Light Plays: Book Two of The Light Play Trilogy
Page 11
Hylton gritted his teeth, even as he forced a smooth smile. One of the perks of his job was that he was never required to explain himself, except to his supervisors. He found it incredibly irritating that everyone—from Kerrington to Geraldo to Lockmann himself—was questioning his authority. “That and some incredibly fancy footwork I saw Calloway do on Genetechnic's Internal Security System. Where's Lockmann now?”
“Level two. With Rickardson and Geiller.”
“Tell him I need to talk to him. I'm shifting Stratton to Altgrove. That should encourage him to come along.”
“There's going to be fireworks.” Geraldo was thinking about Kerrington's reaction when he found out.
“Better fireworks than gunshots. Lockmann's worth more alive, but I could lose a helluva lot of staff trying to keep him that way. I think he'll co-operate. To a point.”
* * * *
Nothing in their reports had warned them. He was fast—faster than anyone they'd ever seen. Before they'd injected even half the dextrose, he'd pulled away—and was halfway down the hall.
It had been a calculated risk. He was worth a lot more alive than dead, but they needed to subdue him in some way that couldn't be traced, and their consultant didn't have any idea what a sedative might do to him. He was so closely watched that the only way to optimise their chances was to find a quick way to disable him. Even if their initial attempt failed, they'd have another chance once Lockmann succumbed to the surplus sugar in his system, and was stuck in a hospital bed.
Their problem had been to find a way to disable him, in a manner that would also prevent him from talking. Blows to the head or any other kind of injury was out—not only would they take the chance on damaging him, but if they failed, his watchdogs would only increase in numbers. So it had to be done in such a way that he couldn't talk—and which wouldn't be all that unusual, given his metabolism. Their consultant had opted for dextrose. For a few hours, anyway, Lockmann would be in no position to tell them how he'd come by his little sugar rush.
According to their information, Lockmann had been subject to frequent, severe, and recurrent bouts of hyperglycaemic shock. That meant the staff would be prepared, and it was unlikely Lockmann would die. Dextrose had seemed like an obvious solution: it was easy to obtain, and easy to dispose of in a hospital situation. If their sources were right, it would have an almost instantaneous knockdown effect on Lockmann, like insect spray on a blowfly.
* * * *
Rick didn't know exactly what they'd given him, but he could guess from the way he was starting to feel. He knew there was only one place he'd be safe—only one place where they wouldn't dare to follow him, but where Hylton would be sure to find him. He punched the elevator button, then dodged toward an adjacent room. He ignored the nausea in his gut, and the blackness beginning to filter at the edges of his vision. His heart was beginning to pump irregularly now, too, and the adrenaline pumping through his system wasn't helping.
He slammed through the door, lurched across the room, and headed for the bathroom. He knew from experience that the rooms on this floor shared a toilet, and he yanked the emergency cord for the nurse before he pushed through to the neighbouring room. He heard Rickardson's voice behind him, then the first of the shots rang out. Rickardson was trying to buy him some time. Rick wobbled across the room and out the far door.
Geiller was there, waiting. "Move it!" he yelled. He pushed Rick to one side, out of the doorway, then crumpled as a bullet caught him in the leg. Rick turned back to help him. "Run!" Geiller screamed.
The elevator doors were starting to slide closed. Rick swivelled and headed for the narrowing gap.
The elevator wasn't empty. Julie, a nurse he'd met in ICU, pushed the open door button when she saw him coming. She was taking a hell of a chance, and Rick could see the terror in her eyes. He also saw the man with the gun line her up in his sites. She cowered back in the corner.
No witnesses. Rickardson was probably already dead, and Geiller didn't have a chance. Any more than Julie did. Rick turned toward the stranger in the white coat, and looked him in the eye.
The man met his gaze and Rick knew what he was thinking: he was guessing that Rick was trying to exchange his freedom for these others’ lives. Surrendering in order to barter for their existence.
What he didn't know was that Rick had recently met others like him. Strangers who killed because it was worth the price of a month's wages—who bedded the devil because after you'd done it once, it was just another fuck. It wasn't going to stop with his capture. When they were through, there'd be no one left to tell the story. Instead of the black that had been filtering his vision, Rick suddenly saw red.
Rick was already in motion when the second man came out of the room. Geiller was yelling something but he couldn't hear it over Julie's screams and the sound of gunshots. Something hit him hard, in the chest, and he didn't even know what it was. In the next second he had both guns in his hands.
He pushed against the man in front, who toppled over onto the guy in back. Rick shoved a gun into Geiller's hand, then grabbed his shirt collar and yanked him backwards, toward the open doors of the elevator. "Get out of here!" Geiller kept yelling, but Rick ignored him. Rick dragged him through the opening, and dropped him onto Julie's lap. The doors slid closed.
* * * *
There was a pounding of feet in the corridor, and Jamaal burst through the door. At the same time, Hylton's phone began to ring.
“Rickardson's dead, and I can't find Geiller—”
"Shit!" Hylton sprang to his feet. “Find Lockmann!"
Geraldo and Jamaal raced out the door. Hylton was right behind them.
It was Finlay on the phone. “There's blood all over the floor on two,” he began.
Hylton interrupted. “Any sign of Lockmann?”
“No, but earlier someone saw two doctors pushing an empty gurney. No one seems to know who they were.”
“That means Rick might still be in the area. Cover all the exits, and make sure there's a senior staff member at each. Watch for any strangers. Use force as warranted.”
* * * *
“Seven,” Rick mumbled.
Julie, still stunned, pushed the button.
“Rick!” Geiller was saying. “Sit down! You're hit—”
At the seventh floor, Rick stumbled out. “Tell Hylton I'm with Jace,” he said. He looked at them dully, turned, and headed down the corridor, using the railing for support. The doors slid closed.
* * * *
Denis Rodrigal was with Stratton when a cellphone rang in the room next door. At the same time, someone blipped his beeper. Denis took another look at Jason, then headed out of the room.
Stipley was there. He waited impatiently while Rodrigal disrobed. Then he pulled him away from the door, where Stratton couldn't overhear them. “We've got a situation, Doc,” he said anxiously. “One man's dead, and another one's missing.”
“Where's Rick?”
Stipley shook his head. “No one knows. But everyone else has been ordered downstairs, to watch the exits.” He pulled out his gun. “Hylton wants to see you. On two. Just watch your step.” Rodrigal nodded and went cautiously out the door. Stipley pulled a chair over by the entrance to Stratton's room, and sat down, eyes fixed on the door Rodrigal had just exited.
Denis rounded the corner, and almost jumped out of his skin. A man was standing halfway down the hall, both hands braced on the railing. His head was bowed; his forehead leaning on the wall.
“Are you okay?” Denis started to say, and then he realised who it was.
Rick hadn't heard him coming. Startled, he twisted, and backed away.
Denis suddenly saw the spreading stain on the front of Rick's shirt. “Rick!”
“Denis!” Rick whispered, relieved. He gave a small, crooked smile. “They gave me something,” he said, as he dropped to his knees. “I think it was sugar—” His eyes rolled up in his head, and he toppled over on to the floor.
* * * *
Jamaal handed Hylton the phone. “Rodrigal's with Lockmann now. He's already called up a code blue. Lockmann's on his way to surgery. He says if you want to save him, you'd better fly in the best chest man you can find.”
* * * *
“Hi, Denis,” Jason remarked groggily. “Where is everybody?”
Rodrigal knew he was referring to Rick, and was deliberately vague. “Hylton's a slave driver. He has everyone doing double duty.”
“Where's Rick?” Rick had stayed there most of the time since Jason had been admitted. He'd spent hours at his bedside, helping him while away the time. Even when it had included Rick's almost relentless, restless pacing, Jace had been glad to have him there.
“He had work today,” Denis lied. “How's the headache?”
“Like a bunch of coal miners pick-axing my brain,” Jace admitted. “What's the prognosis?”
“I'll let you know as soon as we run these samples.”
Jace gripped his arm. “Will I mutate?”
“None of your tests so far indicate that anything other than virus has been transmitted.”
Jason's arm dropped. “You'll let me know if it changes?” he asked with a yawn.
“Right away,” Denis assured him.
Jason's eyes focused on him briefly. “You'd tell me—if there was anything wrong with Rick, wouldn't you?”
Denis forced a smile. “Of course.”
“Then tell the dumbass to get his butt in here as soon as he gets off work. Okay?”
Denis went in the next room and took off his gear. His hands were shaking, and he could see that Jamaal looked as grim as he felt.
“Got a cigarette?” Denis asked him.
“How about a cigar?”
Denis nodded, and rolled it around between his fingers. “I don't feel much like celebrating.”
“He got to you, too, didn't he?”
“He's a helluva nice guy.”
“He took that bullet saving Geiller. Did you know that?”
Rodrigal nodded. “Saved a nurse, too.”
“Geiller's so grateful he's willing to give the guy a lung, if he needs it. Is he going to make it?”
Denis shook his head. “I don't know. He'd lost a lot of blood by the time I found him. We stopped the bleeding, but he'd arrested three times by the time we were through. The bullet's gonna stay there until he's more stable.”
“If he needs blood—”
Denis smiled. “You, most of your co-workers, and half the hospital staff have offered. Your boss is having a shitty because so many people know what's happened. Don't let him know I told you, but Hylton's offered his juices, too.” His smile faded. “Rick just can't tolerate good, old-fashioned, untainted blood.”
“What about someone like Rutgers? Who's had the virus?”
Denis shook his head. “We tried. The only thing he's tolerating right now is water.”
“What about the lights? Did you try that? It worked before—”
“We don't dare. Once he's stable, and they're able to do the surgery, they'll put the lights on him in recovery. At this point, the sugar output would put such a high demand on his depleted blood supply that he'd probably die of hyperglycaemic shock, or renal failure.”
“Shit.”
Denis chewed the end of the cigar. “I think ‘shit’ just about sums up our options.”
* * * *
“We got ‘em!” Finlay said. The way he said it told Hylton he was out for blood.
“Who do they work for?”
“You're never gonna believe this—”
“Try me.”
“One of them says they were sent by FOCUS.”
* * * *
“You can't risk moving him.” Rutgers was firm. “His system's extremely sensitive to even minor light changes. With the best of intentions, you could trigger a response that might easily be fatal. Besides, there's no guarantee that movement won't make him start bleeding again.”
“He won't tolerate any more blood loss,” Berhoeven added his opinion to Rutgers’. “If we have to resuscitate him again, it'll probably be a wasted gesture. He'll bleed to death first.”
“Well, that's that.” Steven Hylton sighed. “He stays here. For the time being, anyway. When can you take out the bullet?”
“When he's stable,” Berhoeven replied.
Steven waited a moment, then when nothing more was forthcoming, he asked, “When will that be?”
“Since I'm not familiar with Mr. Lockmann's physiology,” and the way Berhoeven said it made it sound like he'd never seen anything so strange in his life, “we'll have to rely on Dr. Rutgers’ assessment.”
“Let's just hope that Rick's healing ability is still working on a par with his sugar production,” Rutgers replied.
“He's awake,” the nurse told them.
Phillip Rutgers smiled. “Gentlemen, we may not be as handicapped as we think.”
* * * *
The first thing Rick noticed was that the room was full of flowers. His crystalline eyes scanned his surroundings, and finally landed on Phillip Rutgers. “Hi, Phil.”
“Hi, yourself. How are you, Rick?”
“Exhausted. It's a weird feeling.”
“I'll bet. Do you remember what happened?”
“Sugar overload?”
“That's part of it. You took a bullet in the chest.”
Rick looked genuinely surprised. “Ouch. How am I?”
“A lot better now than fifteen minutes ago. There's someone I want you to meet. This is Paul Berhoeven. He's going to do some repair work on you.”
Rick started to reach up his hand, grimaced, and nodded instead. “If I thank you now, will that help you do a better job?”
Berhoeven grinned. “Nothing like a large dose of guilt to keep me on my toes.” He watched the monitor for a moment. “Relax for a minute, while I check your blood pressure.”
“Hi, Steven. How's Jace?”
“Stable. Rodrigal's running his blood work now.”
“What about Geiller? And Rickardson?”
“Rickardson didn't make it. But Geiller's your new best friend.”
“Sorry about Rickardson.” Rick tried to lift slightly, to meet Hylton's eyes, and felt a firm hand on his shoulder.
“No, Rick,” Rutgers told him.
“I don't think I could if I wanted to.” Rick sounded surprised. He glanced around the room once more. “Nice bunch of Dianthus and Amaryllis.”
Hylton looked blank.
“The flowers. Thanks.”
Hylton cleared his throat. He didn't know where his next words came from, but the action scenes of Denaro had somehow made him vulnerable—and dredged up ugly memories. Whatever the reason, he couldn't forget that this was the man who'd saved his life—all of their lives—such a short time ago. The words just seemed to tumble out. “I don't think I've ever thanked you—for that night at Genetechnic.”
“Watch it—” Berhoeven warned. He was watching the monitor. At the mention of Genetechnic, Lockmann's heart rate had speeded up.
Rick was looking tired. In all the weeks Steven Hylton had known him, he'd never seen the man look so worn. Even in a diabetic coma, Lockmann had always looked like he had only to open his eyes to be on his way. For the first time, Hylton felt a very real feeling of concern tighten his chest. He suddenly realised he didn't want Lockmann to die—and it had nothing to do with his value or his usefulness.
“No problem,” Rick told him. He wriggled his fingers at the flowers. “Can you send some of them up to Jace? His room was pretty bare.”
Hylton nodded. “Right away.”
“Don't tell him,” Rick said. “About this. Only worry him.”
“Rodrigal told him you were at work.”
Rick nodded. “Can't stay awake,” he said, yawning. His
eyes drifted closed. “Sorry—”
Hylton grabbed Rutgers’ arm and tugged him out of the room. “Is he okay?” he asked urgently. “I've never seen him like this.”
“Better get a grip, Steven. If I didn't know better, I'd say you cared what happened to him.” Phillip Rutgers said sarcastically. “What happened to ‘preserving your specimen’?”
Steven Hylton gave a wry smile. “He got all too human for my comfort,” Steven replied. “Let me know if there's anything else I can do.”
For the first time, Phillip gave him a genuine smile. “Right away,” he said. As he went back into the room, he muttered, “Well, what do you know? The worm has turned.”
Andy Berhoeven looked at him strangely, then went back to adjusting the flow of vitamins and minerals being fed into Rick's IV. “Are you sure about this?” he asked Phillip. “Seems an odd combination to me.”
“Trust me. Lockmann did most of the groundwork himself.” Phillip grinned. “You might say he has a certain expertise in plant physiology.”
* * * *
“It's a fucked-up situation all the way around,” Hylton told his staff. “If they were telling the truth, then we're running head to butt with our associates.” He ran a worried hand through his hair. “Resources and power base to match our own.”
“They had Denaro. Wasn't it enough?”
“Apparently not. Denaro's death, and there are entire armouries of death lying around unused right now. Lockmann represents a chance at life—for millions. He's worth more than a thousand Denaros.”
“I thought she had the gene sequences, too.”
“Yeah, but they're all tangled up with some very nasty virus particles. FOCUS must have decided it wasn't worth the effort.”
“What about Stratton?”
“Like Rutgers. No genetic effects. Just the virus.”
“How's he doing?”
“Not good. Rodrigal thinks the virus is affecting his brain.”
“Tumours?”
Hylton looked unhappy. “Yeah. Rodrigal has ordered everyone with any exposure to get a shot of antiserum. Stop by and see him upstairs. The best thing we have going is that Rick's much more valuable alive than dead. That makes it unlikely anyone will try to move him—yet.”