Repairman Jack 04 - All the Rage

by F. Paul Wilson

  Why? his panicked mind screamed as his bladder threatened to empty. Who are they? What are they? And why do they want me? I've never hurt anyone. Why should anyone—?

  The hack! They couldn't be from GEM, could they?

  They carried him into the bedroom but then stopped—froze was more like it. They pinned him to the floor and held him there. They seemed to be listening. For what?

  And then Doug heard a tapping. It took him a moment to realize it was coming from down the hall. Someone was tapping on his door.

  His blood congealed into icy lumps as he heard a familiar voice call his name.

  "Doug? Doug, are you in there?"

  Nadia! Oh, sweet Jesus, it was Nadia. And she had a key. If he didn't answer she was certain to use it.

  Got to warn her!

  Hoping to catch his captors off guard, Doug suddenly began kicking and twisting, furiously tunneling all his strength into wrenching his face free of the hand sealing his mouth. Had to warn her away, to run, call 911…

  Whoever was holding his feet lost his grip on Doug's right ankle. Doug lashed out with his free foot but connected with his floor lamp instead. His foot was recaptured as the lamp hit the floor with a crash.

  Triumph turned to horror as Doug realized the noise would bring Nadia in sooner. He screamed against the muffling fingers, but only a whimper escaped. And then he felt a pair of fingers squeeze his nose and seal his nostrils.

  As Doug fought for air and struggled to hold onto consciousness, he heard Nadia calling from the far side of the door.

  "Doug? Was that you?"

  Too quickly her voice faded with his strength and awareness, and all became nothing…

  12

  "Doug, are you in there? Are you OK?"

  Nadia had arrived at his door ready to give him a piece of her mind for staying incommunicado all day, but her pique was gone now.

  Something's wrong, she thought as she clawed through her shoulder bag for her key ring.

  She found it, fumbled Doug's key into the lock, and burst in.

  But she stopped after one step. The place was completely dark.

  "Doug?"

  She found the light switch and flipped it but nothing happened. Leaving the door open so she'd have some light, Nadia walked down the short hallway to the front room. She found another wall switch and flipped that. Again, nothing.

  Strange. The power was on in the hallway but seemed to be off in Doug's apartment.

  She sniffed. What was that musty odor… like wet fur?

  Nadia jumped as a flash of lightning lit the room and thunder rattled the windows. Creepy in here. She stepped back toward the hallway and used the light there to help her find her little penlight flash. She pressed the clip and frowned at the weak glow from the bulb. The batteries were just about dead, but they'd have to do.

  She turned back toward the darkened apartment and hesitated. The smart thing would be to leave. If Doug was here, he would have answered.

  But then, why wasn't he here? It was almost midnight.

  She told herself he probably went out for a nightcap when his power failed, but she wouldn't feel right until she'd checked the apartment. And besides, she'd heard that sound, like something or someone falling. What if he'd tripped in the dark and hurt himself?

  "If you're all right, Doug…" she muttered as she moved down the hall. "If you're perfectly fine and out enjoying yourself while I'm a worried wreck here searching your pitch-black apartment, I'm going to kill you."

  She flashed the penlight's dim beam around the front room and found nothing out of place. Same with the second bedroom he used as an office. Odd to see his computer dark and dead. He hardly ever turned it off.

  Nadia felt some of her prior annoyance creeping back as the penlight beam came to rest on Doug's phone. The least he could have done was check his voice mail before he went out. She idly lifted the receiver and put it to her ear.

  Dead. That was odd.

  Last stop was Doug's bedroom. The bed was unmade, but that was the rule rather than the exception, and everything looked pretty much the same as ever. Then what had made that noise? And why this deep cold apprehension gnawing through her? Why this vague feeling that she wasn't alone here?

  Nadia moved toward the closet in his bedroom and had her hand on the doorknob when her penlight died. That does it, she thought with a sudden stab of plain old fear as another flash of lightning blazed through the bedroom window, casting weird shadows into the corners. I'm outta here.

  But first… she moved back to the blessed light of the hallway and scribbled on the pad of sticky notes she kept in her bag: v

  Doug—

  I was here. Where was you?

  Call me as soon as you get in.

  Love.

  N.

  Nadia hurried to Doug's office, stuck the note to his monitor screen, then dashed back to the hall. As she closed the door and locked the bolt, she was plagued by the strange sensation that she'd missed something in there, something important.

  MEMORIAL DAY

  1

  Nadia snatched up the phone on the first ring. "Doug?"

  A heartbeat or two of silence on the other end. A throat cleared and then a familiar voice came over the wire, but not Doug's.

  "This is Dr. Monnet."

  "Oh. Dr. Monnet… good morning."

  Nadia leaned back on her mother's old sofa, straining to hide the crushing disappointment. She'd been trying Doug's number for hours—before she'd left for the clinic, and while she'd been at the clinic—but yesterday's busy signals had been replaced by a robotic voice telling her that the line was out of service.

  "Good morning," he said. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."

  "Not at all. I just got back from the clinic."

  I just wish you were someone else.

  "Such devotion."

  "Well, as we both know, diabetes doesn't recognize national holidays."

  "How true." He cleared his throat. "I was wondering if you were going to be in the lab today."

  "I hadn't planned on it."

  Actually she had, but only to remove the Berzerk from the imager's sample chamber. After that she might never go back, at least not until she had a good explanation as to why the inert form of a street drug matched the inert form of a molecule she'd been assigned to stabilize.

  And then an alarming thought struck her. "Are you there now?"

  "Yes. I stopped by. I thought if you were here we might discuss your progress."

  Her heart fluttered in panic. She'd never dreamed Dr. Moanet would be there on Memorial Day. Should she run over? No. She couldn't go. Not until she contacted Doug and was sure he was all right.

  "I… I have other plans."

  "Oh. I see. Excuse me but did you…?" His voice seemed to falter. "Did you say, 'Doug,' when you picked up?"

  Yes… Doug. A pang of longing seized her. Where are you?

  And now, after giving Dr. Monnet a lengthy cock-and-bull story Saturday about how they were just acquaintances, how was she going to explain this?

  "Yes. He, um, asked me out to dinner last night and never showed up. And now his phone is out of service. I'm worried."

  "Because he's an old friend."

  Nadia wasn't sure if that was a statement or a question. Either way, Dr. Monnet's voice was rich with concern.

  "Yes," she said. "I'm going over there to check on him personally."

  "Do you really think that's wise?"

  An odd question. "What do you mean?"

  "I'll meet you there."

  "No. That's not at all necessary. Besides, he's all the way over in DUMBO."

  "DUMBO?"

  "Yes. It's in Brooklyn—Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass."

  "That doesn't matter. Douglas Gleason is a valued employee. I insist. Give me his address."

  Nadia didn't know what else to do. She gave him the address and he said he would meet her there.

  This strange turn baffled Nadia, but at le
ast Dr. Monnet would be leaving the lab. He hadn't mentioned the Berzerk in the imager, which meant he hadn't looked. Sometime today she had to get back there and clean up.

  But Doug came first…Her worry for him blotted out all other concerns.

  2

  Luc stood outside the brick-faced apartment building on Water Street, one of many along the block. He looked up at the blue underbelly of the Manhattan Bridge; he could hear the traffic rumbling across. An odd place to hve, but he supposed one had to live somewhere. Perhaps the view of the city at night made it worthwhile.

  He'd already been up to Gleason's apartment. He'd knocked and tried the door, but it was locked. Too bad. He was hardly eager to see Gleason's corpse, but if he'd been able to get in, he at least could have found the body himself, sparing Nadia the trauma.

  Luc had told Prather he wanted Gleason handled differently this time. Macintosh had simply disappeared—bought a round-trip ticket to Chicago and never came back. He'd had no close friends, and when his family came looking, no one had any useful information, least of all his puzzled and concerned employers.

  Gleason, on the other hand, was anything but a loner. And having a second GEM employee simply vanish—especially one with friends on the sales force, connections to dozens of doctors and their staffs, and a longtime relationship with Nadia—would make too many waves. It might even raise an official eyebrow, prompting an investigation into the whereabouts of both men. The last thing Luc wanted.

  So Prather had been instructed to make Gleason's death look like a botched robbery. Very tragic and very final. And to cover all bases, Luc had requested a little vandalism as well—specifically, the theft of Gleason's company laptop and the destruction of his home computer if he had one.

  That was why he'd insisted on meeting Nadia here—to help minimize the trauma of her finding an old friend dead. Even so, she wasn't going to be much use as a researcher for the next few days.

  And every single day counted, damn it!

  Luc paced the sidewalk. He wanted to see Nadia face-to-face. He'd experienced a moment of panic this morning when he'd checked the office and learned that she hadn't signed in. Was it because of the holiday or fatigue, or something else? He needed to look into her eyes. He'd know in an instant if she suspected him of being connected to Berzerk.

  A cab pulled into the curb and Nadia alighted. Her face was drawn, pale. She looked worried.

  "Good morning," Luc said.

  She nodded. "I hope it is," she said. "You really didn't have to—"

  "Let's not discuss that anymore," he told her. "I am here. What floor is Douglas on?"

  "Top floor—the tenth."

  At that moment she looked squarely at him and he saw no sign of fear or distrust, only concern—not for or about him but for her missing friend.

  Deep concern. Warning prickles raced along his scalp and gathered at the back of his neck. Too deep perhaps for someone she'd described as "just a friend of the family"?

  "How will we get into his apartment?"

  "I have a key," she said, moving ahead of him.

  As Luc followed her to the elevator, a lump in his gut told him that there had to be more to this relationship than Nadia had let on.

  At Gleason's door he hid his unease and waited as Nadia knocked and called. Finally, when she inserted her key in the lock, he acted.

  "Allow me," he said, gripping the doorknob as the bolt snapped back. "Just in case."

  "In case of what?" she said, blanching.

  "Something may not be right here."

  He pushed the door open and went in first, Nadia right behind him. A few steps took him down the short entry hall until he could see the overturned furniture in the living room. He turned quickly and gripped her upper arms to keep her from coming any farther.

  "Wait. Don't go in there. Something's happened."

  "What?" Her eyes went wide and wild as she tore loose and fought past him. "What do you mean?"

  Luc followed and almost plowed into her as she skidded to a stop on the living room threshold. The couch lay tipped over onto its back, a coffee table was flush against the opposite wall, and a floor lamp lay on the floor.

  "Ohmigod!" she cried, hands to her mouth. "Ohmigod!"

  Her shoulder bag tumbled to the floor as she darted off in another direction, moving deeper into the apartment, Luc at her heels. No stopping her. As she turned left into what looked like a bedroom, Luc wheeled right and found a room that looked like an office. As he heard doors slamming in the other room and then in the hallway, he noted briefly with satisfaction that the desktop computer's mini tower had been ripped apart, its contents strewn about the room. The hard drive lay bent and cracked open, damaged beyond repair.

  As he turned to go, Nadia appeared and they almost collided. She must have found Gleason because she looked as if she were about to faint. He gripped her arm to support her.

  "He's not here!" she gasped, panting as if she'd run a marathon. "I checked his bedroom and the kitchen and the bathroom and the closets but he's not here!"

  Not here? He had to be here!

  "Ohmigod!" she cried, lurching past Luc. "Look what they did to his computer! It wasn't like this last night! Jesus God, where is he? What happened here?"

  That was what Luc wanted to know. Gleason was supposed to die here, not somewhere else. Or—his heart seized for an instant as a thought struck with the weight of a sledge—had Prather's men missed him?

  Luc guided Nadia to a chair and helped her as she sagged into it. "It looks like just a robbery and maybe some vandalism."

  "I don't see his laptop," she said, looking around. "And his living room rug is gone. Does that make any sense?"

  It did if Prather's men needed a way to remove Gleason's body. But they were not supposed to remove it.

  "No, it doesn't," he told her. "But you didn't see any blood, did you?"

  He wanted her to say, Yes, oceans of it, but she shook her head.

  He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "There. He's probably away for the weekend with—"

  "He's not!" she said. Tears were sliding down her cheeks. "He would have told me!"

  "Come now," Luc said. "Surely he has other friends. He probably—"

  "We're engaged, damn it!"

  Luc felt his knees go soft. Now he too needed to sit. "Engaged? But… but I thought…"

  "Doug wanted to keep it secret. He had some idea that management might not approve of a close relationship between a sales rep and a researcher."

  Gleason had been right, of course. Luc tried to frame a reply, but the only words that formed in his reeling brain were, What have we done? What have we done ... ?

  With her fiance missing she'll be utterly useless in the lab—and not just for a couple of days.

  That's it, then, he thought. Over. Done. Fin.

  "I've got to call the police!"

  Before Luc could stop her, she had the phone receiver to her ear—but only for an instant. She pulled it away and looked at it. "That's right. I forgot. Out of service."

  She slammed it down and hurried from the room. Luc struggled to think of some way to stop her, some words that would convince her to hold off calling the police, but his mind was a blank. What could he say? Gleason was missing and his apartment showed unmistakable signs of foul play.

  Nadia and the police… a potentially lethal combination. To determine who had broken in, she would have to ask why ... and why they had stolen one computer and smashed another. Luc had to assume that Gleason had told her about his invasion of the GEM computer system. Would she make a connection? Nadia was too bright not to. And she would tell the police. And if she had any suspicions that Loki was a street drug, Luc sensed she would bring up those as well. And then the New York City Police and the DEA and the FBI would be dissecting GEM, and issuing warrants, and ending life as he knew it.

  When Nadia returned seconds later, pulling a cell phone from her bag, he was tempted to snatch it away—but then what? Strangle h
er? He thought of putting his hands around her throat and squeezing… watching her face mottle into blue.

  No, he couldn't. And besides, a third missing GEM employee would guarantee an investigation. Nadia was as much a danger to him alive as dead.

  His gut crawled as he watched her punch in 9-1-1. She paced back and forth as she waited for an answer, then wandered out of the room as she began talking to the operator or dispatcher or whoever handled those calls.

  This tore it then. It was all over. He'd have to leave the country immediately. But what about his wine? He needed another two days to pack up the rest and ship it out—just one day if he worked all night…

  But what was the use? In France he could hide from Dragovic but not from the U.S. and French governments. He would be found, extradited, and Dragovic's contacts in prison would see to it that he never reached a courtroom.

  There had to be a way to stop her. But how?

  His nervous, restless, roving gaze came to rest on Nadia's shoulder bag and a plan crystallized. It was beautiful, perfect.

  Quickly Luc reached into the bag and rummaged around. He felt a sweat break at the thought of Nadia wandering back and finding him up to his elbows in her personal belongings. He heard a jangle, reached for it, came up with her key ring, and shoved it into his jacket pocket a second before Nadia stepped back into the room.

  "They're sending someone over."

  She dropped the phone into her bag and stood there. For a moment she seemed lost; then her features twisted. She covered her face with her hands and began to sob.

  "Where is he? Something's happened to him. I just know something terrible's happened!"

  Moved by her anguish, Luc rose and put an arm around her shoulders. For a moment he regretted everything, then reminded himself that if Gleason had minded his own damn business, if he'd just kept his nose out of places it did not belong, Luc wouldn't be comforting this young woman while he planned her ruin.

  "It'll be all right, Nadia. I know it will be all right."

  And he meant that. Every word of it.

  But for him, not her.