Fault Lines

by Thomas Locke

  “We are headed for a lab at the Indian River University hospital.” She thought hard. “We have ten minutes. Perhaps fifteen.”

  Charlie pointed her around to the south. “Run down two hundred meters. Stay in the dunes. Then come to the road. I will meet you there.”

  “But—”

  “Go.”

  Charlie waited until she sprinted away, then ran parallel to the road in the opposite direction. He jerked hard left, bounded over a small dune, and hit asphalt just as the moon slipped behind scattered clouds. One of the bikes was burning fiercely, and the fire silhouetted the three bikers still on their feet. They were standing around a man lying prone on the road. Which indicated that Gabriella had told him the truth, at least about the bikers not being sent to take them out. These men were certainly not hunters. In fact, the way they stood suggested their job was done—running them off the road.

  Two of the bikers must have heard him, for they turned and shouted. One of them went for his gun. Charlie came in straight and hard. He chopped the gunner in the throat, striking the soft point just below the voice box, then kicked the second man in his knee, jamming it backward. The last man still on his feet was going for his weapon, but his movements were unsteady and his forehead was bleeding. Charlie grabbed his hand, swung it in the forward motion the man was going for, and kept going, flipping him on top of the second man, trapping them both. He disarmed the gunner and brought the weapon down hard on the third man’s forehead. He then swung back to the first man just as he tried to pull a sawed-off 12 gauge from a holster sewed into the right thigh of his pants. Charlie hammered him between the eyes with the pistol, plucked the shotgun from his spasming fingers, then struck him again.

  He trotted away, aiming for the one bike that was still running. He straddled the leather, gunned the motor, then shot the tires of the other bikes with the 12 gauge as he powered past.

  Gabriella was there waiting for him on the roadside. He slowed and waited until she was snugged in tight and her arms were clenched to his chest, then blasted into the night.

  2

  Eight minutes later, they entered the world of five-million-dollar condos and Bentley convertibles and women who looked like Gabriella. Charlie had the road pretty much to himself. The high-society towns rimming Florida’s southern coasts started at Vero Beach, continued south to Palm Beach, swung around Miami’s Fisher Island, and ended at Naples and Sanibel Island. Such places had very small core populations. In the high season, the traffic was bumper-to-bumper. But most people who could afford life on the Gold Coast wouldn’t be seen dead there in the off-season. Charlie had worked for enough wealthy clients to know serious money did strange things to people.

  Like sending beautiful Italian assistants north, hunting men with dark edges whose name they did not even know. Or luring them into traps where lost lives became just another term for loose change.

  Charlie raced across the first barrier island bridge and into the Indian River University campus. Gabriella directed him past the hospital to a building whose newness shone in the streetlights. The surrounding grounds held an unfinished raw-earth look.

  Gabriella waited as Charlie cut the engine and pulled the bike up on its parking stand, then said, “Our new research facility is located here.”

  “Okay.”

  “You must have many questions.”

  “Only one that can’t wait.” Charlie rose from the saddle so he could face her full on. There were worse things to do with a lonely evening than stare at a beautiful woman. Even one whose dress was torn and whose hair was turned wild by the wind. “Will we face more danger in there?”

  “No, Charlie. We will be safe.” She must have sensed his unease, for she added, “If I say anything more, it will prejudice your situation.”

  “My situation?” he asked.

  She eased off the saddle, resting a hand on his arm until her legs stabilized. “Come with me.”

  He followed her down the sidewalk. The university’s spring term was over and the campus was silent, empty. Gabriella unlocked the glass doors, waited for him to enter, and locked them inside.

  The building’s interior smelled of fresh construction and dust. The lobby’s main desk was an unfinished skeleton of raw wood. A sign that read “McLaren Teaching Hospital” lay on the flagstone tiles beside a wall glistening with wet paint. The lobby’s ceiling panels were stacked by the side wall. Overhead dangled a trunk of electronic and fiber-optic cables thick as his thigh.

  Gabriella saw the clock behind the desk and sighed with relief. “We have six minutes. When we meet the others, would you please not tell anyone about what just happened?”

  “Sure.”

  “They know there is danger, but they think it is distant.” She waved at the night beyond the front windows. “I want them to feel protected until we have passed the coming test.”

  Charlie knew she was dancing around whatever he would face upstairs. But for the moment, he took her at her word. “If you don’t want anyone to know, we better clean up.”

  “The restrooms are down the hall. Please hurry.”

  He entered the men’s room and washed his face and finger-combed his hair and straightened his clothes. His knit shirt had a tear on the side, but it wasn’t noticeable so long as he kept his arms down. There was nothing he could do about the bloodstain on his jeans.

  He returned to find her waiting by the elevator. She did not sparkle, but her hair was neatly tied back and her clothes were as straight and clean as she could make them. He pressed the button and waited for Gabriella to meet his eye. “Tell me your last name.”

  She tasted several responses, then settled on, “I don’t know.”

  The elevator walls were covered with paint-stained blankets and the floor was protected by thick sheets of plastic. Gabriella used a key to access the top floor. The elevator light had a short and flashed intermittently. She winced as though fearing another assault.

  The elevator doors opened to reveal a penthouse lab. The foyer was rimmed by glass-fronted rooms like petals of a mahogany flower. Everything about the place was as polished and rich and pristine as the man seated in the leather-backed chair. There were six others ranged about the room, but Charlie knew the reason they were gathered was this man. He looked fifteen to twenty years older than Gabriella and wore thousand-dollar jeans and a cotton pullover that exposed a perfect tan. He was a silver wolf—a gleaming example of all the health and looks that money could buy.

  “Welcome, welcome. Our young man has arrived. Splendid.” He was clearly accustomed to charming with his smile. “My wife was correct after all.”

  Charlie caught Gabriella’s tight head shake and knew the guy rising from his special leather chair was not as in control as he thought.

  “Byron McLaren.” He offered his hand. “And you are?”

  “Behind the curve,” Charlie said. “Gabriella didn’t seem to think my name was all that important.”

  The guy’s grip was practiced, hard, swift. “So she didn’t tell you why you were asked to join my little team?”

  “No.”

  “Yet you came anyway.”

  “I’m here.”

  “Indeed so.” He gave a little laugh that was not shared by anyone else in the room.

  Charlie stepped in close enough to get a good look at the guy’s pupils. No sign of dilation. No smell of booze. No sense of the man being behind the attack. “This is your hospital?”

  “Ah, you noticed the sign downstairs in the lobby. My trust donated quite a substantial sum. The university insisted on naming this building after me. What I really wanted was this research facility. A place where we could delve into the eternal mysteries in sterile comfort.”

  The others in the room did not share the man’s ebullience. Charlie had no reason to doubt his claim.

  One of the three other women was Anglo, lean with spiky blonde hair and a T-shirt that read “The evidence is behind your eyes.” The other two women were Asian, with fe
atures that suggested Laos or Burma or one of the Himalayan kingdoms. Both were very slight, probably weighing in at less than one hundred pounds, and held themselves as though intending to occupy the smallest possible space. One of the men was very dark, Charlie assumed either of African or Caribbean heritage. He seemed to be in his early thirties and reserved, clearly uncomfortable with Charlie’s presence. As was the Anglo woman.

  The guy farthest from the elevators was another Anglo, tall and handsome and with eyes only for Gabriella. Either they were an item or he very much wanted them to be.

  Charlie asked, “What are you researching?”

  Byron turned to Gabriella. “You haven’t filled him in?”

  “I told you I wouldn’t. He has already said as much.”

  “I need to be certain.”

  “You heard him say. I don’t even know his name.” Her voice had gone as wooden as her features. “We all agreed it was crucial he came of his own volition.”

  “All right, Gabriella.”

  “All I know about him is that he is in the risk containment business.” She shot him a quick glance. “And that he is very good at his job.”

  The skinny guy by the far wall muttered, “Oh wow.”

  The blonde lady muttered, “Can you believe this?”

  The dark-skinned guy let out a soft, “Assombroso. Chocante.”

  The words, Charlie knew, were Portuguese. Which meant the guy was probably Brazilian.

  Byron said to Gabriella, “Perhaps he lied.”

  “Why should he? He doesn’t even know why we needed him to come.”

  “And you found him where?”

  “The community center. Exactly as I—” Gabriella clamped down on whatever she had started to say. “I think we should start now.”

  “Just a moment.” Byron turned back to Charlie. “Is there any reason why I shouldn’t know your name?”

  “Charlie Hazard.”

  “Excellent. We’re making progress. Mr. Hazard, would you like to sit down?”

  “I’m good, thanks.”

  “We are conducting a series of experiments. We want you to participate as a subject.”

  “That’s not true at all.” Gabriella flashed genuine irritation. She looked to Charlie. “The reason you need to participate is because it is the only way you will ever understand.”

  “Yes, all right. Forgive me, Mr. Hazard. My wife is correct.” Byron was clearly only comfortable when holding center stage. “Most people secretly yearn to pierce the unseen and hear the unspoken. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Gabriella was shaking her head before the guy stopped talking. “Byron, please.”

  “No, no, I’m not done. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Hazard, that there is more to reality than what we can detect with our physical senses?”

  Beside him, Gabriella crossed her arms and looked at the carpet by her feet. The others held to a respectful silence, their faces careful masks. No question, this guy controlled the company wallet.

  Charlie said, “Sure thing.”

  “But seldom are we brought face-to-face with this alternate reality. Which is why—”

  “Byron. This must wait until we are certain.” She paced the words out in tight little bursts.

  The blonde woman said quietly, “Gabriella is right, Byron.”

  The handsome guy agreed. “We’ve gone to a lot of trouble to ensure the subject—”

  Gabriella chopped the air. “He is not a subject.”

  “Children, please. No bickering. Mr. Hazard, I would like to make you a proposition. What we are doing here is highly confidential and cutting edge. But it is also an experience we have all shared in. I would like to offer you fifty thousand dollars to participate.”

  “Will you tell me what’s going on?”

  “Sorry, no.”

  “Then I can’t agree.”

  The entire room exhaled.

  “Charlie.” Gabriella waited until he was staring at her to ask, “Will you please do this for me?”

  The fact that Charlie even hesitated had the skinny man on the back wall repeating the words like a mantra. “Oh wow, oh wow, oh wow.”

  3

  Gabriella directed Charlie into the west-facing chamber. She asked him to slip off his shoes and lie down on a narrow hospital bed. The room contained the one bed, a chair, and a portable table jammed with electronic gear. The windows facing the lobby were one-way glass. Charlie stared at the mirrors and disliked how the eight other people could observe him unseen. Actually, it was only six, because Gabriella remained in the room with him, and the handsome guy had moved into the adjoining room, one clearly designed as a monitoring station. He was now seated behind a curved metal desk containing a vast array of electronic equipment. Charlie’s bed was positioned so he could look through the side partition and watch the man gear up his equipment.

  “I can close the drapes if you wish,” Gabriella said.

  “Is it important that they watch?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “Perhaps. Yes, perhaps it is important. That is, if you . . .” Gabriella sighed. “I hate this.”

  “Why can’t you talk to me?” When she responded with another sigh, he lowered his voice and asked, “Is it Byron?”

  “No.” There was no hesitation to her response.

  The guy in the next room slipped on a headset, then leaned forward and tapped on the glass. When Gabriella looked over, he pointed to his earphones and shook his head.

  Gabriella turned her back to the side room and went on, “Before I came to meet with you, I set up a series of parameters.”

  The guy in the next room was clearly not happy with being unable to hear what Gabriella was saying. He tapped on the window again. Louder this time.

  Charlie liked how she focused on him and ignored the other guy. He asked, “These parameters have to do with me?”

  “Partly.” She lifted a strap. “This waist belt is not necessary. But I would like to use it with you because it has been a part of the process from the beginning. If it makes you uncomfortable, we can dispose of it.”

  “First tell me again that we are safe up here.”

  “The elevators are locked down. The exit doors are electronically sealed and solid steel. We are safe, Charlie.”

  He drew his arms in close to his body. “Either I trust you or I don’t.”

  Once the words were out, Charlie almost wished he had not said them. Then she smiled, and all his concerns just faded to grey.

  The handsome guy stripped off his headset, stormed out of the chamber, opened their door, and snapped, “If you don’t hit the switch, how am I supposed to monitor the process?”

  Gabriella was too busy cinching the belt around Charlie’s waist to look over. And Charlie was too busy smelling the closeness of her.

  The guy didn’t like that either. He slapped a switch by the doorway and said, “Why don’t we try and keep this on a professional level.”

  She waited until the door sighed shut to ask, “Are all men such children?”

  “You’re the pretty lady. I should be asking you.”

  She studied him. “Are you the least bit nervous?”

  “Not really. No.”

  “What we just went through, that does not leave you unsettled?”

  Charlie was not used to discussing his internal world with others. But there was something about this woman that invited confidences. “A professional learns to deal with the adrenaline rush. It comes, it goes. Your performance level can’t suffer. Not and survive.”

  She released a long breath, so close Charlie could taste its flavor. “I always considered myself a professional. Now I am not so sure.”

  The handsome man’s voice boomed from the loudspeaker overhead. “Can we please get on with it?”

  “We must establish a level of calm first.” She looked at the window then. “Isn’t that one of the parameters we agreed upon?”

  The guy simply said, “R
olling.”

  Gabriella looked down at Charlie strapped to the narrow bed. “I am glad it was you I came to meet tonight, Charlie Hazard.”

  She rolled the end of his bed around so that he could no longer see the side window and the guy beyond. She then dimmed the room’s lights, returned to his side, and used the bed’s controls to elevate his head slightly. “Are you comfortable?”

  “I might fall asleep.”

  “That is what we want. Not that you sleep, but that you are in a restful state.” She rolled the table over and lifted a group of cables. “We like to monitor the EKG and heart rate of our subjects. But if you prefer, we can make an exception in your case.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “Thank you.”

  She had substituted a white lab coat for her dark jacket. Her hair was bundled so tightly it accentuated the astonishing curve to her eyes. Charlie knew he shouldn’t use her closeness to stare. But every time he looked away, his eyes were dragged back.

  Her voice maintained its gentle tone, probably to help him relax. But the result was an intimacy that not even all the unseen observers could break. “The parameters go far beyond you directly, Charlie. That is one reason why I do not want to explain. This is all very new to us as well, you see. Can you open your shirt, please?”

  The belt across his waist made the motions clumsy. “Are you a scientist?”

  “My background is in experimental psychology. Before this, I only worked with rats. Some days I wish I had never . . .” She stopped in the process of peeling the back off a monitor pad and stared at the scar tissue lacing his chest and upper abdomen.

  “It’s okay.”

  She used a square of sandpaper to lightly abrade the skin of his chest, applied the pad, then connected it to another thin wire. “I’m sorry. What was I saying?”

  “Your research is very new.”

  “Actually, we have been working at this project for almost two years now. It is the results that are new.” She checked the monitor pads and wires with professional swiftness, then lifted a syringe. “I want to give you something that will aid you in resting fully.”