Disturb (4 page)

“What’s happening now?”

Theena looked closely at the readouts and frowned.

“Beta 2 waves. I’ve seen this before, usually when he’s very irritated, or having an argument. But the police have a guard on him, and no one is allowed into his hospital room.”

“Maybe some reaction to medication.”

“No. He’s not on any medication.”

“Not even antibiotics?”

“He doesn’t need them. His immune system is incredible.” Theena pursed her lips. “No, he’s definitely arguing with somebody. I wonder who?”

“H
ow did you get in here?”

Manny’s voice was high pitched, frantic. The flimsy hospital gown he wore made him feel even more vulnerable.

David smiled at him.

“Your armed guard is taking a nap outside. Remember naps, Manny? Don’t you miss them?”

Manny tried to rise out of the hospital bed, but David put a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t bother getting up. I won’t stay long. Pity about Dr. Nikos, isn’t it? You know what I saw in his eyes when I slit his throat? Not fear. Not pain. Just disappointment. It was delicious. How’s your chest?”

David lifted up Manny’s gown and peeked.

“Looks nasty. What is that tube?”

Manny tried to melt into his mattress.

“A drain.”

“Does it hurt?”

David prodded at the protruding plastic, pinching it between his fingers. Manny forced courage.

“What do you want, David? Did you come back to finish the job?”

“I wasn’t after you, Manny. You know that. But you tried to get in the way. Don’t you see the only way we can be free is if the experiment ends?”

“I told the cops.”

David grinned, patting his brother on the cheek.

“No, you didn’t. You lied to them. I know you did. Now—who should we kill next?”

“Please…”

“How about the computer geek, Dr. Townsend? All those ridiculous graphs and charts, as if he could reduce us to just statistics. Or Dr. O’Neil? Aren’t you sick of his fumbling attempts at taking serum samples? Maybe Dr. Fletcher. He tries to poke around in our heads with all the subtlety of a linebacker. Or Theena…?”

Manny’s eyes got wide.

“Maybe I should pick up your Theena.” David rubbed his face, as if mulling it over. “We could have some fun together. I bet she’s a real tiger.”

Manny tried to raise his arm, but it was taped to the rail so the saline drip IV wouldn’t pull out. This greatly amused David.

“Yes, I think Theena it is. Unless you’d prefer someone else. Who should I kill instead of Theena? I’ll let you pick.”

Manny stared at his brother with tortured eyes. This was worse than being attacked. David was going to kill someone, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

But at least he could save Theena…

“Townsend.”

David’s smile was ghastly.

“The computer geek. Excellent. I’ll come back later with the details. Maybe even some pictures. See you, bro.”

David left. Manny looked at the phone. He had to talk to Jim Townsend, warn him what was coming.

He called DruTech and got the number from Barry, the head security guard. Barry attempted to wish him well, but Manny hung up on him, anxious to make the call.

Townsend wasn’t home. His machine picked up. Manny left a message.

“Dr. Townsend. This is Manny. Your life is in danger. The same people that killed Dr. Nikos are going after you.”

Manny squeezed his eyes shut at the lie. How could he still be protecting David, after all he’d done? He swallowed hard, and continued.

“You have to go away for a while. Don’t tell anyone where you’re going. These people—they can’t be stopped. They’re maniacs. Please believe me. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”

He gently set the receiver in its cradle and laid back down. Outside, clouds had covered the sun, turning everything gray.

Manny closed his eyes and wished, for the thousandth time, that he could just go to sleep.

D
r. Jim Townsend hated days off. The call from Rothchilde’s secretary came while he was in the car and already halfway to work. He’d briefly argued with her, insisting on coming in anyway, but she told him security had been informed not to let anyone in.

Irritating.

He was essential to the project. Without his organizational skills the experiment would be all over the place, untamed. Townsend had been the one to lay out the plans, run the schedule, catalog the results. His conclusions dictated what would be tested next. Though he didn’t invent N-Som, it would never be ready for FDA approval if he wasn’t on the team. The Nobel Prize people had better be aware of that when the time came.

Faced with the ugly prospect of nothing to do, Townsend pulled the Hundai into a supermarket parking lot and weighed options. A frown creased his doughy face. He scratched at a spot on his glasses, pushed the comb-over back on his balding head, and tried to think of something to kill time until tomorrow.

Movies, and all forms of media entertainment, bored him. There was nothing to do back at the apartment; the little amount of time he spent there was for sleeping, dressing, and washing. Eating was a joyless necessity, usually something quick and convenient. His burgeoning stomach was a testament to this, but exercise bored Townsend as much as anything else.

The library? He needed to catch up on his reading; many of his subscriptions had run out, and prestigious scientific journals didn’t send you a little card to fill out as a reminder.

A search of his wallet revealed his library card was expired. To get a renewal meant lines and hassles. The library was out.

Museums? It seemed a chore to go into the city, search for parking, fight the crowds of school children.

He thought, enviously, of his computer at work. When the strain became too great, he’d play a chess program to help ease his mind. It was somewhat banal, and he never lost, but it was the closest thing to entertainment that he pursued.

Though efficient on many different operating systems, Townsend had never gotten around to owning his own computer. The ones he worked on were always vastly superior to home versions. But he knew that modern models had a tremendous amount of speed and memory, quadruple that of only a year ago. Was it time to join the personal computer revolution?

“Why the heck not?”

Computer stores seemed to be everywhere in the suburbs, and Townsend located one of the larger chains and went inside.

Four different salespeople approached him, and each time he shooed them away, annoyed at the interruption. He finally did require assistance after deciding on a model, and of course it took forever to find help. Such a burden, shopping.

After rebuffing pitch after pitch for accessories, Townsend allowed himself to be talked into two chess programs, each claiming to have beaten grand masters. He even felt a tinge of excitement, driving home with his purchases in the back seat. It wasn’t nearly as fulfilling as work, but these boxes represented a slight promise of challenge, something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

It took three trips to bring everything up to his third floor apartment. Badly out of breath, he needed a rest and a glass of orange juice before setting up his new system. His answering machine was blinking, but he was too preoccupied to notice.

Assembly was easy, and he didn’t bother with the instructions. The system had dutifully included a CD for free internet hours, but he decided to put that off until later. Townsend installed the first chess program, somewhat surprised by his new computer’s speed, and after familiarizing himself with the controls he began to play.

Within forty minutes, the computer was up a piece.

Townsend had to grin at the move. It was a brilliant one, a pin that forced him to give up his rook to save his queen. Townsend made the computer go back several moves, not to cheat, but to see if he could have prevented it. He couldn’t have. The program had planned it at least six moves in advance.

“Wonderful.”

He hunkered down and continued play, trying to be wary but thrilled at the possibility of being beaten.

It was only when Townsend began to squint at the keyboard that he realized the sun had gone down. He checked the clock and was surprised to see he’d been playing for seven hours.

The computer had beaten him three games out of six. They were tied in this seventh game, and Townsend was preparing a sacrifice that would lead to checkmate if the computer didn’t see it. The odds were slim; the computer saw just about everything. Unlike the chess program at work, this one could think several hundred moves ahead, and understood the concept of sacrifice for the sake of position.

He paused the game on his turn and ordered some Chinese food to be delivered. After a bathroom break and a splash of water on his face to keep him focused, he returned to the computer and made his move.

The computer didn’t take the bait.

“I figured you’d see it. Good one.”

A knock at the door. Townsend was so involved with the game that he never bothered to question the obvious fact that his food couldn’t have been there so quickly.

The man in the hallway was wearing jeans and a leather jacket. He wasn’t delivering sweet and sour pork or any other food. Most irritating of all, it was someone that Townsend knew, and happened to dislike.

“What are you doing here?”

“Hello doctor.” David grinned, his pleasure genuine. “I came here to kill you.”

When he saw the scalpel, Townsend’s annoyance puddled into fear. He took several steps back.

“This… this is a mistake. You’ll jeopardize the project.”

“That’s the point. Manny and I are sick of being guinea pigs. I think it’s made us somewhat unhinged.”

“Manny and I? What do—”

Townsend saw the slash, saw the blood, but didn’t feel a thing. He tried to speak and it came out in a gurgle.

David appraised the wound.

“The first cut is the deepest.”

When Townsend coughed, it was through the gash in his neck rather than his mouth. Things became blurry, and he fell over.

David closed the door behind him. He inspected the apartment, giving an empty monitor box a small kick.

“New computer? Nice.”

Townsend crawled over to his desk, reaching for the phone. He came up short and pulled his keyboard down on top of him.

“Careful, Dr. Townsend. You’ll void the warranty if you bleed all over it.”

Townsend began to pass out. He knew that if he did, he’d never wake up. He had to get the phone, had to get help.

“Do you want the phone?” David laughed. “What are you gonna do with the phone, Dr. Townsend? Your tongue is hanging out your neck. Maybe I can help.”

David knelt down next to him. Townsend felt his consciousness ebbing, the darkness closing in.

He was almost dead when David began to work on him with the scalpel.

Almost.

T
he sheer amount of collected data impressed Bill, but not nearly as much as the content. Each document he read was more fascinating than the last. He got up from his sofa and stretched, his back crackling like a bag of chips. He took a sip of coffee. Cold.

The clock told him it was coming up on one in the morning, but Bill wasn’t ready to turn in yet. He plodded into the kitchen for another cup. He used three spoonfuls of instant, extra strong, and popped it in the microwave. The deluxe espresso maker stared at him from the counter, dejected.