The Select

by F. Paul Wilson

  But Women's Country was different. The broads had formed an enclave of first-, second-, third- and fourth-year students there, which made it almost impossible to find a time when everybody was out.

  Except dinner time. Hardly anybody on campus missed dinner.

  This was Verran's third trip over here today. On both his previous ones he'd found girls wandering about. This time the place would be empty. Had to be. He did not want to come back again.

  He had his walkie-talkie on his hip and Kurt watching the elevators over at Science, ready to let him know as soon as the Cleary girl left the building. She'd probably go straight to the caf but Verran was not taking any chances. As soon as he got word that she was leaving Science, he'd be outta here.

  Watching the dorm door, he saw a couple more of the broads leave and decided to make his move.

  The hallway in Broads' Country looked deserted. He checked the walkie-talkie to make sure it was on. No word from Kurt, so that meant the Cleary girl was still up on Fifth. He checked up and down the hall to make sure no one could see him, then used the master key to let himself into 252.

  He was glad he didn't have to turn on the lights. You never knew who might notice. He had his flashlight and the sunset was glowing through the window of the bedroom, where the problem mike was located. Plenty of light.

  *

  Quinn looked up from the computer screen at her new work station and glanced at the clock. Dinner time already. Time to hang it up.

  She rubbed her eyes. Dr. Emerson hadn't exaggerated about how mundane the nitty gritty would be. Alice had set her in front of a computer, shown her how the data-entry end of the program worked, then she'd given her a ream of readings from the analytical lab next door and set her to work.

  Not the least bit exciting, and hardly medical or even scientific. Nothing more than keyboard pounding. She'd been discouraged at first, but Dr. Emerson had forewarned her that this sort of scut work would be part of her duties, and that this was a good way to get herself familiarized with the doings in his little department. Once the data entry was caught up, he would involve her in the analysis of that data and, if all went well, she might even earn herself a credit on one or two of the scientific articles these mountains of numbers were going to generate.

  Dr. Emerson had left the department a little while ago and Alice now was on her way out. She showed Quinn how to do a final SAVE on her work and sign off her console. She left while Quinn straightened up her work area. When she had everything looking reasonably neat, she headed for the elevator.

  On her way down the hall she noticed that the curtains were drawn across the Ward C window. She was almost glad she didn't have to see those poor souls again.

  When she got to the elevators she saw that the floor indicator showed both cars on the lobby level. There was a slot next to the call button. She slipped her card in and pressed the button a couple of times, but neither light moved off its L. She noticed the EXIT sign over the stairway door a short way down the hall.

  Why not? She'd spent most of the day sitting in lecture halls, perched over her microscope, or in front of that computer. Her legs could use a good stretch.

  At the door she found a little red light and a card slot in the lock assembly. She plugged in the card, the light turned green, and the door opened. She noticed a similar assembly on the other side. Seemed you couldn't get on or off the fifth floor unless you had a card. Seemed a little excessive. God, what if there was a fire?

  A few minutes of bounding down the flights and she reached the first floor. The stair door opened into a hall around a corner from the lobby. She started to round that corner when she noticed the red steel door of a side exit. Going out this end, she realized, would save her a lot of steps. But as she approached it she saw the standard warnings:

  THIS IS NOT AN EXIT

  ALARM WILL SOUND IF OPENED

  But she also noticed a familiar slot in the door's lock assembly, identical to the one on the fifth floor door. The little light was red. Quinn wondered...

  She stepped up and slipped her security card into the slot. The lock clicked and the light turned green.

  She grinned. "Yes!"

  She let herself out and saw another slot and indicator lamp on the outside. She could enter here as well as exit. All right. Her little key card was going to come in very handy, especially in bad weather.

  She turned and paused for a moment in the mild October air to take in the orange glow of the sunset. Beautiful. She was hungry but she felt grubby. She decided to made a quick trip back to the room to freshen up before dinner.

  It would take only a couple of minutes.

  *

  Verran palmed the defective Electret mike and withdrew its replacement from his coat pocket; he stuck the new one's pin into the same hole in the insulation of the wire just occupied by its predecessor.

  "Piece of cake," he said softly.

  He was checking the bedroom to make sure it looked untouched when he heard a rustle in the hall on the far side of the door. He froze. Who the hell—?

  And then he heard the key slipping into the lock. He dove for the floor on the far side of the bed near the window and lay there, holding his breath, sweating. The door opened and the light came on in the front room. Then the overhead in the bedroom. Its glare hit him like a kick in the head. He winced.

  Shit! Why hadn't Kurt called? That son of a bitch! Probably admiring his reflection in the glass door when he should have been watching the elevator. Verran vowed to kick his preening butt when he got back.

  But what about now? He was going to get caught for sure. He resigned himself to that. But what the hell was he going to say?

  The bed moved as something bounced on it. Not heavy enough for a person. Books? Christ, this was it. He could feel it coming. He was going to look like an ass. He tried thinking of some sort of explanation. He had a flashlight—he could say he was looking for something. But even if he came up with a remotely plausible story, it still would be all over campus before morning: Chief Verran found huddling on the floor of a female student's room. Tightass Alston would have a field day. He'd never live it down.

  Fucking Kurt ought to be fired for this. Except he knew too much. Well, he'd see to it that Kurt never screwed up again.

  But now...now he clenched his teeth and waited for the scream that would—

  A door closed. Water started running in the bathroom.

  Hope burst in Verran's chest like a flare.

  He risked popping his head up and checking the room. Empty. She was in the john. He didn't hesitate. He jumped up and hurried toward the front room, gliding his feet. He made it to the door, grabbed the handle, gave it a slow, careful twist, then slipped through and into the hall. He closed it very slowly, very carefully behind him, letting the latch catch with a barely audible click.

  Panting, sweating, his heart pounding at two hundred miles an hour, Verran checked out the hall. Empty. He hurried toward the exit, his sweaty palms enclosed in fists.

  Goddam fucking Kurt.

  MONITORING

  "She didn't come by me, Lou. I was watching the whole time and I swear she never stepped out of those elevators."

  Verran stared at Kurt. They were facing off in the center of the control room. Elliot was at his console, munching a sandwich, trying to make like a chameleon and blend in with the background. Kurt was awful convincing with his hurt eyes and whiny voice. If Verran himself hadn't been in room 252 a few moments ago, he'd be ready to believe him. A first-class performance.

  "Then who was it who came into Cleary's room, dropped their books on the bed, and went into the bathroom? Little Red Riding Hood? The Tooth Fairy?"

  "Maybe. But it wasn't the Cleary broad, I'll tell you that. I never left the security station for a fucking minute. Not even to take a leak."

  "Oh, I believe you were there, all right. But you were too busy admiring yourself in some piece of glass to notice her when she passed by."

  "Not fair, Lou
."

  "Admit it, Kurt. You fucked up. And I'm warning you now, one more screw up and you're out on your ass."

  "Bullshit. I'm not taking the rap for something I didn't do. Especially since you never forget, Lou."

  That last part was true, at least. He did have a tendency to carry a grudge. And why not? Guy screws up and damn near makes him look like an ass and he should just say, What the hell, shit happens? No way. He wanted to grab a handful of Kurt's perfect blond hair, rip it out, and feed it to him.

  "Then how did she get past you, Kurt? Fly out a fifth floor window? Answer me that or—"

  "Wait a sec," Kurt said. "I'll prove it to you." He fairly leapt to his console and began typing furiously.

  "What now?"

  "The locks. We issued her a key, right? Let's see where she used it."

  Verran stood over Kurt's shoulder and peered at his screen. The electronic locks in Science weren't just for show. They were linked to this control room, not merely for security, but for monitoring as well. The system kept an ongoing record of each time one of the locks was opened, not only of the time and location, but whose key was used.

  He watched as Kurt called up a list of current key holders, highlighted Cleary's number, then plugged it into an activity search with today's date.

  The console beeped, and when the results popped up on the screen Kurt slammed his palm on the counter.

  "There! What I tell you?" He sprang from his chair and pointed. "What I fucking tell you?"

  Verran stared at the screen. It listed three locations where Cleary had used her key today. The first was the fifth floor access slot in the elevator at 3:12 p.m.; the second the fifth floor west stairwell door; the third the fire door on Science's west flank at 5:16.

  Shit. It hadn't been Kurt at all. The bitch had gone out the fire door.

  So now what? Verran felt like a jerk.

  Only one thing to do: Pull a Swann.

  Good old Ed Swann had been Verran's direct superior at the Company. Back in the Iran hostage days, he'd chewed Verran up and down for following the wrong Syrian Embassy car around D.C. all day. But when it was discovered that he'd given Verran the wrong license plate number, what did Swann do?

  He turned to Verran and offered his hand.

  Which is just what Verran did now.

  "My apologies, Kurt," he said, keeping any hint of sheepishness from his tone. "She fooled us both. I shouldn't have jumped on you like that. I'm sorry."

  Kurt stared at him in shock for a few seconds, then shook his hand.

  "Yeah...okay, Lou," he said, completely disarmed. "I guess if places were reversed I probably would have thought you'd screwed up too."

  Verran smiled—inwardly as well as outwardly. Kurt had been poised to jump all over him, but Verran had rocked him back on his heels with a matter-of-fact apology. The tactic had worked for Swann, and it still worked like a charm. Kurt had gained the high ground, but the apology made Verran look like the bigger man—and defused a tense situation that might have affected the usually relaxed working atmosphere of the monitoring room.

  He didn't want anything to interfere with his operation.

  He gestured to the screen. "She's a tricky one. Almost caught me with my hand in the cookie jar. Better not take anything for granted with that one."

  Elliot finally must have thought it was safe to open his yap. "You able to get the bug, chief?"

  "Of course." He reached into his coat pocket. "It's right..."

  The pocket was empty. He tried the other side. Empty too. He patted his pants pockets, pulled them inside out.

  "What the hell?"

  "What's the matter, Lou?" Kurt said.

  "The bad bug. I know I had it."

  "You lose it?" Elliot said. "Shit!"

  Shit is right, Verran thought as he pawed through his pockets again. He prayed he hadn't lost it; there'd be hell to pay if the wrong person found it.

  Kurt rummaged in the cabinet under his console. At first Verran thought he might be looking for the electronic sweeper, which would do no good since electret mikes were non-radiating. Instead he came up with a metal detector. He turned it on, adjusted the controls, and approached Verran.

  "Here. Empty your pockets and I'll give you the once-over. If it's on you, we'll find it."

  After Verran had dumped all his change on the counter, Kurt began waving the business end of the detector over his clothing. As the wand worked its way around his body, Verran watched the indicator needle in the handle. It would start to move when it crossed something metal. It lay dormant.

  "It's not on you, Lou," Kurt said. "You must have dropped it somewhere."

  "How could I drop it?" Verran snapped. "I distinctly remember putting it in my pocket."

  "Well, it ain't in your pocket now."

  Elliot chimed in: "Which means it's gotta be somewhere between here and the room."

  "All right, all right." Verran was pissed and there was no one to get pissed at but himself. "Let me think."

  Kurt and Elliot stayed mum while Verran retraced all his moves since switching the bugs. He was sure he'd put it in his pocket, just before he'd put the chair back...which was just before he'd heard the key slipping into the door lock...

  Acid surged around Verran's ulcer.

  "Christ," he said. "It must have come out of my pocket when I hit the floor."

  Kurt held up the metal detector. "Want me to go back to the room and see if I can find it?"

  "No," Verran said, glancing at the clock. "They'll all be wandering back from dinner now. No way you can get in and out without being seen."

  "You can't just leave it there."

  No, they couldn't just leave it there. The discovery of an electret mike in a dorm room might tip the first domino. The whole scenario played out in his head: Questions asked, jokes made, talk about the place being bugged, people starting to search their rooms...

  That one little mike could bring down the whole operation.

  "It's small. If it's in the room it's on the far side of the bed by the window. Nobody's going to see it there. We're okay. We'll pick it up tomorrow. No sweat."

  No sweat? he thought. Then why am I shaking like a little old lady inside?

  TWELVE

  Quinn pinned her ID badge onto her new lab coat—her white lab coat—and turned to Tim.

  "How do I look?"

  Tim glanced up from the spare bed in her room where he was stretched out on the spread reading this morning's Baltimore Sun. He had his shoes off and looked perfectly at home.

  "Very scientificky. But I still say you'd score more points in your running shorts."

  "Fine," she said quickly. She didn't want him starting in on her legs again. "Be like that. While I'm out toiling to push back the frontiers of medical science, what'll you be doing?"

  "Reading the funnies."

  "You going to stay here?"

  "Yeah, just for a little while, if you don't mind. Kevin's sacked out—he was up late studying last night—and I figured I'd let him sleep."

  Quinn shook her head. She didn't mind at all. In fact she wished he'd stay until she got back. Not just because she liked having him around; it had been kind of creepy coming back to the room during the dinner hour yesterday. The floor had been deserted yet she'd had the weirdest feeling that someone was lurking about.

  "Stay as long as you want. Why not hang out till I get back and I'll buy you dinner."

  "Deal," Tim said and stuck his head back into the newspaper.

  *

  Matt Crawford let himself into his New Haven condo and tossed his notebooks onto the couch. He dropped into the recliner, turned on the TV with the remote, flipped through the thirty-four channels in as many seconds, then turned it off. He sat there and stared at the blank screen.

  He was feeling low and not sure why. A brand new high-rise apartment with a panoramic view of the harbor and the Sound beyond, luxury furnishings selected and arranged by the decorator his mother had hired, a fully-stocked
fridge, all to himself.

  Maybe that was the problem. Too much to himself these days. Never anyone around—at least not anyone he had anything in common with. Unlike The Ingraham, Yale and most other medical schools had no dorm. Students lived wherever they could find a place they could afford. Matt's dad had jumped on this condo not only as a great place for Matt to live, but as a great investment as well.

  He was half right.

  At times like this, Matt almost wished he were at The Ingraham. But then if he were, Quinn would be somewhere else, sweating her tuition payments as well as sweating her courses.

  He felt his mouth twist into a crooked smile. "'Tis a far, far better thing I do than I have ever done."

  Quinn's strawberry-blond head with its wide blue eyes and red cheeks appeared in his mind and suddenly he had to talk to her. He pulled out his address book and punched in her number.

  A groggy male voice answered on the third ring.

  "'Lo?"

  Matt wasn't sure what to say. "Is, uh, Quinn there?"

  "Matt?"

  Now he recognized the voice. "Tim? What are you doing there?"

  "Didn't Quinn tell you? We moved in together. In fact, she's right beside me here in bed."

  Matt was struck dumb.

  Quinn and Tim...was it possible? He'd seen them both back in August before they'd left. Tim was being Tim and Quinn seemed to be barely tolerating him. Ms. No-nonsense and the goofmeister. A lot could happen in a couple of months, but this was too much. Definitely too much.

  "Not."

  Tim's laugh rattled over the line. "Had you going there for a second, didn't I."

  "Not for a nanosecond."

  Matt was surprised at his sudden surge of relief and asked himself, How come?

  Tim went on, telling him that Quinn had just left, so they talked—compared courses, teachers, test difficulty, reminisced about the Good Old Days at Dartmouth—and as they spoke, an aching void expanded slowly in Matt's chest.

  When he finally hung up, after asking that Quinn give him a call when she had a moment, Matt felt more alone than ever.