by Curtis, Greg
“No.” She shook her head and her colleague looked away. He guessed from that that the number of dead and injured was closer to the higher end of the estimates.
“The hospital report says you were injured?”
“The explosion knocked me around a bit and I might have cracked a few ribs.” Not that they felt particularly broken just then. “And somewhere along the way a piece of pipe lodged itself in my shoulder. But it was really minor compared to others.” He patted the thick bandage around his shoulder underneath his robe while the other officer made a note.
“It really was a sink hole?” He asked because he still couldn't believe that. Not after seeing that massive crater simply swallowing up an entire building. Sink holes from what little he knew, simply weren't that big or that fast. This had been more like a giant maw simply opening up and swallowing everything in one bite.
“That's what they're saying.”
But by her tone Will guessed that she didn't quite believe it either. It just seemed too incredible. Things like that just didn't happen. On the other hand there was no other explanation for the huge crater that had opened up. The crater which reporters in helicopters were flying over constantly and streaming non-stop videos of on the telly. The crater which experts were supposedly explaining, but which from their answers was really leaving everyone scratching their heads. A crater so deep that its bottom was actually lost in shadow. The mouth of hell someone in the hospital had called it and that seemed like a good description to him. Maybe not a scientific one though.
“Is there a way to contact the other survivors?”
He knew he needed to contact Doctor Millen. If nothing else he needed for him to check that the treatment had gone well. And though it seemed callous, he needed his ten thousand dollars. Actually it was callous but in the end he was a poor broke student. Ten grand was a lot of money. It would guarantee that he could get through to the end of his course.
“FEMA has set up a base of operations just beside the crater. They will have the details of those they've managed to contact and how to reach them.”
“Thanks.”
But even as he said it he wondered if that was really the sort of information he should be thanking her for. It wasn't good news after all, it was bad. The fact that they had to set up such a centre was terrible. And the thought that he might have to go there was worse. He didn't want to go back there. He didn't want to go anywhere near that crater ever again. He might have no chance of avoiding it in his dreams, but in real life he saw no reason why he couldn't.
“Oh and there was one other person I saw. Not in the room, but in the corridor. An elderly lady with long white hair. Quite thin build. We were running and trying to get to the doors at the end of the corridor that led to the atrium when the explosion hit us, and we were separated.”
Will didn't really know why he mentioned her, when he knew nothing about her, but she seemed important somehow, and he wanted to know she'd made it out all right and hadn't been swallowed up by that massive grave. Naturally he didn't mention the fact that he was almost sure it was her that had hit him in the back and thrown him clear of the building at the end. That part didn't make any sense to him at all.
“I don't know anything about her at all, but if you have some photos of the survivors I'm sure I'd recognise her.”
The woman nodded and the man busily scribbled away in his notebook as if what he'd said could be important. But he knew that something that sketchy couldn't possibly be so. Not for their grim task. But maybe they could find her. Though whether alive or dead he didn't know. The only thing he did know was that it mattered to him. He didn't know how or why. But he knew she mattered.
Chapter Four.
Reginald Millen was in the hospital and feeling remarkably good about life. He hadn't been earlier. When he'd first woken up in the hospital after thirty six hours of unconsciousness and then been told of what had happened, he'd known a terrible sense of despair. Everything had been lost. Years of hard work, study, misappropriation of funds and even outright theft had been wasted. Buried in the ground along with his subject. Mary's death had in the end been for nothing.
Darkness had possessed him for a while after that. The feeling that not only had he lost everything, his wife, his work and his dream, but that it had been stolen from him. And so he'd lain in his hospital bed along with so many others, feeling sorry for himself. Wondering if he should run or just give himself up. In the end it didn't really matter which.
But things had changed at lunch time when the nurse had arrived. Lunch had been poor and he had no idea at all why they'd served him jelly and ice cream as well as a sandwich. It didn't seem particularly healthy. And when she'd taken his pulse and checked his blood pressure he'd been less than impressed with her technique. As a doctor he could have done a better job of it himself. But then she had provided him with a miracle and he would forgive her anything for that. She'd turned on the telly and his world had suddenly become light again.
He had almost immediately been treated to the sight of William Simons on the telly as he was being treated by the paramedics. He was only in the background of course as the reporter told her sorry tale, and it was a rerun meaning that Mr. Simons was likely nowhere near the clinic's remains any more, but it was him. He was alive. All his work had been saved!
All those years in the lab perfecting his virus! Building it from the ground up! Building a virus that could carry vast amounts of DNA and which could be inserted perfectly. A virus that could find and penetrate any cell in the human body. A virus that could initiate the replication cycle so that whatever it delivered was saved. After that of course there had been yet more years spent seeking and finally obtaining the very special genetic material he needed. Then he had worked day and night analysing it, sequencing it, working out where to cut it and where it would be pasted. There was a reason he was pale. So many days and nights in the lab toiling away didn't allow for a man to get a tan.
But it didn't matter any more. His work was saved. His project would continue. And all because Mr. Simons had survived. Ever since seeing that report he'd been smiling. Cheerful as he hadn't been in many years. At times he'd almost thought about bursting into song and annoying his fellow patients in the ward. But after surviving a near catastrophe he had a right to feel good he thought. The cracked ribs and concussion were a small price to pay for that.
It was amazing that his patient had survived – so many hadn't. In fact it was as close to a miracle as anything he could imagine. Maybe it was a sign that he was destined to do this work? But even if he had died – and he understood that it had been a close thing – Mr. Simons' survival meant that everything he had strived for all these years would continue. It was done. The material was in him, busy replicating. And the process would continue. There was no undoing it.
Reginald didn't know where Mr. Simons was. The man’s personal details were somewhere in the clinic’s computers which in turn were somewhere in the bowels of the Earth. But the records were backed up and in time when he got out of the hospital he would be able to access them from his laptop. He would find his home address. Where his patient lived however, was for the moment far less important than the fact that he lived.
It was a miracle! Proof he thought that he was doing what he was supposed to. Years of work had so very nearly been undone by an almost unbelievable freak of nature.
But not quite. Mr. Simons was alive and the glorious work continued.
Of course he was disturbed when the reporters kept talking about acts of God. That phrase chilled him for obvious reasons. But every time he heard it he remembered anew that the disaster wasn't an act of God. It couldn't be. He was doing God's work after all. He was bringing light into the world! If the sink hole was an act of anyone if was that of the devil. But most likely it was just incredibly bad luck. Sink holes happened. No doubt the people who'd done the geological report before the Fairview Institute had been built needed to be kicked. They should have known t
hat this could happen.
For the moment though he just had to get out of the hospital and back to his quarters – assuming it hadn't gone down with the clinic – and start work. Mr. Simons had to be watched over. Monitored closely just in case there were any problems. Studied intently since this was the most important research ever undertaken. And when the time was right and he could be revealed to the world, protected from those who would not accept him. All he needed was for the doctors to come and discharge him so that he could begin.
“Mr. Millen?”
“Doctor Millen.” Reginald automatically corrected the woman even before he looked up at her. Maybe it was vanity but he had worked hard for his medical degrees and his doctorate. But then he saw her and instantly forgot about his titles. Instead he thought about jail cells.
Black suit, black tie, white shirt, black trousers and shoes – that was troubling. Especially when a woman wore the outfit. But it wasn't nearly as troubling as the ID she was holding up in front of him. A badge of some sort and an identity card in a black wallet. Government agent. Everything about her said she was with one branch or other of the government, and whichever one it was he knew it was bad.
“Sorry, Doctor.” But she wasn't really. He knew that. “I'm here to talk about some of the accounting irregularities that seem to have plagued your project.”
“Accounting irregularities?”
Reginald knew a sudden feeling of dread. But he didn't let it control him. Every instinct was telling him to play innocent. It was his best chance. But he also knew that he was in trouble. How could they have found out about the misappropriated funds so quickly? He'd thought he would have had at least a few more weeks.
“Yes.” She smiled at him and he felt distinctly threatened. “Funds that seem to have periodically been diverted, equipment that's gone missing, unauthorised purchases of media and most recently the booking of an entire clinic suite and staff and patient care for no reason that we can ascertain. That's ten thousand dollars give or take. In one day.”
“Well I'm sure it's all just some sort of accounting mix up.” It was actually. But he was the one who'd mixed it up. Deliberately.
“Did you know that the government's spent over ten million dollars on your project?” She smiled some more, and he suddenly worried that she was going to ask for it back. There was of course nothing like that left in the accounts. In fact he wasn't sure there was even a hundred thousand left.
“And they're going to get good value for their money. The project is well in hand, the patients are all doing well, and the results are very promising. We're at the start of something huge, and in six more months I'm confident the results will more than justify the expense.”
“And in six more months how many more hundreds of thousands or millions of dollars’ worth of time and resources will have mysteriously been wasted?” She didn't seem to be buying his story, even though it was true – mostly.
“The government is just not that dumb Doctor Millen. Despite what you may think. And forensic accountancy is as much a science as is physics these days. For example when we come across missing money and strange patterns of spending, we can usually tell what's happening. Whether someone's misappropriating funds for their own gain. If they're trying to cover up some sort of financial disaster. Whether there's extortion or blackmail involved. And in this case the patterns of irregular spending seen here are indicative of only one type of fraud.” Unexpectedly she leaned in a little more closely to study him.
“Are you running a secret project Doctor Millen?”
“What! No!”
Panicked Reginald almost squeaked out his denial at her. And all the time he was wondering how she could possibly know. And how many more people now knew, including it would seem the other patients in the ward with him who were all looking on with interest.
“Good. Because the penalties are the same you know. It doesn't matter why you steal the money – it's still theft. And we are talking jail.”
Jail! It had always been a possibility Reginald knew. In fact he'd almost expected it. But not now. Not when he was on the verge of achieving everything. That was just too cruel. And worse than that she knew! Or rather, she guessed. But either way it was a disaster. He couldn't go to jail and he couldn't let the government get their hands on Mr. Simons.
Fortunately, as he suddenly realised, he had a perfect get out of jail card to play. Or at least one that would keep her and her kind at bay for a while.
“Well there is no theft agent, and good luck trying to prove any of it when my lab, the clinic and all the notes and records are buried under countless tons of dirt.”
“Not all of them Doctor. Everything you do is backed up. You should know that. And we can access whatever we need. That includes your personal files as soon as we have a warrant.”
His personal files? Reginald blanched a little at that. There were no records on the main databases that could link directly back to his project or Mr. Simons. But if they could access his own personal files they would find it all.
He needed to get out of here and fast because he didn’t have a lot of time. How long did it take to get a warrant anyway? A couple of hours perhaps. He needed to get to a computer and start deleting everything he could!
“My personal files include confidential patient records. You might want to tell your lawyers that, Agent.” It was a desperate gamble, but at the least it would slow them down – he hoped. But it wouldn't stop them. But if it gave him a few extra hours then maybe that would be enough.
“I'm sure that won't be too much of a problem Doctor. But nice try.” She didn't believe him or she just didn't care. He suspected it was both.
“Now, shall we say nine o'clock.”
“Nine o'clock?” He didn't understand.
“Tomorrow morning, here in the hospital. We can arrange a private room for the formal interview. And you can of course have your lawyer present as we go over the charges. In fact I'd recommend it. Unless of course you want to save us the trouble and just confess now.” She smiled sweetly at him and he knew it was the same smile a shark wore just before it bit your arm off.
Reginald spluttered for a bit after that, trying to think of something to say and not having anything. The agent took that as a victory he gathered as she said goodbye and turned on her heels to leave. And it probably was a victory. By this time tomorrow he could already be in a cell awaiting trial. And that couldn't happen.
He had to run. He knew that even as he knew it would probably also be a mistake. The agent would be watching him. If he ran it would almost be considered an admission of guilt. But if he didn't run the government would have Mr. Simons and he would be in jail. So he had to run. He had to erase every computer file he had that could link back to Mr. Simons or incriminate him. And then he had to vanish, at least for a while. After all if he got caught he might lead them to his patient, even inadvertently. But if he stayed away for a bit – long enough for the government to stop chasing him – then that would give Mr. Simons the time he needed.
Leaving him alone seemed like a risk. But in the end the technology he'd developed was safe. And monitoring him was a luxury that could hand Mr. Simons straight over to the hands of the government. If they had him before he was ready everything could be lost. They would try to exploit him. Try to uncover the technology inside him. And worst of all try to steal the genetic material he had gifted him with. There could be no trail back to him.
Immediately after the agent had left Reginald checked out the bedside table by him, hoping that his clothes would be in it. They were. After that it was a quick matter of dressing and leaving while the other patients looked on curiously. They surely guessed what he was doing, though he doubted they would do anything about it.
But as he dressed Reginald did suddenly wonder about one thing. The agent. Wasn't she a bit old to be an agent? With that long white hair streaming down her back?
Chapter Five.
“Crud!”
Wi
ll was in the shower going through his morning ablutions when the water started ponding around his feet, and he knew that the drain had blocked. Again. The flat was old, the plumbing was worn out, and the landlord was too cheap to do anything about it. Which was why they kept a plunger in the bathroom vanity. A plunger which he knew he'd probably have to use shortly. The last time the shower drain had clogged the water had run all over the floor and sunk into the ancient wooden flooring – the landlord was too cheap to even spring for waterproof tiles on the floor. The bathroom had stunk for days. And his feet had got cold and wet every time he'd walked in.
Still, that was the price you paid for living in a cheap flat off campus. He could have lived on the Hill, but accommodation there was tight for graduate students and expensive, even for someone on a full scholarship. So a dive in Westwood was better for his finances. Unfortunately in their case it was a true dive. The landlord had taken the concept of cheap to an entirely new level, and some days he wondered if the flat was actually legally fit to live in. This was looking to be one of those days.