The Cure

by Douglas E. Richards

  These men were very professional, so they must have a reason for their delay. Erin had suggested they might somehow know he was out and were waiting for him to return. There was no question the front desk clerk, Whitney, would be as helpful as possible to the man who had questioned her. But when Hansen had left the premises to buy a car, he had purposely boarded the cab well out of her sight.

  A horrible thought hit him with the force of a high-caliber bullet to the gut. Shit! he thought, as his stomach began churning. Just how helpful had Whitney been? Had she told them that he had returned to the lobby after checking in to use her computer?

  Of course she had. And this information would be like waving raw steak in front of a tiger. The professionals after them would take the obvious next steps immediately.

  Hansen’s heart thundered in his chest, and for a moment the entire world seemed to spin around him.

  He had failed to erase his browsing history.

  He’d bet his life these men now knew exactly what car he had bought. What an idiot he had been!

  Hansen had fancied himself stealthy, off the radar, but now he imagined dozens of eyes on him, laughing at his false sense of security. He rapidly scanned the area and then carefully examined his mirrors.

  Two men, in their late twenties and very fit, were fifty feet behind him, walking along the sidewalk, seemingly engaged in quiet conversation and not paying the slightest attention to any of the cars parked on the street.

  Hansen had absolutely no doubt they were coming for him. And if he hadn’t just now realized the people after them knew what car he had bought, he would have been oblivious.

  Hansen turned the key in the ignition with more urgency than he had ever felt before and glanced toward the motel, where two men had just exited a car and were stretching and milling about.

  Their strategy was so clear to him now. The men approaching him would take him out—eliminating Erin’s early warning system—and then the men in the parking lot would take her out seconds later, relying on precision timing.

  Hansen peeled away from the curb like a Formula One race car reacting to the starting gun. The men behind him immediately broke into a sprint and began shooting, hitting his back windshield but missing with further shots as the car raced away down the street. The two men tore after him with remarkable speed, but they had started well behind, and even with the poor acceleration of the Malibu they quickly receded behind him.

  Hansen called Erin, who answered on the first ring. “Two men are on their way to your room,” he said breathlessly. “Do whatever you have to do to slow them down. I’m on my way in the car.”

  He accelerated around the corner to the parking lot. Should he meet her around back, as planned?

  The instant he thought this he rejected it. Penned in the way she was, the odds of her ever making it out of the room were not good, despite the fact that they had to come to her and her file had said she was a skilled marksman.

  Hansen gunned the engine, knowing in his heart that only a bold frontal assault would win the day. They had expected to take him out of the equation before they went for her. Now he would use the only weapon available to him: the Blue Medusa. He and Erin were all out of other options.

  As he approached the parking lot several earsplitting gunshots rang out, accompanied by an explosion of shattering glass. Erin had opened the drapes just enough to see out of and was firing the weapon she had taken from the downed man in the student union.

  One of her assailants went down, shot in the forearm. Erin had shot him so that his gun went flying and he would now have to use his left hand to fire any further, but had not done any permanent damage to him. From such close range, Hansen was fairly certain she could have put a hole through his forehead. But she apparently couldn’t bring herself to do this, regardless of the stakes, since these could well have been good men who had been misled by Fuller.

  As soon as the wounded attacker fell to the pavement, his partner dived to the side, just as another round exploded from room one forty-eight and came within a millimeter of his thigh.

  He continued to roll across the unforgiving concrete for fifteen or twenty feet before stopping. Just as he rose to make a move, Hansen was on him, driving the car into and through his body.

  The man was an incredible athlete. He had just avoided a gunshot and had virtually no warning but managed to dive onto the hood of the Malibu and roll up on the curved front windshield, deflecting the force of the strike. He rolled off the side of the car and crashed hard onto the cement.

  Hansen was maneuvering for another try, squealing the tires as he did so, when the two men who had been racing after him arrived on the scene, now in front of him.

  Two quick gunshots rang out and drove through the front windshield, both missing Hansen as he ducked down. Unable to see where he was going, he instinctively slammed on the brakes. As the car screeched to a halt, he knew that both he and Erin Palmer were dead, and with them the chance for humanity to be diverted from its own deadly path.

  But as terrified as Hansen was, as much out of his element as he was, adrenaline was flooding into his bloodstream. If he was going to die, he was going to go out fighting, not only for his own life and that of a woman he had come to care for in a short period of time, but for a cause he believed in.

  He threw open the door and dived from the Malibu before it had stopped completely. He was vaguely aware of additional gunshots coming from room one forty-eight. Erin wasn’t going down easily either.

  Hansen came out of the roll on his back. When he stopped, one of the men who had chased his car was standing three feet away, crouched behind the Blue Medusa to avoid any flying bullets. He calmly raised his gun and pointed it dead center at Hansen.

  “Please,” croaked Hansen. “Don’t shoot. I surrender.”

  “Good to know,” said the man. And with that he calmly squeezed the trigger.

  33

  HANSEN OPENED HIS eyes with a start and was totally disoriented. It was night. Where was he?

  Who was he?

  His mind groped around in horror trying to get his bearings and remember what had preceded his awakening.

  It all came rushing back to him. The motel. The Blue Medusa. The gun pointed at him at point-blank range.

  How was he still alive?

  He felt around his body for bullet holes or blood but found none.

  He realized he was lying across the backseat of a car, which was outside and not moving. The windows were open and cool night air surrounded him, although he was unable to see the moon from his vantage point.

  The air felt strangely cool against his head. It was the oddest thing. Still in a daze, he brought his right hand to his head and touched it.

  He gasped, thrown fully awake instantly. He was bald. He moved his hand around the unfamiliar contours of his skull, covering all real estate above his ears. No hair anywhere.

  Erin Palmer had been resting her eyes in the front seat, which was fully reclined. When she heard him in the backseat her eyes shot open. “Kyle, thank God,” she said. “You’ve been out for over ten hours. I was beginning to think you’d never wake up.”

  Hansen pushed himself up to a seated position in the back of the car. Since his eyes had been closed they were adjusted for night vision—at least to the limits that human anatomy would allow—and he stared out of the window, straining to get his bearings. There were no lights of civilization. In the dim illumination provided by moonlight and starlight alone, he saw the outline of a massive concrete pillar with mighty steel struts extending upward into the blackness, just a foot from the car.

  “You’re probably wondering where we are and how we got here,” said Erin.

  Hansen turned to her and noticed that her hair was cut to just below the ears.

  “I thought I was dead,” he said simply. And then, shaking his head as though he didn’t believe it still, he said, “How is it that I’m not dead?”

  Erin spread her hands. “I don’t know.
I was surprised too. Pleasantly surprised,” she hastened to add, and then, deciding this wasn’t nearly a strong enough sentiment, added, “Ecstatic. Relieved out of my mind.” She paused. “Anyway, our attackers—the hostiles as you put it—were armed to the teeth and shot up this car pretty good. Took me a long time to clean up the glass once we arrived. But they only used a tranquilizer gun on you.”

  Hansen blew out a long breath. “Boy, it sure looked like a regular gun to me.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” she replied. “But for some reason they wanted to take us alive.”

  “For some very unpleasant reason I’m sure. Aren’t there a small portion of psychopaths who are not only indifferent to suffering, but actually get off on it?”

  She nodded. “Yeah.”

  “So go on. How did you possibly get us out of that?”

  “You helped a lot. You took one of them out with the car. And I had already injured one. While you were getting shot I was able to hit another of them in the thigh. Turns out I was in a far better tactical position than I realized. They couldn’t see where I was in the room. To root me out, they had to cover territory without adequate cover. I might have been able to get them all before they got me, but I was out of ammo. Their man at the student union probably had some extra clips somewhere. In hindsight, I should have looked for them.”

  “What, in the two seconds you had before a hundred pairs of eyes turned to you and the twitching bad guy on the ground?”

  She smiled. “I guess I can’t beat myself up too much for that. So far, things have worked out. I realized I was out of ammo, but your stunt with the car had them second-guessing themselves, and they pulled back to regroup. This gave me the chance to leave the room and retrieve a gun from the guy you had hit. Turns out it was a tranquilizer gun. Didn’t know it, but those things are great. Much better than a real gun.”

  Hansen raised his eyebrows. “How so?”

  “If you hit someone, anywhere, they’re out of the picture. With a real gun, that isn’t necessarily the case. You might hit them, but if the shot is off even a little they remain a threat. With a tranquilizer gun it’s one and done. Within seconds.”

  Hansen nodded. “So you were able to hit them all?”

  “Well, you get credit for one. And without you, I wouldn’t have had a chance. Thanks,” she said warmly. “That was incredibly brave of you.”

  “I was absolutely terrified. But there were no other options.”

  She turned away, and Hansen imagined he saw a tear in her eye, but in the poor light, even this close, he could well have been wrong.

  “There were other options,” she said softly, her voice now distant. “You could have frozen. Until you’re faced with a situation like that, you never know how you’ll react.” There was a long silence. “I froze up once.” She paused once more and then shook her head. “Never again.”

  The car was as silent as a tomb for several long seconds. Finally, Hansen decided to change the subject. “Did the cops ever show up?”

  “No. You need to work on your nine-one-one calls,” she chided him. “They may have arrived after the fact. Who knows? Time seemed to work in slow motion. I think the entire attack, from start to finish, only took a minute or two. When they were all down I pulled you back into your car and drove off. You know what they say about adrenaline making you many times stronger than normal?”

  Hansen nodded.

  “They’re lying. I can’t believe how hard it was to move you. And you don’t have a pound of excess weight on you. Unconscious bodies need to come with a handle. Or a dolly would have been nice.”

  “Sorry about that. Good thing we never got that cheesecake at the union.”

  Erin smiled. “So then I drove for a few miles, parked in an alley behind a Dumpster so I could think for a bit, and decided to come here.”

  “And where is here?”

  “We’re in the center of the Santa Cruz River. Directly under a bridge that doesn’t see much use anymore. Pretty good, huh?” she said happily. “Even the few drivers crossing the bridge have no way of seeing us under here.”

  “Two things. One, Tucson has a river? Really? And two, if we’re in a river, why aren’t we floating? Or sinking to our deaths more like it?”

  “It’s a dry riverbed for most of the year. Some good rain in the Tucson mountains above us and it floods. That would be very bad for us, but I didn’t think it was very likely. The river is over two hundred miles long, in a U shape, and some is underground, but Tucson was originally settled along its banks.”

  “Why did it dry up?”

  “When more settlers came, they needed more water. They pumped it, they diverted it, they forced it into unnatural channels. And it wasn’t exactly the mighty Mississippi to begin with.”

  A sad look came over her face, barely detectable in the dull light.

  “What’s wrong?” said Hansen.

  “I only know any of this because of my new roommate. A history grad student named Lisa.”

  “So naturally she’d be interested in the history of the city she’s living in?”

  “Right. The kindest, warmest person you’d ever want to meet.” Erin paused. “Are you familiar with the story of Sodom and Gomorrah?”

  “Sure. I think. They were totally corrupt cities, and God destroyed them. I think the word sodomy comes from this story. What does that have to do with anything?”

  “My mother was Jewish and my father Catholic. My mother used to joke about certain hallmarks of being Jewish. One is that if you have two Jews in a room, you have three opinions.”

  Hansen chuckled.

  “And the second involved this story,” said Erin.

  “Sodom and Gomorrah? In what way?”

  “Well, the thing about this story is, God tells Abraham he’s going to nuke the cities. Because the citizens are so wicked. Abraham says, ‘Yeah, that’s true and all, but what if there are fifty righteous men there? How can you destroy them along with the evil ones?’ And God agrees. If God can find fifty righteous men, he’ll spare the cities. So then Abraham says, ‘Well, what if you can only find forty-five?’ And God agrees again. Over a series of steps, they get down to ten righteous men. Of course, God isn’t able to find even ten in these cities, so he wipes them out. But the point is, Abraham is basically arguing—with God.” She paused. “My mom would laugh and say that only a Jew would have the chutzpah—the balls—to argue with God. And not only argue, but win some points.”

  Hansen smiled. “I see why she liked this story so much. I’ve never heard that part of it.”

  “So back to my roommate, Lisa. I study the evil that humans do. I work with murderers and rapists. My family was wiped out by pure evil. You know all that. But even those who aren’t psychopathic can be pretty violent and selfish and cruel. Sometimes it gets so depressing, I think to myself, to hell with the species. Sometimes I just want to curl up into a shell and give up on life. After all I’ve been through, given the current situation, it’s tempting to say, ‘Drake thinks we’re self-destructing? So what? Good riddance.’”

  There was more silence, and once again Hansen suspected tears had come to Erin’s eyes. “But then I meet people like Lisa. Wonderful people. People who are kind, and gentle, and caring. Who would do anything for others.” She paused. “And I remember my family. My parents were the warmest, most generous people I’ve ever known. My father, so filled with love, that in the end…”

  She faltered, and after a lengthy period of silence it became clear she would not continue.

  Hansen now understood why Erin had shared this particular biblical story with him. “So you’re saying the world is Sodom and Gomorrah,” he whispered finally. “And people like Lisa and your family are the ten righteous men.”

  “Exactly,” said Erin, her voice still thick with emotion. “So maybe we are worth saving. Because of them. And people like them.”

  Erin took some additional time to gather herself. “Anyway,” she said, “I should prob
ably continue filling you in. As I was saying, I knew about this river because of Lisa.” She paused. “So I came here to wait for you to regain consciousness. I had no idea it would take so long. That was one hell of a potent dose. I was getting worried.”

  “Glad to be conscious again,” he said. Then, grinning, he gestured to the concrete pillar beside them and added, “But why do I feel like a troll?”

  Erin laughed. “What? You’ve never hung out under a bridge before?”

  Hansen rubbed his bald head. “No. And I usually go to better barbers too. I see you kept busy while I was out.”

  “I had your goodie bags from Walmart. I was seriously thinking of disguising you as a woman, but I didn’t have a dress.”

  “So you went with the bald look?”

  “Yeah, bald with black tattoos. I used the rearview mirror to give myself some as well. I’m not a great artist, so I used the ink pens you got and stuck with simple designs.”

  She had inked a giant cross on both sides of his neck and printed a stylized Carpe on one of her forearms and Diem on the other, large enough to be unmistakable. She had cut her hair short but hadn’t dyed it.

  “Now that you’re finally up, we can move,” she said. “While you were out I came up with a plan. But the plan works a lot better if I don’t have to move you around in a wheelbarrow.”

  “I’m sure it does,” said Hansen. “I’m dying to hear it.”

  Erin winced. “From now on, let’s try hard not to use that particular phrase.”

  34

  “PULL IN HERE,” Erin Palmer instructed the driver of the cab they had called, a tall, unshaven man with a Russian accent. Erin had provided the address of their destination over the phone, and she and Kyle Hansen had remained silent in the backseat after the cab had picked them up on the little used bridge over the now-dry Santa Cruz River. Since Erin’s face, disguised though it was, had appeared on every television station in the Southwest, Hansen had screened her from view when they had entered the cab and she had immediately shut her eyes and dropped her head to her chin, pretending to be taking a nap.