MALICIOUS INTENT

Chapter Twenty One

Sid was just about to make his first incision of the day when Sheldon Hawkes leaned over his shoulder.

"Gah!" The M.E. jumped. "Have you been taking lessons from Mac?"

"Sorry - no time for banter." Sheldon cast an eye around the peaceful room. "How quickly can you and your staff evacuate?"

"At the last drill, three minutes," Sid replied, proudly. Catching the look on Sheldon's face, he paused. "But this isn't a drill, is it? What's going on?"

"I really can't say..."

By now Sid had started to put two and two together. "Wait - is it Adam? Did somebody find him?" His voice was low. "I checked this whole floor, you know."

Sheldon bit his lip. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Sid's feelings. "Did you check the janitor's room?"

"Marley? Of course. He's such a polite young man..." Sid's voice trailed off and he lowered his glasses, shaking his head in dismay. "Oh, no. Don't tell me... Sheldon, I'm so sorry. You mean to say he was in there all the time?"

"I'm afraid so. Mac's preparing for a hostage situation. That's why they're clearing this floor. No telling how dangerous Marley might turn out to be if he feels cornered. Or what state Adam is in. Our only hope is to take the man by surprise."

"Of course." With a crestfallen air, Sid called out to Freya, who hovered nearby, holding a trayful of instruments and trying to eavesdrop without being obvious. "Put your brain to better use than spying, Miss Lindstrom. Set down that tray and begin evacuation procedures."

"Yes, Dr. Hammerback." Freya almost dropped the tray in her haste to make amends. "Sorry..."

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They filed from the morgue in a stream of blue-clad bodies, silent and nervous. Other than Sid and Sheldon, nobody knew what was going on - until they saw Mac step out of the elevator, closely followed by Stella and Don Flack. All three were armed, and they all wore bulletproof vests. A ripple of agitation spread through the on-lookers. Flushed with authority, Freya urged them into silence and glanced at Sid.

"All clear," she whispered. "I did a head count. Everyone's out."

Mac watched them leave without a word. When the line had disappeared, he turned to Stella. "Quietly, now. We don't want to tip our hand." He led the way down the corridor. Meanwhile, Don took the rear, feeling very aware that this part of the building was unfamiliar territory. Far better just to follow, and not get lost. Looking back, as if to reassure herself of his comforting presence, Stella flashed him a worried smile. Don returned it. How, he wondered, could anyone look so elegant under such circumstances? Already, he could feel a river of sweat running down his back. I blame the vest, he sighed. A clumsy precaution - but life was a fragile thing, and all it would take was one little bullet...

Up ahead, Mac signalled. We're here.

They fanned out around the janitor's doorway, Mac and Stella on one side, the detective on the other. Don crouched down next to an old pair of steps that someone had left there, assuming Marley was out. Wobbling slightly, he almost knocked them flying. Just in time, Don reached out his hand and kept them from making a God-awful noise. "Sorry," he mouthed, feeling sheepish. Mac gave a frown. Stella looked sympathetic.

Mac folded his outstretched fingers, one at a time. Three... two... "Open up!" he yelled. "This is Taylor. Marley Jenkins, I know you're in there. Send out Adam Ross and I guarantee, you won't get hurt."

Sounding far more confident than he felt, Mac hoped that his boldness would work. If Marley was in there, surely he would see at once that capitulation was his only choice. The man was used to hiding in shadows and venting his spite like a coward. That pegged him as someone who didn't have the nerve for full-scale violence...

The door swung open, making them jump.

Thank God, thought Mac.

His relief was short-lived, however. A sickening smell reached out from the room beyond. Mac recognised it at once, and his heart sank.

Accelerant.

Alcohol-based. Some kind of cleaning fluid, most likely.

The scent was so strong that it made him feel dizzy. Shaking his head to dislodge the fumes, he peered around the doorframe.

Wrong, Mac Taylor. Very wrong.

Coward or not, Marley Jenkins was standing in the middle of the room. He was soaked to the skin, as was Adam, who knelt before him, head down and hands bound with tape, like a man awaiting his own execution. The lab rat's hair was dripping, and his face was out of sight, but Mac could tell by the trembling curve of his shoulders that the poor man was terrified. All across the floor ran a trail of foul-smelling liquid that gleamed in the artificial light.

One of Marley's hands held a scalpel firmly against Adam's neck.

The other held a candle. It was plain and white; the kind that people usually kept for emergencies. Already the tiny flame was beginning to creep down its blackening wick.

"Welcome," said Marley. "I'm glad you could join us."

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Adam's shame knew no bounds. Mac had found him, at last - but now he almost wished that his boss had stayed away. His head was spinning, and his gut was on fire - bad choice of words - from the blows that Marley had heaped upon him but, even through the fog, he could sense how pitiful he must appear.

And Elsa. He could still hear her sobbing, somewhere behind him in the back room.

Marley seemed to revel in Adam's discomfort. What did I do? thought the lab rat, bleakly. Why does he hate me so much?

Peering through his dripping locks, he caught a glimpse of Mac's face. It was white, and full of impotent fury.

Marley's whole body clenched in delight - and suddenly Adam knew, beyond all doubt, the truth of his situation.

It's not me.

It's him.

It's the boss.

The focus of all Marley's spite.

Then what am I? thought Adam nervously.

Deep down, a tiny voice piped up with the answer.

You're a dead man, Adam Ross.