The monitor flickered and changed to a view of the lab, where Dr. Childs was hunched over the console of his electron microscope. Jake let the image change without trying to freeze it. He would keep an eye on the basement whenever it came around, but he wasn't going to bother anyone about some kid throwing a tantrum. It was hardly grounds for an emergency.
The monitor flickered again, from the lab to the conference room on the second floor this time. All was quiet.
[136]
The door opened on the other side of the room, and Childs looked up from his work, disappointed to find that he hadn't escaped D.C. after all. The man came through with Mitch at his side, where he seemed to have been permanently attached.
“Got a problem,” D.C. said, pulling out a nearby chair and plopping down. “That Knight woman and her boyfriend showed up. We've got 'em downstairs, locked in an office.”
“Oh, Christ.”
D.C. glanced at Mitch and they were like two hungry vultures contemplating their next meal. Jesus, Childs thought. They want to kill them. He looked from D.C. to Mitch, trying to find something in there that might assure him he was wrong. But these eyes—they had lied before, many times before, and effortlessly. They had learned to keep their secrets.
“You aren't thinking about—”
“Lighten up, doc. We aren't going to hurt anyone.”
“Not unless we have to,” Mitch added.
Childs looked at him, then said, “Your fangs are showing, Mitch.”
“All right, kids, break it up.” D.C. slid his chair up against the side of the console. He braced an elbow on the beige corner and leaned against his arm. “Listen, I don't know how to say this except straight out: it's over, doc. It's been one hell of a roller coaster ride, but it's time to get off now.”
Childs slumped back in his chair. He had known this was coming, he had prepared for it, but all the same, after twenty years, after coming so close... “All I wanted was to find a way to keep people from aging.”
“Hey, we gave it a good shot.”
He looked up from his muse, hating the faces that met his gaze. These guys—they were idiots. They didn't understand any of this. Not a single, solitary word of it. Mitch with his folded arms and that crooked little scar over his eye. D.C. with that cocky little grin and his who-gives-a-fuck attitude. It was just a game to them, a chance to play cops and robbers. They didn't appreciate any of it.
“Hurts, huh, doc?” Mitch said, thoroughly enjoying himself.
Childs glared at him.
“Listen,” D.C. said. “We've got to clear out tonight.”
[137]
It certainly helped to be on the right side of the door. In this case, the door swung into the room, which meant the hinges were on the inside and accessible. Where there were hinges, Walt had learned years ago, there was a way out.
He muscled the pin out of the middle hinge, using the tapered end of the letter opener. The pin popped with sudden surprise. It glanced off the door, fell to the carpet and rolled under a nearby chair. The door shifted instantly and slanted off center to the left. Walt caught it and wrestled it aside.
“Bring along the Scotch tape and a handful of business cards, will you?”
“Already got 'em.” They had found the business cards in the top right-hand drawer of one of the desks. A single card placed over the lens of a camera and secured with a little Scotch tape was as good as a can of spray paint.
“Where now?” Teri asked, sticking close to him as they moved down the hall.
“Back to the basement,” he said. “That's where they've got Gabe.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because they moved us out of there as fast as they could.”
Teri could have sworn the stairway had been on the other side of the building, behind them. But apparently she had turned herself around. Up ahead, she saw a gray metal door blocking the end of the hall. Like the door downstairs, it was marked with a sign that said: STAIRS. Above the sign was the number: 2.
Walt held her up. “How 'bout we take the elevator this time?”
“Only one of them goes to the basement.”
“You remember which one?”
“No,” Teri said, amused by the thought.
“A lot of good the blueprints did.” He pressed the down button and within fifteen seconds the doors to both elevator cars opened simultaneously. “Your choice.”
“Eenie--Meenie--Minie--Mo.” She pointed to the car on the right. “I'll check this one.”
The other car turned out to be the one that could take them where they wanted to go. Walt called her over, the car doors closed, and he used a clip he had broken off the cap of a ball-point pen to pick the basement lock.
“You're getting pretty good at that.”
“I'm getting lots of practice.”
[138]
“So we're really clearing out tonight?” Mitch asked as they came out of the lab on the third floor and started down the hallway to the elevators.
“Unless you've got a better idea,” D.C. said.
“What about our company downstairs?”
“The Knight woman and her buddy?”
“Yeah.”
“Let's just leave them.” He checked his watch, wondering how long it would take to clear everything out and still make it to the airport tonight. He could always have the agency arrange for a private plane. Only that would alert Webster, and he didn't want that bastard to know what was going on. Not until after the fact, when the dust had settled and it was too late for him to stick his nose into it. “We've got other things to worry about.”
“Like the good doctor?”
“Does he worry you?”
“You know someone's going to eventually track him down.”
“So.”
“So the first thing he's going to do is start pointing fingers.”
“Yeah.”
“And the first finger he points, he's going to point at you.”
“And what do you suggest I do about that, Mitch?”
“I'll take care of him for you, if that's what you want.”
D.C. stopped outside the first elevator car and momentarily stared at Mitch, both amused and—if he were to be honest—a bit intrigued. “You really got it in for the guy, don't you?”
“Just trying to cover your ass.”
“Jesus, Mitch.” He reached out to press the down button, his mind toying with the idea of giving Mitch the go ahead to handle the doc in whatever fashion he deemed necessary. It might be easier on everyone that way. Just walk away and never have to worry about looking over his shoulder to make sure the Karma Project wasn't coming back to bite him. He toyed with that a moment, and then his mind went to the DOWN light illuminated over the elevators and made a jarring new connection. Someone was in the elevator, going down.
“Where's Tilley?”
“She went into town to pick up supplies.”
“Christ! Someone's in the elevator!”
As part of the building's security system, emergency in-house call boxes had been situated on every floor, directly across from the elevator shaft. D.C. dug his keys out of his pocket, unlocked the door, and grabbed the receiver off the hook. It was the first time he ever had to use the system. There was dead silence on the line.
“Come on!”
Finally someone picked up.
“Jake.”
“Override the basement elevator. Now! Do it now!”
[139]
Jake reached across the console to the elevator control panel and depressed the red, emergency STOP button, which activated the terminal stopping switch. He had already begun to suspect that something was wrong. The monitor on the far end had flickered from the receptionist's area to a black screen and Jake had been fiddling with the contrast when the phone had rung.
“Got it,” he said.
“Great. Send the car back up to the third floor.”
“Will do.”
[140]
Somewhere between the first floor and the basement, the elevator car made a strange winding-down noise, like an engine shifting into a lower gear. It shuddered violently, and came to an abrupt stop. The overhead fluorescent lights flickered and went out momentarily, then slowly climbed back to full strength again.
“What's happening?” Teri asked.
“My fault. We should have taken the stairway.”
“You mean they've shut us down?”
“Looks that way.”
“Can't you override it?”
“Not likely. Not from in here.”
Walt took a look at the control panel anyway. There wasn't much to play with: the emergency override button, the basement key lock, the buttons for the lobby and the two floors upstairs. He toyed with the panel face plate and almost had it off when the car suddenly shuddered and began to rise.
“Now what?”
“I think they're inviting us back.”
“Great.”
[141]
Gabe had flailed with his good arm against the door until he was silly with exhaustion. He sank against the wall, catching a breath and glancing across the room at Cody, who was sitting up in bed, looking horrified.
“We've got to ... do something,” Gabe said, panting.
“What?”
“I don't know.”
When Tilley had brought Cody in on the wheelchair, she had folded the chair and left it leaning against the next bed. Cody worked himself a little higher on the mattress, pulled the covers off and swung his legs around.
“What are you doing?”
“I wanna help.”
[142]
There had been a sound, a little like the cargo hatch of a 747 snapping shut, and then the DOWN light over the elevator had suddenly gone off. D.C. waited anxiously until the UP light finally illuminated several seconds later.
“Got 'em!” he cried.
“Nice job.”
“When they show up, take 'em back to the lab and keep them there along with Childs. I'll catch up with you as soon as I can.”
“Where are you going?”
“It's time to start shutting things down.” The doors to the second elevator opened. D.C. entered. He pressed the button for the lobby and stood at the back of the car, his hands curled around the rail. “Don't do anything until I get back. Got it?”
Mitch nodded.
The elevator doors closed.
D.C. sank back into the corner, feeling hopped up, his adrenaline keeping every muscle taut and on edge. It was all going to come crashing down soon, anybody's guess who'd be left standing and who wouldn't.
Hold on, Karma, 'cause the ride's just beginning.
[143]
Enough was enough.
Childs had turned away from the console and watched D.C. and Mitch leave the lab, knowing that it might very well be the last time he ever saw either of them again. It had all come to a head now. There was no sense in trying to save what he had already accomplished. It was lost. Forever. A life's work. Just like that.
The door had closed and Childs had scrambled to his feet. He went to the cabinet at the far end of the lab, unlocked it, and removed the only vial of AA103 that remained. He set the vial aside, and removed the tray of test tubes at the back of the cabinet, and slid open the false back wall. Behind it, set into the wall of the building, was a combination safe he'd had installed several years earlier. He opened the safe and removed its contents, which included: fifty thousand dollars in cash; a Visa, MasterCard and American Express, all made out in the name of William Devol; some obsolete research notes, which he tossed aside; a California driver's license in the same name as the credit cards; a medical board certification and license to practice; two diplomas; and a set of car keys.
“Okay, what else?”
He took his wallet out of his back pocket, and emptied it of everything except the sixty-seven dollars in cash. No sense throwing away good money. He was going to need every penny he had if he wanted to start over again. Into the wallet went the credit cards and driver's license. The wallet went back into his pocket.
At the door to the lab, Childs stopped and checked the hall both ways. Mitch was standing outside the elevators at the other end. He was leaning over, apparently tying a shoelace. Childs stepped out of the room, guided the latch bolt silently into the strike plate, and hurried to the stairwell. His keys got him through the door, down the stairs, and through the exit door on the first floor, then out into the great open spaces behind the Institute.
It was cold out. The night sky was clear, the air crisp. A sprinkling of stars could be seen just beyond the haze of the city lights that hung over the entire valley. Childs filled his lungs with the fresh air.
A good night to start a new life, he thought.
Then he started on his way.
[144]
“Is there anything we can do?”
“Nope,” Walt said nonchalantly. “I think we're along for the ride on this one.”
A bell rang, and the light over the elevator doors moved from left to right one number, signifying that they were at the second floor now, still rising. He moved away from the control panel to the back of the car, next to Teri. She reached out and took his hand.
“Scared?” he asked.
“A little.”
The bell rang again before he could reassure her everything was going to work out all right. The elevator car lugged, and settled back into place. For a moment, nothing else happened and it was as if all the anticipation had been for naught. Then gradually the doors opened to the third floor.
Mitch stood on the other side of the hall, leaning against the wall. In his hand, he held a gun. On his face, he wore a smile that let them know just how much he was enjoying himself. “Well, well, well. Who do we have here?”
“Nice to see you again,” Walt said.
“I know I'm tickled.” He waved the gun at them, an invitation to exit the elevator. “Why don't you two join me?”
They did.
[145]
Gabe helped Cody into the wheelchair, and went back to the door to see if there was a way they might be able to pick the lock or break out the window. Something. Anything. Back home, he could pick the door between the garage and the kitchen with nothing more than a paper clip. All he had to do was jiggle it around in the lock a few seconds and before he knew it—click!—the door was open. This lock, this door, they were a different story.
“How about this?” Cody said, coming up behind him. In his hand, he held a tongue depressor, maybe four times the size of a Popsicle stick.
“Where'd you get that?”
“Out of that drawer over there.”
Gabe shook his head. “Too big.”
“Then what about this?” he said, bringing out the biggest q-tip Gabe had ever seen. It wasn't anything like the q-tips his mom kept in the bathroom cabinet at home. It was maybe twice that size, and as thick as a water-swollen strand of spaghetti.
“Maybe,” Gabe said, taking it in hand. He flexed it between his fingers to see how brittle it felt. You go sticking things into a lock, you don't want them breaking off in there. Once that happened, you might as well forget it. He had learned that lesson the first time he ever tried to use a toothpick. “Let me try it and see.”
He tore the cotton off one end of the q-tip and slipped it easily into the key way. Gabe gave it a jiggle, first to one side, then to the other, adding just a bit of pressure with his forefinger. It felt like a good fit, he thought. He jiggled it again, added a little more pressure, and cursed himself when it suddenly snapped off. Half-an-inch of the q-tip was now lost just inside the cylinder case. It was exactly what he hadn't wanted to do.
“Damn it!”
“What's the matter?”
“It broke off.”
“Oh.” Cody looked down, disappointed. “So, what are we supposed to do now?”
“I don't know.”
“Maybe we could get someone to open it from the other side?”
/> “I don't think they can hear us from the other side.”
Gabe cast a glance around the room, looking for something, an idea, anything that might draw attention, even Tilley's attention. If they could just get someone to open the door, then...
“A fire,” he said suddenly. “If we can start a fire, a small fire, then they'll have to open the door.”
There was no shortage of combustible material in the room. Cody stripped the covers off the nearest bed, while Gabe went through the cabinets and pulled out the Kleenex and tongue depressors and sterile gauze pads, anything and everything he thought might burn. They piled all of it high in the middle of the room, then pulled a fluorescent lamp off the wall and ran it over to the pile.
“Think it's hot enough?” Cody wondered.
“I think so.”
Gabe got down on his knees, stuffed the Kleenex tissues into the tight space around the bulb, and added some bedding on top of that. He stood up and backed away.
“How long you think it'll take?”
“Not long.”
After a few minutes, when nothing had happened, he conceded that the bulb probably wasn't hot enough after all. “We need something to get it started, lighter fluid or gasoline, something like that.”
He went searching again, and this time, in the corner of a cabinet, he came across a bottle labeled: Isopropyl. A yellow warning notice cautioned that the contents were highly flammable. He removed the cap, and gave it a sniff. Instantly, his eyes watered. It was alcohol. Isopropyl was alcohol. Perfect.
He sprinkled a couple of Kleenex tissues with the liquid, tossed them onto the fluorescent bulb, then stood back and waited. When nothing happened, he tried pouring the alcohol directly onto the lamp itself. Almost instantly, the bulb exploded.
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