by C. G. Cooper
Childs flipped open his jacket and put his hand on the grip of his pistol. “Identify yourself.” He took a stance that would enable him to quickly draw and fire. “Come out of the shadows. Slowly.”
Childs felt the object strike him in the chest. He looked down and saw a small dart sticking out. He suddenly felt dizzy. He pulled the dart out from his chest, a small jet of blood following.
He stared at the barb as it tumbled from his hand. He lost feeling in his fingers, then his legs gave way. As he collapsed to the floor, he saw the tall figure step over to him. Before he lost consciousness completely, he had the sensation of being dragged across the ground. He looked up at the figure dragging him, dressed all in black and removing a balaclava. Thick, long brown hair tumbled out from the mask and over the shoulders. Childs knew this person. In the last moment of consciousness, he said her name.
“Hansen.”
37
Knight sat in the diner nursing a cup of coffee. The waitress came over to top off his cup. Knight thanked her for the coffee and for the use of her phone. He stared at the black coffee in his cup.
“Do you want cream with that, honey?” the waitress asked.
“No thanks.”
Knight looked out the window, hoping to see Childs arrive. He had to get here and soon.
He saw a young woman across the street pushing a stroller.
Further up the street he saw a car wheeling slowly down the road, as if stalking the woman--or was it stalking him?
A homeless man staggered down the street, glancing toward the diner.
They were watching him.
Or were they?
Maybe he was sick too. Maybe he was hallucinating.
Was he?
He had no time to wait around for Childs. He had to get the hell out of there before the noose closed tight.
Knight dropped a few bills on the table as he hurried to leave. He barged into the waitress in his haste and she spilled most of the coffee pot onto the linoleum floor.
“Hey!” she exclaimed.
“Sorry. Keep the change,” Knight called back as he left.
As he stepped out and ran across the street, the car sped up then screeched to a halt. The back window rolled down. Knight nearly stumbled backwards.
“Get in,” said Professor Stone.
“I want my research back,” said Knight once he was seated across from Stone.
“I don’t have it.”
“What do you mean you don’t have it? I want my damn research!”
“You don’t understand, Alex. I gave it away.”
“You what?” Knight demanded incredulously.
The man’s face was desperate and riddled with anxiety as he stared straight ahead. “I left it with Sarah Hansen for safekeeping.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish I were.”
Knight sat back in his seat, feeling the weight of the world closing in. He sat up suddenly and grabbed Stone by the lapels. “You sonofabitch!”
The car slowed and the driver said, “Everything all right back there, Mr. Stone?”
“Everything’s fine, Malcolm. We’re having a disagreement.”
Knight saw the driver’s eyes boring into him.
“I should kill you,” Knight whispered.
“Oh, Alex,” Stone said, his weariness coloring every word. “This is bigger than you can imagine.”
“I don’t think so. I think I know just how big it is. Our friend Sarah isn’t who you think she is. She’s a damn spy. For who, I can’t tell. But she sure as shit isn’t on our side.”
The realization hit Stone. Whatever blood was left in Stone’s face drained completely. “Oh, God.”
“Yep.”
“Now I have to go to this stupid ceremony. I’m going to have to cancel it.”
Knight was confused for a moment, then the full weight of what Stone had said hit him, and he found himself laughing uncontrollably. Tears streamed down his face.
“What is so goddamned funny?”
As soon as Knight regained his breath, he said, “You poor, deluded moron! It’s a trap. Don’t you see that? You’re the pawn. They just don’t realize how much of a pitiful little pawn you are.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Alex?”
“The ceremony? The honorary doctorate? It’s crap, a ruse, to lure you into their hands so they can grab my data from you.”
“They?”
Knight took a cleansing breath. “The resistance, you schmuck. This thing runs deeper than you can possibly imagine.”
Stone bit his lip. “I’ve been threatened.”
“By whom?”
“By the same people I’ve been dealing with throughout my entire tenure at the NIH. I don’t know who they are, I’ve never met them. But I know what they can do. They’ve... done things for me before.”
“What things?”
“Little things here and there. Whenever someone raised their voice in protest against the status quo, they were... quieted. And I fear they’ve struck close to you, Alex. Dr. Scarfe, for one.”
“Yeah?” Knight said bitterly. “Well, your precious Ms. Hansen was one of them.”
Stone put his hand to his head. “Damn,” he said quietly.
Knight waited a moment, watching the man. Stone looked like he was on the verge of a mental breakdown. They had to do something, and by the looks of Stone’s mute shock, it was Knight who would have to make the call.
He leaned forward so the driver could hear him.
“Take me back to my place.” And then to no one in particular he murmured, “We’ve got work to do.”
38
When he entered his apartment, the first thing on the agenda was a call to Childs. It went straight to voicemail.
Shit. He’s gonna think I bolted.
His mind raced.
On his way to the bedroom for a fresh change of clothes, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He was battered and bruised, greasy, dirty... He looked like a vagrant that had gotten hit by a slow-moving train.
A quick shower was in order.
It hot torrent of water pure bliss. The powerful jets washed away the grime and trauma of the past two days, or was it three? He’d lost all track of time.
He poured shampoo onto his hand and rubbed it into his hair. He let the soap fall down over his face. He rinsed it off under the streaming jets, enjoying the sensation of a clean, washed body and the splash of stinging water on his skin.
And then he heard what must have been the door to his apartment splinter like it was smashed open.
He turned off the shower and grabbed a bathrobe. Knight opened the door a crack and looked into the apartment. A group of black-suited men had entered the apartment and were searching the place, emptying cupboards and drawers over the floor in a frenzy. Knight saw one of the men turn his way. The intruder drew a gun.
“Come on out, Knight!”
The other men turned, guns raised and pointing at the door.
Knight looked at the small window in the bathroom. Yes, he could squeeze through, but it was a sheer wall on the other side and he too many floors up. And he was naked.
What the hell, he thought. I’ve come this far.
The air was cold on his wet skin. He clung to the side of the building, his fingers gripping the thin gaps between the large sandstone corner blocks of the building. Up above he could see lights spilling out over a balcony. He hoped he would find an open door there. It was the closest and it was an easy climb. He tried to ignore the sounds coming from his ransacked apartment. Luckily, it was fairly easy going, and the hand and footholds were sufficient for him to move laterally and reach up to successive levels.
When he reached the balcony above, he found a small open door and a well-lit apartment inside. One of the suited men had stuck his head out of the shower room window and saw Knight climb onto the balcony above.
He slipped inside and heard a television somewhere in the apartment. There were voices too.
A man and a woman discussing chatting away, completely oblivious to the scene unfolding around them. There was a door to his left. He peeked in the dark room and saw a bed inside. There had to be a closet, or a wardrobe, he thought, with clothes.
Knight found an armoire and quickly dug out a pair of jeans and a tee shirt. He slipped them on while keeping his eyes on the door. The clothes were a little snug but would do.
When he stepped back out into the hall, the sound of the couple laughing at the television echoed through the apartment, but that was all. No masked attackers.
Knight made his way to the exit. There was a shoe rack at the door. Knight grabbed a pair of sneakers that looked roughly his size.
Knight had never believed in luck, but maybe he was beginning to. But then he heard heavy footsteps in the corridor outside the apartment and pounding on doors. He heard a man call out, “Open up, it the police.”
Yeah, right, Knight thought. And I’m a circus monkey. In a matter of seconds, they would be at this door. After a glance all around, he headed back out onto the balcony. Time to climb again.
He could keep moving up to another balcony, but he discarded that option immediately. As long as he stayed in the building, the bad guys would have him trapped.
There was an entrance to the underground parking lot on the other side of the complex. If he traversed the building and climbed down, he could enter the parking lot and hopefully find his bike. He headed that way.
The sneakers were well worn and Knight was glad of it. He was able to grip the stones of the old building and make it to the parking entrance without being spotted.
After shaking the nervousness from his limbs, he punched in the security code to the parking lot entrance and pushed the door open. The parking lot was eerily quiet. Knight crouched and listened for a minute, making sure the way was clear before moving into the large parking lot. He crept to his bike. In a few moments he would be long gone. Once he had that bike on the road, no one in the world could catch him.
He knew he would have to hot wire the bike. But this was his bike. He’d tuned it, stripped it, and rebuilt it so many times he knew every small part intimately.
Knight almost ran to the bike and kissed it. It was the best thing he had seen in days. It only took a few moments of tinkering before it was purring smoothly.
And then he spotted movement in the shadows. He recognized the frame, even hidden in the dark.
The man in the gray suit.
“Shall I say the words?” the man said. “Oh, what the hell, right? We live once. I’ll say them: Soooo, we meet again.” He laughed at his own attempt at humor.
“You travel fast,” said Knight.
“Where is your research, Dr. Knight? We’d like to have it in hand before you come to work for us.”
“Bullshit,” Knight said bitterly. “I don’t know what you’re up to, pal, but you’re not getting my help.”
The man smiled. “You must be tired.”
“I just got my second wind.”
Another figure appeared behind the man. The man looked over at his henchman and nodded. “Dr. Knight is coming with us.”
The henchman strode toward him. Knight tucked his head and charged, ramming the man in the stomach and sending him crashing against his gray-suited boss. They tumbled to the ground in the heap, with Knight somehow managing to stay on top.
He swung a right cross and caught the henchman’s jaw. Then another and another. Knight cursed with each blow, feeling the frustrations of his life compressed into the tiny confines of his knuckles, erupting in a cataclysmic explosion of rage. The henchman was beaten and bloody, but in his enraged state, Knight had missed the boss slipping away. The man in the gray suit jumped into the driver’s seat of the car and sped off before Knight was back on his feet.
Knight hopped onto his bike and sped after it. They’d gotten a good head start, but Knight was well within range. He kept the vehicle in focus as they sped through the city, familiar streets blazing by at light speed.
The city was soon behind them as the car ahead turned off the main highway, down a winding road that led through a sort of valley.
Fine. They wanted a chase, they’d get a chase. The bike roared after them, even as Knight came to the realization that he no idea what he was going to do when he finally did catch up. They were probably armed, and all he had was his bike and borrowed clothes. Great planning, Alex.
The car began to slow. Knight matched their speed until they’d slowed to a snail’s pace. He was ready for them. He didn’t care about anything now. Not Sarah, not that crazy Cortex, not even his research. He didn’t have a gun. He didn’t have anything. He just had a taste for blood. That was all he needed.
The car turned onto a dirt path and rolled slowly toward a large house with no lights. He followed at a cautious distance, stopping next to an ancient tree.
The car rolled in and pulled to a stop. The man in gray was parked in front of a Victorian-style mansion. There were figures walking from another car to toward the front porch.
He could just make them out. Two black-clad men in balaclavas were escorting Special Agent Childs toward the house. A third was close behind, an AK-47 at the ready.
No better time than now…
Knight gunned his motorcycle, shooting forward like a rocket. He rammed into one of the men escorting Childs, bowling him over with the front tire. The man went flying until his head slammed into the porch steps with a sickening crunch. Childs and the other man stumbled out of the way, wrestling for the bad guy’s weapon.
That left the guy with the AK. He swiveled around, trying to pick a target.
“Shoot, you imbecile!” cried the gray-suited man from the window of the driver’s side door. “Shoot them all!”
Three shots rang out. The man with the AK fell back in a shower of blood.
Childs stood up, gun drawn. He made his way over to Knight, limping slightly.
“I owe you one,” said Knight.
“You owe me plenty. Just be thankful these idiots don’t know how to keep a hand on their weapons.”
Childs pointed his gun at the man in the gray suit who was twenty feet away. “Sir, I don’t know who you are, but I’m putting you under arrest.”
The gray suit chuckled, then laughed uproariously. “I have no weapons. I have no reason to harm anyone! Goodbye, Special Agent Childs. And we’ll see you soon, Dr. Knight.”
He continued laughing as he stomped on the gas. Knight and Childs charged after him, but the car sped backwards down the driveway and took off into the night.
39
Knight and Childs approached the house, guns drawn. Knight had the AK-47.
“Watch that thing, will you?” said Childs.
The door was locked. Knight looked at Childs. Childs nodded and took a few steps back. Knight shot the knob clean off.
“Dammit!” Childs cursed. “I thought you were gonna bash it.”
“This was easier. Let’s go.”
They entered the house. It was sparsely furnished and caked with a thin layer of dust and grime.
There was a strange smell in the air. Something chemical, an industrial solvent. Or maybe… formaldehyde?
They walked cautiously, stepping around half-packed boxes and holes in the floor. As they moved farther into the house, Knight detected a low humming sound. They he felt the vibration beneath his feet.
“Downstairs,” said Knight. “There’s got to be a basement.”
“You know what you’re gonna find down there?” said Childs.
“Nope.”
“Then what the hell makes you think it’s safe to go down there?”
“I don’t. But I’ve got my trusty new pal with me,” he said, tapping the AK.
“Great,” muttered Childs.
The men snuck through the house as quickly as they dared. The third door they tried led to a set of descending stairs. The humming noise grew louder. The odor was stronger as well, almost unbearable.
They padded down the stairs, careful to avoid rotten boards.
When they reached the bottom, nothing could have prepared Knight for what he saw.
There was a team of three men in white lab coats. They were huddled around a computer.
Strapped to a table was Darla Newman, the scientist. She appeared to be unconscious and had electrodes attached to her head..
One of the white-coated men turned toward a tray of surgical equipment. When he did, he spotted Knight and Childs. He nudged his colleagues, who both turned to the intruders.
Something struck Knight hard from behind as Childs fell forward. Knight just managed to step out of the way and was about to ask what Childs was doing, but he saw that Childs’s face was gone.
What the…?
His stomach turned.
Knight looked up to see a figure at the top of the stairs, a pistol leveled in his direction. Without a thought, Knight brought the AK up and fired. The figure was blown back through the door at the top of the stairs. Knight screamed and turned the automatic weapon on the three white coats and riddled them in red.
Knight took a stuttering breath.
The body of Darla Newman stirred.
He went to the table and undid her straps. She was barely conscious. Drugged, if his guess was correct.
He grabbed his rifle and ran up the stairs, ready for action. Averting his eyes from the ruined body of the guy who shot Childs, he went in search of others.
He searched the entire house. Twice. No one.
His nerves began to relax a little.
Then he returned to the stairs and allowed himself to look at the body of the guy he’d shot first.
It wasn’t a guy. It was a woman.
He leaned down then collapsed onto the floor, barely holding himself up as he stared in horror at the dead face of Sarah Hansen.
They sat on the floor of what was once the parlor of the old house. Knight had made the call. The FBI was on the way.
“They’ve got Jocelyn,” Darla said.
“Dear God,” Knight said.
The woman shook her head. “It’s my fault.”