He'd deliberated about sending Jamaal after Kerrington, but had held back. It was this kind of situation—in which everything seemed to be spinning out of control—that brought out the best in Simon Kerrington. His motivations might be suspect in this instance, but Hylton was confident he'd locate Richard Lockmann. He'd also do his best to keep the man alive.
Lockmann's value was immense. Not only his speed and agility, which Hylton could readily find a use for, but his transgenic status. In ten years, his mutation might be dwarfed by similar events, cloning, or supergene modifications, but for the moment, Lockmann was “state of the art". Much could be learned from a study of his physiology and behaviour. Hylton had already figured out from Kerrington's reactions that some of Rick Lockmann's behaviours had changed. He knew a lot of people who'd be interested in discovering what and why.
Not only that, but Lockmann had contracted a plant virus and survived. Another first. With the amount of genetic by-play that was going on in labs around the world, this type of incident was bound to be repeated. Lockmann's survival was important.
There were other things, too. Rodrigal had been startled by how fast the hole from Lockmann's tracheotomy had healed. Dr. Blaisden had also recorded severe bruising on one side of Lockmann's face, but there was no trace of that now. Not even a shadow—only that rich tan stimulated by the light.
The only way to re-coup anything from this fiasco was to emerge with Lockmann. Hylton mourned the loss of Chandler and Lowerby, but he knew he couldn't spend much time mulling over his failure when he had other people at risk. He hoped Raeiti would have the sense not to injure the virologists on Rutgers’ staff, but Steven Hylton's emphasis was going to be to protect the people he'd delivered here.
Picking up his phone, he was about to order two back-up helicopters, to meet them on the ground, when Daniel Vizar said, “That ought to do it.”
In the next instant, every light in the room, including the bright emissions from the computer screens, went black.
* * * *
The single bulb in the stairwell went out. Situated where they were—so close to that swollen, distorted body—it seemed to Cole like some kind of grim omen. “Who the hell's playing with the lights?” he asked fearfully.
“Not me,” said Jason. “How many flashlights do we have?”
“Two. Still. Though I don't know how the other one survived its trip down the stairs.”
“It survived because it was between my teeth, and I did my damnedest to protect my face. The ladies would be crushed if I damaged my looks.”
Eric didn't comment. But he shone his light into Cole's face, and caught his grin. He flicked the beam the other way. “Didn't you bring a flashlight, Stratton?”
“The batteries were dead.”
“Of course,” Sterner replied sarcastically. There was a thump and rattle from somewhere below them. “It sounds like we have company,” Sterner told them urgently. He started unlatching the big steel door.
As he swung it back, Jason gripped his arm. “Wait.” He fumbled in the bag, and came up with several masks, goggles, and gloves. He shoved a set of each into the other men's hands. “Put these on,” he ordered.
Sterner hesitated. The noises from below were getting louder. He could almost make out their words.
Jason pushed past and barred the doorway. “I know I'm no policeman, Sterner, but in this area I'm the expert. No one goes in there without protection.”
“I could always go through you,” Sterner told him, annoyed. Stratton looked strong, but he hadn't a clue as to hand-to-hand combat.
“Not unless you want to go through me, too,” Cole told him, and Sterner saw he was on his feet now, next to Stratton. “I'm the first to admit he's a clutzy spy, and a lousy car thief, but he's right about this.”
“Thanks, Cole—I think.”
Eric Sterner was hit again by that wave of near-hysterical amusement that Calloway and his cohorts seemed to stir in him. Genetechnic's Security—or worse—were breathing down their necks, they had a dead man in the corridor just a few paces away, and they were probably going to be facing metal slugs in a moment—yet Stratton was concerned with a few centimetres of cloth and plastic—to protect them. Sterner's irritation was forgotten as he began to snort with laughter once again.
“He did that earlier,” Cole told Jason worriedly. “I think he's asthmatic.”
“I don't think it's that,” Jason said, grinning. “Are you ready to comply, Sterner?” he asked.
“Ready, willing, and able,” Eric managed to get out. “Then, please—can we get the hell out of here?” he asked.
* * * *
Hylton had Vizar by the collar. "Why did you do that?!" he roared.
“Because I figured out where Denaro's getting her energy.”
“The lights in here were plenty bright!” Zeneeba said. “But they weren't enough to support Lockmann.”
“What did you think? That a few ‘emergency bulbs’ might be what's sustaining Denaro?” Vizar asked them. “Lockmann suggested we turn off the lights to control her. So we did it, but we left power on to the rest of the facility so we'd have lights and computer access up here.”
Hylton dropped his hands. “Go on.”
“Caroline Denaro was one of our finest scientists. She's smart enough to figure out a way to meet her needs.” He hesitated. His years in the industry warned Vizar to reveal as little as possible about their “product", but reason told him it was already too late. Between the virologists’ discussions, what Lockmann had revealed, and their own observations, he was sure they'd already figured most of it out. “She's been trying to function on inadequate nutrient sources. Which means that, even if her body has better storage capacity than Lockmann's been able to develop, she still can't go on indefinitely without ‘recharging’ herself. The emergency lights aren't adequate, because they can't supply the spectrums of light she needs. But the computer screens might.”
“Most screens have low-radiation shielding now,” Zeneeba said.
“But would that affect the wavelengths of light she needs?” Vizar couldn't gauge their response in the dark, and he had the feeling none of them knew the answer any more than he did, so he continued. “We have other equipment that might affect her: lamps, microwaves, autoclaves—who knows what would work? The point is, she's been getting her energy from somewhere. I think she's been going from one stop to the next, and storing up in-between. Even if it's not the best source for her needs, it must be enough to sustain her. By cutting the power, we've taken away all her sources.” He paused. “Until the sun comes up.”
“What about Lockmann?”
“He was in full light before he left here. He should be able to go for a while. I'm hoping this gives him an advantage.”
“Then it's time to get your Security people on the phone,” Steven Hylton said, fumbling for the receiver. “And arrange for your helicopters to meet us on the ground. Then, flashlights. Your little stunt may be all the encouragement Raeiti needs to pay us a visit.”
* * * *
“We're already in the building, Mr. Vizar. Dressed in our best.”
“Good thinking, Mr. Ainsley. What level?”
“One.”
“Open Two, then call in the helicopters to the heliport. Not to the roof.”
“Should we proceed to your location?”
“No. Hold Two until I get there. Any attempt to exit without Mr. Sacchara or myself is to be met with resistance.” He hung up the phone.
“I could punch re-dial,” Hylton told him calmly. “And insist you change that last little addendum.”
“You could, but I won't. Not if we have to get by Denaro. Dead at your hands would be faster, and a lot less painful.”
Steven Hylton sighed. “I guess this means we have to protect your sleazy ass.”
Daniel Vizar smiled. “I guess this means you're right.”
* * * *
When the lights went out so abruptly, Denis Rodrigal stumbled on the st
airs, and would have fallen, if it weren't for Rick's quick reaction. He gripped the other man's arm and steadied him.
“What's going on?” Denis asked worriedly. The low level lighting hadn't been much, but it was a lot better than this.
“I think Vizar objected to us leaving.”
“I can't see a thing. What about you?”
“Actually,” Rick replied, sounding almost amused, “I can see amazingly well. It must be a full moon tonight.”
Denis stumbled over to one of the barred windows and peered out at the night sky. “Half full. Are you sure you don't want to go back? What about your energy levels?”
“If I go back, either Vizar or Hylton will make sure I can't leave again. That prospect thrills me even less than meeting Caroline down here.” He gripped Rodrigal's arm again and towed him along through the dark. “Promise me something? When this is over, you won't try to stop me—” Rick guessed that Hylton had offered Zeneeba and his staff a considerable sum of money for their expertise. That meant the man might be susceptible to a carrot dangled under his nose. The problem was, Rick had no carrots to offer.
Denis Rodrigal's smile surprised him. From what Rodrigal had seen, there wasn't much to choose between Hylton and Vizar. Either man would treat Richard Lockmann as a specimen—if they could contain him. The thought of it conflicted with an old-fashioned sense of honour that Rodrigal hadn't realised he still possessed. “Stop you?” he replied. “Hell, no. If there's a way out of this mess, Rick, I'm damn well going to help you find it.”
* * * *
The emergency lights went out on every level, including the roof.
Raeiti listened to the haranguing complaints around him—quick to emerge when the lights were down, and the owners’ voices couldn't be identified. He knew most of the complaints were motivated by fear. Hell, he was afraid himself.
What the hell is Hylton doing? The thought of encountering that spectral female shape in the dark was enough to fill anyone with terror.
“Tell the pilot to put on some lights,” Raeiti ordered. “Then, dig around and see if the DSO left us any flashlights.”
They could only find three. With Denaro residing somewhere in the levels below, ten times that number wouldn't seem like enough.
But, three would be enough for an encounter with the remaining DSO. Three would be more than enough to ensure they put back on the lights, and that Vizar fulfilled his bargain and transferred money into Raeiti's account.
“Let's go,” Raeiti commanded. “We have a funeral to attend.” With Shaine at his side, to shine the light in their path, Raeiti led the way through the door.
* * * *
“Stay back,” Jason warned them.
“'Back’ I can do. ‘Forward's the problem,” Cole remarked, trying to avoid looking at the corpse.
Jason squatted a metre away from the body in the corridor. He took a moment to stare at the tumours, the protruding tongue, the moist eyes. "Jesus Christ!" he whispered. He'd seen a lot of gruesome accident victims while working in Emergency, but nothing to match this. “Are you absolutely certain you didn't touch him, Cole?”
Cole nudged Eric with his elbow. “Shine the light over there.” He pointed it out to Jason. “See that? That's what's left of my dinner. That's about as far as I got.” Cole turned away. “Excuse me,” he said, turning jerkily to the side. “I think dessert's about to go—”
“Can you get him out of here?” Jace asked Eric.
Sterner nodded. “Yeah,” he said grimly. He'd never seen anything like the corpse, either. It made him wonder what he'd stumbled into. Eric helped Cole to his feet and guided him down the hallway, hugging the wall when they had to pass the body.
Jason joined them a moment later. He flicked the light at Cole. His face was as white as his over-sized Reeboks. “Sit down for a minute, Cole.” Jason told Eric, “He hasn't been dead long. Maybe a couple of hours.”
“It's WTV?” Cole asked.
Jason nodded. “I think so.”
Cole mumbled, “Jace—do you suppose Rick's like that now?”
“I don't know, Cole. Rick had some tumours on his oesophagus before he left, and Sheryl said he'd started some new ones on one of his hands.” Jason reached out and clasped Cole's shoulder. “It doesn't look good.”
“All he wanted to do was help her,” Cole said.
“Yeah. I know,” Jason said. “Look, we've got a problem. With this kind of infectious agent, we're inadequately garbed. We're putting ourselves, and anyone we contact, at risk.”
“Great,” Eric said sourly.
Jason ignored it. “The sensible thing is for me to go on, find Simon, and see what he wants to do about Rick.” He asked Eric, “Can you get Cole out of here? With that arm, he really should be back at the hospital.”
“Cole's not going anywhere,” Cole argued.
Eric ignored him. “Nice idea, Doctor, but we're no longer alone. Listen.”
They could hear voices now, down the corridor.
“That sort of limits our options.”
“Okay,” Jason said slowly. “Then we go ahead, find Simon, and hope we don't stumble across any virus vectors.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that, whoever or—” He remembered Rick's claims about Denaro, “—whatever infected that man in the hall, is probably still in this building.”
“J-Jason?”
There was a quaver in Cole's voice that made Jason glance at him quickly. “What?”
“The ‘whoever’ you're talking about. Is there any chance it could be Rick?”
* * * *
Martin Sigley shone the light on the broken lock. They were at the juncture of the annexe and building where the chemical spill had occurred: the doorway they'd sealed off several days before. They'd found the door standing open. “How many did Wattreau say came over the fence?”
“Three. They went back and forth so many times at first they thought it was five.” Droglecht had just spoken with Wattreau over in Video.
“Doesn't that seem a little amateurish to you?” Ainsley asked. “We might not even have detected them if they'd made only one trip.”
“Opportunists?” Sigley asked. “Vandals? Taking advantage of the violence and confusion?”
Ainsley shook his head. “No. Mr. Vizar was obviously under some kind of duress. It's too far-fetched to consider this as unrelated.” He sighed. “There's only one way to find out.”
Droglecht nodded. “I guess we've put it off as long as we can.” None of them wanted to venture beyond the open doorway. All of them had worked for Genetechnic far too long to feel comfortable about whatever “chemical spill” had closed the building.
Ainsley poked his light through the doorway, then took a step into the corridor.
“What do you think the chances are of finding Morgan?” Sigley asked, in a whisper.
Ainsley was staring ahead, at the body lying in the hall. “I think maybe we already have,” he replied.
* * * *
Caroline Denaro was too spent to enjoy the anger that fed her weakening body. When the lights went out, she knew it was the finale—the last act for her determined, but dying humanity. Anger gave her a few spurts of adrenaline, that kept her going in the right direction.
“Right” direction. In these last hours, she didn't know which was stronger—her need to distribute the virus rampaging through her system, or some last bid for self-preservation. Was she propelled more as a product of infection, or because the last gleams of hope lurked somewhere on the top floor?
Trained personnel and equipment. Daniel Vizar, who wanted her research, but didn't want its cost. Justin Sacchara, who'd spoken with the woman she used to be, and had lost his mind trying to hide what she'd become. Richard Lockmann, who'd taken her interests to heart and her virus-encoded genes into his body.
Had she alienated Lockmann beyond reparation? Did he understand how it had been with her? How that admission of failure had stripped away anything she
had left?
It wasn't until she'd returned to her living corpse, and remembered the look of him, that she'd recognised her success. Richard Lockmann was what she should have become, had there been any justice in the world. He, like some of the rats she'd mutated, had survived intact. Whereas she, with the means and the method, had somehow become ruined in some kind of black comedic mistake.
Lockmann had survived. For that, if for no other reason, she was drawn to him—as though, by mere touch, some of his survival could rub off on her. Whatever secrets his body possessed, in making him whole again, owed themselves—at least in part—to her. As she trudged down endless corridors, and up endless stairs, she resolved to steal some of those secrets back.
* * * *
“She's here.” The words were said softly, but their meaning was almost enough to loosen Rodrigal's bowels.
“Where?”
Rick shook his head, and Rodrigal sensed it, rather than saw it. “I don't know yet. I only know this is the level.”
“How?” Rodrigal's question was as much scientific as curiosity.
“Maybe scent?” Rick shrugged. “I don't know. I only know that she's not very far away. Do you have that equipment?”
“Right here.” He dangled it in the dark, knowing Lockmann could see it clearly. “At least, I think it's all right here.”
Rick grinned. “We'll know soon enough. Maybe you'd better stay back, until I re-introduce myself to the lady. I don't want her to accidentally break anything.”
“Like you?”
“Yeah. Remember, she's not really stronger—it's just that she's learned to concentrate her anger.”
“Either that or she's insane.” Rick was silent, so Rodrigal explained further, “The nearly inhuman strength of a psychotic.”
“I have to admit I considered that myself. If anyone has a right to go crazy, it's Caroline Denaro. I prefer to think she was just a little ‘peeved’.”
Rodrigal whispered warily, “Or maybe her personality's as warped as her body. Isn't she the one who caused this mess?”
Light Play: Book One of The Light Play Trilogy Page 30