Authors: Marilyn Campbell
Topaz Dreams (22 page)
What I am
doing, and what I am going to do, is just a little experiment of my
own. I want to see if I can drive you out of that gifted mind of yours.
And, by the way, I said I had no intention of being caught with my
pants down. Yours are a different matter entirely. Relax, Falcon. Close
your eyes. Trust me.
He complied with her second and third commands.
The first was utterly impossible for the duration of the extraordinary,
purely physical experiment she proceeded to conduct. When he could
think clearly again, he decided teasing and playing were two more of
the positive aspects of being human.
The next five hours passed
quickly, with Falcon doing most of the think-talking. Once Steve
started asking questions about Innerworld, Norona, and his home planet,
her curiosity got the best of her. The more he told her, the more she
wanted to know. After all, she would never see these places for herself.
In
her briefcase, she had packed sandwiches and sodas, which came in
handy, and a deck of cards, which did not. Steve was beginning to wish
she had packed a porta-potty as well. After they got upstairs there
would be lavatories they could use, but she warned Falcon not to flush.
The plumbing system would also be hooked up to the guard's computer.
During
their wait, they had propped a stepstool against the doorknob to
prevent any surprise visits, but so far, no one had shown any interest
in the storage room. Assuming there was a nightly cleaning crew, Steve
was banking on their starting time being close to midnight, as it was
in the building where her offices were located. Eleven o'clock was
chosen as the best time to move. The last employee should be gone, the
cleaners should not be on-site yet, and the guard, if any, should be
involved in whatever he did to occupy the long boring hours of the
night. Steve's hope was his favorite pastime was sleeping.
At
eleven, they gathered their belongings and cracked open the door an
inch. All clear. As quickly and quietly as possible, they moved into
the stairwell. Thank God, the door barely made a whisper of noise, but
it was pitch black. Falcon held onto Steve's arm to lead her. After the
first two flights, she memorized how high each stair was, how many
there were before a landing, and how many steps she had to take to the
next flight. After that, they climbed the many flights to the tenth
floor at a rapid pace.
A few ceiling fixtures lit the hallway of the
executive floor sufficiently for the guard to be able to see them if he
happened to switch to.that view. There was no camera in evidence, but
Steve knew it was there. She sent up a little prayer and took off at a
run for Underwood's office with Falcon right behind her.
There were
no lights in Miss Preston's office, but there was no reason to fear
turning on a flashlight now. Also, Underwood's wall of glass let in
plenty of moonlight and reflections from the street lamps.
Falcon
sat down at the secretary's desk and went right to work. Steve was
still breathing a little harshly from the run upstairs and sat on
another chair to watch him. Once again, it was the telephone that held
his rapt attention. After a moment he found a pad and pen, scribbled
several numbers, and handed the paper to Steve.
"Miss Preston placed
calls to these four numbers in the last twenty-four hours. It is all I
can pick up from here. I will try the other office."
Steve studied
the numbers. Three were local exchanges. Her intuition told her to
forget about anything close by leading them to Underwood. The fourth
call was to area code 907. Using her flashlight as a guide, she located
a phone book on the credenza behind the desk, and looked up the
area-code map. Alaska. Damn. One area code for the entire, enormous
state, and it didn't really mean the number had any connection with
Underwood's present location.
"Steve?" Falcon called from the other
office. She was at his side in seconds. "I have seen something that we
might be able to use. Miss Preston placed a small notebook in this safe
before she left today. It is very important to her. I believe we should
look at it."
"Are you telling me you're a safecracker, too?" Steve shook her head, knowing anything was possible with this man.
"I do not know. But I was able to manipulate the small gears in the machine in Las Vegas. This must be similar."
"You made me hit the jackpot? Of course you did. Why should I be surprised to hear that? So go ahead. Show off."
Falcon
inspected the numbered dial on the outside of the safe, ran his hands
over the outside, and smiled. "I cannot see through the metal to the
gears, but Miss Preston cooperated unintentionally. I can see how she
opened it to place the book inside." With no effort, Falcon opened the
safe, removed the notebook he had envisioned, and handed it to Steve.
She
opened the cover and smiled. "Bingo! This is the index of the files in
the computer and all the access codes." She quickly scanned the pages
looking for a heading that would ring some kind of bell. There it was:
"Real Estate Acquisitions" with a long list of subheadings. Steve's
gaze halted on "Personal."
"I think this is it." Quickly, she returned to Miss Preston's desk and shined her light on the computer keyboard.
"Do you need assistance?" Falcon asked as he joined her.
She
found the power switches, and the area around her glowed from the light
of the monitor. "I don't think so. The instructions in the book were
written for a novice to follow, and I'm a little better than that."
The
main menu for the file came up on the screen. It consisted of a list of
states, commencing with Alaska, and continued in alphabetical order
with the exception of Alabama. Apparently that state held no interest
for Gordon Underwood.
Hoping the Alaskan telephone number was a
legitimate lead, Steve punched in the code to call up the Alaska file.
Only one description of the location appeared with details of the
purchase following it.
"Look at this, Falcon. Underwood bought this
huge parcel of real estate near Fairbanks about six months ago. Here's
a list of expenses incurred after the property was purchased. Looks
like a pretty fancy house for that neck of the woods. What do you think
of the timing?"
Before he answered, she found the final piece of
evidence needed to draw her own conclusion. The phone number was a
match. Falcon saw it at the same time and gave her arm a squeeze.
"That must be it. I am filled with certainty."
"Can you zap us there right now? We've got a very detailed description to go by."
Falcon
closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and made a difficult decision.
"No. I explained the danger to you. We will have to rely on your
traditional transportation."
"But, Falcon, this is an emergency. I
feel certain, too, and my intuition is usually on target. Underwood
could be sitting in that house right now. He'd have no way of
anticipating our arrival so fast."
Falcon turned the swivel chair so
that she was facing him and framed her face in his hands. "There is
nothing in the universe so important that I would endanger your life,
Steve. I do not fear the end of my own existence, but I would do my
people no good by committing suicide. Now, I believe we should depart
while our good fortune continues."
Steve felt the excitement
bubbling up as she ran the cursor back up to the description of the
location, and quickly copied it beneath the phone number. She turned
the computer off while Falcon returned the notebook to the safe.
On
the hike downstairs they reviewed the plan for exiting the premises.
Again, assuming a guard was at the desk in the lobby, Steve would
approach him in her full business attire, and gush out an embarrassed
explanation about having fallen asleep in an upstairs lounge. While the
guard was distracted by Steve, Falcon would sneak up behind him, put
him quietly to sleep, and make him forget he had ever seen Steve.
Simplicity always worked best.
At the bottom of the stairs, Steve
whispered, "Now remember, don't move until you hear me thanking him.
That will be when I've convinced him to unlock the door and his back is
to the lobby. If he's an old geezer, a little eyelash fluttering should
hold him long enough for you to move."
They slipped through the
doorway into the alcove. Falcon touched Steve's temple. There is a man
out there, but something is wrong. He is highly agitated, anxious.
Maybe
he's just a nervous Nelly. That might help me run this bluff. Here
goes. Steve stepped away from Falcon, but not before she heard him tell
her to be careful.
The moment she stepped into the lobby area she
halted. The guard had been staring at the alcove when she appeared. He
bolted up from his chair, sending it crashing into the desk behind him.
His elderly, shaking hands gripped his drawn revolver, pointing it
directly at Steve.
Falcon's heart fluttered under the onslaught of
Steve's panic. He closed his eyes to see what she saw and reached out
to her. Do you want my presence?
No. Stay there. From the way her
heart was racing, Steve had no doubt that he heard her. She carefully
set the briefcase down, and let the old man see her hands clearly in
front of her and empty. Pasting on a big smile, she took a hesitant
step forward.
"Freeze, girlie. I've got a gun."
Steve stared at
the wavering weapon. Nervous? The man was scared out of his wits.
"Look, I'm sorry I frightened you. You scared me, too, sir. I fell
asleep upstairs. I had a terrible migraine, and—"
The guard
interrupted her with a grunt and a wave of the gun. "I don't know about
you fallin' asleep. I do know you were using the computer in Miss
Preston's office, and I know you don't work here, so I figure you're
some kind of spy."
Steve felt like kicking herself. She had
remembered elevators and flushing toilets and, like a stupid amateur,
turned on the computer. All she could do was keep trying to run her
play. "You must be mistaken. I was asleep in the women's lounge on the
third floor. Maybe Miss Preston is in her office. Why don't you—" She
took another two steps before he yelled.
"Stop! It was you. And a
man. When the alert came up, I turned on the viewer for her office.
You're both on film. Where's the man?" He looked past her to the
alcove. "Hey, Mister! You there? You may as well come out where I can
keep an eye on you, too."
Steve took advantage of his distraction to
move another foot. "There's no man. It was just me. You're right. I am
a competitor. But I didn't find anything important." She would try
pleading and eyelash fluttering. "Look, you've given me a horrible
scare, and taught me a lesson I'll never forget. I swear. This was the
first time I tried anything like this, and it will be my last. Just let
me get out of here, okay?" She heard a siren in the distance. The guard
glanced at the door. He had heard it as well.
"You'll get out of
here all right. With the police. I called them right before you came
down." His hands were still shaking, but his voice had gained
confidence as the sound of the siren grew louder.
Police! Steve
tried to keep her breathing normal as she watched the guard moving
toward the front door. He was fumbling with his cumbersome key ring,
obviously trying to select the appropriate key out of the sizable
collection without taking his gun or his gaze off her. Falcon. Hide!
You can't let the police get hold of you. She heard the beginning of an
argument from him and swiftly cut him off. I'll be fine. Go!
Steve
felt the adrenaline pouring into her veins. The siren was close, maybe
a block away. The guard fingered a key and separated it from the bunch.
Steve poised. She would count on the man's age to have slowed his
reflexes. For one split second he shifted his gaze to insert the key
into the deadbolt lock. Steve lunged, aiming a chop at his gun hand.
Falcon
stumbled and fell backward under the force that slammed into his
stomach. His head cracked against the railing as his body descended the
flight of steps he had just run up. The landing stopped his fall a
moment before he lost consciousness.
fought against the quicksand that threatened to swallow him up.
Gradually, he overcame the devastating pain radiating through his
abdomen and sucked a breath of air into his empty lungs. Heart failure?
His hand moved to his chest. No, his heart and lungs were returning to
their normal level of function. Steve? He struggled to his feet,
beating down a wave of dizziness caused by his head injury. He had
fallen. How? The pain. Steve? How long had he been unconscious? Minutes.
Steve!
Falcon rationalized that if she were safe, she would not be emotional
enough for him to read her. Or was she too far away? He reached out
mentally, trying to see through her eyes. Nothing. Perhaps his own
distress blinded him now. He had not had time to learn the limitations
of these new powers.
Suddenly he sensed the approach of two people.
The door below him opened. He stopped breathing and lowered his
eyelids. Male voices interrupted the silence.
"To hell with it! This stairway is likg a black hole. Get the dog. He'll find the bastard faster than we would anyway."
"Ill get the old guy to switch on the—"
The
sentence was cut off by the click of the stairwell door. Falcon heard
another whining sound outside, slightly different from the first. Were
those men the police the guard had called? What about the dog? He
thought of Mr. Spock. Animals held no threat for him. It was only
humans carrying antique weapons and the fact that Innerworld's Medical
Department was out of reach that fed his fear. Swiftly, he leapt up the
next several flights of stairs and exited into a hallway much like the
executive floor.
Falcon entered the first open office on the street
side and looked down. The scene was a chaotic melee of vehicles of
different shapes and sizes, many with spinning red lights on top.
Traffic and pedestrians were being headed off by uniformed men. Like
the two men who had opened the stairway door, these men were tensed for
battle, some anxious, some frightened. The gathering crowd was curious
and emanated another hideous emotion Falcon could not register as they
vied for positions and craned their necks to see. A group of men in
white shirts rolled a stretcher toward one of the larger, box-like
vehicles.
At first all he saw between the huddle of men was a
glimpse of a white sheet splattered with red. In unison they turned and
lifted the stretcher into the rear opening. Steve! His mind screamed a
denial in spite of what his eyes clearly saw. Her deathly pale face was
visible above a sheet so soaked with blood that it clung wetly to her
form. The pain had been hers! The severity of it had almost taken him
with her into oblivion. His memory replayed the loud report that had
occurred simultaneously with the pain.
Why had he obeyed her? He had
run like a coward. No! Not true! He trusted her to know what she was
doing. Now he was safe, and she was ... Aggressive barking reminded him
he was not safe at all. The stretcher disappeared behind double doors,
and a few seconds later, the vehicle's siren started up again. Amidst
the screeching noise and whirling red lights, Steve was whisked away.
Falcon
had no idea how to deal with such turmoil. He could not even begin to
identify all the emotions roiling to the surface at one time. He was
furious, angry, frightened, worried, frustrated, and he desperately
wanted to sit down and cry—something he had never done in his life. He
blinked, and the moisture in his eyes pooled in the corners. A distant
voice told him Steve would not approve, and he pressed the heels of his
palms against his eyes until he controlled the momentary weakness. The
sound of the stairwell door opening brought an end to his vacillating.
Falcon's senses read one man, one dog. He felt the animal's excitement
and tremendous restraint.
"Duke! Seek!" the man ordered.
Falcon countered. Duke. Slowly. Come to me.
Duke came to falcon. Slowly. Then he obeyed the command to mislead his master.
As
soon as the man and dog continued to the next floor, Falcon went back
down the stairs to wait by the door to the lobby. The lights had been
turned on and he was prepared to stop anyone who might enter the
stairway, but no one chose that route. Far above him, he heard Duke's
frantic barking.
There were four men and a woman milling around the
lobby when a distorted voice shouted. "He must be on the roof! Duke's
going crazy." Falcon heard amplified barking as the man spoke. There
was a horrid crackling sound, then another voice close by answered,
"Okay, let him loose. We're coming up. Collins, stay here, and make
sure none of those people try to come in." One man left.
Falcon
eased out of the stairwell and peeked around the corner of the alcove.
The man sat with his hip resting on the edge of the desk, alternately
watching the activity in the street and writing on a clipboard.
Noiselessly, remaining outside of the officer's line of peripheral
vision, Falcon maneuvered into position. The policeman reacted to a
blurry movement by his face, but was asleep an instant later. Falcon
removed his fingers from the man's temple only after he learned what he
required and erased the memory of his touch.
Somewhere on the roof
the dog continued his ferocious barking as he led the squad on a search
for the intruder. Falcon dragged the sleeping man back into the alcove
and exchanged clothes with him. Attired in police regalia, including
the man's heavy vest, weapon belt, and helmet, Falcon picked up the
clipboard and hand-held communicator, and headed out the door.
From
the man's mind he had gleaned where Steve had been taken, how to get
there, and which of the officer's many keys operated which vehicle. As
Falcon intended, no one thought to question the briskly striding police
officer who wore dark sunglasses at night. He got into the car and
tuned into the routine the officer performed when he had last been in
this seat. Using the key, he turned on the engine, then the lights and
siren, and hoped the vehicle was as easy to drive as Steve made it look.
The
group of officers in the street moved aside the barricades and people
to let him pass. Falcon shifted the stick in front of his right hand,
so that the line moved from P to D, pushed his foot down on the pedal
on the right, and gripped the steering mechanism. The car lurched
forward with spinning tires and a squealing engine. Hopefully, such a
display was valid for an officer in a great hurry.
By the end of the
second block, Falcon figured out how much pressure was needed to move
the car at a reasonably safe speed. In his experience as Steve's
passenger, he had noted that vehicles with sirens and red lights did
not need to abide by the various signs and signals along the roadways.
He followed their example as he recalled the series of directions that
would take him to the hospital.
Falcon knew he had only driven a
short distance, but it was the longest minutes of his life. Hold on,
Steve. He pulled into the area denoted by a large Emergency sign and
parked the policeman's car next to the vehicle in which Steve had
traveled. With a burst of energy, he ran to the entrance way and then
had to wait until the slow-moving glass doors opened for him. He took
two steps into the large room beyond and was assailed by a wave of
emotions that knocked him back a step before he had a chance to block
them.
The enormous room was packed with bodies. Sitting, standing,
lying bodies; suffering, tormented bodies. He staggered under the
weight of their combined pain and illness. Sorting the emotions
bombarding him proved impossible. From every angle came anger,
frustration, hostility, fear, but stronger than any other came the
awful, limitless pain. And the noise of a thousand voices and the
stench of sickness and chemicals.
He had to fight the paralysis
setting into his limbs. Steve needed him. He needed Steve. Section by
section, he reduced his empathic reactions to the horde of sufferers,
blocked out his awareness of the crying and screaming, ignored the
horrendous odors. Falcon searched for Steve's aura. She had to be here.
The numbers on the vehicle outside matched those of the one she had
been in, and he had envisioned the stretcher being removed and brought
in here. He could see no further. All of his control was occupied with
remaining sane in this room. But why could he not pick up her aura?
His
scan stopped at a row of official-looking windows with lines of people
standing in front of each one. He trusted the uniform he wore to grant
him certain privileges. Walking to the front of one line was all he
needed to get the attention of the small Oriental woman behind the
window. She smiled up at him.
Falcon did his best to return her
smile before impatiently asking, "The injured woman who came in the
vehicle marked Rescue 6.Where was she taken?"
"Straight to surgery. Doesn't look good. A major artery was hit."
He
paused long enough to get directions, then took off at a run for the
stairs. When he reached the surgical area, he had to stop a woman in a
white uniform to ask for directions again. His mind was surrounded by a
red fog that her answer barely penetrated.
The woman pointed to the door behind him with a strange look on her face. "You're standing in front of it."
Falcon turned abruptly and pushed on the door, but nothing happened.
With
a cluck of her tongue, the woman spoke to him again, "You have to push
the button to get the doors open, but you can't go in there now. It's
sterile. You should know that!"
Falcon looked back at her and made
himself relax. She obviously did not trust him to obey the rules. She
had crossed her arms over her chest, and her expression had become very
stern.
"Of course. I am sorry. I forgot for a moment." He moved away
from the door and smiled. Apparently satisfied, the woman went on her
way.
Moving back to the door, Falcon placed his hand on the metal.
The density meant nothing. He could see into the room quite clearly.
People and equipment obstructed his view of the patient. If that was
Steve, why could he not get a reading of her?
"She won't make it. Not a gut shot like that."
Falcon
jerked his head toward the voice. A man in a uniform like his own stood
next to him, holding a paper cup. He crushed the urge to make the
officer retract his careless words. Instead he asked, "What happened?"
The
officer began running through the details of the call that had brought
him here with the woman he referred to as Jane Doe. Falcon could not
hear the policeman's words above the blood pounding in his head.
Turning
his head back to the door, Falcon realized he could still see the scene
inside the room without touching the barrier. The continuous movements
of the frenzied medical team allowed him to confirm that the gruesome
figure on the table was Steve. Her legs were encased in inflated rubber
pants, but what he saw above made him gag. The flesh of her abdomen was
severed up to her throat. Tubes and needles connected various parts of
her body and head to the machines and bags hanging around the bed. A
man had his hands deeply inserted in her torso. The room was chilly,
but that man was sweating profusely. A woman wiped his forehead for him.
They
were all wearing masks over their lower faces that muffled their words,
but Falcon heard them. Abdominal aorta. Clamp. Sponge. Negative
pressure, positive pulse. Losing her. Chest retractors fast! In spite
of his own overwhelming fear, Falcon sensed a mounting desperation
coming from the man he assumed was the doctor. The thick tension in the
room made it almost impossible for Falcon to concentrate on the
proceedings.
The officer next to him was still talking, and Falcon
nodded from time to time, but kept his eyes riveted on the barbarism
being executed inside. These people were the equivalent to Innerworld's
medical team. They must know how to heal their own kind.
The doctor
inserted what looked like a giant pair of scissors through Steve's rib
cage. With a sickening crunch, the bones gave way. Frantically, the
doctor massaged the heart muscles. Falcon got the impression the man
was trying to will Steve back to health.
Then the doctor stopped
working. As one, the people in the room immobilized, looked from the
body, to the doctor, to the machines. When the doctor removed his hands
and began to suture Steve's chest closed, another man began turning off
machines, and a woman removed all the tubes and the strange pant legs.
Still, Falcon could not or would not comprehend what it all meant.
Until the doctor finished stitching Steve and the woman spread a sheet
over Steve's body and pulled one end over her face.
"No-o-o!" Falcon
roared. He waved his arm and the door crashed open. The shock of his
entrance froze the medical personnel for the split second Falcon needed
to reach Steve and pick her up. One man yelled at him and grabbed his
arm, but Falcon flicked him off as if he were a gnat. The officer tried
to prevent his exit from the room, and again Falcon waved his hand and
the officer's body hurled backward across the corridor.
Falcon was
beyond rational thought. They let her die! He should destroy them
all—and he discovered he had the power to do just that. Through his
blinding rage, he sensed people moving, preparing to attack. He had no
choice. With Steve's lifeless body in his arms, he ran down the hallway
and into the first vacant room. Protecting her life was no longer an
element to be considered. Nor could he worry about the impression he
would leave with these Terrans. In a corner of his mind lingered the
fact that he was about to break another serious law of Innerworld. His
fingers moved over his ring.
"Good work, Miss Preston. Keep me
advised." Underwood smiled broadly as he hung up the phone.
Circumstances could not have worked out better had he arranged them
himself. The Barbanell woman was undoubtedly dead by now. The paramedic
that had taken her away had bet she would not even last the trip to the
hospital. The elderly security guard had shot her by accident, but she
had tried to burglarize his property. No one could possibly make the
connection to him, except the two people who had broken into his
offices, and one of them was no longer a threat.
doing, and what I am going to do, is just a little experiment of my
own. I want to see if I can drive you out of that gifted mind of yours.
And, by the way, I said I had no intention of being caught with my
pants down. Yours are a different matter entirely. Relax, Falcon. Close
your eyes. Trust me.
He complied with her second and third commands.
The first was utterly impossible for the duration of the extraordinary,
purely physical experiment she proceeded to conduct. When he could
think clearly again, he decided teasing and playing were two more of
the positive aspects of being human.
The next five hours passed
quickly, with Falcon doing most of the think-talking. Once Steve
started asking questions about Innerworld, Norona, and his home planet,
her curiosity got the best of her. The more he told her, the more she
wanted to know. After all, she would never see these places for herself.
In
her briefcase, she had packed sandwiches and sodas, which came in
handy, and a deck of cards, which did not. Steve was beginning to wish
she had packed a porta-potty as well. After they got upstairs there
would be lavatories they could use, but she warned Falcon not to flush.
The plumbing system would also be hooked up to the guard's computer.
During
their wait, they had propped a stepstool against the doorknob to
prevent any surprise visits, but so far, no one had shown any interest
in the storage room. Assuming there was a nightly cleaning crew, Steve
was banking on their starting time being close to midnight, as it was
in the building where her offices were located. Eleven o'clock was
chosen as the best time to move. The last employee should be gone, the
cleaners should not be on-site yet, and the guard, if any, should be
involved in whatever he did to occupy the long boring hours of the
night. Steve's hope was his favorite pastime was sleeping.
At
eleven, they gathered their belongings and cracked open the door an
inch. All clear. As quickly and quietly as possible, they moved into
the stairwell. Thank God, the door barely made a whisper of noise, but
it was pitch black. Falcon held onto Steve's arm to lead her. After the
first two flights, she memorized how high each stair was, how many
there were before a landing, and how many steps she had to take to the
next flight. After that, they climbed the many flights to the tenth
floor at a rapid pace.
A few ceiling fixtures lit the hallway of the
executive floor sufficiently for the guard to be able to see them if he
happened to switch to.that view. There was no camera in evidence, but
Steve knew it was there. She sent up a little prayer and took off at a
run for Underwood's office with Falcon right behind her.
There were
no lights in Miss Preston's office, but there was no reason to fear
turning on a flashlight now. Also, Underwood's wall of glass let in
plenty of moonlight and reflections from the street lamps.
Falcon
sat down at the secretary's desk and went right to work. Steve was
still breathing a little harshly from the run upstairs and sat on
another chair to watch him. Once again, it was the telephone that held
his rapt attention. After a moment he found a pad and pen, scribbled
several numbers, and handed the paper to Steve.
"Miss Preston placed
calls to these four numbers in the last twenty-four hours. It is all I
can pick up from here. I will try the other office."
Steve studied
the numbers. Three were local exchanges. Her intuition told her to
forget about anything close by leading them to Underwood. The fourth
call was to area code 907. Using her flashlight as a guide, she located
a phone book on the credenza behind the desk, and looked up the
area-code map. Alaska. Damn. One area code for the entire, enormous
state, and it didn't really mean the number had any connection with
Underwood's present location.
"Steve?" Falcon called from the other
office. She was at his side in seconds. "I have seen something that we
might be able to use. Miss Preston placed a small notebook in this safe
before she left today. It is very important to her. I believe we should
look at it."
"Are you telling me you're a safecracker, too?" Steve shook her head, knowing anything was possible with this man.
"I do not know. But I was able to manipulate the small gears in the machine in Las Vegas. This must be similar."
"You made me hit the jackpot? Of course you did. Why should I be surprised to hear that? So go ahead. Show off."
Falcon
inspected the numbered dial on the outside of the safe, ran his hands
over the outside, and smiled. "I cannot see through the metal to the
gears, but Miss Preston cooperated unintentionally. I can see how she
opened it to place the book inside." With no effort, Falcon opened the
safe, removed the notebook he had envisioned, and handed it to Steve.
She
opened the cover and smiled. "Bingo! This is the index of the files in
the computer and all the access codes." She quickly scanned the pages
looking for a heading that would ring some kind of bell. There it was:
"Real Estate Acquisitions" with a long list of subheadings. Steve's
gaze halted on "Personal."
"I think this is it." Quickly, she returned to Miss Preston's desk and shined her light on the computer keyboard.
"Do you need assistance?" Falcon asked as he joined her.
She
found the power switches, and the area around her glowed from the light
of the monitor. "I don't think so. The instructions in the book were
written for a novice to follow, and I'm a little better than that."
The
main menu for the file came up on the screen. It consisted of a list of
states, commencing with Alaska, and continued in alphabetical order
with the exception of Alabama. Apparently that state held no interest
for Gordon Underwood.
Hoping the Alaskan telephone number was a
legitimate lead, Steve punched in the code to call up the Alaska file.
Only one description of the location appeared with details of the
purchase following it.
"Look at this, Falcon. Underwood bought this
huge parcel of real estate near Fairbanks about six months ago. Here's
a list of expenses incurred after the property was purchased. Looks
like a pretty fancy house for that neck of the woods. What do you think
of the timing?"
Before he answered, she found the final piece of
evidence needed to draw her own conclusion. The phone number was a
match. Falcon saw it at the same time and gave her arm a squeeze.
"That must be it. I am filled with certainty."
"Can you zap us there right now? We've got a very detailed description to go by."
Falcon
closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and made a difficult decision.
"No. I explained the danger to you. We will have to rely on your
traditional transportation."
"But, Falcon, this is an emergency. I
feel certain, too, and my intuition is usually on target. Underwood
could be sitting in that house right now. He'd have no way of
anticipating our arrival so fast."
Falcon turned the swivel chair so
that she was facing him and framed her face in his hands. "There is
nothing in the universe so important that I would endanger your life,
Steve. I do not fear the end of my own existence, but I would do my
people no good by committing suicide. Now, I believe we should depart
while our good fortune continues."
Steve felt the excitement
bubbling up as she ran the cursor back up to the description of the
location, and quickly copied it beneath the phone number. She turned
the computer off while Falcon returned the notebook to the safe.
On
the hike downstairs they reviewed the plan for exiting the premises.
Again, assuming a guard was at the desk in the lobby, Steve would
approach him in her full business attire, and gush out an embarrassed
explanation about having fallen asleep in an upstairs lounge. While the
guard was distracted by Steve, Falcon would sneak up behind him, put
him quietly to sleep, and make him forget he had ever seen Steve.
Simplicity always worked best.
At the bottom of the stairs, Steve
whispered, "Now remember, don't move until you hear me thanking him.
That will be when I've convinced him to unlock the door and his back is
to the lobby. If he's an old geezer, a little eyelash fluttering should
hold him long enough for you to move."
They slipped through the
doorway into the alcove. Falcon touched Steve's temple. There is a man
out there, but something is wrong. He is highly agitated, anxious.
Maybe
he's just a nervous Nelly. That might help me run this bluff. Here
goes. Steve stepped away from Falcon, but not before she heard him tell
her to be careful.
The moment she stepped into the lobby area she
halted. The guard had been staring at the alcove when she appeared. He
bolted up from his chair, sending it crashing into the desk behind him.
His elderly, shaking hands gripped his drawn revolver, pointing it
directly at Steve.
Falcon's heart fluttered under the onslaught of
Steve's panic. He closed his eyes to see what she saw and reached out
to her. Do you want my presence?
No. Stay there. From the way her
heart was racing, Steve had no doubt that he heard her. She carefully
set the briefcase down, and let the old man see her hands clearly in
front of her and empty. Pasting on a big smile, she took a hesitant
step forward.
"Freeze, girlie. I've got a gun."
Steve stared at
the wavering weapon. Nervous? The man was scared out of his wits.
"Look, I'm sorry I frightened you. You scared me, too, sir. I fell
asleep upstairs. I had a terrible migraine, and—"
The guard
interrupted her with a grunt and a wave of the gun. "I don't know about
you fallin' asleep. I do know you were using the computer in Miss
Preston's office, and I know you don't work here, so I figure you're
some kind of spy."
Steve felt like kicking herself. She had
remembered elevators and flushing toilets and, like a stupid amateur,
turned on the computer. All she could do was keep trying to run her
play. "You must be mistaken. I was asleep in the women's lounge on the
third floor. Maybe Miss Preston is in her office. Why don't you—" She
took another two steps before he yelled.
"Stop! It was you. And a
man. When the alert came up, I turned on the viewer for her office.
You're both on film. Where's the man?" He looked past her to the
alcove. "Hey, Mister! You there? You may as well come out where I can
keep an eye on you, too."
Steve took advantage of his distraction to
move another foot. "There's no man. It was just me. You're right. I am
a competitor. But I didn't find anything important." She would try
pleading and eyelash fluttering. "Look, you've given me a horrible
scare, and taught me a lesson I'll never forget. I swear. This was the
first time I tried anything like this, and it will be my last. Just let
me get out of here, okay?" She heard a siren in the distance. The guard
glanced at the door. He had heard it as well.
"You'll get out of
here all right. With the police. I called them right before you came
down." His hands were still shaking, but his voice had gained
confidence as the sound of the siren grew louder.
Police! Steve
tried to keep her breathing normal as she watched the guard moving
toward the front door. He was fumbling with his cumbersome key ring,
obviously trying to select the appropriate key out of the sizable
collection without taking his gun or his gaze off her. Falcon. Hide!
You can't let the police get hold of you. She heard the beginning of an
argument from him and swiftly cut him off. I'll be fine. Go!
Steve
felt the adrenaline pouring into her veins. The siren was close, maybe
a block away. The guard fingered a key and separated it from the bunch.
Steve poised. She would count on the man's age to have slowed his
reflexes. For one split second he shifted his gaze to insert the key
into the deadbolt lock. Steve lunged, aiming a chop at his gun hand.
Falcon
stumbled and fell backward under the force that slammed into his
stomach. His head cracked against the railing as his body descended the
flight of steps he had just run up. The landing stopped his fall a
moment before he lost consciousness.
Chapter Fifteen
Fear makes us feel our humanity. —Benjamin Disraeli
FalconFear makes us feel our humanity. —Benjamin Disraeli
fought against the quicksand that threatened to swallow him up.
Gradually, he overcame the devastating pain radiating through his
abdomen and sucked a breath of air into his empty lungs. Heart failure?
His hand moved to his chest. No, his heart and lungs were returning to
their normal level of function. Steve? He struggled to his feet,
beating down a wave of dizziness caused by his head injury. He had
fallen. How? The pain. Steve? How long had he been unconscious? Minutes.
Steve!
Falcon rationalized that if she were safe, she would not be emotional
enough for him to read her. Or was she too far away? He reached out
mentally, trying to see through her eyes. Nothing. Perhaps his own
distress blinded him now. He had not had time to learn the limitations
of these new powers.
Suddenly he sensed the approach of two people.
The door below him opened. He stopped breathing and lowered his
eyelids. Male voices interrupted the silence.
"To hell with it! This stairway is likg a black hole. Get the dog. He'll find the bastard faster than we would anyway."
"Ill get the old guy to switch on the—"
The
sentence was cut off by the click of the stairwell door. Falcon heard
another whining sound outside, slightly different from the first. Were
those men the police the guard had called? What about the dog? He
thought of Mr. Spock. Animals held no threat for him. It was only
humans carrying antique weapons and the fact that Innerworld's Medical
Department was out of reach that fed his fear. Swiftly, he leapt up the
next several flights of stairs and exited into a hallway much like the
executive floor.
Falcon entered the first open office on the street
side and looked down. The scene was a chaotic melee of vehicles of
different shapes and sizes, many with spinning red lights on top.
Traffic and pedestrians were being headed off by uniformed men. Like
the two men who had opened the stairway door, these men were tensed for
battle, some anxious, some frightened. The gathering crowd was curious
and emanated another hideous emotion Falcon could not register as they
vied for positions and craned their necks to see. A group of men in
white shirts rolled a stretcher toward one of the larger, box-like
vehicles.
At first all he saw between the huddle of men was a
glimpse of a white sheet splattered with red. In unison they turned and
lifted the stretcher into the rear opening. Steve! His mind screamed a
denial in spite of what his eyes clearly saw. Her deathly pale face was
visible above a sheet so soaked with blood that it clung wetly to her
form. The pain had been hers! The severity of it had almost taken him
with her into oblivion. His memory replayed the loud report that had
occurred simultaneously with the pain.
Why had he obeyed her? He had
run like a coward. No! Not true! He trusted her to know what she was
doing. Now he was safe, and she was ... Aggressive barking reminded him
he was not safe at all. The stretcher disappeared behind double doors,
and a few seconds later, the vehicle's siren started up again. Amidst
the screeching noise and whirling red lights, Steve was whisked away.
Falcon
had no idea how to deal with such turmoil. He could not even begin to
identify all the emotions roiling to the surface at one time. He was
furious, angry, frightened, worried, frustrated, and he desperately
wanted to sit down and cry—something he had never done in his life. He
blinked, and the moisture in his eyes pooled in the corners. A distant
voice told him Steve would not approve, and he pressed the heels of his
palms against his eyes until he controlled the momentary weakness. The
sound of the stairwell door opening brought an end to his vacillating.
Falcon's senses read one man, one dog. He felt the animal's excitement
and tremendous restraint.
"Duke! Seek!" the man ordered.
Falcon countered. Duke. Slowly. Come to me.
Duke came to falcon. Slowly. Then he obeyed the command to mislead his master.
As
soon as the man and dog continued to the next floor, Falcon went back
down the stairs to wait by the door to the lobby. The lights had been
turned on and he was prepared to stop anyone who might enter the
stairway, but no one chose that route. Far above him, he heard Duke's
frantic barking.
There were four men and a woman milling around the
lobby when a distorted voice shouted. "He must be on the roof! Duke's
going crazy." Falcon heard amplified barking as the man spoke. There
was a horrid crackling sound, then another voice close by answered,
"Okay, let him loose. We're coming up. Collins, stay here, and make
sure none of those people try to come in." One man left.
Falcon
eased out of the stairwell and peeked around the corner of the alcove.
The man sat with his hip resting on the edge of the desk, alternately
watching the activity in the street and writing on a clipboard.
Noiselessly, remaining outside of the officer's line of peripheral
vision, Falcon maneuvered into position. The policeman reacted to a
blurry movement by his face, but was asleep an instant later. Falcon
removed his fingers from the man's temple only after he learned what he
required and erased the memory of his touch.
Somewhere on the roof
the dog continued his ferocious barking as he led the squad on a search
for the intruder. Falcon dragged the sleeping man back into the alcove
and exchanged clothes with him. Attired in police regalia, including
the man's heavy vest, weapon belt, and helmet, Falcon picked up the
clipboard and hand-held communicator, and headed out the door.
From
the man's mind he had gleaned where Steve had been taken, how to get
there, and which of the officer's many keys operated which vehicle. As
Falcon intended, no one thought to question the briskly striding police
officer who wore dark sunglasses at night. He got into the car and
tuned into the routine the officer performed when he had last been in
this seat. Using the key, he turned on the engine, then the lights and
siren, and hoped the vehicle was as easy to drive as Steve made it look.
The
group of officers in the street moved aside the barricades and people
to let him pass. Falcon shifted the stick in front of his right hand,
so that the line moved from P to D, pushed his foot down on the pedal
on the right, and gripped the steering mechanism. The car lurched
forward with spinning tires and a squealing engine. Hopefully, such a
display was valid for an officer in a great hurry.
By the end of the
second block, Falcon figured out how much pressure was needed to move
the car at a reasonably safe speed. In his experience as Steve's
passenger, he had noted that vehicles with sirens and red lights did
not need to abide by the various signs and signals along the roadways.
He followed their example as he recalled the series of directions that
would take him to the hospital.
Falcon knew he had only driven a
short distance, but it was the longest minutes of his life. Hold on,
Steve. He pulled into the area denoted by a large Emergency sign and
parked the policeman's car next to the vehicle in which Steve had
traveled. With a burst of energy, he ran to the entrance way and then
had to wait until the slow-moving glass doors opened for him. He took
two steps into the large room beyond and was assailed by a wave of
emotions that knocked him back a step before he had a chance to block
them.
The enormous room was packed with bodies. Sitting, standing,
lying bodies; suffering, tormented bodies. He staggered under the
weight of their combined pain and illness. Sorting the emotions
bombarding him proved impossible. From every angle came anger,
frustration, hostility, fear, but stronger than any other came the
awful, limitless pain. And the noise of a thousand voices and the
stench of sickness and chemicals.
He had to fight the paralysis
setting into his limbs. Steve needed him. He needed Steve. Section by
section, he reduced his empathic reactions to the horde of sufferers,
blocked out his awareness of the crying and screaming, ignored the
horrendous odors. Falcon searched for Steve's aura. She had to be here.
The numbers on the vehicle outside matched those of the one she had
been in, and he had envisioned the stretcher being removed and brought
in here. He could see no further. All of his control was occupied with
remaining sane in this room. But why could he not pick up her aura?
His
scan stopped at a row of official-looking windows with lines of people
standing in front of each one. He trusted the uniform he wore to grant
him certain privileges. Walking to the front of one line was all he
needed to get the attention of the small Oriental woman behind the
window. She smiled up at him.
Falcon did his best to return her
smile before impatiently asking, "The injured woman who came in the
vehicle marked Rescue 6.Where was she taken?"
"Straight to surgery. Doesn't look good. A major artery was hit."
He
paused long enough to get directions, then took off at a run for the
stairs. When he reached the surgical area, he had to stop a woman in a
white uniform to ask for directions again. His mind was surrounded by a
red fog that her answer barely penetrated.
The woman pointed to the door behind him with a strange look on her face. "You're standing in front of it."
Falcon turned abruptly and pushed on the door, but nothing happened.
With
a cluck of her tongue, the woman spoke to him again, "You have to push
the button to get the doors open, but you can't go in there now. It's
sterile. You should know that!"
Falcon looked back at her and made
himself relax. She obviously did not trust him to obey the rules. She
had crossed her arms over her chest, and her expression had become very
stern.
"Of course. I am sorry. I forgot for a moment." He moved away
from the door and smiled. Apparently satisfied, the woman went on her
way.
Moving back to the door, Falcon placed his hand on the metal.
The density meant nothing. He could see into the room quite clearly.
People and equipment obstructed his view of the patient. If that was
Steve, why could he not get a reading of her?
"She won't make it. Not a gut shot like that."
Falcon
jerked his head toward the voice. A man in a uniform like his own stood
next to him, holding a paper cup. He crushed the urge to make the
officer retract his careless words. Instead he asked, "What happened?"
The
officer began running through the details of the call that had brought
him here with the woman he referred to as Jane Doe. Falcon could not
hear the policeman's words above the blood pounding in his head.
Turning
his head back to the door, Falcon realized he could still see the scene
inside the room without touching the barrier. The continuous movements
of the frenzied medical team allowed him to confirm that the gruesome
figure on the table was Steve. Her legs were encased in inflated rubber
pants, but what he saw above made him gag. The flesh of her abdomen was
severed up to her throat. Tubes and needles connected various parts of
her body and head to the machines and bags hanging around the bed. A
man had his hands deeply inserted in her torso. The room was chilly,
but that man was sweating profusely. A woman wiped his forehead for him.
They
were all wearing masks over their lower faces that muffled their words,
but Falcon heard them. Abdominal aorta. Clamp. Sponge. Negative
pressure, positive pulse. Losing her. Chest retractors fast! In spite
of his own overwhelming fear, Falcon sensed a mounting desperation
coming from the man he assumed was the doctor. The thick tension in the
room made it almost impossible for Falcon to concentrate on the
proceedings.
The officer next to him was still talking, and Falcon
nodded from time to time, but kept his eyes riveted on the barbarism
being executed inside. These people were the equivalent to Innerworld's
medical team. They must know how to heal their own kind.
The doctor
inserted what looked like a giant pair of scissors through Steve's rib
cage. With a sickening crunch, the bones gave way. Frantically, the
doctor massaged the heart muscles. Falcon got the impression the man
was trying to will Steve back to health.
Then the doctor stopped
working. As one, the people in the room immobilized, looked from the
body, to the doctor, to the machines. When the doctor removed his hands
and began to suture Steve's chest closed, another man began turning off
machines, and a woman removed all the tubes and the strange pant legs.
Still, Falcon could not or would not comprehend what it all meant.
Until the doctor finished stitching Steve and the woman spread a sheet
over Steve's body and pulled one end over her face.
"No-o-o!" Falcon
roared. He waved his arm and the door crashed open. The shock of his
entrance froze the medical personnel for the split second Falcon needed
to reach Steve and pick her up. One man yelled at him and grabbed his
arm, but Falcon flicked him off as if he were a gnat. The officer tried
to prevent his exit from the room, and again Falcon waved his hand and
the officer's body hurled backward across the corridor.
Falcon was
beyond rational thought. They let her die! He should destroy them
all—and he discovered he had the power to do just that. Through his
blinding rage, he sensed people moving, preparing to attack. He had no
choice. With Steve's lifeless body in his arms, he ran down the hallway
and into the first vacant room. Protecting her life was no longer an
element to be considered. Nor could he worry about the impression he
would leave with these Terrans. In a corner of his mind lingered the
fact that he was about to break another serious law of Innerworld. His
fingers moved over his ring.
"Good work, Miss Preston. Keep me
advised." Underwood smiled broadly as he hung up the phone.
Circumstances could not have worked out better had he arranged them
himself. The Barbanell woman was undoubtedly dead by now. The paramedic
that had taken her away had bet she would not even last the trip to the
hospital. The elderly security guard had shot her by accident, but she
had tried to burglarize his property. No one could possibly make the
connection to him, except the two people who had broken into his
offices, and one of them was no longer a threat.
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