Enmity

By EB

©2004

Chapter Ten

"I don't believe it. I don't fucking BELIEVE it."

Gil glanced at Catherine. "Let's worry about belief later. I want Greg found, and I mean now. All of you, that's your top priority. Got that? Until we speak with him, we don't know anything." His gaze encompassed everyone. "Where's Hodges? I'll need him, too."

He watched them exchange puzzled glances. "Probably gone home already," Sara said. "I mean, his shift's long over."

"No one's shift is over. Not until I say it is. Call him."

"Right."

"What about you?" Catherine asked, standing. "Where will you be?"

Gil stood as well. "Right here. I'll run the assays myself."

Speed-walking to the GC lab, he berated himself. Why hadn't he been doing it himself all along? Why had he trusted Greg, and Hodges? Why hadn't he acted on his own suspicions, kept it to himself, done all the goddamn work himself? No one could be trusted. No one.

Greg's materials were still laid out on the table. As if he'd simply gotten up to grab a cup of coffee, and never returned.

"Where'd you go, Greg?" Gil whispered, sliding into the chair. "And what did you find, really? Something you had to cover up? Or something you couldn't cover up, and you knew it. So you bolted?"

The vials sat dumbly on the table, labeled in Greg's messy hand.

In spite of his crushing hurry, he forced himself to be methodical, perform each piece of the task with utter focus.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed when he heard Catherine's voice. "How's it going?"

Gil flinched, turning to blink at her. "Almost finished. Did you find him?"

Her mouth turned down in an unhappy scowl. "Hide nor hair. God, Gil, you really think he did all this?"

"He has the biochemical expertise. I know that much."

"But why? For God's sake, he and Nick are FRIENDS."

"I'll have to leave that theory for a later time." He returned to the microscope. What he saw jolted him anew. "My god," he breathed.

"What?" Catherine's voice cracked with agitation. "Tell me!"

Gil drew back, mind racing. "It's right there," he said feebly. "Right in front of me."

"What's right in front of you? Damn it, Gil –"

"Wait." The printer began spitting out pages, not nearly fast enough. What he saw was the final bit of proof he needed. He looked up, meeting her wide eyes. "It's a protein, all right. But it's not ricin."

She gave a jerky nod. "What is it?"

"It's abrin. Similar. But about 75 times worse."

"Abrin is made from the seeds of the rosary pea, sometimes called the jequirity bean." Gil cleared his throat, but it didn't demonstrably improve his voice. "Abrus precatorius. Highly decorative, red and black seeds."

Robbins gave a slow nod. "Abrin has bioterrorism applications. Gil, if what you're saying is true, it's a miracle Nick survived the early doses. Whoever did this knows exactly what he's doing. To a microgram."

"If I'd just run the tests myself," Gil whispered. His throat ached savagely. "But I didn't. I trusted him."

"What now?" Catherine asked bleakly.

"We keep trying to find him," Warrick snapped. His mocha skin was gray with anger and fatigue. "What do you think?"

"No."

Four sets of eyes stared at him, while he shook his head. "No," Gil repeated. "You stay here."

"What?" Warrick rolled his eyes. "No WAY, man –"

"Listen to me. I can't guarantee your safety. Not outside this lab. Not even inside. I want you to stay together. Let the police handle the manhunt. I want you together, in one place, until this is all settled. Is that understood?"

Sara's expression was aghast. "You don't think he'd try it on one of us?"

"I don't rule out anything, and neither should you," he said flatly.

"Greg," Catherine began, and broke off, shaking her head. "I just don't believe it. Not Greg."

"I understand that," Gil replied. "I do. I'm not saying I want to believe it, either. But I'm operating with what I know, and I know that Greg is implicated here. His absence suggests very specific things. Like it or not, BELIEVE it or not. I won't risk the rest of you. Absolutely not."

"And what makes you think the lab is any safer than anywhere else?" came Robbins' quiet question. "After all, if he's managed to hide the delivery to Nick this well, why wouldn't he be able to do it on a wider scale?"

Skin creeping with new horror, Gil fought to make his voice work. "Nothing," he managed. "But I have to trust that it's been Nick all this time who was the focus of these attacks. If it is Greg – or whoever – he isn't interested in taking the rest of us with him. Not yet, at least."

"You're staying too, right?" Catherine's eyes narrowed. "Tell me you're sticking around."

"I'm going to the hospital."

"Oh no, you're NOT –"

"Listen to me." He pitched his voice low, as steady and intent as he still could. "Nick's physicians need to know what this really is. And the police need to know what we've found. For Nick's protection. I won't trust that to a phone call. For God's sake, Jim Brass is up there. You want to risk his life, too?"

"He can take care of himself," Warrick said gruffly.

"But will he? No. I'm going. I'll call you as soon as I can."

"Be careful," Catherine whispered. "Promise."

"Believe me, I will."

Paranoia was an odd emotion. It made him vigilant in a way he couldn't remember experiencing, constantly looking over his shoulder, in the rear-view mirror. It had him dialing Catherine's number two different times, in the short period it took to reach the hospital. And Brass's, too.

Catherine picked up both times. Brass didn't. Fear coagulated like bitter sand in his mouth. Didn't? Or couldn't?

He caught Dominguez in the elevator, going down. "Ride with me," Gil said tersely, stepping on board. When the doors closed, he said, "Abrin. That's what's poisoning Nick."

Dominguez stared at him, and gave a jerky nod. "All right, then."

"Your staff could be in danger. We have a suspect now. I'm on my way to warn the police."

Dominguez looked more than a little rattled. "I haven't – noticed anything. Anyone out of place."

"You probably wouldn't. But I need you to inform your staff. Abrin…is very, very nasty stuff."

"No shit." Dominguez's cheeks were very pale. "Right. I'll take care of it."

He felt microscopically better when he spied the two uniforms standing outside the MICU entrance. No Brass, but surely he'd be around. Gil walked briskly up to the nearer of the two cops. "Brass here?"

The cop – his nametag read "White" – shook his head. He looked bored. "Nah. He went down to the cafeteria for coffee, I think."

Coffee. Gil forced himself to nod. "You'd better get him on the radio. We have a suspect now."

The boredom vanished from White's face, replaced with uneasiness. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Gil bit off. "Has anyone tried to get in who doesn't belong?"

"Not a soul. Just staff, sir."

"Hospital staff?"

The man blinked. "Well, yeah. And your guy."

Gil froze. "My guy?"

"The tech guy. He said you wanted another blood sample. He just went in."

"Stay out here," Gil said crisply. "No one enters, no one leaves. Do you understand me?"

"Jesus. You're saying that was your guy? Your suspect? But he's one of yours!"

Gil glanced over at Dominguez. "Considering the nature of this substance, I want an absolute quarantine, all right? Once I go in, that's it. Call security, seal off this floor."

Looking terrified, Dominguez gave a fast nod. "I'm on it."

"Get Brass on the radio. NOW."

It never occurred to him not to go inside. Someone had to. And it should be him. He deserved it, didn't he? So much time, and he'd let it all slip past him. So many opportunities, missed. It was right, to go. And whatever happened, would happen.

His hand didn't shake when he opened the door and slipped inside.

It was dim, the usual lights doused. He could see Nick's unmoving form on the bed, hear the reassuring steady beeping of the monitors.

And a man-shaped figure, standing on the opposite side of the bed.

Gil stopped, suddenly aware of the frenzied pounding of his heart. "You don't have to do this," he said thickly. "It can end here."

"You're right about that," said a low voice. "It does end."

Gil squinted, startled. Not the voice he'd expected. Familiar, but he couldn't place it. Not yet. "Why?" he asked. "Why did you do it? Why Nick?"

The figure by the bed moved, an amorphous hand going out to grasp the line of one of Nick's several IVs. A random gleam of light shone off a hypodermic syringe. "Why Nick." The voice was maddeningly familiar. "Yeah, you would ask that, wouldn't you?"

"Show yourself," Gil snapped. "For God's sake. You can kill Nick, and me, too, but first let me know who the fuck you are."

"Can't see in the dark? Oh well." A thin chuckle, and the figure moved again, this time toward the head of the bed. "Und Gott sprach, Es gab Licht."

Gil blinked in the sudden radiance of the light over the bed.

"Now then," David Hodges told him, his lips twisted in a smile. "You were saying?"

TBC. EB