Chapter 2: Unexpected Developments
Monday morning
"That's your bright idea?" Willy was aghast.
Lyle frowned. "Look – your boss put me in charge of this little fishing expedition because I know how to make people vanish without causing very many ripples. So let me do what I do best and stay the hell out of my way!"
"Inviting total strangers to come along so you can sell them booze or dope is a lousy idea," Willy insisted, thoroughly disgusted. For the first time in a very long time, he was questioning Mr. Raines' wisdom in tapping Lyle for this so-important task – mostly because he didn't think Lyle fully appreciated the import or implications of a successful test run to this project.
"You forget," Lyle closed his eyes briefly and prayed for patience to deal with decidedly unimaginative sweepers, "that these folks – especially the ones strung out or with massive hangovers – are looking for their next score. They are not thinking clearly, or they wouldn't be needing drugs or booze in the first place. And it's morning – after spending a night in a shelter that doesn't allow booze or drugs on the premises – and they're hurting in a bad way at the moment. If there's a point in time when they're vulnerable..."
Willy looked out through the windshield of the van at the scattering of the poorest of the poor, garbed in rags and looking decidedly dirty and unkempt. "I thought we were also supposed to keep an eye out for intelligence," he grumbled. "None of these look like they could tell the difference between an S and a Z."
"That's why YOU'RE the sweeper, and I'M the one in charge of this trip," Lyle snapped finally. "If you have a problem with that, then take it to Mr. Raines AFTER we pick up the ten he sent us here for."
For a very long moment, blue-grey battled with ebony – and then finally Willy looked away. "Don't worry," he said in a low and threatening tone, "I WILL be taking this up with Mr. Raines when we get back."
"And when we get back without raising even the slightest alarm here, you'll see him support my methods – and you'll owe me an apology at the very least." Lyle reached for the door handle. "Now shut up, stay out of sight, get that chloroform ready, and watch someone who knows what they're doing."
Willy's snarl was interrupted by the slamming of the driver's side door, so he satisfied himself by punching the dashboard with his fist and then twisting around so that he could get to the back of the van. In a small box mounted on the side panel, he took down a bottle and pulled out a handkerchief. He knew better than to open the bottle or pour any of the liquid on the cloth as yet – he'd been close enough to the fumes to have earned himself a healthy headache more than once. The plastic bag that would hold the cloth when he'd finished with it and would be waiting for Lyle to bring the next candidate was already in his jacket pocket, ready.
He situated himself on the side of the van where Lyle had indicated he should sit and was just about to make himself comfortable when he heard Lyle's voice rapidly approaching. "Trust me, my man," the smooth-talking executive was promising to the faceless person under his spell, "I got some of the best shit on this side of the city – and at the absolute best price around."
"I done tol' you I got me a supplier, man," the gruff and scratchy voice of the victim protested cautiously. "He gives me a real deal sometimes – knows when I'm hurtin'…"
"Trust me, I know you're hurting right now," Lyle soothed, "and I have exactly what you need, just inside the van."
"What the hell? I ain't never dealt with someone who didn't have the stuff ON 'em…"
"Do you really think that I deal with the kind of crap they normally sell on the streets?" Lyle's voice became scathing. "That shit isn't worth the powder to blow it to hell. Now the stuff I got in THERE will take you to the moon and back for just about the same price."
"All right, man," the nameless man grumbled. "Lemme see what you got."
The door on the opposite side of the van from where Willy was seated opened suddenly and Lyle pointed. "Just speak to my friend in here, and I'm sure he'll be able to get you everything you need."
The man poked his head in and blinked at the darkness. "What friend?" he wheezed.
"Me," Willy said softly and clapped his hand filled with a chloroform-soaked cloth over the man's face. There was very little struggle before he could start to feel the man grow weak and then limp – and then Lyle had hefted the body completely into the back of the van and crawled in behind it to slam the door shut. "Now what?" Willy demanded, stuffing the suffocating cloth into the plastic bag before he could start to get woozy.
"Lay him out behind the driver's seat and cover him with that tarp," Lyle directed, moving through the van to the driver's seat, "while I move us to a new location. We have ten shelters in all to visit – each one far enough apart that we should attract no attention at all over time."
"How long is this going to take?" Willy grunted as he heaved the remarkably heavy body into a position against the side of the van and tossed the tarp over him haphazardly and then stumbled into the passenger seat.
"Not long, if we keep having the luck we just had," Lyle began, putting the van into drive and moving smoothly away from the curb without seeing a single head turn to watch where they were going. "This morning should see us have at least half the bodies Cox needs for his experiments. By tomorrow noon, we should be heading home again."
Willy fastened his seat belt. "Where to next, then?"
"There's a shelter over on West 187th that looked promising." Lyle made a sharp right turn and headed for the turnpike. "Dignity Shelter. The guests there congregate in an empty lot across the street after they're boosted from the shelter at eight in the morning, but they straggle all over the neighborhood after that, looking for their next score."
Willy grunted. OK – so maybe Raines DID know what he was doing having Lyle in charge of this trip. It didn't mean he had to like working for the man.
oOoOo
Tuesday
The telephone rang, and Mr. Raines let fall the details of the proposed contract with a representative of the Russian mob to reach for it. "Yes?" he wheezed into the receiver.
"Have you heard anything from Mr. Lyle?" Mr. Cox's cultivated tones purred through the phone line.
"We should get a call by noon," Raines confirmed in a breathless tone. He took a long, hard pull on his oxygen. "Patience, Mr. Cox – kidnapping ten people off the streets without causing comment is going to take time."
"It is very difficult to be patient when I've put three solid year's research into this project and have it so near its conclusion," Cox commented passionately. "Ever since I proposed the idea to Mr. Parker only a week before his untimely death, I've been hoping that I'd be able to contribute substantially to the overall health of the Centre on an ongoing basis."
"Nevertheless," Mr. Raines insisted, "patience will be essential for the time being. Lyle is the best we have at the job we've given him – we need to give him the time necessary to pull off taking ten people without raising a single eyebrow."
"You will call me the moment you have news?" Cox demanded. "I'll need to know when to begin the formulation process so that the initial treatment is ready the moment my test subjects arrive here at the Centre."
"I'll see to it you're notified," Raines promised. "But consider that you have the next day or so absolutely free." He smiled. "Take some time to indulge in your hobby in that medical clinic room on SL-25, if you wish."
He could almost see Mr. Cox's answering smile. "Perhaps you're right. I'll be in my private lab when you need me."
Raines hung up the phone without further ado. Cox had been relatively quiet about his research for the first year or so – and only revealed a portion of its potential when asked about it. Then, a year ago, he'd quietly made an appointment and spilled the most audacious and promising plan that had been heard since the initial Pretender Project proposal had been made – and Mr. Raines had taken Mr. Cox on as a personal mission. Where Parker and his damned Pretender had, in the long run, nearly bankrupt the Centre, Cox and his Hydra's Teeth would restore it to fiscal solvency and power.
He pushed the button on the intercom. "Sophia," he barked at his secretary, "I could use some fresh coffee – and a plain bagel. I skipped lunch."
"Yes, sir – right away," was the immediate and obsequious answer from his secretary's low and sultry voice.
Mr. Raines pulled a long and hard breath from his oxygen tank and gazed down at the contract details with a frown. He had half a headache – one that he assumed was from hunger more than anything else – and hoped the coffee would help him feel just a little more alert.
He turned in his chair to gaze out the window while he was waiting – and suddenly he felt as if his head had exploded. With a choking sound, his limp body slid senselessly from the comfortable chair into a crumpled heap on the floor behind the desk – completely hidden from sight.
oOoOo
Jarod tiredly slouched against the back cushion of the couch in the residents' lounge, his eyes closed against the morning light shining in through the east window. It had already been a very long forty-eight hours of a seventy-two hour shift – but the demands on his time had suddenly diminished to the point that he had sought out the lounge for a quick cat-nap. Only the knowledge that he was doing this kind of non-stop working on a voluntary basis kept him from resenting this near-recall of certain periods of time in his Centre incarceration. Then there had been no recourse to working until THEY said that he could return to his space to collapse in exhaustion – here it simply part of the training that each and every physician with an M.D. after his or her name had had to weather.
"I figured I'd find you hiding in here," Maricela Sanchez' softly accented voice announced from the open doorway.
"Two winks of sleep – that's all I ask," Jarod told her plaintively. "Don't tell me that Mrs. Miller has disrupted her catheter line again…"
The tiny Puerto Rican woman shook her head and chuckled at him as she moved to the counter where, against all odds, a coffeepot was kept warm and continually fresh. "No. She's been asleep for the better part of the last three hours – hopefully she'll stay that way until the next time the nurses do their rounds." She took down the mug from a hook beneath her name and poured herself a half-cup. "You look less beat than Hank normally does at this point in a shift…"
"Yeah, well, I've had more practice at working on little sleep than he has, I'll wager," Jarod mumbled and slipped until his head was pillowed on the overstuffed naugahide arm of the couch.
"Speaking of Hank…" Sanchez carried her cup of coffee over to the easy chair and sat down, kicked off her sneakers and curled her feet beneath her. "I wonder if he's OK."
"He's fine, when last I knew anything – which was night before last," Jarod threw his arm over his eyes. "He called right on schedule – said that he was going to spend the day hanging with this fellow named Shrimp. Something about alcoholism and panhandling techniques that he wanted to check out."
"What time does he call your cell?"
"Usually around eight-thirty every night – the shelter has a light's-out policy that kicks in at nine."
"You said you didn't hear from him last night, though?" Sanchez sounded worried.
"Easy," Jarod soothed. "He told me not to hit the panic button if he missed a day once in a while – but if he missed two in a row, THEN I was to start worrying. So, while I'd love to chat, I really need to catch a few 'Z's here…" he added with a yawn. "Everything's fine.
"Fine, fine, you get ten minutes' uninterrupted," Sanchez shook her head at him and yawned. "Oh great – now you have me doing it…" She stood, drained as much as she could of the hot drink and then rinsed her mug before hanging it up again. She cast an appreciative eye on the long and lanky doctor sprawled the entire length of the couch. If she didn't already have a boyfriend, that Jarod Charles would have had his hands full, she smiled. How such a good-looking man could still be unclaimed was beyond her at the moment.
"Paging Dr. Sanchez," came a calm voice over the hospital intercom system. With a sigh, Sanchez turned her back on Jarod and questions about his love life and rushed for the nearest intercom terminal.
oOoOo
"What?" Miss Parker asked sharply and looked up as a knock sounded on her office door. In the next breath, she was sighing and returning her attention to the monitor in front of her. "Oh. It's just you."
"I thought I'd drop by and see how the other half of the security system overhaul is doing," Broots said, walking across the office to put a Styrofoam cup with steaming and fragrant coffee on the desk next to her. "I also figured you could use a cup of decent coffee…"
Miss Parker straightened and reached for the cup. "Nice save, Shaggy," she quipped and took a long and much-appreciated sip of coffee that tasted like something other than the mud her secretary wanted her to believe was espresso. "No wonder I keep you around."
"I was wondering," Broots stayed close to the desk, "if you'd found out anything new about what Lyle's up to?"
"Not a damned thing," she shook her head and cradled her coffee against her chest. "How are things coming on your end of the process?"
"All the new components are in place and functioning optimally," Broots reported, "so it's just the information end of things that is pending. How about you?"
"There was a group in Shipping and Receiving who will have to explain why they've been opening cases of office supplies and helping themselves to the top two units of whatever was inside," she reported tiredly. "Then there were the three janitors who were running a lost and found – only they were the ones helping things disappear and then collecting small finders' fees when they suddenly 'found' the missing items."
"That sounds like a pretty good racket," Broots had to admit. "But that's all you found this time around?"
"Other than Hydra's Teeth – about which we still know precious little," Miss Parker said with a shrug.
"Have you checked incoming emails for the day?"
"Not yet," she sipped at her coffee again. "I was just finishing up the report on the janitors that included recommendations that they be given intelligence tests and see if some of them don't qualify for cleaner duties instead." At Broots' scowl of disapproval, she just shrugged again. "Considering the population pool we draw our janitors from – to borrow some of Lyle's new-found vocabulary – finding a glimmer of creativity calls for promotion." She almost burst out laughing at Broots' mouth dropping open. "Company policy."
He shook his head and deliberately dismissed the entire outrageous concept. "Well?" He asked, nodding in the direction of her monitor, obviously curious.
Miss Parker smirked at getting her computer technician to openly display his curiosity and impatience. "OK. Let's see what we have here…" She started typing and then gazed at the monitor screen. "Looks like Raines is getting some new directives from Africa…"
"What about?"
She typed in her password and frowned. "I'll be damned – the thing's encrypted."
"What?" Broots moved behind the desk to look at her screen with her. "Oh that. I see that often enough – let me…" He stopped explaining and simply brought up a new window and typed rapidly for a minute. "That should do it," he announced just a little while later and hit the enter key.
Miss Parker nodded, impressed, when the gibberish on her screen suddenly resolved itself into perfectly understandable English. She bent forward to start reading and then glanced up at Broots and pointed. "This is about Hydra!"
"What?" Broots leaned forward again and let his eyes follow the text. "'Looking forward to seeing test results when human trial period is concluded, including shipment of the first 10 successful subjects. Given that the fiscal potential for this project is so great, the Triumvirate is pleased to offer greater incentives to the Centre for rapid implementation of the project in full as soon as possible….'"
"Do we really want to know what it is they're saying when they demand an updated timeframe for delivery of the first 10 successful subjects?" Miss Parker whispered.
"Human trials…" Broots repeated. "I wonder if that's what Lyle's out doing – getting test subjects for a human trial phase for whatever this Hydra process does to people?"
Miss Parker sat back in her chair, her eyes narrowed. "It makes sense. Cox has moved his process – whatever it is for – through laboratory experiment stage and now needs subjects closer to the final product. Sydney – or was it you - said something about how that comment about the 'dregs of humanity' could refer to the homeless…"
"He's out picking up homeless people to be brought back here for… what?" Broots gazed at her in alarm.
"Screw security systems maintenance – I want you to focus on this," Miss Parker barked. "You say your part of the maintenance process is done?" She only barely waited for him to nod in astonishment. "Then get yourself to a protected terminal – maybe the one you used to use in the Sim Lab that you had partially shielded from security protocols back when…" she directed with a voice that invited knowing responses.
"I know what the capabilities of the security hardware I just put online – I can tweak that terminal to circumvent…"
"You just go do that magic that you do…" Miss Parker dragged Broots up straight with a handful of tee shirt pulled upwards into the air. "Tell Sydney what you're doing – quietly – so he'll leave you alone."
"Syd never gave me any grief before…" Broots protested.
"You know as well as I do how much he hates it when I start digging into things that certain people around here would just as soon I keep my nose out of," Miss Parker shook her head. "I seriously doubt that his hesitation will have gotten any less than it was back when. If he tries to get you to talk about things, tell him he needs to take it up with me – OUTSIDE the Centre."
"Yes, ma'am."
oOoOo
Sophia knocked on the etched glass with her free hand – the other carefully holding the small brown bag beneath the Styrofoam cup with experienced fingers. She was a tall woman with light brown hair and a very plain face that Mr. Raines had pulled from the clerical pool based upon her typing speed and the fact that most of the rest of her family worked at the Centre. She'd rewarded the Chairman's trust in her abilities by performing every task he'd ever assigned her with single-minded concentration and efficiency. As a result, she was one of very few who didn't have to wait for a call to enter to push through the glass doors.
"Sir?" she called out in confusion when there appeared to be nobody behind the desk.
She looked around the room. The doorway to the conference area where he would hold meetings with more people than could comfortably be seated in front of his massive desk was shut and looked as if it had been that way all morning. On the opposite side of the room, the door that led to the sweeper's lounge was also closed – that door was Willy's access to the room, and Willy was out of town with Mr. Lyle. Normally, Mr. Raines didn't have a replacement assigned when Willy's absence was going to be a very short-lived one.
The only thing that she could think of was that he'd been called out of the office while she'd been in the cafeteria – and such an event wasn't without precedent. The best thing for her to do was to put coffee and bagel on the desk so that they would be there, waiting for him when he returned.
Sophia had only taken two steps toward the desk before she could see how the drapes in the corner had a slightly crumpled and pinned look. That wouldn't do, she decided, and deposited the cup and bag on the desk before moving to free the drapes so that they would hang more freely.
"Sir!" she squeeked when she caught sight of the crumpled body on the floor. Mr. Raines' face was a pale beyond anything she'd ever seen – and only the movement of his chest in the act of breathing told her that he was anything but dead.
She straightened and reached for the phone, dialing an extension by heart. "I need a medical team to the Chairman's office immediately!" she demanded harshly in a voice more accustomed to soft compliance. "Mr. Raines has collapsed!"
oOoOo
Willy tugged on the unconscious man's arms, pulling the body toward the interior of the van while Lyle quickly lifted at the waist and shoved and bent the body so that the back door could slam shut. "Some of these fellows are pretty damned heavy for being drunks and druggies who don't do a lot of healthy eating," the dark-faced sweeper observed sourly as he dragged this next body up by the others. The second morning was nearly spent, and already they had nine subjects for Mr. Cox to work with.
Much as he hated to admit it, Lyle seemed to have a fairly effective system of collection that, so far, had called very little attention to what was happening. In fact, in the eight stops they'd made over the last two days, only once had anybody seen enough to try to complain. In that instance, the young man who had objected to an older, much grizzlier companion's sudden disappearance into the depths of the van had been dealt with swiftly and surely – and he now lay unconscious with his friend, destined for the same fate.
"You can never be sure what they were like before they hit the skids," Lyle shrugged and clambered over the growing pile of bodies stacked behind the driver's seat like so much cordwood. "Four more stops tomorrow…"
"We already have nine," Willy reminded him sharply, moving to the passenger's seat. "Since we're only supposed to be collecting ten…"
"A minimum of ten," Lyle corrected him with a frustrated snarl. "I have twelve shelters on my list – if we get a minimum of one from each, then we'll have more than fulfilled Mr. Cox's need with a few to spare in case of accident or injury." The Parker heir narrowed his blue-grey eyes threateningly at the sweeper. "We stick to the plan I designed until I say that we're ready to head back to Delaware."
Willy forced himself to bite his tongue against another argument – until or unless Mr. Raines specifically ordered it, he was nominally under the direction of this insufferable pretender to the Chairman's position. Frankly, he wished that Raines would tire eventually of Lyle's posturing as somehow being more effective or capable than Miss Parker. Both Parker offspring had managed to consistently fall far short of expectations. How they still managed – the both of them – in positions of authority and power within the Centre hierarchy was beyond him. But then, he was a mere sweeper – perhaps there was something going on that he was unaware of, some factor that he wasn't taking into account. The chance was small – Mr. Raines hid very little from him anymore – but it was still there…
Lyle's cell phone began to chirp as the van rounded a sharp corner that put it out of line of sight from their last destination, and Lyle pulled to the curb as he fumbled in his jacket pocket for the device. "What?" he demanded into it in frustration.
Willy watched Lyle's face with fascination as a number of reactions flitted across the youthful features in rapid succession. "Calm down, Sophia," Lyle said at last, putting his free hand up as if it do anything constructive. "You've done the right thing – and we'll be heading back to Delaware tomorrow as soon as possible, I promise. You keep following procedure until I get there, understand?" He nodded, listening to the voice in his ear. "Absolutely. And keep me informed of any developments, OK?"
He snapped the phone shut and stuffed it into his jacket pocket before facing Willy. "That was Sophia…"
"I'm not deaf," Willy grumbled. "What's going on?"
"Your boss collapsed in his office this evening," Lyle announced with no preface at all and watched Willy's face slack into utter shock. "I told her to implement emergency procedure until we get back – and we need four more subjects to make our minimum." He moved the van back out into traffic. "You'll get your wish – we'll cut this short as soon as we have our ten subjects. Happy?"
"Doesn't this trump Mr. Cox's need for bodies?" Willy demanded, anxious to be back in Delaware, where he could watch over Mr. Raines – especially now, when he was incapable of watching out for himself.
"Mr. Raines made it perfectly clear how important this project is to the Centre – easily as important now as the Pretender Project was in its day." Lyle shook his head. "We'll bring Cox his ten bodies – and that means one more stop." With any luck, the old ghoul will be dead by the time we get back to Delaware, Lyle thought, and I can finally claim my birthright – before my weak-witted sister can mount an argument before the board.
"Then let's get to it," Willy growled back. "We can't afford to be delicate. Snatch another one – who cares if they're homeless or not."
"We still don't need to call attention to ourselves – or pick up someone who will be missed by friends or family," Lyle snapped. "You already saw how much trouble we could have been in from that one bum."
Willy settled back in his seat with his arms crossed over his chest, thoroughly frustrated but in no position to complain.
At the moment.
oOoOo
Miss Parker was getting stiff, bending over Broots' shoulder and watching him work, but she couldn't take her eyes from what was unfolding in front of her. She was familiar with the basics of programming and the basic operations of a computer – but what she was watching happen was nothing short of high-tech magic. The man had two windows open on the screen and would type instructions into one, to toggle the other to the fore and rapidly type in another series of commands there. It was almost dizzying to watch and attempt to follow – and Broots was so intent on his task that he wasn't even bothering to try to maintain communications with his observer.
No matter – he'd already uncovered several communiqués from Africa in regards to this Hydra's Teeth and the Hydra process – and nothing she'd read so far had been very enlightening. It was as if Cox was keeping most of the project data in his head – his reports were very vague, if not outright cryptic. It had been her idea to bring up Raines' appointment calendar and check to see how many times Raines had met with and conferred with Cox – and she'd been surprised at the number of times in the past year the two men had had over two hour periods of time set aside. That explained the lack of detail in the reports, however – the details had been delivered in person.
So intent was she on following the information stream on Broots' monitor that she nearly jumped out of her skin when the telephone on the desk started jangling brashly. Using her fingers to pull the hair back out of her face, she carried the handset to her ear. "What?" she demanded.
"Miss Parker, this is Sophia – Mr. Raines' secretary…" a soft, shy voice came at her.
"Yes, Sophia," Miss Parker sighed softly. "What can I do for you – or for your boss?"
There was a pause that made the manicured brows rise in serious surprise. Then: "Mr. Raines collapsed in his office and has been taken down to Renewal," Sophia announced for the second time, finding having to deliver the same piece of news twice to be doubly unpleasant. "There are security procedures that need to be put in place…"
Miss Parker had straightened in surprise and landed a hand on Broots' shoulder, breaking his concentration. "Absolutely," she replied, her voice completely emotionless and brusquely businesslike. "Collect all datebooks, appointment calendars and agendas that you may have been holding for him and deposit them on his desk. My assistant and I will be upstairs to institute lock-down as soon as we can. Under no circumstances is anybody else to have access to that office – is that understood?"
"Yes, ma'am," Sophia replied, her voice getting small. "Do you suppose that Mr. Raines will be returning eventually?"
A small tic that threatened to begin to resemble a smile began at the corners of Miss Parker's lips. "That's up to Mr. Raines, the doctors in Renewal, and whatever God may exist," she replied in an expressionless tone. "Please do as I say – I should be there in no more than five minutes."
Broots' ice-blue eyes stared up into her face. "What gives?"
"Nosferatu has seen one too many sunbeams – at least, we can hope," she replied, putting the telephone handset back in the cradle with exaggerated gentleness. "He collapsed and has been taken to Renewal – and now we have security protocols for the sudden incapacitation of the Chairman that we need to oversee, Shaggy. Leave this…"
"Miss Parker!" Broots complained bitterly. "I can't just walk away from this. So much of what I've done is temporary until I've put the escape hatches permanently in place…"
"Fine," she said with a shrug. "I can go lock up the place by myself – and we can retrieve the hard drive from his computer when you're done here." She bent over him. "But it would be nice if we could get to that sometime before my darling brother gets back from whatever nefarious task he was doing for Hydra's Teeth, don't you think?"
Broots' eyes glittered. "Consider it done," he said and turned back to his hacking. Writing a major escape hatch that essentially bypassed every last security protocol and clearance flagging routine in the Centre mainframe was something he'd dreamed of having the chance to attempt. Now he had a timeframe in which to finish what he'd started. "How long do I have?"
Miss Parker looked down at her wristwatch. "Assuming that Sophia called Lyle first – which is probably what Mr. Raines would have wanted her to do – and assuming that Lyle will pull up stakes on whatever he's up to and hightail it back here, I'd say you have about two hours."
"Wait!"
"What?" she glowered at him.
"Take Angelo."
"What?" The glower had transformed into a stare of shock. "What on Earth…"
"Think," Broots insisted vehemently. "When time was of the essence to decrypt the plan to assassinate your father back when, who was it that sped up my decryption program?"
"That still won't make my taking Cousin It into the Chairman's office any more acceptable." Miss Parker sniffed.
"Fine. Then get him down here doing THIS." Broots pointed to his screen. "Nine chances out of ten, he'd have this done in no time."
She stared at him. "We don't have time…"
"…to be arguing the point," Broots finished for her. "Do you want this hack in place or no? Do you want that hard drive out of Raines' system or no?"
Miss Parker's eyes narrowed. "Don't push it, Scooby." She sighed. "Fine. I'll get Sam to dig up the vent rat and get him to you. You call me on my cell the minute you're free – got it?"
"You bet, Miss Parker," Broots nodded and turned back to his screens. This was HIS project – HIS hack – and if he could finish it before Angelo got there…
oOoOo
"Hit it!" Willy peeked out of the little window at the back of the van at the people who were staring their vehicle as it pulled away from the curb. Of all the times to have one victim manage to get a call for help off before the chloroform took hold…
"Damn it," Lyle swore softly to himself and manhandled the van into the traffic of the street and then into an even busier thoroughfare so as to hopefully lose anybody that was trying to follow them. "I told you we needed to keep being cautious…"
"I couldn't help it if he fought back early," Willy complained, being less than kind in dumping the last of their 'catch' on the floor of the van with the others. "Let's just get the hell out of New York and back on the road to Delaware, shall we?" He moved to sit in the passenger seat again at last.
"You aren't done yet," Lyle shook his head and jerked his right thumb over his shoulder. "They aren't all secured yet – you haven't tied hands and feet yet."
"Oh, for Christ's sake…" Willy growled dangerously.
"Shut up and do as I tell you!" Lyle snapped at him, starting to be thoroughly out of patience with the intrasigent sweeper. When HE was Chairman, he'd see to it that Willy got every last shit-job the Centre had, by God! "We don't need a bunch of druggies and drunks starting to wake up while we're on the road and being able to cause trouble by the time we get to the Centre."
"You should have thought of having me tie them up as we went," Willy snapped back as he moved back into the carpeted rear of the vehicle and pulled the tarp from the collection of sleeping subjects. "Just don't take any unexpected corners, OK?"
"I'll warn you," Lyle promised and slipped the van into the proper lane so that he could enter the turnpike heading south. "Just do as you're told." He then spent the next few moments reviewing their last collection and finally hit the steering wheel hard. "Damn it! They may have seen me!"
"Things happened too fast," Willy reassured him unsuccessfully as he found a seat on a box and pulled a small, zippered pouch from his pocket. "We were in and out of there in just a few minutes…"
"Long enough to cause a stir," Lyle insisted. "I even saw the head of the shelter peek his head at the window from the commotion that last one made…"
"And just what do you think he could see from a window one floor up?" Willy countered wryly. "Maybe he got a look at your suit – and the color of the van – but surely nothing else…" He had the syringe out and was measuring a careful dose of the clear sedative for the first of the subjects at his feet.
"Let's just hope that nobody misses that bastard that couldn't stop screaming," Lyle snarled and put the van into the lane moving the fastest.
"Just don't get us a speeding ticket either," Willy snarled as he pulled on the arm of the closest body so that he could slip the needle into the man's arm. "If the idea is not to call attention to ourselves…"
Lyle put his eye to the speedometer and throttled back until he was just slightly over the speed limit – and moving along with the ambient traffic on the road. No, the last thing they needed was a speeding ticket.
What they needed was to be safely back on Centre turf.
oOoOo
Dr. Charles Van der Meer adjusted the earpieces of his stethoscope in his ears and slipped the cold circle at the end of the plastic tubes beneath the cloth hospital gown to listen. His patient's heart beat steadily and strongly, with no evidence of any arrhythmia at all. He then looked up at the monitor that was measuring brain wave activity – and found the various lines flowing steadily across the screen with only the occasional small spike.
Were this anywhere but at the Centre – anywhere but in the Renewal Wing where medical experimentation meant that no potential for research was left unexploited, the man on the bed in front of him would have been pronounced brain-dead and, perhaps, harvested for organ transplant. But this WAS the Centre – and what was more, the man on the bed was the Chairman himself.
Dr. Van der Meer could remember the last time they'd had the Chairman in the Renewal Wing, supposedly in a catatonic state. The orders had been to sustain the life in the most possible comfort and health otherwise. Those orders had never been revoked – not even when Mr. Parker had suddenly 'awakened' from his catatonia and simply smiled that enigmatic smile of his just before bellowing for a decent set of clothing and an update from Mr. Raines. Those orders would remain in effect, therefore, until either the Triumvirate or the Board of Directors made a decision about the situation.
Careful fingers checked to make sure the cannula feeding oxygen to the emphysemic patient was properly nestled into the nostrils, and the doctor then made certain that the amount of oxygen being fed from the access on the wall was sufficient. A warm, white blanket was then pulled over the still, gaunt form, with hands settled on top of the blanket at the man's side. Van der Meer then carefully adjusted the drip of the IV to make sure that enough medication and hydration would be introduced into the comatose man's system, and then moved to the tall rolling table where Mr. Raines' medical chart was sitting open.
His notations wouldn't be substantially different from those the nurse had made only an hour before – but his recommendation that Mr. Raines be removed from life support due to irreversible brain damage as the result of the massive stroke was new. The MRI and xrays had confirmed the diagnosis – and the doubtful prognosis for recovery. With a flourish, he checked the box that ordered that he be notified only in case of a significant change in condition and closed the chart.
With any luck, the next time he came into this room, it would be to certify a death.