Chapter 35
Frank Young was in full flood. He had spread his papers across the coffee table and was systematically explaining the minutiae of the data to Peterson, taking care not to overlook the smallest detail. For his part, although he was well qualified as a geneticist, Peterson had ceased to follow the arcane reasoning several minutes earlier. His eyes had glazed over and his mind was elsewhere, sorting through a number of options for silencing the professor for good.
Young felt the phone vibrate in his pocket. Continuing his account, he pulled it out and glanced at it. There was one word on the screen: Go!
He deleted the message and made a play of looking at his watch. He looked up nervously at Peterson. “Good heavens, I had no idea it was getting so late. That was a text from Janet; she’s wondering where I am. I forgot to call her in my enthusiasm to get down here. She’s obviously tried the lab; I’d better call her.”
He looked back at the phone and was about to press some keys when Peterson’s hand closed over his. “Before you do that, Frank, there’s someone I’d like you to meet. Two people, in fact. One is Dr Hannah Frobisher. You haven’t met her, have you?”
Young shook his head. “No, is she new? She must be very keen, Wally, working on a Sunday evening.”
Peterson smiled, but as Young caught his eyes, he saw they were glacial.
“Oh, she is. Very keen. And very talented. She’s been working for me for quite a while now, but on certain very special projects; ones that I have to keep under wraps.”
I’ll bet she does! thought Young. Ones that you steal straight from the computers of suckers like me.
Peterson maintained his false geniality. “You’ll be very impressed with her, Frank. She’s got tremendous insight into cutting-edge genetics, and her laboratory work is inspirational. You’ll have tons to talk about; you have so much in common.”
He stood and held out an arm towards the hall door. “I think it would be better to talk to her first and then call Janet once you know how long you are going to be.”
“Who’s the other?” replied Young as he stood up, not liking the turn this meeting was taking. If Peterson was about to introduce him to Andrews, he clearly had no intention of letting him go.
“Ah,” smiled Peterson, “that’s my little surprise. Let’s take a walk, shall we?”
He ushered Young into the hall. The two guards broke off their conversation and turned towards him.
“Everything all right, lads?” asked Peterson.
“All quiet, sir,” replied Jeffrey.
“We’re going to the laboratory,” said Peterson. He glanced at his watch. “It’s almost time for your rounds; you might as well come with us.”
He opened the door to the corridor that led to the laboratories, leading the way while the two guards stayed close to Young’s heels. Stopping outside the door to the room where Andrews had been held, he turned to Young, smiling. “First, Frank, my little surprise, although Dr Frobisher might well be in here too. Let me check.”
He walked in to find Hannah Frobisher as John Andrews and Ced had left her a few minutes before: bound to a chair and gagged, with the syringe containing the remains of its lethal load still stuck in her neck.
“What the hell...!” he yelled.
Jeffrey and Martin responded immediately. Jeffrey moved quickly between the professor and the door, blocking his way, while Martin laid a restraining hand on the professor’s arm. Jeffrey glanced into the room and was shocked to see the dishevelled Frobisher, tears streaming down her face as Peterson bent over her.
“Hannah, what’s happened?” said Peterson. “Where’s Andrews? What the devil is this syringe doing in your neck?” He reached out and pulled gently on the syringe. As he did, Frobisher shook her head vigorously, trying to stop him. Already loosened from when her hand had grabbed at it, the barrel separated from the needle and the contents oozed onto Peterson’s bandaged right hand.
“Blast!” he yelled, throwing the barrel onto the bench top as Frobisher continued to shake her head furiously, her eyes wide with horror.
Peterson released the gag and, as Frobisher coughed and spluttered, he undid her wrists and legs.
“Wally!” screamed Frobisher. “Wipe your hand on that towel! Now! Before it soaks into your wounds.”
Peterson frowned at her and picked up the towel. “Before what soaks into my wounds? Where’s Andrews?” he yelled again.
“He might still be in the lab; I think that’s where they went. Wally, you have to do something! I’m going to die, Wally. You must help me!”
Peterson saw the fear in her eyes and looked down at his hand.
“What was in that syringe, Hannah?” he said, his voice menacing.
“I was about to inject Andrews with another cocktail. I wanted to accelerate the procedure. I decided there was no point in waiting since he was obviously not going to be affected by any of the bacteria and viruses. I thought you’d be pleased to move onto the next phase as soon as possible. But his legs had been freed and he kicked out at me. The syringe needle went straight into my neck.”
“What was in it, you stupid bitch?”
She shrank back as he raised his undamaged hand to strike her.
“Rabies,” she whispered. “And a very virulent form of hepatitis.”
“Christ!” yelled Peterson, diving for the tap and ripping the bandage from his right hand. “And I’ve squirted the damn stuff into an open wound!”
He turned on the tap and soaked his hand, looking down in horror at the still unhealed lacerations from where he’d grabbed at the breaking glass when it smashed into his head the previous night.
He rubbed frantically at his hand under the running water and it started bleeding again.
“Jesus!” he yelped, the wounds stinging. He grabbed at a paper towel and wrapped it round his hand.
He turned angrily to Frobisher, who was still cringing in the chair.
“You stupid, stupid bitch!”
“Wally, you’ve got to do something,” she wailed.
“What do you suggest? Take you to the nearest A&E? All I can do for you is lock you in a soundproofed room so no one can hear your screams as you die. And pray that your cocktail hasn’t got into my system as well!”
He slapped her viciously with the back of his left hand, a large signet ring cracking into her upper jaw. She sagged into unconsciousness.
“Idiot!” he growled through clenched teeth.
He turned and saw Jeffrey, who was watching but not fully understanding the implications of what he’d seen and heard.
“Don’t stand there gawping, you halfwit!” yelled Peterson. “Follow me! Andrews is probably still in the building. And bring Young with you!”
He pushed past the guards and ran along the corridor to Frobisher’s laboratory. He flung open the door in time to see John on the far side of the room flushing the last remnants from the container of blood down a sink. Ced was standing next to him.
“Grab them!” ordered Peterson to the guards, who were following, half dragging the bewildered professor with them.
At the sound of the door and Peterson’s voice, John spun round. He dropped the blood container into the sink and looked round quickly for something that he might use as a weapon. He picked up a glass reagent bottle and hurled it at Peterson, following it almost immediately with a second. Peterson saw the first one coming and ducked to avoid it, but the second caught him a glancing blow on the ear.
John charged after his missiles and as Peterson reeled from the impact with the bottle, John punched him squarely in the face with a left. Peterson’s head snapped back and he fell into the path of Jeffrey, who had let go of Young and was running to his boss’s aid.
As Jeffrey pushed Peterson to one side, Martin, the other guard, flung Young into a corner and raced after his colleague. John squared up to them, noticing out of the corner of his eye that Ced was still by his side, crouched in a martial arts pose. The guards skidded to a halt and Mar
tin, who was opposite Ced, crouched into a similar stance, his mouth a sneer.
He weaved his arms in the air, moving slowly closer to Ced. “What are you waiting for, sunshine?” he snarled.
As he began to leap at Ced, he was stopped in his tracks by the metal base of an apparatus stand crashing hard onto his head. The professor had been quick to regain his balance after stumbling into the corner of the laboratory and had immediately picked up the heaviest thing he could find. Coming up on the guards from behind, he had brought the metal base down on the head of the one closer to him.
Not waiting to see the effect of the professor’s blow, Ced delivered two crushing blows of his own to Martin’s torso and throat. The guard collapsed unconscious. Distracted by the unexpected movement, Jeffrey glanced sideways towards Martin, giving John the opportunity to deliver three Johanne specials to his head. Jeffrey’s knees buckled and he fell to the ground with a grunt.
The blow to Peterson had been less powerful and he was starting to stagger to his feet. Ced was the first to notice and, having taken two steps in his direction, kicked out hard to Peterson’s head, sending him sprawling once again.
Ced turned to John, the tension in his face relaxing into a smile of satisfaction. “I knew that stuff would come in useful one day.”
But John wasn’t ready to relax.
“We need to tie these three up so we can get out of here before they raise the alarm,” he said, pulling open the drawers closest to him. Finding some cord and a roll of tape, he bound the guards hand and foot and gagged them. He then completed the job with Peterson.
“I won’t gag him,” he said looking up at Ced. “His mouth is bleeding from where you kicked him. I don’t want him to choke on his own blood. He seems to be out cold, so I don’t think he’ll be a problem.”
Standing up, John saw the professor leaning heavily against the wall, the tension of the moment having caught up with him.
“You must be the professor that Ced mentioned,” said John, walking up to him. “Are you OK?”
“Fine,” nodded Young, his hands weaving their usual path through his hair.
“That was a very well-timed diversion,” smiled John. “Your intervention gave us the edge we needed. Thank you very much.”
“Glad to be of assistance,” replied Young, looking into John’s eyes. “I’m delighted to meet you at last, Mr Andrews.”
The usual humour in his eyes then dissolved as he looked down at Peterson. “You scheming bastard,” he snarled. He walked across the laboratory and opened the door of one of the freezers. He pulled on a protective glove and reached in, retrieving a vial to read its label, and then several others.
“God Almighty!” he exclaimed, shaking his head in amazement. “There’s enough viral and bacterial material in here to wipe out most of Europe!”
His eye caught a tray of syringes and he picked one up. “I’ve a good mind to give Peterson a dose of his own medicine. Literally.”
John held up a hand. “I can understand how you must feel, professor,” he said, shaking his head, “but what has happened so far is all justifiable; it was self-defence. If you inject this maniac with that stuff, you could be on a murder charge.”
Young stood still, his hand grasping the open freezer door. Then he slowly replaced the vial he was holding and closed the door.
“You’re right. We’ll let the law deal with him. Despite his wealth, title and connections, he’ll have a job worming his way out of all this.”
Ced, who had been checking the guards’ bindings, stood and said, “I really think we should leave. I know there’s another guard upstairs who’s off duty. He doesn’t appear to have heard anything or he would have been charging through that door by now. But I think we should go. We can decide what to do once we’re away from here.”
“You’re right,” agreed Young. “It’s possible there are other guards around the grounds as well. I’ll call the gate from Peterson’s sitting room.”
“We’d better check that Frobisher is still secure,” added John as they left the laboratory and ran up the corridor. He opened the door to the room where he’d been held and was surprised to see the unconscious Hannah Frobisher slouched in the chair, a large red weal across her face.
“She’s no longer bound, but I think she’ll be out for a while. Peterson must have found out what she was up to and lost the rag,” he said to the others as he caught up with them in the corridor.
They ran through the hall into the sitting room. Young went to the desk and ran his finger down the list of internal numbers next to the phone. He picked up the handset and punched a number.
Putting his hand over his mouth, he barked an instruction, mimicking very accurately Peterson’s mild but noticeable Yorkshire accent.
“Peterson. My guest is leaving. Open the gate for him, would you?”
He put down the phone and they ran to his car. As they approached it, he saw Ced pulling out his mobile.
“No time for that, Ced. Call once we’re through the gate. Get down as low as you can in the back, both of you. I intend to drive through the gate too fast for them to get a look inside.”
It was now fully dark and the professor switched the headlights to main beam as they approached the gate, making it impossible for the gate guards to see into the car. He heaved a sigh of relief as he saw the gate slide open. Hardly braking, he passed the guard at about thirty miles per hour, giving a toot on the horn and a wave as he did.
As he accelerated up the road, he called out. “OK, we’re all clear. You can make that call now Ced.”
Ced was immediately upright and punching the speed dial buttons for Sally’s phone. “Sal!”
“Ced! Are you OK? Tell me you’re fine!”
“All fine, Sal.”
“Thank God for that. Listen, we’ve found a rear gate in the fence–”
“Sal!”
“–We can pull it down with a rope I found in the car. It’s all quiet here so I don’t think–”
“Sal!”
“–anyone has seen us. I’m sure it’ll be–”
“Sal! Listen! We’re out! There’s no need to pull down any gate or fence. Just drive away and we’ll meet you on the main road.”
“You’re out? Ced, that’s brilliant!”
Ced continued listening to her as he looked towards John.
“Yes, he’s here with us, Sal, and he’s fine. We’ll be with the three of you in a few minutes.”
He turned to John and grinned mysteriously. John frowned at him, puzzled by his look. He was about to ask him to explain when Ced turned to the professor.
“The girls will meet us at the junction up here, Prof, where the side road goes off around the estate.”
Young nodded and then caught Ced’s eye in the mirror.
“Did you say ‘the three of you’ just now when you were talking to Sally, Ced? Are there three of them now? Who’s the third?”
“Yes, Ced,” added John. “Who is the third? You only mentioned two when you were explaining things to me back there.”
Ced pursed his lips. “Mr Andrews… Actually, after what we’ve been through together in there, would it be OK if I called you John?”
John laughed. “Certainly, if you tell me what all your amusement is about. I suspect it’s more than a feeling of relief to be out of that very dangerous situation.”
Ced’s enigmatic smile broadened into a grin. He took a deep breath. “Well, John, your interesting day is about to get even more interesting, but this time in a very positive way.”
He turned his head to look up the road and nodded towards a pair of headlights that had appeared down a side road.
“Look, there are the girls now.”
Rare Traits (The Rare Traits Trilogy Book I) Page 36