Pendulum

by Adam Hamdy

  ‘It’s better you don’t know,’ was all she said in a tone that made it clear she didn’t want to discuss whatever was bothering her.

  Wallace leaned his head against the window and watched the world pass. The embers of the day were rapidly fading to darkness, and the low light, the gentle rock of the taxi and the somnolent warmth of its powerful heater soon conspired to send him to sleep. He didn’t wake until the taxi pulled to a halt and the driver wound down his window, unleashing a blast of cold night air.

  ‘Hello?’ a man’s voice crackled from the intercom beside the Cromwell Center’s gate. The rush-hour drive from Manhattan had taken over four hours and it was a little after 8:30 p.m.

  ‘Special Agent Alexis Hale, FBI,’ Ash replied, leaning out of her window. Wallace recognised the name of the agent who had been outside the Manhattan Regent Hotel. ‘We need to see one of your patients.’

  ‘The hospital is closed,’ the voice advised.

  ‘This is an emergency,’ Ash countered. ‘Open the gates, or I’ll come back with a warrant and arrest you for obstruction.’

  The voice didn’t answer, but a moment later the gates swung open, and the cab rolled up the drive.

  ‘Wait here,’ Ash said to the driver, as she and Wallace stepped into the cold night and climbed the steps to the heavy doors.

  A squat security guard with a thick black moustache sat behind the reception desk. When Ash rapped the glass, he buzzed them through the inner security door.

  ‘We’re here for Max Byrne,’ Ash informed him.

  ‘Ms Kavanagh is on her way in,’ the man replied. ‘She’s asked me to make sure you’re comfortable until she arrives. Can I get you something to drink?’

  Wallace saw Ash suppress her frustration. ‘I’m good,’ she said shortly.

  ‘Nothing for me, thanks,’ Wallace added.

  ‘Please take a seat,’ the guard instructed. ‘She won’t be long.’

  They walked over to the seating area and sat in a couple of adjacent armchairs. As the minutes ticked on, Ash’s frustration turned to brooding hostility.

  ‘What are we doing here?’ Wallace asked.

  ‘You should wait in the cab,’ she advised, totally ignoring his question.

  Wallace wasn’t about to leave her side, and turned his attention to the lobby’s large watercolours, admiring the artist’s composition and use of light. Every time he looked at Ash, her eyes seemed to have got narrower and her brow more furrowed. Finally, after almost half an hour, the heavy outer door swung open and Grace Kavanagh stepped into the security booth. The security guard buzzed her through.

  ‘Thanks, Joe,’ Grace said. She turned her attention to the seating area and a stern look crossed her face as she approached. Wallace suspected her foul mood might rival Ash’s. ‘You think Joe wouldn’t recognise you? Your face has been all over the news. Give me one good reason why I should let you anywhere near my patient.’

  ‘I’m a Federal agent,’ Ash replied half-heartedly.

  ‘A Federal agent using someone else’s name,’ Grace observed with a sneer. ‘A Federal agent who’s on the run. There’s no way you’re getting inside, Agent Ash.’

  Ash stared at Grace, who returned the glaring hostility.

  ‘Philicia Byrne told us that she and her ex-husband have been visiting their son,’ Wallace intervened. ‘The nurse we met said his family never came to see him.’

  ‘That’s not possible,’ Grace replied. ‘Nurse Moore is Max’s lead carer. He knows everything about Max’s life here.’

  An exasperated Ash was about to speak, but Wallace cut her off. ‘Could you please check?’

  Grace’s expression softened. ‘We have a diary system,’ she said. ‘Visitors are required to check in and out,’ she added, turning towards the reception desk. ‘Joe, can you see if the system shows any visits from Philicia or Steven Byrne?’

  Ash and Wallace followed Grace over, while Joe typed at his computer. After a few moments, he shook his head.

  ‘Nothing,’ he informed them.

  ‘Could you check again?’ Ash asked, as Wallace drifted towards the plinth that supported the large visitors’ book.

  Joe retyped his search into the computer, while Wallace leafed through the pages of the thick book, which was full of handwritten remarks from friends and relatives commenting on the hospital.

  ‘No,’ Joe said at last. ‘No visits. Not according to our records.’

  ‘Here,’ Wallace called out.

  Ash hurried over to him, and Grace followed. The three of them looked down at a page that was divided into a grid of rows and columns. Each visitor was meant to use a single row. The first column was for the patient’s name, the second for the visitor’s, the third for the date and the fourth for any remarks. There, in the centre of the page, spread over two rows, was a comment from Philicia Byrne. Dated seven weeks ago, the remark, written in neat cursive, read; ‘Max and I spent time in the lovely garden today. We talked, but he’s still the same, so quiet and withdrawn. I keep wondering when my little boy is going to come back to me.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Grace said, her voice full of puzzlement. ‘If she’s been here, she’d be on the system.’

  ‘Your computers may have been hacked,’ Wallace advised.

  ‘Why would anyone do that?’ Grace asked.

  ‘Can we please see Max?’ Ash asked, pressing home the advantage.

  Grace glanced uncertainly at the main entrance and then nodded hesitantly. ‘Follow me.’

  She led Ash and Wallace through the security door on the far side of the lobby and along the corridor to the orderly’s station, which was staffed by an elderly man with pale skin and white hair. Ash deposited her gun and Wallace handed over his belt. Somewhere in the middle distance, Wallace heard the deep rumble of a helicopter; probably a wealthy hedge fund manager commuting to his private estate.

  ‘They’ll be watching a movie,’ Grace told them as they stepped beyond the mesh gate.

  Wallace and Ash followed her through the darkened exercise area into the day room where the patients sat quietly and watched Mary Poppins. As Julie Andrews flew through the air clutching her umbrella, Wallace questioned the screening criteria for a group of damaged people whose grip on reality would be tenuous at best. Half a dozen nurses and a similar number of orderlies seemed to straighten ever so slightly when they caught sight of Grace, who picked her way through the room until she reached Max. He sat next to a large African-American nurse.

  ‘Hey, Chuck, how is he?’ Grace asked the nurse.

  Chuck looked at Max and shrugged. ‘Same as always,’ he replied.

  Grace crouched down and tried to meet Max’s gaze, but his eyes were lost in another world.

  ‘Max, it’s Grace Kavanagh. I need to talk to you about your parents. They’ve been coming to visit you.’

  Max offered no response, not even a glimmer of recognition, as drool pooled in the corners of his mouth.

  ‘What’s going on, Ms Kavanagh?’ Chuck asked. ‘We don’t have visitors on the secure unit.’

  ‘I know,’ Grace agreed. ‘But his mother’s said she’s seen him.’

  ‘I need to talk to him,’ Ash pushed.

  ‘You can’t. Not when he’s like this,’ Grace replied.

  ‘We could taper his meds,’ Chuck said. ‘There’s a pretty good chance he’ll become violent, but if it’s important we can restrain him.’

  ‘How long would it take?’ Grace asked.

  ‘We’d need to check with Doctor Elise how fast we can bring him down, but last time it took two days,’ Chuck replied.

  Wallace noted the grimace that flashed across Ash’s face; they didn’t have that long.

  ‘There’s got to be another way,’ she declared.

  ‘You could give him a shot of adrenalin.’ Chuck’s joke earned him a frown from Grace.

  ‘Do it,’ Ash instructed.

  ‘It was a joke,’ Chuck protested. ‘The shock would wreck his mind. In his cond
ition it would almost guarantee a psychotic break.’

  ‘I have to talk to him,’ Ash said emphatically.

  Wallace heard the turbulent thump of boots echo along the corridor outside the day room, and moments later he recognised Hector Solomon when he burst in at the head of a squad of four police officers.

  ‘Shit!’ Ash shot Grace a dismayed look.

  ‘I called them,’ Grace protested. ‘What did you expect? You’re wanted for murder.’

  ‘Hector,’ Ash began, turning to her boss.

  ‘You’re done,’ Hector informed Ash, before speaking to a portly, droopy-eyed, middle-aged police officer who wore a badge that said ‘Chief’. ‘Take them into custody.’

  The Chief of Cromwell Police nodded to two of his officers, who approached Wallace and Ash.

  ‘Hector, we need to talk to this man,’ Ash objected, signalling Max.

  ‘Forget it, Chris. You’re finished,’ Hector said.

  Two more agents entered, and Wallace recognised them from outside the Manhattan Regent Hotel. He remembered Ash telling him their names: Hale and Nelson.

  He could sense Ash’s building anger and wasn’t surprised when she wheeled round and punched Hale in the face. Ash’s hands blurred for a split second and when they stopped moving they were holding a heavy pistol that Wallace assumed had come from Hale’s holster. Ash fired a shot at the floor and all movement stopped.

  ‘You!’ Ash pointed the gun at Chuck. ‘Adrenalin! Now!’

  Chuck looked at Grace, his eyes searching for guidance.

  ‘Don’t look at her,’ Ash commanded. ‘Look at me. Get me the adrenalin. Now!’

  Grace nodded at Chuck, who hurried from the room.

  ‘Put the gun down,’ the Chief yelled, producing his own sidearm.

  ‘Fuck you!’ Ash turned her ire on the man. ‘I’ll drill you, Chief! Put the gun down.’ She shot at his feet, and a couple of the more lucid patients started to become agitated.

  ‘This is hard time,’ Hector observed sadly. ‘This isn’t your career, Chris. This is jail.’

  ‘I need to get the patients out of here,’ Grace advised.

  ‘Nobody moves!’ Ash ordered. ‘Put your fucking gun down!’ she commanded the Chief, who looked at Hector.

  Hector nodded slowly and the Chief lowered his pistol to the floor.

  Ash backed towards the wall, sweeping the room with the pistol to discourage the three Feds and four police officers from doing anything stupidly heroic. Wallace could sense the tension of the two officers either side of him, their bodies taut with violent potential. Moments later Chuck returned carrying a syringe and vial, and held it out for Ash to inspect.

  ‘Do it,’ she instructed.

  ‘This could kill him,’ Grace cautioned.

  Ash looked at Chuck for confirmation, but he shook his head and said, ‘It won’t kill him, but it will probably make him psychotic.’

  Ash considered the assessment. ‘Do it,’ she commanded with a wave of the gun.

  Chuck stuck the needle through the rubber stopper and drew back the plunger. He pulled the collar of Max’s smock and exposed the fleshy shoulder muscle, before looking at Grace, who shook her head.

  Ash stepped forward, grabbed the needle, and stuck it in Max’s shoulder. She depressed the plunger and flooded his body with adrenalin. The reaction was instantaneous: Max rocketed out of his seat, knocking Ash backwards. He grabbed her and drove her against the wall, wrestling for control of the gun in her hand. Chuck and two of the police officers grabbed Max and pulled him away. Ash rounded on him, bringing the pistol within inches of his head.

  ‘What’s your name?’ she demanded.

  ‘Back off, Agent Ash!’ Hector yelled.

  ‘Tell me your name!’ Ash commanded, brandishing the gun.

  Max looked around fearfully.

  ‘I’ve got nothing to lose,’ Ash warned. ‘I’ll put a bullet in you.’

  Max stared at Ash indignantly. She pulled the trigger, and the muzzle blazed fire a few inches from his head. The gunshot reverberated around the room, setting off a volley of fearful cries from the other patients.

  ‘Agent Ash!’ Hector roared, as Max clutched his ear in pain. The police officers and FBI agents all had their weapons trained on Ash.

  ‘You’re running out of time!’ Ash told Max. ‘You’ve got three seconds. One . . .’

  ‘Put down your weapon!’ Hector instructed Ash. ‘Put it down or we’ll be forced to open fire.’

  Wallace saw Max glance at the law enforcement officers who were about to rain hellfire across the room. Realisation dawned; he had as much chance of getting shot by one of the people trying to save him as he did by the unhinged woman with a gun to his head.

  ‘Two,’ Ash continued, her resolve showing no signs of faltering as she pressed the hot muzzle against Max’s head.

  ‘Put it down, Chris!’ Hector commanded.

  ‘Thr—’

  ‘OK, OK,’ Max relented, interrupting Ash. ‘My name isn’t Max Byrne.’

  51

  Ash sat in one of the vacated chairs, her tightly bound hands stretched out behind her like an awkward rudder. The man they’d known as Max Byrne sat nearby, exhausted and deeply troubled. Grace Kavanagh had ordered patients and hospital staff out of the room, and the last of them were squeezing past the Cromwell police, who clustered in the doorway behind Wallace. He’d refused to leave Ash and demanded to hear what the roused patient had to say. Hector, Nelson and Hale stood around ‘Max’. Occasionally Hale would glance in Ash’s direction with unconcealed hostility which suggested it would take a long time for her to forgive Ash for humiliating her. Ash was almost certain that Hale’s shame at being robbed of her sidearm hurt much more than the punch.

  ‘Who are you?’ Hector demanded of the seated patient once the last nurse had left the room.

  The patient looked at Ash and shook his head. She knew that he would be totally wired, his body flooded with adrenalin, his mind fighting the stupor of the sedatives and antipsychotics that still coursed through his veins. Hard interrogation wouldn’t work on this guy; he needed the illusion of clarity.

  ‘We can bring you in,’ she said quietly. ‘We can run your prints, dental records. It might take a couple of weeks, but we’ll find out who you are.’ She looked up at Hector, hoping that he had the good sense to let her words sink in. ‘You’ll be charged with obstruction,’ she added.

  The troubled man was locked in conflict. His eyes met Ash’s and she nodded gently, trying to encourage him to do the right thing. Something inside changed and the man found some sort of peace in a decision.

  ‘My name is Mike Rosen,’ he replied. ‘Max and I were in the Army together. People always said we looked like brothers. After I got wounded in Iraq, I was discharged and things got pretty ugly, but Max came to me a couple of years ago and said we could help each other out. He offered me ten grand a week if I posed as him. He told me to do whatever it took to get into the secure unit. If they ever stopped sedating me, I was supposed to get violent until they put me back on the meds.’

  ‘You’ve been in here for two years?’ Ash asked.

  Mike nodded. ‘I was broke. Homeless. I would’ve done anything for that kind of money.’

  ‘Did you know why he wanted you to impersonate him?’ Ash continued.

  ‘No,’ Mike replied. ‘He said he needed to do some stuff without his folks finding out, but people don’t spend ten grand a week to avoid getting grounded.’

  ‘Mr Rosen is coming with us. I want to know everything,’ Hector said. He turned to Nelson. ‘Max Byrne’s been running a false alibi for two years. Put out a nationwide alert for him; he just became our number one suspect in the Pendulum killings. Have units pick up Mr and Mrs Byrne and bring them in for questioning.’

  ‘What about us?’ Ash asked.

  ‘This puts everything in a new light. You and Mr Wallace are no longer suspects, but Internal Investigations has already started building a disciplinary case,�
�� Hector replied. ‘Although I don’t approve of your methods, what you’ve done here will play well for you. Unless Agent Hale objects, we won’t add any other charges to your file as a result of tonight’s conduct.’

  Hale’s demeanour softened as she looked from Ash to Hector. ‘Fine by me,’ she said.

  ‘Cut her loose,’ Hector instructed Hale. ‘We still gotta bring you in to face renewed charges on the Washington shooting and for disobeying orders, dereliction of duty and a whole long list of other infractions,’ he continued, as Hale produced a small pocket knife and sliced the ties that bound Ash’s wrists. ‘I doubt you’ll go to jail, but I don’t see a future at the Bureau.’

  ‘What about him?’ Ash asked, nodding at Wallace.

  ‘Mr Wallace is going back into WitPro,’ Hector replied.

  ‘No. You can’t protect me,’ Wallace objected.

  ‘We can and we will. Thanks to Special Agent Ash’s . . .’ Hector searched for the correct choice of words, ‘. . . unconventional approach, we now have a real suspect.’ He turned to Nelson. ‘I want every piece of evidence re-examined when we get back to Police Plaza.’

  ‘Police Plaza?’ Ash asked in puzzlement.

  ‘We’re bunking with NYPD until they can restore our power and systems. The virus you sent me wiped out everything,’ Hector informed her.

  ‘We didn’t send anything,’ she protested. ‘It was Pendulum. He had us at gunpoint. Forced me to make the call. He was trying to set us up before he killed us.’

  Hector looked at Wallace for confirmation.

  ‘It’s true,’ Wallace assured him.

  ‘If so, it’ll be once less charge on your sheet,’ Hector informed Ash. ‘Come on, let’s go. We’ve got a chopper waiting outside.’

  Wallace followed the FBI agents out of the Cromwell Center, across the car park to a stretch of grass beside the hospital where a large helicopter waited. Its long rotors were turning, whipping icy wind into his face. He recognised the chopper as a UH-60 Black Hawk, an FBI liveried version of the US Army workhorse he’d become familiar with in Afghanistan. Hale pulled open the rear sliding door and Wallace, Mike Rosen and the agents clambered into the large cabin, which was capable of carrying a fully equipped platoon of soldiers. Hale jumped in last and slid the door shut. The passengers split themselves evenly on the two benches that ran down either side of the aircraft, and Wallace slid between Nelson and Hale to sit opposite Ash. The pilot glanced at Hector, who wound his index finger to signal take-off. The pilot spoke into his radio, and moments later Wallace felt the rotors run up to speed as the chopper climbed into the sky. He looked out of the window to see the Cromwell Center drop away and glittering lights sweep into view as their rising altitude revealed more and more of the nocturnal landscape.