All disclaimers in chapters one and five.
A quickie note before this continues: I have good news and I have bad news. The good news is that "Murphy's Law" - the full copy that's on my hard drive in ten parts - is finally complete and revised. The bad news is that I am NOT posting all the final chapters at once. I know it sounds bad, but I still think I'm missing some errors and will try to catch things as I go along. I'm going to try to post parts daily.
Murphy's Law
by Amanda Ohlin
Chapter Seven
Outside Grand Central Station
6:00 p.m.
"The route goes up through Hartford," Special Agent #1 told the five remaining members of his team. The sixth was currently in custody. "He'll be most likely to try to board about thirty miles south of there, because there's a fairly well-traveled intersection. If the train's going to stop prematurely, it'll be there. Leflin will have time to engineer some sort of accident to guarantee that."
"Would he go to those lengths?" an agent asked.
"He's already pulled some ridiculous stunts already, and he's one of the richest men in the world. Yes." Special Agent #1 turned back to the map. "But we can cut them off ten miles later. There's a road that runs parallel to the tracks for a good six or seven miles, and we might not have to stop the train to board - which would tip Leflin off anyway. It'll take us approximately forty-five minutes to get there. Any more questions?"
Another agent cleared his throat. "Have you informed Dr. Morris?"
"Only that there was a security leak we had to take care of. He won't stop long enough to listen anyway, he's too busy trying to get the HAZMAT teams on the move. Besides, do you want to tell him we pulled agents away at a time like this and then come up empty-handed?"
There were no more questions.
*****
Somewhere outside Hartford
6:30 p.m.
"There it is," Leflin said, pointing down at the dimly-lit gray ribbons that traced through the blackness below that was supposed to be Connecticut. "Amtrak number 563. Right on schedule."
Lydia glanced dispassionately out of the helicopter window, more interested in their mode of transportation than anything else. "Mmm-hmm. Mind if I ask where you got the stealth helicopter?"
"We've taken on some government contracts. This one isn't due for a week. They won't miss it."
She turned and stared at him. "We're taking a stealth helicopter to stop a train and pick up a pair of civilians who have no clue what's going on." He nodded. "Am I the only one here who sees just how ridiculous this is? What, exactly, do you intend to accomplish here?"
He did not look at her, keeping his gaze fixed straight ahead. "I already told you that."
"Bullshit. You're bordering on fanatical, Bernie. This isn't about business anymore."
Leflin tensed at that, and she could see the muscles working in his jaw as he tried to formulate a calm answer. "My father devoted his last remaining years to the pursuit of life," he said after a moment. "His own life, and perhaps eventually the ability to prolong others' lives as well."
She hesitated before replying, slipping into psychiatrist mode. Now was not the time to be blunt. "What happened to him, Bernie - he made his own decision. I don't agree with it, but do you really want events to repeat themselves?"
He shrugged. "I'm just trying to finish what he started."
Sighing, Lydia sat back in her chair. Neither one spoke for several seconds. "It wasn't your fault," Lydia finally said.
At that, Leflin did turn and look at her, but Lydia had already turned back to the window.
*****
"Hey, Mom?"
Reluctantly, Lisa stirred from her sleep, blinking tiredly at her daughter. "It's a four-hour ride, Heather. Nothing you say or do will change that."
"I know, Mom, that's not what I meant. Is there a stop in the middle of nowhere?"
Lisa sat up, shaking her head briefly to clear out the last dregs of sleep. "Of course not. Why do you ask?"
Heather was staring out the window, trying to get a glimpse of something up ahead. "Because we're stopping."
*****
New York City
The subway ride seemed to be taking forever. True, it wasn't a short jaunt - he was going halfway across Manhattan - but to Michael it seemed like eternity. He checked the watch that the Doc had given him and winced; he only had an hour til the deadline. Not that it meant anything. He still hadn't seen a purple tie-dyed shirt.
He forced himself to stay alert, shifting the briefcase to his left hand, glancing around the subway car apprehensively. "Mr. Wiseman," Morris barked through the earpiece, jolting him into full alertness. "Any changes?"
"Hmm? No, nothing yet," Michael murmured, trying to keep his voice low. Even in New York, talking to oneself in a crowded space wasn't the best way to stay inconspicuous. "My stop's coming up, though."
"All right. Whoever the messenger is, stall him. We're trying to move a HAZMAT team and some units up there without drawing too much attention."
Michael nodded as the train began to slow. "You got it."
He was relieved to be able to exit with the flow of traffic as the train stopped and the doors slid open. Clutching the briefcase tightly, Michael elbowed his way onto the platform with the rest of the departing horde. Rush hour was dying down, and the majority of the traffic was getting off.
Stepping out of the flow of traffic, Michael scanned the area, seeing nothing but dull and muted colors, and not a hint of purple. "Anything?" the Doc asked.
"Don't see it yet," Michael muttered, moving to the other side of the support beam to get a better look. As the crowds began to thin out, he suddenly caught a flash of bright purple near the street entrance. Michael started moving towards it, hoping to get a better look. As he crossed the platform, he got a look at the owner of the shirt and stopped, surprised.
"Do you see him?" Morris demanded.
"Well," Michael replied, "I see her."
The girl was probably in her late teens or early twenties, a few years older than his daughter. She was Asian, her black hair cut short and intentionally uneven, with a purple streak in it that matched the neon purple tie-dyed tank top that she was wearing along with ratty jeans and black boots. She paid no attention to Michael, bobbing her head and chewing her gum in time with the music coming through the headphones she was wearing. "Her?" Morris echoed. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah, that shirt could be seen a mile away," Michael replied, resuming his course towards the girl.
She remained oblivious as he approached, but suddenly caught sight of him mid-bob and stopped, pulling her headphones down to hang around her neck. The head-bobbing ceased, but the gum-chewing did not. "So you're the guy?" she asked, looking him up and down appraisingly. "He didn't say you were cute."
Michael rolled his eyes. The past twenty-four hours were bad enough without being hit on by someone not much older than his daughter. Then something else dawned on him. "Who didn't say that?"
The girl looked at him, then at the briefcase, as it dawned on her that something serious was going on. "Nobody," she replied, backing away. "Listen, I got to go--"
Before she could take another step, Michael grabbed her by the arm, making sure his grip was gentle. She opened her mouth to scream, but then stopped, looking at him. There was no anger or malice in his eyes, just frustration and concern. "Just tell me," Michael said quietly.
She nodded, and he released her. "Look, I don't know who," she said, reaching into her back pocket and pulling out a folded slip of paper. "This big guy just gave me fifty bucks to give you this. That's it. I swear."
Michael took the slip from her, unfolded it, and sighed. There was an address written on the paper. "Let her go, Mr. Wiseman," Morris told him, much to Michael's relief. "We don't have time for this."
"Thanks," Michael told the girl. She didn't move, and he gestured with his head. "Get out of here. Go."
She looked at him oddly before turning and scurrying up the stairs to the street level. "Got an address, Doc," Michael said. "Some office building a few blocks from here."
"Give me the address," Morris replied. "And get moving."
"You're starting to sound like a broken record, Doc."
*****
Somewhere outside Hartford
The caravan of freight trucks finished passing through the intersection, despite the fact that four of them should have stopped for the train that was sitting and waiting for them to pass. The driver was so infuriated at the traffic slowing him up that he didn't notice the vehicle pulling alongside the train.
"Huh," Heather said as the train began to move again. "Thought we were going to make a real stop. Not like there's anyplace to stop around here, but still."
"Sorry to disappoint you," Lisa said tiredly. "Maybe you might want to try to get some sleep."
Heather shook her head. "I tried. I don't know, Mom - I've just got this feeling. Like we're not out of the woods yet. Something's gonna happen, I know it."
Lisa looked at her sympathetically before sitting up and scooting over. "Come here, you." As Heather scooted into the seat beside her, Lisa put an arm around her daughter. "Heather, we're going to be fine. I can work things out when we get to Boston. Besides, I really don't think Claire will turn down the opportunity for company."
Heather smiled at that, leaning against Lisa with a sigh. "Does she really have fourteen cats?"
Lisa smiled. "Maybe they'll make good pillows."
As Heather laughed, the door slid open. "I'm afraid," Leflin said, "that you won't be needing to worry about cats where we're going." He stepped into the car, dragging a very pissed-off looking and familiar woman behind him. "Mind if we sit down?"
"Yes," the woman said acidly, glaring at Leflin.
He smirked as two dark-suited men stepped up to guard the door. "I wasn't talking to you, my dear."
*****
145th Street
6:40 p.m.
"This is the place," Michael told the Doc quietly as he stood in front of the building. It was about six stories, nondescript, gray, with the interior lights dimmed. It didn't look like anyone was there.
"Well, stop standing there and go on in."
"Are you sure? Maybe I could just ring the doorbell and wait outside."
"Mr. Wiseman." There was no mistaking that tone. Michael sighed and grabbed the door handle, silently hoping that it was locked.
To his disappointment, the door slid open at his touch. Michael swallowed before stepping into the clean, dim, and silent lobby. "Hello?" he called. No one answered. "Honey, I'm home!" Still no reply. Michael stood in the center of the lobby for a few moments, considering his options and waiting for something to happen. Nothing did.
"Guess no one's here," Michael said, more to the Doc than himself. "Oh, well."
He started to turn away, but a familiar ding broke through the silence. Michael turned back towards the elevators at the far end of the lobby. The floor numbers were lighting up, marking the progress of the elevator coming closer and closer to the bottom floor. It finally reached the lobby, and the doors slid open to reveal... an empty elevator. Cautiously, Michael approached the elevator, peering in.
The only thing inside was a yellow Post-It with two words in block letters: GET IN.
"No, this isn't a trap," Michael muttered, looking apprehensively at the elevator. But it seemed that he didn't have a choice in the matter. Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside, and the doors slid shut behind him.
*****
Somewhere outside Hartford
6:40 p.m.
"Just who do you think you are?" Lisa exploded as Leflin sat down across from her and Heather, shoving Lydia into the seat beside him. One hand pinned her arm down, and the other was pressing something cold, hard, and small against her back. It probably wasn't a gun - he personally hated them - but Lydia decided she wasn't going to take that chance.
Not yet, anyway.
Leflin smiled tightly. "I'm a man of many means. That's all you need to know."
"Thank you, Mr. Cryptic," Lydia murmured. Leflin tightened his grip on her arm so much it was painful.
"It most certainly is not!" Lisa snapped.
"Mrs. Wiseman," Leflin said, "please keep your voice down."
There was a slight edge to his voice that hadn't been there before. _Lovely,_ Lydia thought. _Now he decides to unravel._
"Why? So maybe someone will notice we're being held hostage?"
"Keep it down, Mom," Heather muttered through clenched teeth. Her eyes were fixed on the armed goons in the doorway. Lisa was glaring at Leflin, who seemed visibly uncomfortable. Lydia, for once, did not notice; her attention was drawn to the darkness outside. Was it her imagination, or were those sets of headlights moving down the nearby highway getting closer? As if they were keeping pace with the train?
Leflin cleared his throat. "Mrs. Wiseman--"
Lisa barreled on, heedless of Heather's nails digging into her arm. "I am sick and tired of this cloak-and-dagger shit! I want answers!"
"Mom!" Heather exclaimed, shocked. Lydia reluctantly turned away from the window, visibly impressed.
Oddly enough, this burst of fury did not eliminate Leflin's calm. He seemed to relax at that final outburst, his discomfort fading. "You want answers? Very well." He leaned forward, still pressing the cold, hard object against Lydia's back. "There's a very good reason for all the inconsistent reports. No, your husband did not die the moment the train hit him. And no, he did not die when he reached the hospital. The doctors, nurses, scientists and bureaucrats have been withholding the truth from you, with good reason."
He paused for several seconds, just for dramatic effect. "You see, Mrs. Wiseman, your husband is alive."
*****
145th Street
New York City
It seemed like the elevator was taking forever. Michael stood there, nervously scanning the floor, walls and ceiling for the entrance of a toxic egg. He'd seen plenty of movies where the good guys were knocked out or killed by gas in an elevator. And why else would the Eggman pick such an empty, out-of-the-way spot for the drop? _He could just kill me and take the money..._
No. Michael forced back the wave of panic, trying to think. If the Eggman wanted the cash that badly, he would have to be sure that Michael was actually carrying it. He was all right for now.
The elevator finally stopped at the fifth floor, and the doors slid open. Cautiously, Michael stepped into the empty, dimly-lit hallway. Not a soul was in sight. The elevator doors slid shut behind him with a whisper. Michael stood there for a moment, waiting. "Hello?"
A dry cough pierced the silence, and Michael turned to see an eerily familiar figure standing at the end of the hallway. The little man wearing the gas mask had made almost no sound; Michael hadn't heard him approach. Holding up the egg so that Michael could see it, the Eggman beckoned.
*****
Somewhere outside Hartford
6:45 p.m.
"You see, Mrs. Wiseman, your husband is alive."
There was a long pause. A very long pause. "What?" Lisa whispered almost inaudibly, shocked. Heather was staring at Leflin as though the man had grown a second head.
Lydia froze for a second, her mind racing. Then the panic faded away to be replaced by an expression of total scorn. "Oh, for the love of - Bernie, of all the stupid, half-assed ideas you could have gotten into your head!"
"I don't appreciate your tone," Leflin informed her coldly.
"Tough," Lydia snapped. "You know, I figured you'd fallen for some kind of cockamamie story, but this just takes the cake! What, was your 'source' completely drunk out of his mind?"
The shock on the Wisemans' faces was turning quickly into doubt. "Are you calling me a liar?" Leflin demanded.
"No, but you're misinformed as hell." Lydia shook her head, sighing with frustration. "I don't believe this. I really don't believe this. I haul my sorry ass all the way out here from Denver to check out a security leak, get one hour of sleep, try to deal with the most stubborn SOB the Pentagon has ever hired, nearly get killed - and because someone's been telling you fairy tales!"
******
"Coming up to the drop-off point!" the driver announced as the black SUVs sped down the highway, trying to keep pace with the train. "We'll hit the patch in about a minute!"
Special Agent #1 checked his gear. "All right. Try to get us in line with the entrance to the third car from the front." He turned back to the other three agents who had volunteered to board the train. "They're in compartment C15. Probably under guard. I want this done quickly and quietly. Ross may or may not be with them. The Wisemans are NOT to be harmed." He paused. "Any questions?"
There were none. "Anyone feel like talking me out of this?"
The others exchanged glances. "No," Special Agent #3 said with a grin.
"Damn."
******
Grand Empire Insurance
New York City
The office secretary was packing up to leave. Roger Bender could hear her shuffling papers and reports, putting things in order before escaping their mutual prison. He glared at the report in front of him, then looked out at the quiet hallway. Most of the lights had been shut off. He heard a sigh, the sound of a briefcase zipping up, and finally the click of heels getting fainter and fainter as she headed for the elevators. Well, now it was official; he was the only one there. No one was around to see him working diligently at a report that wasn't even his responsibility. No one was around to point fingers if he left before they did.
If he left now, he could get to the police station before eight. Then he could get Ruth home in time for "Everybody Loves Raymond." Then she just might let him live.
Roger stuffed the report in a folder with disgust and grabbed his coat. There were far more terrifying things in his life than Craig Spence.
******
145th Street
6:46 p.m.
"Where's the bomb?" Michael asked.
The Eggman shook his head, pointing at the satchel in Michael's hand. "It's all here. Fifteen million." Michael patted the satchel, keeping his eyes fixed on the egg. "The bomb. Where is it, and how do I stop it?"
Shrugging, the Asian man reached into his pocket with his free hand. He never lowered the egg, nor did he take his eyes off Michael as he retrieved a folded piece of paper. His halting English was muffled by the gas mask, but simple enough to understand. "Here. Access code."
"Toss it over here."
"Money first."
"Uh-uh, there's no way," Michael protested. "Not while you've got the Chicken Embryo of Death right there. You give me the paper, then I slide you the money."
After a moment's hesitation, the Eggman slowly nodded. He dropped the paper to the floor and kicked it over to Michael. His aim was good, for the paper bounced against Michael's shoes. Slowly, Michael knelt down to pick up the paper, never letting his gaze stray from the little man. He straightened again just as slowly, unable to get rid of the sense of dread that was building and building. Somehow, he was forgetting something.
Just as Michael realized what he'd overlooked, the Eggman dropped the egg.
"Doc, he's dropping it!" Michael yelled, gulping in clean air and holding it just before the egg hit the ground. He dived to catch it, but he was too late.
*****
"Mr. Wiseman!" Morris shouted into the headset. "Mr. Wiseman!" No answer. "Damn it."
He immediately checked his watch, noting the exact second and minute before turning and yelling at the head of the HAZMAT team. "The agent's been released!"
"We've got the building sealed, sir," the technician assured him. "Did Mr. Wiseman--"
Morris looked past the sea of police and emergency vehicles at the office building. "Have a team ready. We'll know in six minutes."
*****
Outside Hartford
The two guards posted outside the compartment door were alert and ready for whatever trouble they might expect on a train such as curious passengers or suspicious conductors. But they weren't exactly prepared for the armed team of agents that appeared out of nowhere.
They were smart enough to know when to cooperate.
*****
As Lydia paused in her ranting, Leflin relaxed the pressure on her back, and she shifted ever so slightly. Not enough to get his attention, but enough to realize that there was no way that Leflin had a firearm back there. The other two men were another matter, but it still freed up her options.
She paused only to take a breath before launching back into her tirade. "Do you have any idea how much trouble you've caused for everyone? How much money and time this has wasted? Your father at least had the sense to know when he was going too far!"
"And then he killed himself, in case you've forgotten," Leflin snapped, his cool demeanor finally fading. "I know exactly what I'm doing."
"Yeah, kidnapping," Heather interrupted. "That's got to look great on your resume." Lisa elbowed her sharply.
Leflin glared at her for a moment before slipping back into an unsettling calm, leaning back unconsciously. "What do you propose to do about it?"
For answer, she suddenly leaned forward and slammed her elbow back into his face.
About a second later, chaos officially erupted.
*****
145th Street
Still holding his breath, Michael jumped to his feet, the satchel momentarily forgotten. The Eggman was hastily backing away, out of his reach. Before Michael could make a move to capture him, thick arms wrapped around his neck, squeezing his larynx like a vise. He was literally lifted off his feet. Fighting against the instinct to gasp for air, Michael kicked futilely and grabbed the arms holding him, trying to pull them apart.
But for all his strength, he couldn't get them to budge. Holding his breath at the same time made it even more difficult, and he couldn't get any traction on the floor. As he struggled furiously, he could hear a deep chuckle in his ear.
"Surprise," Charlie Smalls grunted through the gas mask he was wearing. "Superman, my ass."
*****
tbc...
A quickie note before this continues: I have good news and I have bad news. The good news is that "Murphy's Law" - the full copy that's on my hard drive in ten parts - is finally complete and revised. The bad news is that I am NOT posting all the final chapters at once. I know it sounds bad, but I still think I'm missing some errors and will try to catch things as I go along. I'm going to try to post parts daily.
Murphy's Law
by Amanda Ohlin
Chapter Seven
Outside Grand Central Station
6:00 p.m.
"The route goes up through Hartford," Special Agent #1 told the five remaining members of his team. The sixth was currently in custody. "He'll be most likely to try to board about thirty miles south of there, because there's a fairly well-traveled intersection. If the train's going to stop prematurely, it'll be there. Leflin will have time to engineer some sort of accident to guarantee that."
"Would he go to those lengths?" an agent asked.
"He's already pulled some ridiculous stunts already, and he's one of the richest men in the world. Yes." Special Agent #1 turned back to the map. "But we can cut them off ten miles later. There's a road that runs parallel to the tracks for a good six or seven miles, and we might not have to stop the train to board - which would tip Leflin off anyway. It'll take us approximately forty-five minutes to get there. Any more questions?"
Another agent cleared his throat. "Have you informed Dr. Morris?"
"Only that there was a security leak we had to take care of. He won't stop long enough to listen anyway, he's too busy trying to get the HAZMAT teams on the move. Besides, do you want to tell him we pulled agents away at a time like this and then come up empty-handed?"
There were no more questions.
*****
Somewhere outside Hartford
6:30 p.m.
"There it is," Leflin said, pointing down at the dimly-lit gray ribbons that traced through the blackness below that was supposed to be Connecticut. "Amtrak number 563. Right on schedule."
Lydia glanced dispassionately out of the helicopter window, more interested in their mode of transportation than anything else. "Mmm-hmm. Mind if I ask where you got the stealth helicopter?"
"We've taken on some government contracts. This one isn't due for a week. They won't miss it."
She turned and stared at him. "We're taking a stealth helicopter to stop a train and pick up a pair of civilians who have no clue what's going on." He nodded. "Am I the only one here who sees just how ridiculous this is? What, exactly, do you intend to accomplish here?"
He did not look at her, keeping his gaze fixed straight ahead. "I already told you that."
"Bullshit. You're bordering on fanatical, Bernie. This isn't about business anymore."
Leflin tensed at that, and she could see the muscles working in his jaw as he tried to formulate a calm answer. "My father devoted his last remaining years to the pursuit of life," he said after a moment. "His own life, and perhaps eventually the ability to prolong others' lives as well."
She hesitated before replying, slipping into psychiatrist mode. Now was not the time to be blunt. "What happened to him, Bernie - he made his own decision. I don't agree with it, but do you really want events to repeat themselves?"
He shrugged. "I'm just trying to finish what he started."
Sighing, Lydia sat back in her chair. Neither one spoke for several seconds. "It wasn't your fault," Lydia finally said.
At that, Leflin did turn and look at her, but Lydia had already turned back to the window.
*****
"Hey, Mom?"
Reluctantly, Lisa stirred from her sleep, blinking tiredly at her daughter. "It's a four-hour ride, Heather. Nothing you say or do will change that."
"I know, Mom, that's not what I meant. Is there a stop in the middle of nowhere?"
Lisa sat up, shaking her head briefly to clear out the last dregs of sleep. "Of course not. Why do you ask?"
Heather was staring out the window, trying to get a glimpse of something up ahead. "Because we're stopping."
*****
New York City
The subway ride seemed to be taking forever. True, it wasn't a short jaunt - he was going halfway across Manhattan - but to Michael it seemed like eternity. He checked the watch that the Doc had given him and winced; he only had an hour til the deadline. Not that it meant anything. He still hadn't seen a purple tie-dyed shirt.
He forced himself to stay alert, shifting the briefcase to his left hand, glancing around the subway car apprehensively. "Mr. Wiseman," Morris barked through the earpiece, jolting him into full alertness. "Any changes?"
"Hmm? No, nothing yet," Michael murmured, trying to keep his voice low. Even in New York, talking to oneself in a crowded space wasn't the best way to stay inconspicuous. "My stop's coming up, though."
"All right. Whoever the messenger is, stall him. We're trying to move a HAZMAT team and some units up there without drawing too much attention."
Michael nodded as the train began to slow. "You got it."
He was relieved to be able to exit with the flow of traffic as the train stopped and the doors slid open. Clutching the briefcase tightly, Michael elbowed his way onto the platform with the rest of the departing horde. Rush hour was dying down, and the majority of the traffic was getting off.
Stepping out of the flow of traffic, Michael scanned the area, seeing nothing but dull and muted colors, and not a hint of purple. "Anything?" the Doc asked.
"Don't see it yet," Michael muttered, moving to the other side of the support beam to get a better look. As the crowds began to thin out, he suddenly caught a flash of bright purple near the street entrance. Michael started moving towards it, hoping to get a better look. As he crossed the platform, he got a look at the owner of the shirt and stopped, surprised.
"Do you see him?" Morris demanded.
"Well," Michael replied, "I see her."
The girl was probably in her late teens or early twenties, a few years older than his daughter. She was Asian, her black hair cut short and intentionally uneven, with a purple streak in it that matched the neon purple tie-dyed tank top that she was wearing along with ratty jeans and black boots. She paid no attention to Michael, bobbing her head and chewing her gum in time with the music coming through the headphones she was wearing. "Her?" Morris echoed. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah, that shirt could be seen a mile away," Michael replied, resuming his course towards the girl.
She remained oblivious as he approached, but suddenly caught sight of him mid-bob and stopped, pulling her headphones down to hang around her neck. The head-bobbing ceased, but the gum-chewing did not. "So you're the guy?" she asked, looking him up and down appraisingly. "He didn't say you were cute."
Michael rolled his eyes. The past twenty-four hours were bad enough without being hit on by someone not much older than his daughter. Then something else dawned on him. "Who didn't say that?"
The girl looked at him, then at the briefcase, as it dawned on her that something serious was going on. "Nobody," she replied, backing away. "Listen, I got to go--"
Before she could take another step, Michael grabbed her by the arm, making sure his grip was gentle. She opened her mouth to scream, but then stopped, looking at him. There was no anger or malice in his eyes, just frustration and concern. "Just tell me," Michael said quietly.
She nodded, and he released her. "Look, I don't know who," she said, reaching into her back pocket and pulling out a folded slip of paper. "This big guy just gave me fifty bucks to give you this. That's it. I swear."
Michael took the slip from her, unfolded it, and sighed. There was an address written on the paper. "Let her go, Mr. Wiseman," Morris told him, much to Michael's relief. "We don't have time for this."
"Thanks," Michael told the girl. She didn't move, and he gestured with his head. "Get out of here. Go."
She looked at him oddly before turning and scurrying up the stairs to the street level. "Got an address, Doc," Michael said. "Some office building a few blocks from here."
"Give me the address," Morris replied. "And get moving."
"You're starting to sound like a broken record, Doc."
*****
Somewhere outside Hartford
The caravan of freight trucks finished passing through the intersection, despite the fact that four of them should have stopped for the train that was sitting and waiting for them to pass. The driver was so infuriated at the traffic slowing him up that he didn't notice the vehicle pulling alongside the train.
"Huh," Heather said as the train began to move again. "Thought we were going to make a real stop. Not like there's anyplace to stop around here, but still."
"Sorry to disappoint you," Lisa said tiredly. "Maybe you might want to try to get some sleep."
Heather shook her head. "I tried. I don't know, Mom - I've just got this feeling. Like we're not out of the woods yet. Something's gonna happen, I know it."
Lisa looked at her sympathetically before sitting up and scooting over. "Come here, you." As Heather scooted into the seat beside her, Lisa put an arm around her daughter. "Heather, we're going to be fine. I can work things out when we get to Boston. Besides, I really don't think Claire will turn down the opportunity for company."
Heather smiled at that, leaning against Lisa with a sigh. "Does she really have fourteen cats?"
Lisa smiled. "Maybe they'll make good pillows."
As Heather laughed, the door slid open. "I'm afraid," Leflin said, "that you won't be needing to worry about cats where we're going." He stepped into the car, dragging a very pissed-off looking and familiar woman behind him. "Mind if we sit down?"
"Yes," the woman said acidly, glaring at Leflin.
He smirked as two dark-suited men stepped up to guard the door. "I wasn't talking to you, my dear."
*****
145th Street
6:40 p.m.
"This is the place," Michael told the Doc quietly as he stood in front of the building. It was about six stories, nondescript, gray, with the interior lights dimmed. It didn't look like anyone was there.
"Well, stop standing there and go on in."
"Are you sure? Maybe I could just ring the doorbell and wait outside."
"Mr. Wiseman." There was no mistaking that tone. Michael sighed and grabbed the door handle, silently hoping that it was locked.
To his disappointment, the door slid open at his touch. Michael swallowed before stepping into the clean, dim, and silent lobby. "Hello?" he called. No one answered. "Honey, I'm home!" Still no reply. Michael stood in the center of the lobby for a few moments, considering his options and waiting for something to happen. Nothing did.
"Guess no one's here," Michael said, more to the Doc than himself. "Oh, well."
He started to turn away, but a familiar ding broke through the silence. Michael turned back towards the elevators at the far end of the lobby. The floor numbers were lighting up, marking the progress of the elevator coming closer and closer to the bottom floor. It finally reached the lobby, and the doors slid open to reveal... an empty elevator. Cautiously, Michael approached the elevator, peering in.
The only thing inside was a yellow Post-It with two words in block letters: GET IN.
"No, this isn't a trap," Michael muttered, looking apprehensively at the elevator. But it seemed that he didn't have a choice in the matter. Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside, and the doors slid shut behind him.
*****
Somewhere outside Hartford
6:40 p.m.
"Just who do you think you are?" Lisa exploded as Leflin sat down across from her and Heather, shoving Lydia into the seat beside him. One hand pinned her arm down, and the other was pressing something cold, hard, and small against her back. It probably wasn't a gun - he personally hated them - but Lydia decided she wasn't going to take that chance.
Not yet, anyway.
Leflin smiled tightly. "I'm a man of many means. That's all you need to know."
"Thank you, Mr. Cryptic," Lydia murmured. Leflin tightened his grip on her arm so much it was painful.
"It most certainly is not!" Lisa snapped.
"Mrs. Wiseman," Leflin said, "please keep your voice down."
There was a slight edge to his voice that hadn't been there before. _Lovely,_ Lydia thought. _Now he decides to unravel._
"Why? So maybe someone will notice we're being held hostage?"
"Keep it down, Mom," Heather muttered through clenched teeth. Her eyes were fixed on the armed goons in the doorway. Lisa was glaring at Leflin, who seemed visibly uncomfortable. Lydia, for once, did not notice; her attention was drawn to the darkness outside. Was it her imagination, or were those sets of headlights moving down the nearby highway getting closer? As if they were keeping pace with the train?
Leflin cleared his throat. "Mrs. Wiseman--"
Lisa barreled on, heedless of Heather's nails digging into her arm. "I am sick and tired of this cloak-and-dagger shit! I want answers!"
"Mom!" Heather exclaimed, shocked. Lydia reluctantly turned away from the window, visibly impressed.
Oddly enough, this burst of fury did not eliminate Leflin's calm. He seemed to relax at that final outburst, his discomfort fading. "You want answers? Very well." He leaned forward, still pressing the cold, hard object against Lydia's back. "There's a very good reason for all the inconsistent reports. No, your husband did not die the moment the train hit him. And no, he did not die when he reached the hospital. The doctors, nurses, scientists and bureaucrats have been withholding the truth from you, with good reason."
He paused for several seconds, just for dramatic effect. "You see, Mrs. Wiseman, your husband is alive."
*****
145th Street
New York City
It seemed like the elevator was taking forever. Michael stood there, nervously scanning the floor, walls and ceiling for the entrance of a toxic egg. He'd seen plenty of movies where the good guys were knocked out or killed by gas in an elevator. And why else would the Eggman pick such an empty, out-of-the-way spot for the drop? _He could just kill me and take the money..._
No. Michael forced back the wave of panic, trying to think. If the Eggman wanted the cash that badly, he would have to be sure that Michael was actually carrying it. He was all right for now.
The elevator finally stopped at the fifth floor, and the doors slid open. Cautiously, Michael stepped into the empty, dimly-lit hallway. Not a soul was in sight. The elevator doors slid shut behind him with a whisper. Michael stood there for a moment, waiting. "Hello?"
A dry cough pierced the silence, and Michael turned to see an eerily familiar figure standing at the end of the hallway. The little man wearing the gas mask had made almost no sound; Michael hadn't heard him approach. Holding up the egg so that Michael could see it, the Eggman beckoned.
*****
Somewhere outside Hartford
6:45 p.m.
"You see, Mrs. Wiseman, your husband is alive."
There was a long pause. A very long pause. "What?" Lisa whispered almost inaudibly, shocked. Heather was staring at Leflin as though the man had grown a second head.
Lydia froze for a second, her mind racing. Then the panic faded away to be replaced by an expression of total scorn. "Oh, for the love of - Bernie, of all the stupid, half-assed ideas you could have gotten into your head!"
"I don't appreciate your tone," Leflin informed her coldly.
"Tough," Lydia snapped. "You know, I figured you'd fallen for some kind of cockamamie story, but this just takes the cake! What, was your 'source' completely drunk out of his mind?"
The shock on the Wisemans' faces was turning quickly into doubt. "Are you calling me a liar?" Leflin demanded.
"No, but you're misinformed as hell." Lydia shook her head, sighing with frustration. "I don't believe this. I really don't believe this. I haul my sorry ass all the way out here from Denver to check out a security leak, get one hour of sleep, try to deal with the most stubborn SOB the Pentagon has ever hired, nearly get killed - and because someone's been telling you fairy tales!"
******
"Coming up to the drop-off point!" the driver announced as the black SUVs sped down the highway, trying to keep pace with the train. "We'll hit the patch in about a minute!"
Special Agent #1 checked his gear. "All right. Try to get us in line with the entrance to the third car from the front." He turned back to the other three agents who had volunteered to board the train. "They're in compartment C15. Probably under guard. I want this done quickly and quietly. Ross may or may not be with them. The Wisemans are NOT to be harmed." He paused. "Any questions?"
There were none. "Anyone feel like talking me out of this?"
The others exchanged glances. "No," Special Agent #3 said with a grin.
"Damn."
******
Grand Empire Insurance
New York City
The office secretary was packing up to leave. Roger Bender could hear her shuffling papers and reports, putting things in order before escaping their mutual prison. He glared at the report in front of him, then looked out at the quiet hallway. Most of the lights had been shut off. He heard a sigh, the sound of a briefcase zipping up, and finally the click of heels getting fainter and fainter as she headed for the elevators. Well, now it was official; he was the only one there. No one was around to see him working diligently at a report that wasn't even his responsibility. No one was around to point fingers if he left before they did.
If he left now, he could get to the police station before eight. Then he could get Ruth home in time for "Everybody Loves Raymond." Then she just might let him live.
Roger stuffed the report in a folder with disgust and grabbed his coat. There were far more terrifying things in his life than Craig Spence.
******
145th Street
6:46 p.m.
"Where's the bomb?" Michael asked.
The Eggman shook his head, pointing at the satchel in Michael's hand. "It's all here. Fifteen million." Michael patted the satchel, keeping his eyes fixed on the egg. "The bomb. Where is it, and how do I stop it?"
Shrugging, the Asian man reached into his pocket with his free hand. He never lowered the egg, nor did he take his eyes off Michael as he retrieved a folded piece of paper. His halting English was muffled by the gas mask, but simple enough to understand. "Here. Access code."
"Toss it over here."
"Money first."
"Uh-uh, there's no way," Michael protested. "Not while you've got the Chicken Embryo of Death right there. You give me the paper, then I slide you the money."
After a moment's hesitation, the Eggman slowly nodded. He dropped the paper to the floor and kicked it over to Michael. His aim was good, for the paper bounced against Michael's shoes. Slowly, Michael knelt down to pick up the paper, never letting his gaze stray from the little man. He straightened again just as slowly, unable to get rid of the sense of dread that was building and building. Somehow, he was forgetting something.
Just as Michael realized what he'd overlooked, the Eggman dropped the egg.
"Doc, he's dropping it!" Michael yelled, gulping in clean air and holding it just before the egg hit the ground. He dived to catch it, but he was too late.
*****
"Mr. Wiseman!" Morris shouted into the headset. "Mr. Wiseman!" No answer. "Damn it."
He immediately checked his watch, noting the exact second and minute before turning and yelling at the head of the HAZMAT team. "The agent's been released!"
"We've got the building sealed, sir," the technician assured him. "Did Mr. Wiseman--"
Morris looked past the sea of police and emergency vehicles at the office building. "Have a team ready. We'll know in six minutes."
*****
Outside Hartford
The two guards posted outside the compartment door were alert and ready for whatever trouble they might expect on a train such as curious passengers or suspicious conductors. But they weren't exactly prepared for the armed team of agents that appeared out of nowhere.
They were smart enough to know when to cooperate.
*****
As Lydia paused in her ranting, Leflin relaxed the pressure on her back, and she shifted ever so slightly. Not enough to get his attention, but enough to realize that there was no way that Leflin had a firearm back there. The other two men were another matter, but it still freed up her options.
She paused only to take a breath before launching back into her tirade. "Do you have any idea how much trouble you've caused for everyone? How much money and time this has wasted? Your father at least had the sense to know when he was going too far!"
"And then he killed himself, in case you've forgotten," Leflin snapped, his cool demeanor finally fading. "I know exactly what I'm doing."
"Yeah, kidnapping," Heather interrupted. "That's got to look great on your resume." Lisa elbowed her sharply.
Leflin glared at her for a moment before slipping back into an unsettling calm, leaning back unconsciously. "What do you propose to do about it?"
For answer, she suddenly leaned forward and slammed her elbow back into his face.
About a second later, chaos officially erupted.
*****
145th Street
Still holding his breath, Michael jumped to his feet, the satchel momentarily forgotten. The Eggman was hastily backing away, out of his reach. Before Michael could make a move to capture him, thick arms wrapped around his neck, squeezing his larynx like a vise. He was literally lifted off his feet. Fighting against the instinct to gasp for air, Michael kicked futilely and grabbed the arms holding him, trying to pull them apart.
But for all his strength, he couldn't get them to budge. Holding his breath at the same time made it even more difficult, and he couldn't get any traction on the floor. As he struggled furiously, he could hear a deep chuckle in his ear.
"Surprise," Charlie Smalls grunted through the gas mask he was wearing. "Superman, my ass."
*****
tbc...