Chapter Seven
Hospital
"Answer damn you!" Cooper shouted at the phone receiver, losing his control.
The phone continued to ring without being picked up on the other end.
He spared a glance at a small clock on the wall. Yes, almost ten o'clock, his lazy daughter should have been up and out of bed by now. She could at least answer the phone when he called, Cooper seethed.
He let it ring out until the answering machine picked up the call.
"Hey, you know who you're calling and how it goes." Lindsay's sullen message played over the tape. "And here comes the-"
The mechanical beep sounded in Cooper's ear.
"Lindsay, it's your father. I want you to meet me at home." There was a knock at his office door. "Immediately." He hung up, without leaving any endearments and called "enter."
Della Fairbanks entered, a file in one hand and a downcast expression on her face.
"What is it?" he demanded, reaching beneath his desk for his briefcase.
"The patient's condition is getting worse," she said hesitantly, dropping the file on his desk. He released the briefcase and flicked through it-then stopped at the temperature readings taken ten minutes before he'd returned to his office.
It was amplifying at an extraordinary rate. The patient was nearing the comatose state that preceded the loss of motor skills.
Only a matter of time before he's gone. And after that...Cooper stared down at the file, the black biro contrasting sharply against the too-white paper. His eyes began to ache, and he was certain another headache was well on its way.
He pulled off his glasses, the world a comforting blur while he rubbed at his brows to head off the coming pain.
"Doctor? Has the CIC-"
"They'll be here in a matter of hours," Cooper told her curtly.
"He doesn't have hours," Della argued. "That man is going to die."
"I know that," Cooper snapped, glaring at the blur standing in front of his desk. "We've done all we can."
Liar, his conscience whispered. You have something that could save him…
Why was it getting harder to ignore that interfering voice? His shoe tapped against the briefcase. Inside, there was a slightly liquid sound, sloshing against glass maybe.
"His family is here," the nurse informed him. "They want to see him before…before he passes on."
Nice turn of phrase. An almost peaceful descriptive when the truth is as far from it as possible. T-victims don't pass on. They die screaming, in the most horrible, unimaginable way possible.
"They're permitted to wave through the glass. That's all. No one enters that room." There was no room for compromise in Cooper's tone.
"Sir, they're understandably distraught!" Della protested vehemently.
"Which is why they can't enter that room. One kiss goodbye, one embrace, and they're infected too. That man has been driven insane from the infection. There is no telling that he could even recognise his family in any case."
Cooper was grateful that he couldn't see the extent of Della's disgusted expression. Nurse Fairbanks was one of those empathetic members of staff Cooper loathed working with. Always worried for the patient, not confronting the real causes or problems. The kind of staff that his previous employers would never had condoned.
"What if they were suited up?" She referred to the hospitals' three biohazard suits.
"Not an option. What if a complication arises while they're in the room with him? They aren't trained to use the suits properly, they could damage them-"
It was Della's turn to hiss disbelievingly. "Excuses. If we allowed two of them to use the suits and kept the third ready it could be done. It's cruel of you to deny his family a final chance to say goodbye." She lowered her voice, after glancing at the photo beside his computer. "What if it was your daughter?"
Wrong question, he thought, regaining his composure. He replaced his glasses, stood and regarded the nurse with a level expression, both hands planted on the desk.
"I would follow the rules. This is the necessity of quarantine, nurse. I suggest that if you can't deal with it, then you stand down and allow me to appoint someone that will." He was about to continue when the phone began to ring. She was staring at him in shock. "Now get out."
She did, defiantly slamming the door behind her. Cooper made a note of keeping an eye on her as he picked up the phone, staring at the door after Della's departure.
Might cause trouble, he thought.
"Administrators' office," he snapped into the receiver, expecting to hear his daughter's contrite monotone.
"Good morning Doctor," came a smooth, almost oily voice. "May I please speak with Doctor Joseph Lindsay? I believe he works at your office."
An icy chill went down Cooper's spine.
"I believe you have been misinformed. This is the office of Administrator Norman Cooper. Perhaps you were trying another hospital, Mr…?"
Lindsay, have to find her, get her out…
"Trent. Mr Trent," the man informed him, slicker than a salesman with a generous commission. "What a pity. I had information for the good doctor. Are you sure you don't know Dr. Lindsay? He was a brilliant surgeon, surely if eh were at your hospital he'd be noticed?"
"There's no one of that calibre here I'm afraid." His mouth was beginning to grow dry. "What interest do you have in Dr. Lindsay, Mr Trent?" he asked, using the icy official tone he'd use with a nurse in an effort to curb the rising apprehension in his gut.
"I had information for him, actually, and a person he might have in his company." The voice lowered in a mock attempt to seem confidential. "You see, there are parties who have a vested interest in recovering some stolen goods…and those that stole them. Do you understand, Mr. Cooper?"
Cooper closed his eyes, silently counted to five before speaking. He resisted the urge to clear his throat.
"What information might you have for this doctor?" he asked.
They've found us. I'll have to…dispose of the samples, the specimen…
"He might want to leave Grace Lake. Head somewhere far, far away, and recover everything he took because those he stole from have found him." Trent paused, letting the words weigh down on Cooper. "And I do mean everything, Dr. Cooper. The files, the virus samples, the facility plans and authorisation memos…"
How does he know? That thought made his gut wrench and he fought not the throw up. How much effort and work had he put into this attempt to escape his past? Everything would have to go, to keep it all out of White Umbrella's reach.
Can I really do that? Force myself to destroy all that data, my security, to deny them one measly unit? Can I actually pull the trigger on…it? Can I? And expect to walk away?
"And, of course, the specimen. Unfortunately that is what they're after. But I suspect you might already know that, Joseph." Smarmy bastard knew his name…Then he remembered. White Umbrella had his voiceprint, one method of identification in its nutty paranoia-fuelled protocols. If this Trent had access to the corporations' immense files-which was likely, considering the depth of his information so far-then he probably had the equipment to gauge whether or not the person speaking over the phone was the same Joseph Lindsay in Umbrella's files.
He gave up pretending then. "You haven't answered my question. What's your interest in this? Do you work for Umbrella?" It was difficult to keep his voice down, but he knew there was staff in the corridors nearby. Grace Lake's hospital wasn't exactly large. Sound carried…not a prospect he was looking forward to when the infected patient started the final stages. The screaming would travel through the old-fashioned walls.
"I have an interest in making those files public, in securing your safety. Two worthy objectives I thought you would agree to. I must admit, I'm rather disappointed you haven't come forward after the Raccoon City fiasco. You possess a sample of the T-Virus, don't you Joseph?"
Cooper wanted to deny it, lie and answer no with all the confidence of an honest man. But he didn't. Not with the knowing, confident voice on the other end of the phone.
"I did. But after today…I'm not certain it's going to be where it should," he answered reluctantly. His gaze flickered to the framed photo on his desk. To the dark-haired little girl with her arms around a smaller boy.
The bustle of the corridor outside could be heard in the ensuing silence of the office. Nurses and orderlies called out to one another, mostly business. The patient in quarantine had sapped their usual light-hearted banter to a minimum, something he'd usually approve of. But today, in light of what he suspected what inevitable…he regretted their last day at work would be a horrific one.
"I understand that. And I also understand that concerned parties have sent numerous…visitors to your small town. One of them is likely to be responsible. I'd advise securing your evidence and leaving. I have a man myself to secure your safety-and the relevant data-and he should have arrived by now. I'd suggest returning home and waiting for him there."
"Why should I trust you? How can I be sure you aren't just setting me up so USF units can take me in?" he demanded.
Trent chuckled, amused. "Well…that's a decision you might want to consider long and hard before rejecting. What I can certainly assure you is that no one else has offered to help you, or gone to the effort of tracking you down. And I wouldn't want to be in your small town when it's quarantined."
"I won't be," Cooper retorted. "That doesn't mean…"
What about Lindsay? He wasn't quite sure who he meant…his daughter or himself.
"I'd make your decision quickly. Now, you'll know the man I've sent. He's as big as a bear and will probably be carrying an oversized handgun of some description amid a veritable arsenal. He has descriptions and photos to identify you and your daughter. And the specimen of course. Whether or not you choose to leave with him, or be killed is your business."
He made his choice.
Fuck it. He'd try. He'd planned for this, in the eventuality that he'd be found. Of course, a B-type outbreak wasn't something that had entered the plans-it meant the first Case had found. Who could have known? He'd been so goddamn careful! It should still be in that case! His thoughts raced now the initial numb shock had worn away.
"I'll accept your help." There was a pause and Cooper opened his mouth to ask another question when a sharp rap on the door interrupted him. He ignored it. "How can I contact you if-"
"Find my man and you won't have to worry," Trent assured him. Just be certain that the specimen is appropriately sedated. Should its conditioning break during transit…well, I hope you still the Mocker's MDR active or you could find yourself in a spot of bother." Trent sounded almost merry at the prospect as he promptly hung up.
Cooper stood with the receiver in his ear, digesting the call with the dial tone beeping as the rapping turned to insistent banging on the door.
"Doctor Cooper, the patient's flat lining!" came nurse Fairbank's shout.
That snapped him out of his daze. He grabbed his briefcase and left the office, ignoring the frantic nurses demands for attention, her outraged shouts when she realised he was really going. As he passed through the lobby he was oblivious to the pleas of the poor man's family. He didn't bother to stop and offer false consolations.
He had to get home.
And fast,
AN: Did I make it way too obvious who Trent's agent is? Just re-read the first RE paperback and got all inspired again. And can anyone explain how to replace the automatic Chapter 1 heading on my prologue without replacing the whole thing?