Disturb (14 page)

B
ill’s eyes sprung open and he sucked in air. He sat up, frantic. His hand felt his chest.

No hole.

N-Som dream.

Theena had said they were realistic, but he had no idea. The detail, the imagery, the tactile sensations, all making him feel as if he’d actually been there.

Mike Bitner’s death.

The perspective was different than the video tape. Bill felt like he’d actually lived through his death, seeing everything happen through Bitner’s eyes, feeling what he felt up until the very end.

And unlike a regular dream, this remained lodged in Bill’s head like a real memory. He could close his eyes and still feel the cool concrete of the basement floor under his knees…

“Good morning, sleepy head.”

Bill stood up and spun around. Carlos was standing by the front door. He had on some kind of delivery uniform. Standing next to him, a gun pressed to the back of her head, Theena was fighting not to cry.

Bill blinked and shook his head.

This was no dream.

“Sit down, Doc. Put your hands above your head.”

“Where’s your fat buddy?”

“He’s coming. You in a hurry to get this party started?”

Bill considered his slim options. Carlos was only half a dozen feet away, the sofa between them. Going over it was faster than going around it, but either way Carlos would be able to shoot him before he got there.

He had to think of something, and fast. Once Franco arrived the odds would become much worse.

“I have a lot of money.”

“Is that so?”

Bill nodded. He laced his hands behind his head and walked over, trying to look submissive.

“Two hundred and eighty thousand dollars. You let us go, you can have it.”

“And you got this where, in your wallet?”

“In a CD. Two phone calls, I can pull it all out.”

He stood in front of Carlos, his muscles tensing.

“And how do I get the money, once you pull it out?”

“We can go to the bank, together. Franco stays here with the girl, so I don’t try anything funny.”

Carlos laughed. “I like that, Doc. You’re a thinking man. Wouldn’t work, though. Soon as we got out in public, you’d start screaming your head off.”

Bill set his jaw. He had to make a play for the gun. It would endanger Theena, but there was no other choice. They were both going to die anyway, and he wasn’t going to go out like Mike Bitner did, on his knees wondering what the meaning of life was. One memory like that was enough.

“I can call my lawyer. He’s got authorization on my account. He can bring the money here.”

Carlos grinned. “It’s getting better. But wouldn’t the bank be suspicious, taking out all that money?”

Bill eyed Carlos’s pistol. He hadn’t ever fired a gun, but he had a basic understanding of how they worked. Carlos had a revolver, the kind that gunslingers from the old West used. Pulling the trigger caused the hammer to draw back. When the hammer fell, it would hit the bullet in the cylinder, causing the gun to fire.

Bill stood in front of Carlos, his hands out in supplication, his voice frantic.

“I’ll tell him I need it for bail, for my cousin.”

“Clever, Doc. You’re a clever…”

Bill shot out his hand, aiming for the hammer, grabbing the gun near the back.

Carlos fired. A spark of pain shot up Bill’s wrist.

Instead of falling on the bullet chamber, the hammer pinched the webbing between Bill’s thumb and forefinger. The gun couldn’t fire.

He tugged. Carlos refused to let go of the weapon, being pulled along with it. They fell to the floor.

Bill was bigger, and younger, but he’d never been in a real fight before. The older man snarled and kicked with ferocious energy, tearing at Bill’s eyes with his free hand, trying to bite Bill’s arm.

Bill strained, trying to kick Carlos away, but he received a stiff poke in the eye and the pistol was ripped from his hand.

“You son of a…”

There was a thumping sound, and a scream. Bill squinted, focusing his blurry vision.

Theena had whacked Carlos across the face with her cactus.

She dropped the pot. Half the plant was gone, a ragged break on top leaking milky fluid.

The other half was embedded in the killer’s face. He wrestled with it. Some of the needles held like fish hooks, stretching his skin as he pulled. His wail was keening, a hurt puppy.

Bill scurried to his feet and picked up his overnight bag—he didn’t want to lose the N-Som file. Then he grabbed Theena’s wrist.

“Back door!”

She stared for a long moment at the man writhing on the floor, then ran with Bill to the apartment’s rear entrance.

They hit the stairwell and bounded down two at a time. Their footsteps echoed on the concrete, and Bill couldn’t be sure he didn’t hear someone above, coming after them. It fueled his fear.

The cold gave Bill a shock when they stepped outside. The earlier drizzle had frozen, forming an icy sleet. Without a coat, the weather pinched at his cheeks and hands. He tugged Theena through the alley, trying to decide where to go.

He saw a cab, coming down the block. Bill chanced a look behind him. Franco, charging towards them like a bull, his head down and fists pumping.

Bill stepped in front of the cab, forcing it to stop. He and Theena practically dove inside.

“Go! Go! Go!”

The cabbie gave Bill a look of annoyance. He opened his mouth to object and then noticed Franco barreling towards his cab.

“A hundred bucks to get us out of here!”

The cab squealed tires, doing a little fishtail peel-out, leaving the overgrown thug hollering after them.

“Are you in some kind of trouble?”

Bill didn’t answer. Where could they go?

“We could try the police…”

Theena shook her head. “Those were Rothchilde’s men. He owns the police.”

Bill remembered he had Agent Smith’s cell phone number. Carlos and Franco had known he’d called the FBI, but they could have found out by bugging his condo, or hacking into his phone records. Or the FBI could have told them. Should he take the chance?

“Does he own the FBI?”

“I don’t know. It’s possible.”

Bill’s cell phone was in his jacket, back at Theena’s. He looked at the cabbie’s picture, posted on his license. His name was Fasil. Bill tapped on the glass partition.

“Fasil, do you have a cell phone?”

“I’m sorry, I do not lend it to customers.”

“One call. I’ll give you another hundred.”

Bill fished out his wallet and slipped four fifties through the opening. The cabbie handed Bill his phone.

Bill’s trembling fingers refused to obey, and he dialed the wrong number three times. The fourth time, the call finally went through.

“Agent Smith.”

“This is Dr. William May, I talked to you the other day.”

“Yes, Dr. May. Are you in trouble?”

“Yes. You still have agents watching us, right? We need them to take us in. Too much is going on.”

“Where are you right now, Doctor?”

Bill didn’t sense any kind of deception. But that could have been because he wanted a way out of this so badly.

“We’re in a cab, heading southbound on Foster.”

“Foster and what?”

Bill squinted out the window.

“Irving Park Road.”

“Okay, Doctor. I need you to park and wait there until I can contact my men. Can you do that?”

Bill instructed the cabbie to pull over. Theena shot him a panicked look.

“Okay, I did it. Now what?”

“Some agents will approach the cab. They’ll show you ID. You can go with them, they’ll take you to a safe house. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

The line went dead. Bill patted Theena’s thigh. “It’s okay. The good guys are coming.”

The cabbie swiveled around in his seat.

“You want me to park here?”

“For a few minutes. Someone is coming to pick us up.”

He put an arm around Theena and felt shivering. Bill wasn’t sure if it was her or him.

A few minutes passed.

“Come on, Smith. Where are you?”

“Smith?” Theena pulled away from Bill, her eyes wide. “Gerald Smith?”

“Special Agent Smith is the Fed I talked to. I don’t know his first name. Why?”

“I’ve overheard Albert on the phone before, talking to someone named Gerald Smith. I got the impression he was with the FBI.”

Bill chewed his lower lip. To his right, a dark sedan with tinted windows approached the cab and slowed to a stop.

“Bill, we have to get out of here!”

The doors of the sedan opened, and two men in suits got out of the car.

“Bill, please!”

“Fasil, get ready to move if I give you the signal.”

“I appreciate the money sir, but I am becoming frightened. Please get out of my cab.”

One of the men tapped on the window. He was holding up a wallet, showing Bill his ID and badge.

“Dr. May? We’re the FBI. Step out of the vehicle.”

Bill was torn apart with doubt. If Smith was a good guy, this whole thing would end here. The Feds would take them in, they’d tell their story, and hopefully it would be enough to put Rothchilde away.

But if Smith were in this with Rothchilde…

“Bill, if we go with them, we’ll die. Please.”

Theena squeezed his arm, imploring. Bill decided he couldn’t take the chance, tempting as it was.

“Fasil—please drive us away from here.”

“I do not want to get involved.”

“Please, Fasil. If we get out here, these men will kill us.”

“Then they may kill me as well. Get out of my cab.”

Bill took off his watch, a high end Movado with a diamond at the twelve o’clock mark. He held it up to the glass.

“It’s worth over two grand. Just drive us away from here, and it’s yours.”

The FBI agent tried to open Bill’s door. Theena screamed, and Bill pulled on the handle to keep it closed.

“Please, Fasil!”

There was a screech, then the cab rocketed forward. Bill turned around.

The agents had drawn their guns.

“Get down!”

The pop-pop-pop of gunfire ensued, immediately followed by the metallic twang of bullets hitting the trunk.

Fasil made a hard right, the cab skidding around the corner at such a speed Bill thought for sure they’d crash.

But even on the slick street, the tires held.

Fasil followed up the maneuver by narrowly cutting off a bus, careening into oncoming traffic, and taking a hard left into an alley.

He stood on the brakes. The cab screeched to a halt a few feet in front of a dumpster.

“We shall wait here for ten minutes, until we are sure they are gone.”

“Thank you, Fasil.”

Bill began to put the watch in the pay slot, but Fasil held up a hand.

“No need. I come from a country where the government oppressed me. Many people helped me to escape. I am happy to help you.”

Bill put his watch back on. With his shaking fingers, it required every bit of his concentration.

Theena leaned towards Bill, snuggling against him. He put his arm around her.

“We have to go to DruTech, Bill.”

“Won’t they guess we’ll do that?”

“It doesn’t matter. There’s security around the clock, and they work for me, not Rothchilde. We can be safe there, until we sort this out.”

“Maybe we should just leave the state. Or the country.”

“For how long? If we run, they’ll be waiting when we get back. I’m not going to let these bastards chase me away from my life.”

“Why don’t you two go to the media?”

Theena and Bill looked at Fasil.

“I do not know what your story is, but it seems very big. If you involve the media, it will force the government to take action against those who are after you.”

Bill’s foot was resting on his overnight bag, which contained the N-Som file he’d gotten from Mike Bitner’s place. If he could prove something crooked was going on, the media was a logical place to turn.

But was Theena involved? How deep was she in?

“Fine, we’ll go to DruTech. How about the other doctors on the team?”

“I’ll call them, tell them to meet us there.”

Bill handed Theena the cell. “Have them pack a bag—we don’t know how long we’ll have to stay.”

Theena dialed a number and spoke for a few minutes with Dr. Julia Myrnowski, the chemist. Then she left messages with Dr. Jim Townsend and Dr. Red Fletcher.

Bill was staring out the window, watching for the sedan, when he felt Theena jerk next to him.

“You okay?”

Theena was holding the cell phone at arm’s length, staring as if she’d never seen one before.

“I just called Mason O’Neil, our MD.”

“What’s wrong? Is he all right?”

She looked at Bill, terror filling her eyes. “He was screaming.”

D
r. Mason O’Neil tried to judge how much blood he had left by looking at the puddle on the floor.

The outlook wasn’t good.

He was down at least a pint. His blood pressure was dangerously low, hypovelemic shock just around the corner. The tingling in his extremities and his rapid heartbeat confirmed the diagnosis.

Mason tried, once again, to put some pressure on his brachial artery to staunch the bleeding. His hand was knocked away.