The part that bothered Hylton now was the fact that Lockmann didn't value himself enough. He knew that was what was eating at his staff, too. Lockmann was consistent in one detail: his persistence in putting others’ lives above his own. It made it damned hard to keep him alive.
By now, Hylton had re-checked all the floors personally, and was heading toward Lockmann's room. Geraldo and Finlay were there, looking for clues. They'd insisted on it, and Hylton knew that both of them considered they had a personal interest in Lockmann's well-being. Hell, they've never met anyone like him, Hylton thought. He could understand how they felt.
He met up with Sheryl Matthews as he neared Lockmann's room. She was furious. “I don't see how your men can joke at a time like this—” she told him irately.
Hylton listened to the uproar on the other side of the door. His brows came down, and his eyes took on a steely glint. With one hand under Sheryl's elbow, he swiftly pulled her toward the door.
* * * *
“Send this to him.”
Cole looked down at the message Lou plopped on the bench. “What does it mean?” he asked.
“It means he might run into a little competition.”
“FOCUS?”
“Yeah. Tell him one of our other facilities has been badly damaged. Therefore, he should change his focus. Distribution is a problem at this time.”
“So they're the bad guys—”
Lou Wallace grinned. “Actually, they're supposed to be good guys.”
“How cryptic,” Cole said sarcastically. “I don't get it.”
“You don't have to. But the man inside has to know that he might run into trouble. From people who might recognise him.”
After Cole had finished, he asked casually, “Which facility?”
“Never mind.” Lou Wallace crumpled the message between his fingers, as he considered what else should be said. He decided he'd better find a way to let Kerrington know about the phone call he'd just received from Hylton. He knew he'd better keep it a little ambiguous, but Kerrington had to know something big might be happening. “Tell him something else: ‘another package has been lost in transit, and may end up at his location.’ He's to ‘ship it back if it arrives.’”
“How jolly,” Cole remarked. “Should I tell him to make it postpaid?” Cole typed in the message, then fidgeted in the seat. “I've lost contact,” he remarked suddenly.
Wallace leaned over his shoulder, and asked in concern, “Can you get it back?”
Cole squirmed some more. “I don't know,” he said. “I'm trying.” He squirmed again. “No—it's definitely gone. My butt's gone bye-bye. I'll never establish contact again unless I get up out of this chair.”
Wallace looked like he wanted to punch him. Then, as Cole grinned, he burst out laughing. “Take a break, Calloway. Just do me a favour—”
Cole looked at him with raised eyebrows.
“Make it a long one.”
Cole chuckled and sauntered out of the room.
* * * *
David Geraldo and Gabe Finlay had been silent as they searched through Richard Lockmann's bedding. Neither of them felt much like talking, and the time was slipping away too fast. David kept getting this mental image of Lockmann being eviscerated by Denaro, and he wondered what they were going to do to him now. “Did you search the drawers?” he asked Finlay.
Finlay's voice had none of its usual sarcasm. He was under Lockmann's bed now. “Not yet,” he said with a sigh. “Too obvious. What do you think they'll do to him?”
“I don't want to think about it,” David replied. He didn't admit that he already had.
The top drawer was standing open, and there was a scribbled scrap of paper lying on top of the few personal items Lockmann had on him when he was shot. “I've got something—” David said.
Finlay scrambled out from under the bed so fast that he rammed his head on the frame. “Ow-w!” he complained. “What does it say?” he asked worriedly.
“It's okay,” Geraldo said, as a nearly hysterical laugh bubbled up inside him. “Rick left us a note.” He sat down on the edge of the bed, and burst out in loud guffaws. “He says, ‘I've got a few errands to run. See you soon. Don't worry.’” His eyes met Finlay's and he burst out laughing again. By the time Hylton came in, the two of them were practically rolling on the floor.
Hylton was followed by Sheryl Matthews, who was visibly distressed. David Geraldo, unable to explain, passed Steven the slip of paper. Hylton looked at it, and his expression went from appalled to disbelieving.
“Do you feel better now?” Geraldo asked him, then burst out laughing again.
Steven thought about all the manpower they'd put into keeping Lockmann alive, and the tight watch they'd kept over his sickbed. Somehow, he'd deftly avoided them all, but his conscience hadn't let him disappear without some form of reassurance. “Did you read the postscript?” he asked David.
David, tears streaming from his eyes, shook his head. “I got stuck at the ‘Don't worry.’”
“'P.S. I won't be going anywhere dangerous, so don't send out the troops’.” Steven Hylton plopped down in a chair, and burst out into hearty guffaws.
Sheryl Matthews took the note. Her face was creased in concern. “But he's barely able to walk. He could get into trouble,” she admonished—disgusted with their out-of-place humour.
“No kidding.” Steven's eyes met those of his operatives. “I just don't believe it!” he said. “The goddamned Lightning Boys strike again.” As Sheryl turned around and stomped out of the room, she could hear the resonance of Hylton's laughter echoing up the hall.
* * * *
Mark Chesner sat back in his chair and twisted the pencil once again. Samuelson was beginning to find the habit really irritating, but he hid his frown and waited impatiently for Chesner's decision.
“Anyone know why he left?”
Samuelson shook his head. “No one's saying who shot him, either. The DSO's got agents out over half the countryside, trying to find him.”
“Which will be what Lockmann expects. And make our job just that much harder.” He thought for a moment longer. “We've got photos, but they've seen him—and'll recognise things like his walk, the way he talks. It gives them an advantage.”
“Plus they'll know they're not the only ones looking. If they didn't shoot him, then whoever did will be close by to pick him up, or finish the job they started.”
Chesner was still trying to think of a way to distinguish Lockmann quickly—and easily. “Call Rasovich and see if there's some way we can use his heat signature to distinguish him.”
“It's daytime. Lots of things will be giving off heat.”
“If it doesn't work, then we'll be the first ones ready when the sun goes down. Just see what Rasovich suggests. Tell him there's a bonus in it if it works, and he'll think a whole lot harder.”
* * * *
At first he didn't get it. He read the message twice before he realised it was for him. They were warning him about the possibility of detection. Someone had attacked a DSO operation, and apparently, FOCUS was responsible.
It seemed incredible, and he wondered how Hylton was taking it. What could have possibly been worth the risk of inter-agency warfare? There was only one answer that came to mind, and he didn't like it: a mutative agent that could resolve the hunger issue for millions was something that could be capitalised on—politically, or economically. FOCUS already had most of Denaro's remains. All they needed was her living counterpart.
There must've been some casualties. Simon knew that was part of the business, but he couldn't help but wonder who they were. His gut tightened when he thought about how sick Jace was, and how likely Cole was to stick out his neck if someone tried to take Rick away. Hell, only a few weeks ago, Cole had challenged six armed men in a fit of righteous temper. Simon hoped that the “badly damaged facilities” hadn't included two of his best friends.
He didn't have much doubt about the last message. The “package lost in t
ransit” was probably about six feet tall, with crystalline green eyes. Simon just hoped they weren't being overly selective about the size of the “package", like the Cliatso people had been with Denaro. Simon would much prefer to find his friend intact.
He quickly went back to scanning the supply lists on the computer. Whoever had sent the message had suggested there might be some connection between FOCUS, and the Cliatso group. But why would FOCUS report Denaro's missing ovaries? It didn't make sense.
Unless FOCUS had an internal split over the issue. A lot of the money for Genetechnic's research had been government-issue. Nobody had said which agency had supplied it. If it was FOCUS, some of them might feel they had an investment in Denaro—and now in Richard Lockmann. An investment they'd still like to recoup, but that they couldn't justify with legitimate means. So they'd gone another route, and covered their asses.
It wouldn't be the first time. Hell, Hylton had ordered assassinations—murders—because the end justified the means. If that doesn't run counter to the court system, I don't know what does.
* * * *
Rick had never been to Eric Sterner's house, but Cole had. Even though Cole had driven Eric crazy the night of Denaro's massacre, it had forged some kind of bond between them. Now, Eric occasionally invited Cole over, whenever he realised his existence was getting too stilted. Cole's irreverent sense of humour reminded Eric that there were other people out there besides violators and victims. It had been Sterner who'd told Cole where he could get his karate and kung fu lessons.
It was easy for Rick to recognise the house. Just like Cole had said, and like neither of them had expected, Eric Sterner had a large and well-kept garden. The most surprising thing to Cole had been that Sterner did the gardening himself. Being Rick's friend was about as close as Cole ever liked getting to plants.
Still, Cole had been impressed with the garden's water features, and had bluntly asked Rick why he didn't specialise in something worthwhile, like fountains. Rick understood what he was getting at when he saw the massive stone fountain in Eric's front yard.
It's Saturday. Damn it. Sterner's car was in the driveway. Eric—or maybe his wife—or maybe both of them—were home. Rick wasn't into long explanations right now, and he doubted whether Eric had been totally honest with his bride about that little encounter with Denaro. Sterner had struck him as the reticent type, who'd keep the incredible to himself. I bet he never even mentioned that one of his friends is the world's first mutant man, Rick mused. It'd be the kind of thing to stir up doubts about honesty, and credibility. Rick knew—he played the part, and half the time, he didn't believe in himself. He chuckled at the thought, then quickly told himself he'd better shut up.
Someone was scuffing around in the garden. This is my big chance, Rick decided.
He was still riding high on the fever, and the probability of the improbable. He didn't know what he'd tell Eric, if he caught him ferreting through his stuff, but at this moment, he didn't care. He just couldn't think that far ahead right now.
At least he won't have the alarms on if he's in the yard. Rick took a vague satisfaction in the knowledge that—just like he'd out-spied the spies—he was about to out-manoeuvre the policeman. With any luck, Eric would never know he'd been there. That, Rick decided, would be the best solution. That way, Eric wouldn't get his feelings hurt—and I won't have to explain. Rick silently opened the front door, and tiptoed into the house.
He'd made it as far as the living room when Sterner came out of nowhere. Rick suddenly realised that his reflexes were working as slowly as everything else about him. He never had time to dodge the blow. In a tackle that would have done a gridiron hero proud, Eric caught him in the side, and toppled him over on to the floor.
Rick lay there, glassy-eyed, dimly aware that he couldn't get up if he wanted to. In fact, getting up was the farthest thing from his mind right now. Somewhere, deep in his chest, a burning feeling was starting. Maybe I should've had those scans Phil wanted, his brain said.
“Rick?” Eric Sterner hadn't seen him in weeks, but he'd spoken to him on the phone a few days before.
“Here,” Rick replied, as though responding to roll call.
Eric turned him over, took a look, and ran for the phone. He returned in a moment, phone in hand, then hesitated. What was Lockmann doing here? Was he looking for a place to hide? What was going on?
“I'm going to move you to the couch, Rick.” Sterner lifted him as though he weighed nothing. “You're hot as hell,” he commented. He ran into the bathroom and came back with a wet rag. He sponged the other man's face, and Lockmann shuddered. “I need to cool you down, Rick. Is there anything you can have?”
Rick shook his head. “Don't know,” he muttered.
Eric pulled one of Rick's arms out of the coat, and noticed the hospital gown underneath. He leaned back. “Am I harbouring a fugitive?” he asked, a trace of amusement in his voice. The amusement was gone an instant later when he noticed the thick wad of bandaging bulging under the hospital gown. “What happened?” he asked tersely.
“Nothing,” Rick told him stubbornly. The chilling feel of the wet rag on his skin was bringing his mind back into focus. How was he going to search out Denaro's stuff, if Eric wouldn't leave him alone? “I'm fine.” He ran his tongue over dry lips. “Though I could use some water,” he said, and realised it was the truth.
Eric remembered what Rutgers had said: if Rick said he needed water, he meant it. “Be right back.” Eric stood up, and headed quickly for the kitchen.
By the time he came back, Rick had the coat closed once more. Eric lifted an eyebrow, and Rick was reminded of Simon, in one of his “Doubting Simon” moods. Eric had to raise Rick enough to help him drink the water, and Rick frowned. How the hell am I going to do this, if I can't even sit up? he wondered. Maybe if I relax, and catch a few rays, it'll help. He'd forgotten that he'd just come in from the out-of-doors. “Maybe a little sunlight?” he suggested.
Sterner was frowning, but remembering the effect of the light on Rick's skin, he did as Rick asked. Pulling back the curtains, and pushing open the windows, he let the light fall full on the couch. “Don't you think you should take off the coat, so it can reach you?” Eric added drily, “This isn't exactly the time for modesty, if you know what I mean.”
“What about your wife?”
“At her mother's.”
Rick nodded, then struggled to get his other arm out of the coat. Seeing how weak he was, and how he was fumbling, Eric helped him, but went one step further. He pulled Rick's arm out of the hospital gown, too. “Oops!” he said caustically, as his fingers examined the bandage on Lockmann's chest. “What's this? A paper cut?” He peeled it back, and looked at the swollen area underneath. He drew in a quick gasp. “This looks bad, Rick,” he said in concern.
Rick tilted his head, so he could see some of what Sterner could. “It was almost healed this morning,” he said in surprise.
“Well, it's not healed now. What's more, it's all pussie.”
“Don't tell me what's next,” Rick said sourly. “I can guess: ‘Gosh, Rick—that looks just like a bullet wound’.”
Eric smile had an edge. “The man's psychic! I guess there's no end to your abilities.”
Rick's expression became serious. “I came for my computer, Eric. Plus anything that came with it.”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Jason's dying—of WTV—and I need Denaro's records.”
Eric's face creased in a quick expression of concern. “I'm sorry, Rick. I didn't know. Simon said not to tell anyone.”
“Well, Simon's not here right now.” His foggy brain was momentarily distracted as he wondered where Simon had gone. I haven't seen him in hours, he thought. I hope he's okay. He realised the boundaries of his world had changed. Now, whenever anyone close to him disappeared for long periods, he'd always wonder whether they were okay. Getting close to me has its downside, he decided, thinking of Jace.
Sterner
recalled him to the present. “Rick—I really think we should get you to a doctor—”
“Do that and Jason dies.” Rick didn't have much time—for either Jace or himself—and he knew it. “Set up the computer—and give me an hour.”
Rick saw the look in Eric's eyes, and he knew it was the one Sterner must wear when he was called upon to execute an unpleasant task at work. He didn't like what he was about to do, but for Rick's sake, he was about to haul his ass back to the hospital.
“Please—” Rick pleaded. “It's my fault Jason's sick. I need to do this.”
Eric frowned, then his expression wavered, and finally, he nodded. When Sterner disappeared into the other room, Rick pushed himself to his feet, and staggered along in his wake. Eric turned around and grumbled in irritation, “What the hell are you doing?”
“Watching you set up my computer,” Rick replied.
Eric turned around and pulled Rick's arm over his shoulder, to help him down the hall. “Keep going like this, and you'll be watching from the inside of a test tube, or six feet under the ground,” he grumbled. He lowered Rick into a chair, then lifted the computer, its components, and a small rucksack out of the closet.
Rick eyed the rucksack with relief. It would be typical of Simon to cushion and double-bag things, then offer a cautious warning, without actually revealing what was inside. He hoped that was the case here. Rick was reassured by the way Eric slung the bag around. If he knew what was in it, he would've been like the rest of them: refusing to touch it with anything short of a full isolation suit, and a ten-foot cattle prod. Again, as he thought of Simon, Rick knew a tremor of concern: where was he? He resolved to ask Hylton as soon as he got back.
“Rick!” Rick blinked, and he realised Eric had been talking to him. “It's ready.”
“Sorry.” Rick refused to meet Eric's eyes. Sterner had given him an hour, and he didn't want to give him the opportunity to change his mind.
He fumbled in the bag, eager to find the CD and reassure himself that the box of vials was still there. Just as Sterner bent down to help him, Rick emerged triumphantly with the CD. “Got it!” he said. He glanced apologetically at Eric. “I'm going to have to tune you out for a few minutes, so I can concentrate,” he said. “Why don't you go work in your garden?” he suggested.
Light Plays: Book Two of The Light Play Trilogy Page 15