All disclaimers in chapters one and five.
NOTE: I spoke too soon. Turning out parts daily is impossible... since I forgot that today is the day I'm moving the last of my furniture, including my computer, to a new apartment. And I won't have Net access for a little while. Fortunately, it's pretty much all downhill after this part.
Also, please read and review. I am not asking this just to get reviews, however; I still think there may be some errors I've missed, and if anyone can catch them, I'd appreciate you letting me know.
Murphy's Law
by Amanda Ohlin
Chapter Eight
Outside Hartford
6:47 p.m.
Leflin's howl of pain told Lydia that she had hit home as she pulled herself free from his grip without any trouble, scrambling to her feet and moving out of his reach. The billionaire didn't notice. He was too preoccupied with his discomfort, doubled over with both hands covering his bloody nose. The two guards started in surprise, looking from their boss to Lydia with confusion. They weren't exactly prepared for this contingency.
Still covering his face, Leflin glared at them. "Stop staring at me and get some ice!"
The guard nearest the door nodded, stood, and left the compartment. As he closed the door behind him, he heard the unmistakable click of a safety being turned off. He turned around slowly to see several guns pointed at him.
Special Agent #1 regarded him coldly. "Two down. How many more to go?"
*****
145th Street
After over a year of tedious and constant training - even though he hadn't been all that attentive - Michael knew exactly what to do if someone grabbed him from behind and tried to cut off his air supply. He even knew what to do if his feet were lifted off the floor.
But none of his training had taught him what to do if he had to hold his breath at the same time.
Smalls didn't have that problem. Without loosening his choke hold, the huge man slammed Michael into the wall, putting all of his weight into it. It was all Michael could do to keep from gasping in pain as the plaster cracked from the impact. He bit his lip to keep from crying out - too hard. Immediately, Michael tasted blood. He'd forgotten that his enhanced strength extended to every muscle - even his jaw.
As Smalls pulled back, Michael jabbed his elbow back blindly, hoping to connect. His aim was wide, and he connected with the big man's side. Smalls grunted. "You want more? Fine by me."
Finding a fresh section of wall, he repeated the procedure, leaving another Michael-shaped dent in the plaster where the first one had been. The angle was different, and his head took more of the impact this time. Michael was vaguely aware of the Eggman shuffling past them to pick up the satchel as Smalls went back to crushing his windpipe.
_No!_ Michael couldn't believe this. After everything he'd been through, this psychopath couldn't just walk away. Then again, he wasn't having much luck with the giant who was attacking him. The taste of blood in his mouth gave him an idea. Maybe fighting back wasn't the way to deal with this guy.
His struggles grew weaker, and after a second or two he went limp in Charlie's arms.
*****
Lydia bent down to pick up the small metal object that Leflin had dropped. Lisa and Heather stared at it. "A cigarette lighter?" Lisa asked in disbelief.
Leflin shrugged as best he could. "I had to improvise."
"Wow," Heather said. "You really are a loser."
Anything Leflin could have said in response was cut off by a polite knock on the door. "Get that," he said to the last remaining guard.
The man obeyed. As soon as he saw who was standing out there, he reached for his gun. He wasn't quick enough, and the next thing anyone in the compartment knew, the door was kicked open and several men with guns blocked the threshold. "Freeze! Federal agents!"
Lisa yelped in surprise, and the remaining guard took one look at what he was facing and dropped his gun. "Hands on your head," Special Agent #1 ordered.
"My hero," Lydia said wryly.
"Don't even go there, Dr. Ross."
As the last of Leflin's guards was hustled out of the compartment and handcuffed, Lydia remained in the corner with Lisa and Heather, surreptitiously placing herself between them and the agents.
The bald agent stared at Leflin, who was still hunched over in pain, then looked back at Lydia again.
Lydia shrugged. "He pissed me off."
Heather grinned wickedly, and Lisa tried not to laugh.
*****
145th Street
6:50 p.m.
"Just where do you think you're going?" Charlie demanded as he let the limp body fall to the floor.
The Eggman looked up from his inspection of the satchel as he stood in front of the elevator, waiting for it to open. Charlie stepped over Michael's body to confront the little man. "You're not leaving without me, are you? I did my part."
"Did you?"
For answer, Charlie turned the body over for the Eggman to see. Michael's eyes were closed, but there was blood trickling from the corners of his mouth. "Looks like it." The Eggman said nothing. "I thought we were partners, old man. Did you get the money?" The old man nodded. "Well, show me."
Hesitating for a moment, the Eggman passed the satchel to Charlie. The burly man crouched down beside Michael and unlatched the case, letting out a low whistle as he flipped through the contents. "I've got to hand it to you," he said. "This was worth all the hassle--"
Suddenly, Michael's arm shot out and knocked the satchel out of Charlie's hands. It flew into the far wall, and the contents spilled in every direction. Charlie cried out with shock as Michael jumped to his feet, shoving the big man to the floor. He took a step towards the Eggman, but Charlie recovered enough to grab his opponent's leg and yank Michael down to the floor. Again the big man wrapped his hands around Michael's neck, but Michael shoved his fists up between Charlie's arms, pushing outwards with all his strength. They were fairly evenly matched; Michael was stronger than Charlie, but the convict had the extra advantage of being able to breathe. As the two men struggled, the Eggman glanced at the spilt money and sighed as the elevator doors opened.
Michael finally pried Charlie's hands off his neck and punched the big man in the face. It was an ill-aimed punch; the gas mask made it difficult, and his attention was suddenly directed elsewhere. He glanced up to see the Eggman getting into the elevator only a few feet away.
"Bye-bye," the Eggman said as the doors slid shut.
Desperately, Michael lunged for the elevator, but Charlie took advantage of the distraction and grabbed his opponent by his collar, scrambling to his feet as he threw Michael into the wall. To Charlie's surprise, the smaller man was on his feet in a second and charging. Catching the convict off guard, Michael plowed headlong into him, slamming Charlie into the wall. But Charlie was ready for something like that, and before Michael could pull back, grabbed him in a headlock.
Gritting his teeth, Michael planted his feet, trying to flip Charlie over his shoulder. Instead, he managed to send both of them crashing to the floor.
Dazed, Michael barely managed to catch the punches Charlie threw at him in midair, desperately grappling with the convict. His lungs were starting to burn, and he realized that he wasn't going to be able to duke it out with Charlie indefinitely. As the big man pinned him down, Michael grabbed wildly at his head. Charlie howled as Michael's fingers pulled his hair. Again Michael grabbed, and was gratified to find the edge of the gas mask.
_Sorry,_ Michael thought as he grasped the rubber strap and yanked with all his might. At the same time, he kneed his opponent in the groin. Charlie cried out in pain, rolling off of Michael.
The gas mask remained in Michael's hand. As Charlie sat up, he suddenly realized what had happened, but it was too late. The big man opened his mouth in terror, convulsing as the toxin bombarded his system. Scrambling to his feet, Michael backed away in horror, letting the gas mask slip from nerveless fingers.
"Mr. Wiseman!" Michael almost jumped a foot as Dr. Morris shouted into his ear; he'd forgotten about the earpiece. "I know you can't respond, but if you can hear me, head for the front entrance! We have a HAZMAT team in place!"
A familiar scrap of white paper was lying a few feet away. Michael snatched the paper up, unfolding it to see an address and a series of numbers. The second he read the address, he bolted for the stairwell.
There was still time to win this one.
*****
Outside Hartford
"I'm telling you, I was set up!" Leflin was yelling. "I was told that I was exposing a conspiracy!"
"I'm sure you were," Special Agent #1 said mildly as the millionaire was hustled into a black van along with his men. "You should have checked your sources."
Leflin managed to push partially free of his captors. Despite the bandage that was covering his nose, the controlled fury in his eyes was patently dangerous. "What are you going to tell the courts? You can't prove anything without exposing yourselves."
"Let me see," Lydia said, coming up to stand beside the bald agent. "We can prove kidnapping, misappropriation of government property - that's the helicopter, of course - and the fact that you deliberately attempted to sabotage a legitimate government project is certainly going to thrill a judge."
He glared at her. "I trusted you, Lydia. I thought you were a friend."
"I could say the same for you, Bernie," she said sadly. Turning away, she ignored his angry shouts as he was shoved into the van.
As she walked back towards the string of police cars, Special Agent #1 came up beside her. "What next?" she asked.
"We'll have to question him," he informed her. "See what he knows."
"Mmm-hmm. And the charges?"
"Going to be hard to bring up given the circumstances. If he's cooperative, he'll just disappear from the public eye and split up his fortune to his investors."
Lydia chuckled in spite of herself. "He's just going to hate that." She frowned. "But that's not what I asked."
He blinked in confusion as they approached the nearest open van. Lisa and Heather were sitting in the back of the van, being checked out by one of the agents who knew first aid. They were more or less unharmed, albeit fairly shaken up. Lisa was squeezing her daughter's hand so tightly that her knuckles were white, but Heather wasn't complaining. "So what happens now?" Lisa asked as they approached.
Lydia folded her arms and gave the bald agent a meaningful look. "You know, Q-ball, that's a very good question."
Special Agent #1 closed his eyes. "Don't call me that."
*****
145th Street
6:51 p.m.
The building was completely sealed off as Dr. Morris approached the front entrance. Extending from the front doors was a heavy plastic chamber, which had air filtering equipment on the right and left to clear the toxins from the chamber. The back was opened up to allow access from the building.
"How much more time?" one of the technicians asked.
Morris checked his watch. "One minute."
*****
6:52 p.m.
Michael grasped the handle of the stairwell door and was less than pleased to discover that it was locked. He backed up a few steps and threw all of his weight into the door. The hinges snapped and the door practically buckled as Michael tumbled through the threshold, door and all. He stumbled to his feet and bolted down a flight of steps - then got a better idea. Vaulting neatly over the railing, he dropped three floors and landed rather painfully on his feet. He winced at the landing, stumbled, and charged for the lobby.
*****
6:53 p.m.
Seven minutes had passed. And Michael Wiseman had yet to emerge. Dr. Morris stared sadly at the front doors of the building, then sighed and started to turn away.
A sudden whump caused him to whirl around. Michael had come charging out of the front doors and slammed headlong into the plastic. Realizing just what was going on, he'd managed to brake just in time to keep from tearing right through the protective sheet.
"Get him out of there!" Morris shouted, moving to stand beside the technician working on the air filtering system. "Are you sure this will work?"
The tech handling the controls sighed, his voice distorted by the bio-suit filter. "Our instrumentation should be able to pick up most known toxins, and this time we know what we're looking for."
Morris spoke into the earpiece again. "Mr. Wiseman, you'll have to hold on for a second or two. We have to make sure the toxin is filtered out."
Michael nodded, closing his eyes and desperately trying to hold his breath a few more seconds. It felt like his lungs would explode at any moment. He was feeling light-headed, and crumpled to his knees, barely noticing as the two men in biohazard suits caught him before he could crash to the ground. But he did hear a hissing sound and felt the rush of circulating air as the toxic air was sucked out of the chamber.
A green light on a nearby panel switched on, accompanied by a shrill beep. "We're clear!" the tech shouted.
Unable to take it any more, Michael exhaled with a gasp. To his surprise, something plastic was shoved against his nose and mouth. Opening his eyes, Michael put a hand over the oxygen mask, holding onto it as he sucked in a deep breath of air. He was relieved to discover that it was indeed an oxygen tank that the mask was connected to.
At a signal from Dr. Morris, a flap in the chamber was opened, and the two men in yellow suits helped Michael stagger to his feet. Too tired to argue, he allowed them to support him on both sides, hauling him through the sea of flickering red-and-blue lights. Michael kept his head down, watching the asphalt instead of the lights; he hadn't taken his medication, and was taking no chances.
Predictably enough, Morris was waiting for them at the ambulance as Michael was hauled into the back. "I hope you have good news."
Michael tried to speak, but his chest hurt too much. With shaking hands, he handed Morris the note. The Doc unfolded it, reading over the contents as Michael took another gulp of air from the oxygen tank. He glanced up. "A bomb?" Michael nodded. "This series of numbers?"
"Code," Michael gasped, finally finding his voice. "Eggman... said something... about an access code."
Morris nodded and opened his cellphone. "We've got a location. Madison Square Garden." A pause. "You heard me. The bomb's right across the goddamn street from you. I have an access code here. Take it down." He read from the note. "3-5-7-2-5-9-5-3-0-7-8-1-1-6-6-5-7-4-2. Tell the bomb squad they've got thirty minutes at the most."
He hung up the phone. "What about our friends in there?"
"Eggman went down the elevator. Didn't see him get off at the lobby, so he could still be in there." Michael paused for a moment, breathing heavily. His chest still hurt.
"We'll check that out," Morris said. "Smalls?"
Michael didn't reply immediately. He looked down at his hands. "He's - he's dead." He looked pained, the realization of what he'd just done sinking in. Absently, he added, "The money - uh, the money's actually spread out all over the fifth floor."
When the Doc did not reply, Michael looked up to see that Morris was standing there, fixing the Look on him. It wasn't just the Look that Michael had become used to. Dr. Morris seemed to be trying to bore a hole through Michael's skull with that glare. And it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what he really wanted to know.
"Doc," Michael said, "she doesn't know anything. Okay, maybe she doesn't buy the I.R.S. cover anymore, but she still thinks I'm just some crazy SOB who works for the government."
"Do you know how close we came to having the security of this project utterly blown?" Morris demanded.
Michael dismissed the impending string of questions with a wave. "We didn't. Besides, Doc, she doesn't want to know. Not if it's gonna endanger her - or Heather." He took another gulp of air from the tank. "You can do what you want to me, but leave them alone. They're not a security risk."
"You're sure."
"I'm positive." Michael shielded his eyes with a hand. "You mind closing the door or getting me some shades?"
Dr. Morris glowered - for about five seconds. He turned to watch the flashing lights of the squad cars and emergency vehicles that were already pulling out into traffic, headed towards a bomb that they just might be able to stop, and hundreds of people that they just might be able to save. He turned to look at the man sitting on the gurney in the ambulance, a man who had risked his freedom, his life, and his family's lives to make it possible.
"Lie down, Mr. Wiseman." Groaning, Michael obeyed as Morris' cellphone rang. "Morris here." The tall scientist frowned. "Where are you?" He paused, listening. "Yes, that sounds exactly like something she'd do."
He stopped and looked at Michael thoughtfully for several moments. "I'm afraid that I'll have to agree with Dr. Ross for once." There was a rather long pause. "I don't have the time or the inclination to explain myself. Meet us at 34th and 4th after 7:30. Yes, bring all three of them."
Nodding, he shut off the phone. "Feel like taking a trip?"
"Depends where we're going."
"To see if this," Morris replied, shaking the scrap of paper, "is telling the truth."
*****
Somewhere outside Hartford
6:55 p.m.
"What do you mean, a change of plan?" Lydia demanded as Special Agent #1 finished instructing the helicopter pilot and sat back in his seat. Also piled into the helicopter were Lisa and Heather, since Lydia had refused to let either one of them out of her sight.
"We're going back into the city," the agent replied.
Lisa leaned forward. "WHERE in the city??"
He looked uncomfortable. "Couple blocks from Madison Square Garden."
"What?" Heather echoed. "Why?"
Special Agent #1 shook his head helplessly. "Beats me."
Both Lisa and Heather turned to stare at Lydia. The psychologist shrugged.
*****
7:10 p.m.
"Can't this thing go any faster?" Michael groused as the limo sped down the parkway, pressing an icepack to his head. He was breathing easier now, but he was still sore from being bashed into the walls repeatedly.
Dr. Morris didn't reply, listening intently to his cellphone. A good portion of the teams had been left in the vicinity of Grand Central Station - including the bomb squad. Which meant that calling them in was not as difficult as it would have been otherwise. The HAZMAT teams had remained to decontaminate the building and search for the Eggman. "Hm." He shut the cellphone off. "They've actually got most of the arena evacuated."
Michael nearly dropped the icepack into his lap. "You're kidding? Already? During a game?"
"It was an off-season charity game," Morris replied. "Turnout wasn't as high as it might have been for, say, the NBA All-Star Game."
"But still, the whole arena--"
Morris smirked. "Apparently, the Knicks were losing. Badly. People were already walking out."
Michael stared at him for a few more seconds in utter disbelief. "Uh-huh. What about the bomb?"
"There's a team searching the lower levels right now."
"So what are we supposed to do?"
Morris put the phone back into his coat pocket. "We wait and see."
*****
Madison Square Garden
7:20 p.m.
When the dead janitor was found stuffed inside a storage closet, the agents searching the halls knew they were on the right track. Consequently, it was not a great surprise when a bomb was discovered hooked to one of the generators not far away from the body.
The sheer amount of homemade explosive wired to its control box was.
The officer in charge switched on his radio. "Lieutenant, I think we've got something. How much left to evacuate?"
"We're herding out one of the concert stages now," crackled a response. "Other one's still left, the lowest level. Are you positive this is it?"
"Oh, yeah. Bastard's got it hooked up to a generator. Something tells me cutting the power is a bad idea."
"Is there an input screen?"
There was a computer keyboard hooked up to the thing, with a small monitor. The cursor blinked expectantly. "Yep, we got an interface. This guy's set up plenty of decoys, though. Cutting wires isn't going to help. Timer says we've got 10 minutes."
"Our orders are to disarm that damn thing and to use the access code first. Put it in and see what happens. We'll keep trying to get people out. If you can't shut it off in seven minutes, get the hell out of there."
"Yes, sir." Switching off his radio, the officer retrieved a printout from the pocket of his vest. "Clear this floor. Get the dogs out of here, get the staff out of here, no one but essential personnel. Be ready to seal off and contain the blast on my order." _And pray while you're at it,_ he added silently.
Taking a deep breath, he turned to the keyboard and slowly began to type.
*****
Seventh Street
"Goddammit!"
Like a large portion of New York City drivers, Roger subscribed to the school of thought that if you leaned on your horn long enough and cursed loudly enough, you would somehow move deadlocked downtown traffic. Sometimes, the theory actually worked.
This, however, was not one of those times.
Traffic had been relatively tolerable until he'd neared Madison Square Garden, and then everything had ground to a dead stop. No amount of cursing or honking or prayer would get it to move. Groaning, Roger rested his head against the steering wheel. "Should have taken the subway," he muttered to no one in particular.
The unmistakable sound of sirens made him lift his head and listen. It wasn't just one or two sirens, but several, coming from all directions. Curious, Roger shut off the ignition and got out of the Mercedes, taking his keys with him and turning on the automatic door lock and car alarm as he did so. He checked to make sure that he had the key chain with the pepper spray before shutting the car door and peering over the tops of cars. Other motorists were following suit.
He could see the Garden a block away, and he could also see that the entire intersection was blocked off. The caravan of emergency vehicles told Roger that something was going on. Something decidedly unpleasant.
Roger wondered just what he was going to tell Ruth.
*****
Madison Square Garden
7:22 p.m.
The officer tapped in the last two characters of the code. "Here goes nothing," he muttered as he pressed the ENTER key.
There was a high-pitched beep, and the screen went blank. The officer jumped to his feet, but stopped as a new message popped up on the screen.
CORRECT ACCESS CODE
TIMER ABORT
To his immense relief, the timer stopped moving. The screen shut off, and the lights on the control box dimmed. He switched on his radio. "I think I've got some good news here."
*****
34th and 7th St.
7:35 p.m.
"It's after 7:30," Michael said. "I didn't hear anything explode."
Morris nodded, finishing up his cellphone conversation. "Seems the Eggman was good as his word. Then again, he probably didn't want to risk the manhunt that would ensue if he got the money, got away and let the Garden blow sky-high."
Michael snorted. "Forget the FBI. He'd have to deal with rabid Knicks fans." He paused. "The code worked?"
"The code worked. The bomb squad disarmed the bomb and they're running a sweep of the building to make sure they got everything. There's a very large crowd of disgruntled patrons outside, but at least they're not dead." He smiled - a tight, small smile, but a smile nonetheless. "Good work, Mr. Wiseman."
"Thanks," Michael said distantly. "What about them, Doc? What are you going to do about my family?"
"Actually--" Morris began, but he was interrupted by a tapping sound. Startled, he rolled down the window to see who it was.
Lydia brushed her hair out of her face. "Dr. Morris. Fancy meeting you here."
"Dr. Ross," Morris said calmly. "I trust everything is in hand?"
"More or less. Your lackey is keeping an eye on things." She gestured towards the black SUV that had pulled up at the curb behind them. "Let's save the introductions and excuses for later. I've got fifteen minutes to get our stories straight."
*****
145th Street
The power had been cut to the building, and it took a crowbar for the team investigating the aftermath of the standoff to pry open the elevator doors on the first floor. Half an hour had passed, and the Eggman had not emerged from the building. No one was sure if he was dead or alive.
Finally, the doors slid open.
The elevator was empty save for a cryptic note on a piece of yellow paper:
FAIR GAME.
There was no sign of the Eggman.
*****
tbc...
NOTE: I spoke too soon. Turning out parts daily is impossible... since I forgot that today is the day I'm moving the last of my furniture, including my computer, to a new apartment. And I won't have Net access for a little while. Fortunately, it's pretty much all downhill after this part.
Also, please read and review. I am not asking this just to get reviews, however; I still think there may be some errors I've missed, and if anyone can catch them, I'd appreciate you letting me know.
Murphy's Law
by Amanda Ohlin
Chapter Eight
Outside Hartford
6:47 p.m.
Leflin's howl of pain told Lydia that she had hit home as she pulled herself free from his grip without any trouble, scrambling to her feet and moving out of his reach. The billionaire didn't notice. He was too preoccupied with his discomfort, doubled over with both hands covering his bloody nose. The two guards started in surprise, looking from their boss to Lydia with confusion. They weren't exactly prepared for this contingency.
Still covering his face, Leflin glared at them. "Stop staring at me and get some ice!"
The guard nearest the door nodded, stood, and left the compartment. As he closed the door behind him, he heard the unmistakable click of a safety being turned off. He turned around slowly to see several guns pointed at him.
Special Agent #1 regarded him coldly. "Two down. How many more to go?"
*****
145th Street
After over a year of tedious and constant training - even though he hadn't been all that attentive - Michael knew exactly what to do if someone grabbed him from behind and tried to cut off his air supply. He even knew what to do if his feet were lifted off the floor.
But none of his training had taught him what to do if he had to hold his breath at the same time.
Smalls didn't have that problem. Without loosening his choke hold, the huge man slammed Michael into the wall, putting all of his weight into it. It was all Michael could do to keep from gasping in pain as the plaster cracked from the impact. He bit his lip to keep from crying out - too hard. Immediately, Michael tasted blood. He'd forgotten that his enhanced strength extended to every muscle - even his jaw.
As Smalls pulled back, Michael jabbed his elbow back blindly, hoping to connect. His aim was wide, and he connected with the big man's side. Smalls grunted. "You want more? Fine by me."
Finding a fresh section of wall, he repeated the procedure, leaving another Michael-shaped dent in the plaster where the first one had been. The angle was different, and his head took more of the impact this time. Michael was vaguely aware of the Eggman shuffling past them to pick up the satchel as Smalls went back to crushing his windpipe.
_No!_ Michael couldn't believe this. After everything he'd been through, this psychopath couldn't just walk away. Then again, he wasn't having much luck with the giant who was attacking him. The taste of blood in his mouth gave him an idea. Maybe fighting back wasn't the way to deal with this guy.
His struggles grew weaker, and after a second or two he went limp in Charlie's arms.
*****
Lydia bent down to pick up the small metal object that Leflin had dropped. Lisa and Heather stared at it. "A cigarette lighter?" Lisa asked in disbelief.
Leflin shrugged as best he could. "I had to improvise."
"Wow," Heather said. "You really are a loser."
Anything Leflin could have said in response was cut off by a polite knock on the door. "Get that," he said to the last remaining guard.
The man obeyed. As soon as he saw who was standing out there, he reached for his gun. He wasn't quick enough, and the next thing anyone in the compartment knew, the door was kicked open and several men with guns blocked the threshold. "Freeze! Federal agents!"
Lisa yelped in surprise, and the remaining guard took one look at what he was facing and dropped his gun. "Hands on your head," Special Agent #1 ordered.
"My hero," Lydia said wryly.
"Don't even go there, Dr. Ross."
As the last of Leflin's guards was hustled out of the compartment and handcuffed, Lydia remained in the corner with Lisa and Heather, surreptitiously placing herself between them and the agents.
The bald agent stared at Leflin, who was still hunched over in pain, then looked back at Lydia again.
Lydia shrugged. "He pissed me off."
Heather grinned wickedly, and Lisa tried not to laugh.
*****
145th Street
6:50 p.m.
"Just where do you think you're going?" Charlie demanded as he let the limp body fall to the floor.
The Eggman looked up from his inspection of the satchel as he stood in front of the elevator, waiting for it to open. Charlie stepped over Michael's body to confront the little man. "You're not leaving without me, are you? I did my part."
"Did you?"
For answer, Charlie turned the body over for the Eggman to see. Michael's eyes were closed, but there was blood trickling from the corners of his mouth. "Looks like it." The Eggman said nothing. "I thought we were partners, old man. Did you get the money?" The old man nodded. "Well, show me."
Hesitating for a moment, the Eggman passed the satchel to Charlie. The burly man crouched down beside Michael and unlatched the case, letting out a low whistle as he flipped through the contents. "I've got to hand it to you," he said. "This was worth all the hassle--"
Suddenly, Michael's arm shot out and knocked the satchel out of Charlie's hands. It flew into the far wall, and the contents spilled in every direction. Charlie cried out with shock as Michael jumped to his feet, shoving the big man to the floor. He took a step towards the Eggman, but Charlie recovered enough to grab his opponent's leg and yank Michael down to the floor. Again the big man wrapped his hands around Michael's neck, but Michael shoved his fists up between Charlie's arms, pushing outwards with all his strength. They were fairly evenly matched; Michael was stronger than Charlie, but the convict had the extra advantage of being able to breathe. As the two men struggled, the Eggman glanced at the spilt money and sighed as the elevator doors opened.
Michael finally pried Charlie's hands off his neck and punched the big man in the face. It was an ill-aimed punch; the gas mask made it difficult, and his attention was suddenly directed elsewhere. He glanced up to see the Eggman getting into the elevator only a few feet away.
"Bye-bye," the Eggman said as the doors slid shut.
Desperately, Michael lunged for the elevator, but Charlie took advantage of the distraction and grabbed his opponent by his collar, scrambling to his feet as he threw Michael into the wall. To Charlie's surprise, the smaller man was on his feet in a second and charging. Catching the convict off guard, Michael plowed headlong into him, slamming Charlie into the wall. But Charlie was ready for something like that, and before Michael could pull back, grabbed him in a headlock.
Gritting his teeth, Michael planted his feet, trying to flip Charlie over his shoulder. Instead, he managed to send both of them crashing to the floor.
Dazed, Michael barely managed to catch the punches Charlie threw at him in midair, desperately grappling with the convict. His lungs were starting to burn, and he realized that he wasn't going to be able to duke it out with Charlie indefinitely. As the big man pinned him down, Michael grabbed wildly at his head. Charlie howled as Michael's fingers pulled his hair. Again Michael grabbed, and was gratified to find the edge of the gas mask.
_Sorry,_ Michael thought as he grasped the rubber strap and yanked with all his might. At the same time, he kneed his opponent in the groin. Charlie cried out in pain, rolling off of Michael.
The gas mask remained in Michael's hand. As Charlie sat up, he suddenly realized what had happened, but it was too late. The big man opened his mouth in terror, convulsing as the toxin bombarded his system. Scrambling to his feet, Michael backed away in horror, letting the gas mask slip from nerveless fingers.
"Mr. Wiseman!" Michael almost jumped a foot as Dr. Morris shouted into his ear; he'd forgotten about the earpiece. "I know you can't respond, but if you can hear me, head for the front entrance! We have a HAZMAT team in place!"
A familiar scrap of white paper was lying a few feet away. Michael snatched the paper up, unfolding it to see an address and a series of numbers. The second he read the address, he bolted for the stairwell.
There was still time to win this one.
*****
Outside Hartford
"I'm telling you, I was set up!" Leflin was yelling. "I was told that I was exposing a conspiracy!"
"I'm sure you were," Special Agent #1 said mildly as the millionaire was hustled into a black van along with his men. "You should have checked your sources."
Leflin managed to push partially free of his captors. Despite the bandage that was covering his nose, the controlled fury in his eyes was patently dangerous. "What are you going to tell the courts? You can't prove anything without exposing yourselves."
"Let me see," Lydia said, coming up to stand beside the bald agent. "We can prove kidnapping, misappropriation of government property - that's the helicopter, of course - and the fact that you deliberately attempted to sabotage a legitimate government project is certainly going to thrill a judge."
He glared at her. "I trusted you, Lydia. I thought you were a friend."
"I could say the same for you, Bernie," she said sadly. Turning away, she ignored his angry shouts as he was shoved into the van.
As she walked back towards the string of police cars, Special Agent #1 came up beside her. "What next?" she asked.
"We'll have to question him," he informed her. "See what he knows."
"Mmm-hmm. And the charges?"
"Going to be hard to bring up given the circumstances. If he's cooperative, he'll just disappear from the public eye and split up his fortune to his investors."
Lydia chuckled in spite of herself. "He's just going to hate that." She frowned. "But that's not what I asked."
He blinked in confusion as they approached the nearest open van. Lisa and Heather were sitting in the back of the van, being checked out by one of the agents who knew first aid. They were more or less unharmed, albeit fairly shaken up. Lisa was squeezing her daughter's hand so tightly that her knuckles were white, but Heather wasn't complaining. "So what happens now?" Lisa asked as they approached.
Lydia folded her arms and gave the bald agent a meaningful look. "You know, Q-ball, that's a very good question."
Special Agent #1 closed his eyes. "Don't call me that."
*****
145th Street
6:51 p.m.
The building was completely sealed off as Dr. Morris approached the front entrance. Extending from the front doors was a heavy plastic chamber, which had air filtering equipment on the right and left to clear the toxins from the chamber. The back was opened up to allow access from the building.
"How much more time?" one of the technicians asked.
Morris checked his watch. "One minute."
*****
6:52 p.m.
Michael grasped the handle of the stairwell door and was less than pleased to discover that it was locked. He backed up a few steps and threw all of his weight into the door. The hinges snapped and the door practically buckled as Michael tumbled through the threshold, door and all. He stumbled to his feet and bolted down a flight of steps - then got a better idea. Vaulting neatly over the railing, he dropped three floors and landed rather painfully on his feet. He winced at the landing, stumbled, and charged for the lobby.
*****
6:53 p.m.
Seven minutes had passed. And Michael Wiseman had yet to emerge. Dr. Morris stared sadly at the front doors of the building, then sighed and started to turn away.
A sudden whump caused him to whirl around. Michael had come charging out of the front doors and slammed headlong into the plastic. Realizing just what was going on, he'd managed to brake just in time to keep from tearing right through the protective sheet.
"Get him out of there!" Morris shouted, moving to stand beside the technician working on the air filtering system. "Are you sure this will work?"
The tech handling the controls sighed, his voice distorted by the bio-suit filter. "Our instrumentation should be able to pick up most known toxins, and this time we know what we're looking for."
Morris spoke into the earpiece again. "Mr. Wiseman, you'll have to hold on for a second or two. We have to make sure the toxin is filtered out."
Michael nodded, closing his eyes and desperately trying to hold his breath a few more seconds. It felt like his lungs would explode at any moment. He was feeling light-headed, and crumpled to his knees, barely noticing as the two men in biohazard suits caught him before he could crash to the ground. But he did hear a hissing sound and felt the rush of circulating air as the toxic air was sucked out of the chamber.
A green light on a nearby panel switched on, accompanied by a shrill beep. "We're clear!" the tech shouted.
Unable to take it any more, Michael exhaled with a gasp. To his surprise, something plastic was shoved against his nose and mouth. Opening his eyes, Michael put a hand over the oxygen mask, holding onto it as he sucked in a deep breath of air. He was relieved to discover that it was indeed an oxygen tank that the mask was connected to.
At a signal from Dr. Morris, a flap in the chamber was opened, and the two men in yellow suits helped Michael stagger to his feet. Too tired to argue, he allowed them to support him on both sides, hauling him through the sea of flickering red-and-blue lights. Michael kept his head down, watching the asphalt instead of the lights; he hadn't taken his medication, and was taking no chances.
Predictably enough, Morris was waiting for them at the ambulance as Michael was hauled into the back. "I hope you have good news."
Michael tried to speak, but his chest hurt too much. With shaking hands, he handed Morris the note. The Doc unfolded it, reading over the contents as Michael took another gulp of air from the oxygen tank. He glanced up. "A bomb?" Michael nodded. "This series of numbers?"
"Code," Michael gasped, finally finding his voice. "Eggman... said something... about an access code."
Morris nodded and opened his cellphone. "We've got a location. Madison Square Garden." A pause. "You heard me. The bomb's right across the goddamn street from you. I have an access code here. Take it down." He read from the note. "3-5-7-2-5-9-5-3-0-7-8-1-1-6-6-5-7-4-2. Tell the bomb squad they've got thirty minutes at the most."
He hung up the phone. "What about our friends in there?"
"Eggman went down the elevator. Didn't see him get off at the lobby, so he could still be in there." Michael paused for a moment, breathing heavily. His chest still hurt.
"We'll check that out," Morris said. "Smalls?"
Michael didn't reply immediately. He looked down at his hands. "He's - he's dead." He looked pained, the realization of what he'd just done sinking in. Absently, he added, "The money - uh, the money's actually spread out all over the fifth floor."
When the Doc did not reply, Michael looked up to see that Morris was standing there, fixing the Look on him. It wasn't just the Look that Michael had become used to. Dr. Morris seemed to be trying to bore a hole through Michael's skull with that glare. And it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what he really wanted to know.
"Doc," Michael said, "she doesn't know anything. Okay, maybe she doesn't buy the I.R.S. cover anymore, but she still thinks I'm just some crazy SOB who works for the government."
"Do you know how close we came to having the security of this project utterly blown?" Morris demanded.
Michael dismissed the impending string of questions with a wave. "We didn't. Besides, Doc, she doesn't want to know. Not if it's gonna endanger her - or Heather." He took another gulp of air from the tank. "You can do what you want to me, but leave them alone. They're not a security risk."
"You're sure."
"I'm positive." Michael shielded his eyes with a hand. "You mind closing the door or getting me some shades?"
Dr. Morris glowered - for about five seconds. He turned to watch the flashing lights of the squad cars and emergency vehicles that were already pulling out into traffic, headed towards a bomb that they just might be able to stop, and hundreds of people that they just might be able to save. He turned to look at the man sitting on the gurney in the ambulance, a man who had risked his freedom, his life, and his family's lives to make it possible.
"Lie down, Mr. Wiseman." Groaning, Michael obeyed as Morris' cellphone rang. "Morris here." The tall scientist frowned. "Where are you?" He paused, listening. "Yes, that sounds exactly like something she'd do."
He stopped and looked at Michael thoughtfully for several moments. "I'm afraid that I'll have to agree with Dr. Ross for once." There was a rather long pause. "I don't have the time or the inclination to explain myself. Meet us at 34th and 4th after 7:30. Yes, bring all three of them."
Nodding, he shut off the phone. "Feel like taking a trip?"
"Depends where we're going."
"To see if this," Morris replied, shaking the scrap of paper, "is telling the truth."
*****
Somewhere outside Hartford
6:55 p.m.
"What do you mean, a change of plan?" Lydia demanded as Special Agent #1 finished instructing the helicopter pilot and sat back in his seat. Also piled into the helicopter were Lisa and Heather, since Lydia had refused to let either one of them out of her sight.
"We're going back into the city," the agent replied.
Lisa leaned forward. "WHERE in the city??"
He looked uncomfortable. "Couple blocks from Madison Square Garden."
"What?" Heather echoed. "Why?"
Special Agent #1 shook his head helplessly. "Beats me."
Both Lisa and Heather turned to stare at Lydia. The psychologist shrugged.
*****
7:10 p.m.
"Can't this thing go any faster?" Michael groused as the limo sped down the parkway, pressing an icepack to his head. He was breathing easier now, but he was still sore from being bashed into the walls repeatedly.
Dr. Morris didn't reply, listening intently to his cellphone. A good portion of the teams had been left in the vicinity of Grand Central Station - including the bomb squad. Which meant that calling them in was not as difficult as it would have been otherwise. The HAZMAT teams had remained to decontaminate the building and search for the Eggman. "Hm." He shut the cellphone off. "They've actually got most of the arena evacuated."
Michael nearly dropped the icepack into his lap. "You're kidding? Already? During a game?"
"It was an off-season charity game," Morris replied. "Turnout wasn't as high as it might have been for, say, the NBA All-Star Game."
"But still, the whole arena--"
Morris smirked. "Apparently, the Knicks were losing. Badly. People were already walking out."
Michael stared at him for a few more seconds in utter disbelief. "Uh-huh. What about the bomb?"
"There's a team searching the lower levels right now."
"So what are we supposed to do?"
Morris put the phone back into his coat pocket. "We wait and see."
*****
Madison Square Garden
7:20 p.m.
When the dead janitor was found stuffed inside a storage closet, the agents searching the halls knew they were on the right track. Consequently, it was not a great surprise when a bomb was discovered hooked to one of the generators not far away from the body.
The sheer amount of homemade explosive wired to its control box was.
The officer in charge switched on his radio. "Lieutenant, I think we've got something. How much left to evacuate?"
"We're herding out one of the concert stages now," crackled a response. "Other one's still left, the lowest level. Are you positive this is it?"
"Oh, yeah. Bastard's got it hooked up to a generator. Something tells me cutting the power is a bad idea."
"Is there an input screen?"
There was a computer keyboard hooked up to the thing, with a small monitor. The cursor blinked expectantly. "Yep, we got an interface. This guy's set up plenty of decoys, though. Cutting wires isn't going to help. Timer says we've got 10 minutes."
"Our orders are to disarm that damn thing and to use the access code first. Put it in and see what happens. We'll keep trying to get people out. If you can't shut it off in seven minutes, get the hell out of there."
"Yes, sir." Switching off his radio, the officer retrieved a printout from the pocket of his vest. "Clear this floor. Get the dogs out of here, get the staff out of here, no one but essential personnel. Be ready to seal off and contain the blast on my order." _And pray while you're at it,_ he added silently.
Taking a deep breath, he turned to the keyboard and slowly began to type.
*****
Seventh Street
"Goddammit!"
Like a large portion of New York City drivers, Roger subscribed to the school of thought that if you leaned on your horn long enough and cursed loudly enough, you would somehow move deadlocked downtown traffic. Sometimes, the theory actually worked.
This, however, was not one of those times.
Traffic had been relatively tolerable until he'd neared Madison Square Garden, and then everything had ground to a dead stop. No amount of cursing or honking or prayer would get it to move. Groaning, Roger rested his head against the steering wheel. "Should have taken the subway," he muttered to no one in particular.
The unmistakable sound of sirens made him lift his head and listen. It wasn't just one or two sirens, but several, coming from all directions. Curious, Roger shut off the ignition and got out of the Mercedes, taking his keys with him and turning on the automatic door lock and car alarm as he did so. He checked to make sure that he had the key chain with the pepper spray before shutting the car door and peering over the tops of cars. Other motorists were following suit.
He could see the Garden a block away, and he could also see that the entire intersection was blocked off. The caravan of emergency vehicles told Roger that something was going on. Something decidedly unpleasant.
Roger wondered just what he was going to tell Ruth.
*****
Madison Square Garden
7:22 p.m.
The officer tapped in the last two characters of the code. "Here goes nothing," he muttered as he pressed the ENTER key.
There was a high-pitched beep, and the screen went blank. The officer jumped to his feet, but stopped as a new message popped up on the screen.
CORRECT ACCESS CODE
TIMER ABORT
To his immense relief, the timer stopped moving. The screen shut off, and the lights on the control box dimmed. He switched on his radio. "I think I've got some good news here."
*****
34th and 7th St.
7:35 p.m.
"It's after 7:30," Michael said. "I didn't hear anything explode."
Morris nodded, finishing up his cellphone conversation. "Seems the Eggman was good as his word. Then again, he probably didn't want to risk the manhunt that would ensue if he got the money, got away and let the Garden blow sky-high."
Michael snorted. "Forget the FBI. He'd have to deal with rabid Knicks fans." He paused. "The code worked?"
"The code worked. The bomb squad disarmed the bomb and they're running a sweep of the building to make sure they got everything. There's a very large crowd of disgruntled patrons outside, but at least they're not dead." He smiled - a tight, small smile, but a smile nonetheless. "Good work, Mr. Wiseman."
"Thanks," Michael said distantly. "What about them, Doc? What are you going to do about my family?"
"Actually--" Morris began, but he was interrupted by a tapping sound. Startled, he rolled down the window to see who it was.
Lydia brushed her hair out of her face. "Dr. Morris. Fancy meeting you here."
"Dr. Ross," Morris said calmly. "I trust everything is in hand?"
"More or less. Your lackey is keeping an eye on things." She gestured towards the black SUV that had pulled up at the curb behind them. "Let's save the introductions and excuses for later. I've got fifteen minutes to get our stories straight."
*****
145th Street
The power had been cut to the building, and it took a crowbar for the team investigating the aftermath of the standoff to pry open the elevator doors on the first floor. Half an hour had passed, and the Eggman had not emerged from the building. No one was sure if he was dead or alive.
Finally, the doors slid open.
The elevator was empty save for a cryptic note on a piece of yellow paper:
FAIR GAME.
There was no sign of the Eggman.
*****
tbc...