Seeking Asylum (13 page)

“Ah. Have you continued experimenting with the refining process?”

“Yes. In fact, in the past three months, I’ve refined the process again. I’m comparing mass spectrograph tests of the current solutions to the prior ones.”

“You still believe it could be a contaminant that is causing the respiratory effects?”

“I hope it is. If I had the time and the freedom to do the experiments I’d like to do, really push the dose up to the patient’s maximum tolerance level, I’m sure I could isolate and eliminate the ingredient.”

“So how soon will you be able to complete your plan to move your laboratory over here?”

Farmer had lived and worked in Germany for the past twenty years. Metzger had chosen to practice in the United States, hoping to be able to win approval of his refined drug from the FDA. But he had never been able to meet their stringent standards.

“I have more than one problem right now. As you know, the FDA has once again disapproved my application.”

“You did not indicate that your chemicals were human in origin, did you?”

“Of course not. But apparently they have some significant questions about my process for manufacturing the synthetic drug. But that’s not my biggest worry. Because the incident with Baldwyn was a kidnapping, the FBI became involved. I have no way of knowing what he may have told them.”

“Your pet subject is getting uncomfortably close to the truth.”

“Yes. It’s been easy so far to blame it on his paranoia, but eventually someone is going to believe him. And this Dr. Harper is young and filled with idealism. A practiced manipulator like Baldwyn could easily convince her of his suspicions.”

“And the FBI, have they questioned you?”

“Only marginally. They apparently consider the matter closed, since Harper was not harmed, and Baldwyn was brought back here. He’ll be arraigned in two weeks for the shooting of the security guard. I’d like to be out of here before then.”

“Are you still planning to bring Baldwyn with you?”

“Of course.” He had already signed the necessary papers. “I’ve arranged for him to accompany me to a ‘symposium,’ then once we land in Germany—”

“What about his arraignment?”

“He’s been released back into our custody. All the paperwork is in order for him to make a short trip out of the country.”

“Good. I have arranged for you to disappear. All you have to do is get yourself and your patient through security and customs. Gerhardt?” Farmer paused for an instant. “What about Dr. Harper?”

Metzger pushed back from his desk and walked over to the window, looking out over the grounds, scratching his sideburns. Frustration ate a hole in his gut. “Ever since the incident with Baldwyn’s friend Misty, he’s become increasingly obsessed with the idea that she was murdered. He still raves about evil experiments.”

“You’re certain he told Dr. Harper of his suspicions.”

“Yes. She alluded to his paranoia and delusional thinking. Still, it’s unfortunate that she was involved in the incident. Now she’s the unknown quantity in my plan. She’s
only been here two months, so I can’t depend on her loyalty. That makes her a liability.”

“Just like Charles Green,” Farmer said.

Metzger sighed. “Right.”

“How much do you think she knows?”

“Unfortunately, at this point, it doesn’t matter. Anything is too much.”

Metzger said goodbye and disconnected. He stood, staring out the window at the manicured lawn.

Rachel Harper was in his way. She had to go.

“ERIC?”

It was Rachel. Eric almost shouted in relief to hear her bell-like voice in his ear. He was sick of sitting in the beautifully decorated day room with recovering victims of stroke, brain injury and early onset Alzheimer’s. Why had Caleb, a psychiatric patient, been housed on a neurology ward? And how many of these patients were being treated by Dr. Metzger?

“Hmm?” He didn’t want to speak any louder than a quiet hum. The orderlies had been watching him all afternoon. One burly guy had even accompanied him to the exercise room and stood, arms folded in the classic these-are-my-impressive-biceps stance for the entire hour Eric worked out.

“I guess you can’t talk. I’m in my apartment.”

Eric stood and walked over to the wide paned-glass window, as if he were looking out over the grounds. He felt the eyes of the orderly on him. He made an affirmative sound deep in his throat.

“I talked to Natasha,” Rachel continued. “I gave her your message about the aerial photo. She said they were already on it. She found something in the blueprints. There
appears to be an old servants’ entrance on the back side of the building. She said the basement is underground in the front, but the ground slopes downward toward the back.”

“North?” Eric mumbled.

“Yes. The north side. Also, I was able to review the records. The ones I grabbed were older, six months or more. Some had Dr. Green’s signature. But none of the actual records have names on them. Just those ID numbers. Remember what I told you last night?”

“Yeah. Let’s talk about that later.” Eric glanced to the side, to be sure no one was close to him.

“Okay. Eric? How did your session with Dr. Metzger go? Can you tell me?”

Her worried voice warmed him. “He’s suspicious.” He covered his words by reaching up and rubbing at an imagined spot on the sparkling-clean glass. “Can you get in past security tonight?”

“I’m going to try that basement entrance.”

“No!”
Crap.
He’d spoken too loudly.

Before he could even turn, the big orderly was beside him. With an internal sigh, cursing his knee-jerk response to the thought of Rachel wandering the grounds alone, he prepared for a performance.

“No!” he said again, rubbing harder at the spot on the glass.

“Eric? What’s the matter?” Rachel’s voice sounded panicked. He wanted to say something to reassure her but he couldn’t, and he certainly couldn’t risk the orderly hearing the quiet hum of her voice. He reached up and pretended to scratch his ear as he switched off the com unit.

“Okay, Caleb,” the man said, right behind him. “What’s the problem?”

Eric glared at the guy’s broad, tanned face. “What kind
of housekeeper are you? There are spots on the window. Spots.”

The orderly sent him a disgusted glance. “At it again, I see. I guess your little vacation didn’t do you any good, did it?” He gripped Eric’s arm with a viselike fist.

Eric jerked, but his strength was no match for the bigger man, and he didn’t dare use the martial arts tactics that had been a part of his training for the Division.

“Brawn before brains,” he said sarcastically, not really knowing where the compelling urge to taunt the orderly came from, but it felt right, so he went with it. “I guess you keep your brains in those magnificent biceps.”

“Shut up, Baldwyn, or I’ll give you another taste of what these biceps can do.” The orderly jerked Eric toward the door. “You remember the last one, don’t you?”

Eric had to clench his teeth at the orderly’s reference to having used his muscle against Caleb in the past.

“I think you need to spend the rest of the afternoon in your room.”

Fine with me,
Eric thought. It would give him a chance to talk to Rachel.

The orderly pushed him through the door into Room 3. “I’ll tell Thomas you need a little cocktail.”

As the door slammed shut, Eric pressed on the com unit. “Rachel?”

“Eric, what happened? Why did you turn your com unit off?”

“What’s a cocktail?”

Her soft intake of breath echoed through him as if she’d blown in his ear.

“Did they give you a cocktail?”

“No, but they’re talking about it. What is it?”

“It’s a mixture of drugs. Often a sedative, or an anti-psy
chotic. Despite the name, it doesn’t have to be in liquid form. It can be tablets or an injection.”

“I’m already getting one damn shot every day.”

“I know. That’s supposed to be the fenpiprazole.” Her voice sounded worried. “Are you noticing any effects?”

“Nothing except that I’m learning to hate needles even more than I already did. Rachel, is there anything I can do to keep them from giving it to me?”

She was silent for a few seconds. “Are you in your room? Then this might work. Lie down. Pretend to be asleep when the nurse brings the dose in. Maybe she’ll leave you alone if you’re asleep.”

“Thanks. Do
not
go wandering around alone. Promise me.”

“But—”

“Promise!” he said fiercely.

“I’d better go. You’ve got to convince them you’re asleep.”

The seductive buzz in his ear went silent.

“Damn it, Rachel,” he muttered. His muscles bunched with need for action. She had deliberately refused to promise him that she wouldn’t go out alone.

Aware of the seconds ticking away, he stretched out on the bed, then turned over and used deep-breathing and biofeedback techniques to calm himself. He consciously relaxed each muscle, but nothing stopped his racing brain.

Somehow he had to get out of here tonight. He had to find the door on the north side of the basement. He couldn’t let Rachel go down there alone.

RACHEL TRUDGED through the underbrush that lined the edge of the grounds of the Meadows, happy that the moon was nearly full, but worried, too, that its pale light was too
bright. She hoped her black turtleneck sweater, black pants and hiking boots were enough to camouflage her.

The Meadows was located on six hundred acres of land in the southern part of Connecticut. The late-nineteenth-century mansion that served as the acute care center had deteriorated into disrepair by the time Dr. William Carpenter had bought it and turned it into an insane asylum in 1917. Today the renovated building was surrounded by four newer structures that housed the Women’s Dependency Center, the Independent Living Center, an apartment building for medical staff and one for maintenance personnel. The main building included an acute care facility, a nursing home and the administrative offices.

Rachel hadn’t dared to drive the short distance from her apartment to the main building. Her car would be recognized. So she’d shored up her courage with black coffee and headed out on foot.

She circled around to the north side of the building, trying to pinpoint where Natasha said she would find the servants’ entrance. She felt guilty about literally cutting Eric off, but she’d been worried that the nurse bearing his drug cocktail would come in while he was arguing with her. And truthfully, she hadn’t wanted to give him a chance to talk her out of it.

He was being watched way too closely. She couldn’t sit by and wait for him to figure out a way to sneak out of his room. She wasn’t sure he could.

That meant finding Caleb’s records was up to her. She had given her word that she would do everything she could to find out what was really going on here. As terrified as she was, and as fervently as she hoped that Dr. Metzger was not involved, she would not back down.

As she approached the rear of the building, working her way through the shrubs and overgrown grass, an owl hooted mournfully and something skittered across her path. Suppressing a shiver, Rachel surveyed the rear of the building. A couple of anemic spotlights shone from the corners of the roof. Otherwise the rear of the building was cloaked in darkness, making it barely visible in the feeble moonlight.

Just as she tensed to make a dash across the expanse of carpetlike grass, she heard a noise.

Shadows moved on the east side of the building. A security guard with a German shepherd on a leash came into view.

Rachel froze and dropped her head, letting her black hair fall down to cover her face. She’d showered, but she’d used scented shampoo and body wash. How foolish of her! She should have thought about using scented products. What if the dog smelled her and barked? What if the guard swung his flashlight in her direction?

Her heart pounded, cramping her chest with the need for more oxygen. She opened her mouth and tried to breathe silently and calmly.

The dog’s ears perked up and he yelped. Once. Twice.

Terror streaked through her, stealing the last molecules of air from her lungs.

“What’s up, Babe?” the security guard asked, his deep voice carrying over the expanse of grass. “Is something out there?” He swung the flashlight beam in a lazy arc around the edge of the manicured lawn.

Rachel cringed as the edge of the light’s halo swept across her black-clad shins.

“You gonna tree a squirrel? Is that what you want to do, Babe? Whatcha see?”

The dog was whining and straining at his leash. Sweat trickled between Rachel’s breasts and dotted her temples
and forehead. She didn’t dare look up. Her pale face would shine like a beacon.

The guard’s boots barely made a sound on the grass as he moved closer. The dog’s whine got louder. Rachel heard leather creak as the animal strained at its leash. She scrunched her shoulders and tried to be as still as a tree.

Several feet to her left, an owl screeched. It took all of her strength not to gasp out loud. Her heart thudded so loudly, she was sure the dog could hear it.

The guard chuckled. “Settle down, Babe. There’s your intruder. You don’t want to mess with an owl. Let’s go. We’ll get a squirrel tomorrow night, how’s that?”

Rachel didn’t dare move until the affectionate banter faded. Finally the night turned silent again as he rounded the other side of the building, where a long drive angled up from a large loading dock.

How long did she have before he came around again? She should have checked on the guards’ habits. But that might have aroused suspicion.

She crouched in the grass and studied the rear of the building. About two-thirds along its length was a shadowy rectangle. Was that the door? It was approximately where Natasha had said it would be.

Certain the door would be locked, and feeling like a rabbit in a field of foxes, Rachel took a deep breath and darted across the manicured lawn. She watched her shadow race in front of her and felt the moon’s light on her back like a spotlight.

Reaching the building, she flattened herself against the wall and studied the recessed doorway.