Invasive Procedures (21 page)

The doorbell buzzed again.

“I’m coming. I’m coming.”

He passed the grandfather clock and saw that it was two in the morning. He found the light switch, flipped on the blinding lights, and slowly descended the stairs to the front door.

Someone knocked.

“I’m coming,” he said angrily. He flipped on the porch light and peered through the peephole. He immediately recognized the white-haired figured looking back at him. Stone.

Irving felt a momentary panic. He unlatched the deadbolt, freed the chain, and opened the door.

“What are you—”

Before Irving could finish, Stone’s hand was at his throat, constricting it, pushing him back into the house as Stone entered and kicked closed the door behind him. “You set your men on me,” he said in a low growl.

Irving’s mouth was open, gagging. He tried to speak but no sound
escaped him. Desperate, he pulled at Stone’s hands. He could’ve been pulling at a mountain for all the good it did him. His lungs screamed for air. He could feel his face turning blue. Just when he began to see spots, Stone released him. Irving fell to his knees, gasping and sputtering.

Then Stone’s hands moved again, inhumanly fast, this time clutching Director Irving’s bathrobe and lifting him off the ground, bringing him within an inch of Stone’s nose.

“Explain yourself.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He could feel Stone’s hot breath on his face.

“Your men. They came while I was treating one of our patients. They were watching the apartment.”

And then Irving remembered the list. The list of downloaded names. “We found a list. A list of names that you had downloaded from Children’s Hospital. I had some of our people watching those addresses.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

Irving whimpered. “That was several days ago. When I gave the order I didn’t think they’d watch this long. I forgot that—”

Stone dropped him. “Humans are weak. I should’ve expected as much.” He pushed past Irving and made his way to the kitchen.

As Irving followed, he paused at the banister to glance up the stairs to make sure his wife wasn’t standing there watching. She wasn’t.

In the kitchen, Stone found a glass, filled it at the sink, downed it, filled it again, and downed it a second time.

“I need bandages,” he said.

“You shouldn’t be here. You can’t stay here. You have to leave. Now.”

“I need bandages first,” Stone repeated. “And a new shirt.”

Irving looked at Stone’s black shirt and noticed for the first time that it was soaked with blood. Stone pulled the shirt off, and Irving put a hand to his mouth. Four deep puncture wounds—bullet wounds, maybe—dotted Stone’s chest. They had stopped bleeding, but they were big enough for Irving to poke his finger into.

“Bandages,” Stone said, a little more urgently this time. “And pliers.”

“Pliers?”

“For removing the bullets.”

Irving felt the dinner of the previous evening start to venture back up
his esophagus. He put his hand back to his mouth, swallowed, and tried to calm himself.

“Your home is the only one I know in the area,” said Stone. “I didn’t come here to bully you. I need your help. Now please find me pliers and some bandages so that these can heal.”

Irving composed himself, stood erect, and looked as menacing as possible. “I don’t answer to you. Now get out of my house.”

Stone looked at him blankly and spoke calmly. “Do you see these holes in my chest? If I can withstand this, do you think I would be remotely intimidated by you? You will either find me what I need or I will be forced to harm you.”

A minute later, after sterilizing the needle-nosed pliers with hot water and alcohol, Irving handed the requested items to the Healer in his kitchen.

“A bowl, please,” said Stone.

By the time Irving found a silver mixing bowl, Stone was already pulling the first slug out of his chest. He dropped it into the bowl, where it landed with a
ka-tink
. Irving stood there, staring at the bloody slug in the bowl still clasped in his hands. He didn’t dare lift his eyes to watch Stone remove the others. It wasn’t until the third bullet that he realized that Stone made no sounds, no cries of anguish. If it pained him to dig deeply into himself with a pair of needle-nosed pliers, Stone gave no sign of it.

Finally, the fourth bullet dropped into the bowl.

Next came the bandages. Irving cut tape as Stone applied the sterile gauze to the areas. By the time they patched up the fourth hole, it looked as if it was healing already. Heavy red scar tissue was forming where a gaping hole had been only moments ago.

When they were finished, Stone said, “May I have a shirt now, please?”

Rather than point out that he had nothing in Stone’s size, Irving tiptoed back up to his room and found a T-shirt in his closet. His wife stirred, and Irving froze, daring not to make a sound, fearful that she would wake and suddenly have the urge to go downstairs to the kitchen for a late-night snack. Instead, she rolled onto her side and continued sleeping.

When Irving returned to the kitchen, he was horrified to see Stone on the phone. For an instant he thought someone had called and that Stone
had answered. But then he realized that the phone would have rung first. Stone recounted to whomever he was speaking what had happened to him and how he had run the two miles or so to Irving’s home. When he was finished, he offered the receiver to Irving.

“Hello?” Irving said, knowing before the voice answered who would be on the other line.

“Thank you, Eugene,” Galen said. “I appreciate your helping Stone. I’m disappointed that you failed to tell us about the stakeout. But let’s put that past us, shall we? To err is human. And you, unfortunately, are human. We’ve had our own problems here this evening, Eugene, or I’d offer to come get Stone myself. As it is, you’ll need to loan him your car.”

The sound of the master’s voice was like the gentlest of breezes, as soft as the brush of a cotton ball. Irving suddenly wondered why he had allowed himself to get so upset at Stone. He, Irving, deserved the mild rebuke. Stone was only doing the master’s work. And any friend of the master was a friend of Irving’s. He told the master that he wanted to come with Stone, but the master, much to his disappointment, told him that it was more important for him to remain in his current position.

After he hung up the phone, Irving realized how happy he felt. He gave the T-shirt to Stone, who pulled it on, then retrieved his car keys from the kitchen counter.

“I just got it detailed,” Irving said, dropping the keys into Stone’s hand. Then, with a wink, “Try not to scratch it.”

Frank sat in the passenger seat of the van as they drove north up the dark highway toward Agoura Hills. Riggs was at the wheel. Carter and Peeps sat in the back. Everyone else, with the exception of Agent Hernandez, who had accompanied the young girl and her father back to the BHA, had been too injured to join them.

Two red lights ahead of them turned out to be road flares, and Riggs slowed the van. A state trooper had his vehicle parked perpendicular to the road, blocking traffic. He waved them to stop with his flashlight, and Riggs pulled the van up next to him.

“Road’s closed, sir,” the trooper said. “You’ll need to turn your vehicle around.”

Riggs flashed his ID, and the state trooper touched the brim of his hat
apologetically. “Thought you boys had all arrived. Your vehicle isn’t marked or I would have waved you on through.”

“How far away is the crash site?” Riggs asked.

“Not sure exactly. Your boys had us block half the county. I only know what I heard over the radio.”

“Which is what?”

“Well, I’m only getting bits and pieces, mind you. You probably know more than I do. But the way I heard it, there’s two sites. One is just a body, dumped on the side of the road. And the other is the actual wreck, about two miles up from that. Grisly scene, I hear. Ambulance went right off the cliff.”

“Thanks for the warning,” said Riggs, putting it into gear.

The trooper put his hand on the van, stalling them. “What you suppose that ambulance was carrying, anyway? Hazardous material? Must of been something to get you all involved.”

“Thanks for your help,” Riggs said and drove around the flares and past the trooper’s car.

Two miles later they came upon the first body. A dozen men in biosuits were hunched around the corpse, some taking photographs, others taking blood samples. Riggs stopped the van, put it in park, and slid a new biohelmet over his face. The others followed suit and checked themselves for leaks before getting out.

The agents recognized Riggs and parted as he approached. He and Frank squatted by the corpse. The EMT’s face was severely burned and dotted with black splotches.

“Did you take a sample?” Riggs asked one of the agents.

“Definitely VI6,” the agent said. “We think he may have contracted it from whoever they were carrying in the ambulance.”

“Where’s the ambulance?”

“Straight that way,” the agent said, pointing up the highway.

Riggs thanked them, told them to carefully bag the body, then got back into the van with Frank and the others.

Debris littered the highway ahead. Riggs had to drive slowly, weaving around the boxes and equipment that had spilled out of the ambulance.

Riggs parked the van near a large white tent set up in the middle of the highway and led Frank and Riggs inside. Peeps stayed in the van to run the video feeds.

The tent was a flurry of activity. A long row of tables had been set up directly over the yellow lines of the highway that separated the two lanes of traffic. Atop the tables were diagnostic equipment and computer terminals. A dozen agents in biosuits moved about, busy with various tasks.

A stout one with thick-rimmed glasses beneath his biohelmet greeted Riggs as they entered.

“Where’s the body?” Riggs asked.

The agent led them through the back flap of the tent to where the ambulance had launched itself into the ravine. The broken guardrail was a twisted wreck of metal and mud. Several high-wattage lights were positioned around a small crane that had been secured to the cliff face, a single black rope hanging from its end.

“Please tell me this isn’t the only way down,” said Carter.

The agent looked apologetic. “Winds out of this ravine are too high for a helicopter to get you down there safely. And we couldn’t find an access road. For the time being, the rope is it.”

Frank slowly stepped to the edge and looked over the side. It was a long way to the bottom. There were two small teams of agents already down there examining the bodies. The ambulance lay upside down, so broken and crunched it only vaguely resembled a vehicle at all.

Frank bit his bottom lip. Any height over ten feet caused the hair on the back of his neck to stand up. He backed away from the ledge, feeling dizzy.

“You okay, Frank?” Carter said.

“Fine.”

Without a word Riggs grabbed a harness and began putting it on. He was rappelling down the line before Carter and Frank had their harnesses secured.

Frank was the last to go. He stood at the cliff’s precipice for several minutes, gathering his courage.

The agent with the glasses stood behind him, watching and waiting. “Do you need any help, sir?” he said finally.

When Frank didn’t answer, the agent poked him. “Sir? The line—do you need assistance down the line?”

Frank looked at him. “No,” he said with a grin. “I’m just not a fan of heights, is all.”

The agent nodded. “Nothing to be ashamed of, sir. I know the feeling.
My wife is afraid of spiders. Screams like a little girl whenever she sees one.

Frank forced a smile. “Thank you. That makes me feel so much better.”

He stepped over the lip of the ledge and let gravity pull him downward.

At the bottom another agent took him to where Jonathan’s body had been laid. Riggs and another agent were squatting over the body when Frank arrived.

Frank had treated wounded soldiers before. In the Middle East, when the threat of biological weapons was no longer a concern, the military had put him in a triage hospital assisting surgeons. It had been squeamish work, young soldiers victimized by roadside bombs and mortar shells, and Frank had worked hard to erase the images from his memory.

All those images came back the moment Frank saw the kid in scrubs, lying there on the ravine floor in a mangled, bloody mess.

“This is nothing,” the agent beside him said. “You should see the other guy.” He pointed to a group of agents about twenty yards off. “Went through the windshield, then right onto the rocks. Ker-splat.”

Riggs shined his penlight on the body. “You said he had a prior wound?”

The agent knelt beside him. “Yes, sir. Here in the abdomen. These bandages were still attached to his waist and look about a day old, is my guess.”

Frank got down and took a closer look. “Looks like a surgical wound.”

The agent nodded. “No question. You can still see the sutures.” He inserted his fingers into Jonathan’s side and pulled back a flap of skin. The sutures were there all right, but most were broken and hung limply from the flesh.

Carter, looking sick, turned away and walked off to watch from a distance.

“Peeps, you getting all this?” said Riggs.

“Affirmative,” his voice said. “And I’ve lost my appetite.”

Riggs turned to Frank. “Why would someone need surgery here?”

Frank snapped his flashlight to the side of his helmet and pulled the wound apart to get a look inside. It didn’t take long to confirm his suspicion. “Kidney transplant,” he said.

“Transplant?” said Riggs. “I thought the kidneys were higher in the abdomen.”

“They are. Traditionally, we think of transplants involving the removal of one organ and replacing it with another. That’s not the case with kidneys. The old kidneys remain. The new kidney is simply placed below them, closer to the groin. Look, you can see the sutures from the urethra to the bladder.”

The agent took a closer look. “He’s right.”

Riggs looked also, then turned to the agent. “And you’re sure he was infected with the virus?”