The Select (48 page)

Still holding onto the bed for
support, he took a tentative step toward the door. He wished his
legs were shorter, stumpier, so they'd hold him better, but his
present models were doing the job. He took a second
step—

—
and searing agony shot
through his penis and pelvis.

Grunting with the pain, Tim doubled
over and would have fallen if the bed hadn't been there to lean on.
Gasping, bleary-eyed, his breath hissing between his clenched
teeth, he looked down to see what—

The catheter. He'd forgotten the
urinary catheter.

He groaned and backed up one, two
shaky steps. He didn't have time for this. Doris could be out there
right now calling the security goon squad. But he wouldn't get far
dragging his urine collection bag along like a purse. He had to
disconnect it.

As he turned, searching for the bag,
he spotted Ellie's bandage scissors protruding from the side pocket
of her uniform. He stretched over and fumbled in the pocket. He
came out with the scissors and a credit card. No, not a credit
card, a security pass key, just like Quinn's. That might come in
handy.

But now the scissors. Slowly,
carefully, he got the handles situated in his fumbling fingers and
managed to cut through the brick-colored tube protruding from the
tip of his penis.

A tiny stream of clear water shot from
the severed end. Tim knew these catheters were multi-bored. A thin
tube ran within the wall of the larger tube, ending in a small sack
at the bladder end. After the catheter was inserted into the
bladder, water was injected along the tube, inflating the balloon,
and locking the catheter in the bladder. By cutting the catheter,
Tim had deflated the balloon. But did he have the courage to remove
it?

He had no choice. Gritting his teeth,
he grabbed the distal end and pulled.

It wasn't quite like dragging barbed
wire through his urethra, but it came close. He shuddered twice as
he was forced onto his tip-toes, and then it was out. He tossed it
aside without looking at it, then sagged against the bed, but only
long enough for a few ragged gasps. Then he straightened his knees
and grabbed the remaining syringes from Ellie's tray; with those in
one hand and the security key in the other, he wove his way across
the ward like a drunk on rollerblades.

Tim pushed on the door and found Doris
on the floor behind the nurses station counter, the syringe still
protruding from her back, the phone still on its cradle.

Had the 9574 hit her nervous system
before she'd had a chance to call? Tim hoped so.

From outside in the night, he heard
the thrum of a helicopter again, this time rising and fading.
Whoever had flown in before was flying out again.

No time to lose. He shuffled to the
elevator and shoved Ellie's card into the slot. When the car
arrived, he stepped in, inserted the card into the interior slot,
and pressed the basement button. If they were holding Quinn in the
Science Center, she'd be in the basement.

As the doors closed, Tim thought he
heard the hum of the cables in the neighboring shaft. He wondered
who else was riding the elevators at this hour.

As his car started down, Tim leaned
against the rear wall, bracing his elbows on the hand rail. He was
startled by his reflection in the metallic doors. Even taking into
account the distortion of the uneven surface, he was one hell of a
sight. He looked like Kharis the mummy after a run-in with a mob of
angry villagers. The gauze wrappings over his left thigh were
soaked with blood; apparently the graft was bleeding. There was
even a splotch of blood over his genitals, probably oozing from his
penis after his none-too-gentle removal of that catheter. He had no
desire to examine either area closely.

He pawed the gauze from his face but
left the rest in place. It was the only clothing he had.

He suddenly realized he might need a
weapon of some sort beyond a loaded syringe. Something heavy. He
hit the 3 button just in time, and the car stopped. He stuck his
card back in the slot and pressed the OFF button. The lights went
out and the car went dead. He stepped into a dim hallway, lit only
by widely spaced night lights along the floor. He shuffled up and
down, trying doors. He wasted five precious minutes or more looking
for something, anything he might use as a club. He would have been
grateful even for a broom handle. But everything was
locked.

He returned to the elevator, flipped
on the power, and continued down. He'd have to rely on his syringes
of 9574. Trouble was, they took so damn long to take
effect.

As the car slowed to a halt, Tim
glanced up at the floor indicator. L was lit.

"Oh, no!" he cried softly, jamming his
palm against the basement button. "No!"

When the doors opened on the lobby,
he'd be in plain view of the security desk.

*

Louis Verran's stomach rumbled and
shot him another stab of pain — just in case he'd momentarily
forgotten about his ulcer. He reached for his Mylanta. The soft
blue bottle felt light. He shook it. Empty. He tossed it in the
trash and rubbed his ample, aching gut. Christ, he had more acid
bubbling inside than a Delco warehouse. He reached for a cigar,
then changed his mind; that would only aggravate his
stomach.

He'd left the CIA to get away from
stress situations, from pressure, from dirty jobs. The Ingraham was
supposed to be like semi-retirement, but it was beginning to make
the Company look like play school.

He glanced over at the girl, Cleary.
He had a feeling she was coming to, but she hadn't stirred. Kurt
must have clocked her good. When he'd carried her in, limp as a
dishrag, blood smeared over the back of her head, Verran had
thought she was already dead and had nearly panicked trying to
figure out what to do with the body.

Wasted worry, it turned out. But now,
thanks to Kurt and the senator, she was going to be truly dead, and
soon.

More pain as another surge of acid
found a tender spot in his stomach lining and torched
it.

He used to think of himself as one of
the good guys. Now...

He looked across the room at Kurt
scraping away at his cuticles and Alston flipping through one of
Kurt's skin mags. He certainly hadn't been hanging out with the
good guys.

But Christ, there was no other way to
silence the girl so soon after her boyfriend's disappearance. And
Cleary had to be silenced. She could put all their heads in a
noose.

Verran sighed and burped. You do what
you have to do, and then you try to forget about it and hope you
never have to do it again.

The phone rang. It was
Elliot.

"We got trouble, Chief."

"Aw, no," Verran groaned. "What
now?"

Across the room, Kurt stopped fooling
with his nails and Alston rested his magazine in his lap. Both
stared Verran's way.

"I'm on Five and we've got two
doped-out nurses on the floor and Ward C is shy one
patient—Brown."

"Oh, Christ. Where is he?"

"I've checked this floor from one end
to the other and he's not on Five, I can tell you that."

"But he couldn't get off. It's a
secure floor."

Kurt put his nail clipper away; Alston
dropped the magazine and rose to his feet.

"What is it, Louis? What's
happened?"

Verran concentrated on the phone and
waved at Alston to shut up.

Elliot said. "He's off, Chief. Trust
me on this."

"Then find him, dammit!" Verran said.
"Go down to Four and start looking. We'll start on One and work our
way up. Get moving!"

As he hung up, Verran decided to go on
the offense. He pointed to Alston.

"You fucked up again, Doc. Brown is on
the loose."

"That's impossible! He was dosed
with..." Alston's voice trailed off.

"Right. But they ran out of the stuff,
didn't they."

"Good Lord!"

"It's okay," Verran said. "We'll seal
the building until we find him. But it's a damn good thing the
Senator left when he did."

Alston nodded mutely.

Verran had an awful feeling, wondering
what else possibly could go wrong, when the phone rang
again.

"I'll bet that's Elliot," he said.
"Probably found Brown in the bathroom or something."

It wasn't Elliot. It was Bernie from
the lobby security desk. Since Bernie wasn't part of the big
picture at The Ingraham, Verran immediately began inventing
explanations in case he'd found Brown wandering around. But that
wasn't the problem.

"Mr. Verran, there's a couple of men
here to see you."

At this hour?
Verran's mouth went dry.

"Who?"

"I only got the name of one. He says
he's Deputy Southworth from the Frederick County Sheriff's Office,
and he wants to talk to you."

"Tell him..." Verran wanted Bernie to
tell Southworth to get lost, or come back later, but knew that
wouldn't work. Southworth hadn't come here in the wee hours of the
morning to chitchat. "Did he say what he wants?"

"Yeah. He wants to talk to you about
the disappearance of one of the students."

"At this hour? He wants to
talk about Timothy Brown at
this
hour?"

"No, sir. He says he wants to ask you
about someone named Quinn Cleary."

Verran almost dropped the phone. For a
few heartbeats his voice failed him as acid bubbled up and seared
the back of his throat.

"Tell him I'll be right
up."

Verran hung up and turned to the
others. Suddenly he was exhausted. When was this going to
end?

"A couple of guys from the Sheriff's
Department are upstairs asking about a missing student named
Cleary."

"Cleary?" Alston said. "How on earth
does anyone know she's gone?"

"We are about to find out. Kurt, you
stay here and keep an eye her. The Doc and I will go up and see
what this is all about."

"You let me do the talking," Alston
said as they hurried toward the stairs to the lobby. "I'll handle
this yokel."

"You do that, Doc," Verran told him.
"'Cause I don't feel much like talking."

As they stepped out of the stairwell
and into the lobby, Verran spotted Southworth immediately, but the
guy with him wasn't another deputy. He could have been one of The
Ingraham students but Verran didn't recognize him.

And then he got a sudden, awful
feeling that this was the guy Cleary had been talking to a few
hours ago. But that couldn't be. He'd been calling from
Connecticut. Hadn't he?

Verran told Bernie to take a break. As
Bernie headed for the security lounge on Second, Verran introduced
Alston to Southworth who in turn introduced the kid as Matt
Crawford, an old friend of Quinn Cleary's.

Yeah, that was the one. But how the
hell had he got here so fast—and in the snow, no less?

As they were all shaking hands, Verran
heard the elevator bell sound behind him. His stomach acid began
another dance as everyone turned to look. All he needed now to cap
off the night would be Timothy fucking Brown standing there in the
elevator, staring out at them. He forced himself to steal a glance
over his shoulder, and sighed quietly when he saw the empty
car.

As the doors slid closed again, he
turned back to Southworth to see what he knew. He desperately
wanted something for his stomach. He was ready to trade his left
hand for a roll of Tums.

*

As the elevator doors closed and he
was once again safely sealed in the car, Tim released the breath
he'd been holding. Just before the doors had opened on the lobby,
he'd flattened himself against the side wall by the control panel.
He hadn't been able to see the security desk, and the security desk
hadn't been able to see him. But he'd heard voices out there, and
knew he'd acted not a second too soon.

Tim maintained his position by the
control panel as the elevator continued its descent to the
basement. When it stopped, he flattened himself against the wall
again, planning to check out the immediate area before leaving the
car.

As the doors opened he heard a muffled
shout of pain. It came from behind one of the doors down the hall
on the left.

But it wasn't Quinn's voice. It was a
man's.

*

Quinn's hopes had risen when she'd
heard that Tim had escaped; they'd leapt higher when Verran said
there were a couple of deputy sheriffs up in the lobby. Now they
soared as Verran and Alston walked out.

That left only one man to get past.
But big, blond Kurt was the most formidable.

She spied on him through her lashes:
For a moment he stood at the door to the hall, watching Alston and
Verran head for the first floor, then he closed it and approached
her. Quinn closed her eyes.

"C'mon, baby," he said, his voice
close as he shook her shoulder. "Wake up and play. Ol' Kurt's got
something for you. Something you're gonna love."