
* * * *
Justin Sacchara crept nervously up the stairs, his eyes shifting from the entryway to the landing above as he listened for the slightest sound. All this would've been a lot easier if Sy had been at his post. Or if I'd been a little more patient. It was hard for Sacchara to admit—even to himself—that he was too edgy to be patient about anything. They were on a countdown now, and both he and Vizar knew it. Not only was Aaron Solomon getting out of hand, but Denaro's weird visits were getting too obnoxious to tolerate. The only way of eliminating both—to Justin's way of thinking—was to take the final step and pull Denaro's lifeline.
It had been a hard decision for him to arrive at. He'd known Caro Denaro for several years, and if he hadn't exactly been friends with her, at least they'd shared the occasional cup of coffee or lunchroom chat. He'd come to respect her opinion, especially when it came to handling Daniel Vizar. Caro had been able to exert a control over Vizar that Sacchara couldn't emulate, merely because Vizar needed her. There were times these days when Sacchara felt like little more than Vizar's errand boy.
But, he was sure that Vizar shared his opinion regarding Caroline's annoying presence. If they couldn't help her, then they'd be better off without her. At this point, hiring someone like Lockmann could do little to improve Denaro's chances. The man would be far better used to pick up the pieces of her research without any corpses cluttering the direction that research took. In other words, don't scare off your researchers before they can even begin their research. And, if Lockmann was careful, chances were he would never succumb to the same experimental error that had attacked Caro Denaro. For everyone concerned, it would be better if Lockmann was never told about Denaro's lab accident.
Another reason to eliminate Denaro. For, there was no one more likely to inform Richard Lockmann of her perceived failure—than Caroline Denaro herself.
* * * *
Cole flung the covers back—then realised he didn't have any. He was lying halfway off the couch, in a tangled mess of books and cushions and phone cord. For those first few moments, his memory was as dulled as the rest of him.
"God damn it!" He suddenly recalled the important thing—the thing that had lured him like a siren out of a sleep that could have gone on for hours. The thing that had bothered him so much that he'd roused himself from a confused maze of dreams that momentarily made him question just how much of his perception was reality, and how much nightmare.
Rick's dying. As his first coherent thought of the day, it wasn't very reassuring. He'd done a pretty good job of hiding his doubts, but he was too bleary-brained this morning to disguise his worry in optimistic reassurances, and the thought just hung there, raw and painful. Rick, the best friend he'd ever had, didn't have a hope in hell.
It was still early—it just felt like it was too late. Cole rang the hospital to ask about Rick. They'd put him in isolation, and Cole made a mental note to ask Jace about that. Otherwise, there was no change. Not good news, but better than it might have been.
He sat there for a few minutes, nursing a cup of coffee. Cole tried not to think about it, but his mind kept slipping back eight years—to the time Rick had saved his life. Literally. Cole's wife had left him, his business had failed, and there was no future—at least the way he'd planned it. Rick was at graduate school then, and desperately trying to keep up his grade point average while eeking out a financial non-existence. But he'd run into Cole one day, seen the way things were, and given Cole what he needed most: time. And, the night Cole had tried to kill himself, after a two-day binge on booze and drugs, it had been Rick who'd bothered to track him down—and Rick who'd taken him to the hospital and somehow convinced them it was “accidental". Cole would never forget it.
The old friendship, that had backslid a little when Rick hit graduate school, only grew stronger after that. Rick tended to get side-tracked and absent-minded—so absorbed in his fungi and viruses that he even lost track of time. But Cole was able to draw him back to the real world. And, let's face it—for all his time behind a desk, Rick could still whip him in basketball. When he remembered to play. Cole made sure that Rick took time to play—that and other things—often enough to stay sane.
Now it was Rick who needed help. Cole leafed through the phone book; trying to come up with a list of names to contact about Genetechnic. Who did you call about something like this? He had the feeling most agencies would laugh in his face. Rick would be a far better choice to talk to someone. At least, he'd have some credibility; sound like he knew what he was talking about. But, Rick's in no position to tell anyone anything, Cole thought, rubbing a drop of moisture from the corner of his eye.
Tossing the book aside, he went in and stood under the shower until he was fully awake. As he drove over to Rick's, he wondered if Jace and Simon had had any more sleep than he'd had.
* * * *
Justin—more confident now that he was on the second floor—walked directly into the lab, then stopped abruptly at the first bench. He really hadn't expected Richard Lockmann to find the file so soon. But, their little trap had worked; so well, in fact that Lockmann must have run screaming for help. The papers were spread untidily across the laboratory floor.
No. If Lockmann was planning on turning them in, he would have taken the files with him. Instead, he'd hastily abandoned them. Why? Sacchara looked puzzled. Lockmann had taken the bait. Why hadn't he taken it away with him? Had he realised ju
st how marginal the information in the dummy papers was?
Maybe he just doesn't give a fuck. Justin considered it. No, the discarded file was flung away in disgust—or dropped by someone excited by his discovery.
Justin leaned against the bench, trying to puzzle through why Lockmann had reacted the way he had. He glanced at the hidden video camera. Things will be a lot clearer once I've looked at the tape. He made a mental note to see Sy Morgan before he met with Daniel Vizar.
He tried to take Lockmann's part—that of not-so-ignorant observer. If it was a job the man was after, he was probably out right now trying to brief himself on the more significant aspects of what he thought was Denaro's research.
Justin grinned. Even if Lockmann was traversing the wrong trail, it looked like his efforts were in the right direction.
* * * *
“Simon was just about to break in,” Jason greeted Cole.
“No need,” Cole replied. “I have Rick's key.”
“Where do we start?” Simon looked somewhat daunted by the vast array of books and papers.
“With the computer,” Cole replied. He dug Denaro's CD out from under the couch cushions and handed it to Jason. “You can probably translate this stuff better than the rest of us.”
Jason was still trying to figure out how a plant virus would be manifested in a human. Hell, he didn't even know how it was manifested in a plant. After dropping the CD into the machine, he wandered over to Rick's bookshelves, then gestured for Simon to join him. “Do you think you can find something on WTV? A description or something?”
Simon nodded. He'd already decided they needed to learn as much as possible about Denaro's research. The person who'd briefed him on Genetechnic had nothing good to say about it, other than a half-hearted admiration over the way they undermined their competition. Industrial espionage was part of their success, but more often it lay in their daredevil approach to science. The company took a lot of risks—most of them hidden behind the walls of their large complex. Only the success stories made it into the public eye. “If Rick's had it in his lab, he probably has some information on it here.” He frowned. “I hope I recognise it when I see it.” He called across to Cole, “What does WTV stand for?”
Cole shrugged. “Damned if I know. I never asked and Rick never told me.”
“Simon?” Cole was curious about his remarks from the night before. He figured Jason was in a better frame of mind this morning, so he might as well assuage his curiosity. “What did you mean about Rick having problems with Genetechnic?”
“It wouldn't be the first time Genetechnic discredited someone who came up against them. Cost them their jobs, and so on.”
“What about the private army?”
“Probably exaggerated rumour. The gist of it is, Genetechnic has lots of power—both financial and political. You can't win either way.”
“I don't think Rick wants to win,” Cole remarked. “He just thinks they should have some watchdog group overseeing them.” He tried to put it into the words Rick had used. “To be influenced by some kind of governing body, so that they can't just run amok.”
“'Run amok’?” Jason repeated. “Is that what Rick said?”
Cole grinned. “Yeah. Then he apologised for not being very scientific.”
* * * *
Justin strolled back to Sy Morgan's video chamber, optimistic for the first time in weeks. Richard Lockmann had responded to their “bait” much sooner than he'd expected. At first, that had bothered him, because Caro's private lab was empty, and had been for over a month. No chemicals, no equipment—nothing of interest that Justin could see—nothing to lure a guy like Lockmann into the nearly empty room.
Justin thought back. Did I leave any clues? Any signs that I'd been there? He shrugged. Maybe. It didn't make any difference now. Lockmann had gone right where they wanted him to. Maybe the guy was like the rest of the scientific enigmas around this place, who couldn't bear to stay out of a lab, even if they weren't working on anything specific.
Sy Morgan still wasn't in his office, and once again, Justin Sacchara felt a twinge of uneasiness. He stared intently at one of the monitors, then picked up the phone to Security.
“Ainsley.”
“This is Sacchara, double zero-four-one-two.” In the Security Office, Derek Ainsley rolled his eyes. How many Saccharas did the guy think there were? “Is Sy Morgan on site?”
“Morgan, Sy,” Ainsley muttered, dragging out the procedure in an effort to annoy. If Sacchara wanted formality, he'd get it, but the truth was, everyone in Security knew Sy. Morgan was the video eye who kept tabs on them and everyone else in the complex. At Christmas, Sy Morgan received more boxes of chocolate than Daniel Vizar. Ainsley pulled the information up on his screen. “He never left.”
Justin couldn't take it in. “Never left since when?”
“Since yesterday. He checked in yesterday morning, and he must still be around here somewhere.” It wasn't atypical for Morgan to put in long hours, but this was exceptional, even for him. “Talk about your dedication to duty,” Ainsley joked. “He's probably asleep on a sofa somewhere.”
He wasn't here this morning either. Sacchara's optimism of moments before made his comedown even more of a blow. Where the hell was the man?
“Mr. Sacchara?”
Justin suddenly realised that Ainsley had been repeating his name, trying to get his attention. All traces of levity were gone from his voice. “Mr. Sacchara—do you need a Security team?”
Sacchara nodded stupidly, then felt foolish. He was glad Ainsley couldn't see him. He cleared his throat. Do I want a security team? Justin knew what Daniel Vizar's reaction would be to that one. “No, Ainsley. I'll track down Mr. Morgan with his own cameras.” He tried to inject a note of humour into his tone, and failed miserably. “If I catch him snoring, I'll e-mail you a photo.”
Ainsley wasn't fooled. He'd been in Security too long, and knew too much about the unspoken reaches of Genetechnic's research. “I'll keep a team on standby,” he assured Sacchara. “Just pick up the phone.” He added hesitantly, “Don't forget to tell us if it's black tie.”
Justin stared at the phone. Who did Vizar think he was fooling? In Genetechnic slang, “black tie” was a grim reference to full isolation gear.
Chapter Seven
For almost an hour, Cole stared over Jason's shoulder as they tried to translate the documents on the screen. Cole had Denaro's address book in his hand, and every once in a while he'd flip through—trying to find an explanation for what they were seeing.
Finally, Jason sighed with frustration. “I give up. Did Rick explain any of this shit to you?”
They'd just scanned past the part that Rick had thought was so important, and that Cole had referred to as “abstract art". “This is one of the bits Rick thought was important,” Cole said. Simon came over and peered past Jason's other shoulder. “See that? That's a gel. It's what told Rick he was looking at WTV.”
Jason looked doubtful. “Are you sure Rick wasn't delirious, Cole?” he asked seriously.
“No. He really seemed to know what he was talking about.” Cole touched several of the dark bands with the cursor. “See those? Rick said they were proteins. That one—” he moved the cursor again, “—is the signature of the WTV strain he's had in the lab.”
Simon nodded. “It sounds like he was alert enough. Can you remember anything else?”
“Some.” Cole sat down on the chair and tried to remember exactly what Rick had said. “She made a photosynthetic rat.” What else? “A lot of it seemed to make sense at the time, but most of it was Rick explaining why he thought the way he did.” Cole looked grim. “I know he was really worried about infection.”
“Did he think it was contagious?” Jason asked worriedly.
Cole nodded. “He said something about how they don't know how to cure this stuff in plants, let alone animals. And it belongs to a virus family that also attacks humans.” Cole remembered something else. “He also explaine
d how viruses are carried by vectors, like aphids. It had to do with the length of time between infection of the rats, and Denaro's illness.”
“Did Rick think the rats acted like vectors?” Jason asked.
“I'm pretty sure that's what he meant.”
Jason was still trying to imagine what symptoms would be manifested by a person with a plant virus. “Simon, did you find anything on WTV?”
“Yeah,” Simon said grimly, and Jason suddenly realised how quiet he'd been. “And you're not going to like it.” Jason twisted to meet Simon's eyes. “WTV is only an acronym. It stands for Wound Tumour Virus.”
* * * *
It didn't, after all, take Justin Sacchara very long to figure out how to re-run video images from Sy Morgan's computer. The system was user-friendly enough that referencing what he was seeing in regards to a specific period of time was manageable, too. What he couldn't seem to suss out was how to sort the information further—to come up with specific images for those areas Morgan was most likely to visit. As it was, Sacchara had nearly fourteen hours of video to scan, from all parts of the complex. He wondered if there was a way to cut the thing down to individual pictures, with one for each site every few minutes or so. It would save a lot of time.
He tried to limit his search to certain sectors, but whatever security mode had kicked in—after the terminal was empty for an extended period it went into security mode—had locked it onto continuous scan. The eight monitors in the room represented just a fraction of the video eyes in the complex. Sy had told him once there were nearly four hundred individual cameras operating at any time. And Sy's office contained the central unit.
I need to get some of Morgan's crew in here. Justin had no idea who they were; he only vaguely remembered seeing some of them. All together, there were something like fifteen people on Sy's staff. Even with tight ties to Security, there was no way Morgan could have managed his job alone. Vizar took no chances: he wanted everyone watchdogged. Sy Morgan just handled the most sensitive areas—like Caroline Denaro's—personally.
Light Play: Book One of The Light Play Trilogy Page 12