Sigma One (35 page)

The three scientists and Amanda were dumbstruck with shock by Burt's radical behavior and were afraid to move. They stood there and watched as Burt jerked Pat's arm even higher. It was then they heard the sickening crackle and snap as Pat's wrist bone gave way under the increased pressure. It sounded like someone had stepped on a light bulb which had been wrapped in a woolen bag.

"Augggh!" Pat finally yelled as the newest pain registered and he was able to breathe again. But that was all he could say, because before he could finish, Burt pushed him toward the cypher locked door, wedging his face against it as he studied the lock. It was then, and only then while Burt had his back to them and they felt it safe, did the scientists lurch forward to protect their boss.

Burt heard them and snapped his head quickly around causing them to freeze in mid-stride. He then quickly turned his head back toward to cypher lock and when he located the secret code in its electronics, he read the numbers. He reached out and punched in the correct numbered sequence causing the electrically-controlled, but mechanically activated tumbler to activate and the door to clank open. As it did he reached for the metal handle with his free hand, jerked the door open and, still holding onto Pat's wrist, shoved him into the hallway slamming the door shut behind them. There he paused and turned his attention back to the vault door where the others were scrambling to get out and help Pat."What are you doing?" Pat screeched in pain.

Burt continued to concentrate on the lock mechanism buried deep in the wall and when he was finished reprogramming it, answered in a deep growl, "buying time, you bastard! Buying time!"

Pat didn't understand. "Time for what?"

"Time enough to get out of here. But not before you tell me what you brought me here for. And I don't want any fuckin' lies. Do you hear me?" He jerked Pat's arm emphasizing the point.

Pat winced. The pain was like an icepick being shoved into the center of his forehead. When it subsided, he nodded.

     Burt continued speaking as he shoved Pat down the hall. "I have a good idea why you wanted me to come here, but I want to hear it from you first:"

Pat didn't reply. He just kept biting his lower lip trying to make the pain stop as they continued down the corridor. He knew what Burt wanted, full disclosure of what the NSF did, a reason for all the previous lies he had told. But because of the pain he couldn't think straight. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't concoct another set of lies to placate Burt and get him to act reasonable and release him. By the time they reached the door leading to Pat's office, he had decided he'd have to tell the truth. Through gritted teeth he spoke. "All right. All right. I'll tell you what you want to know. Just let go of my arm."

Burt loosened his grip slightly but still held on. If Huxley gave any indication of trying to free himself, he would rip his arm out of it socket and bludgeon him to death with it. Although he said nothing to Pat when he did loosen his grip, Pat got the message. He could tell by Burt's strength it wouldn't do any good to make a break for it. The kid was just too strong.

When they reached the office, Burt shoved him up against the wall near the vault door while he went about the task of linking with the new electronic lock. When he had the numbers, he punched the code into the keypad and pushed his captive up against the open door using his face to shove it open.

Pat looked at the cypher lock and then at Burt and instantly understood what Burt had just done. "You read the code in the cypher lock, didn't you?"

Burt grinned. "Shore nuff, hoss! I fuckin'-a sho' nuff read that code, but that's not all I read." Burt paused as he toyed with him. He was like a cat who catches a mouse, wounds it by biting its neck, and then holds it in his paws and watches as the helpless animal tries to escape, only to pounce on it later and kill it.

Pat didn't like the idea of being toyed with. "Okay, smart ass. What else did you read!" Pat's arm and wrist throbbed mightily, but he had regained some sense about him and now he wanted some answers too. He figured the best way to get them was to meet fire with fire--in this case, to throw back into Burt's face some of the inconsideration he had been forced to endure. He did this in spite of the potential consequences, hoping his angry tone would enough to stop him, not knowing the person with whom he was now dealing was no longer Mr. Burt Grayson, mild mannered college student, but an altered Burt. A dangerous Burt. A Burt who had none of the social graces or chains of conscience he had had previously: chains of conscience that previously would cause him to open doors for old ladies and escort them across the street and would cause him in other circumstances to obey his elders. No, Pat was now face to face (or rather back to face) with a person who was in Burt's body, sure, but who had neither the former's charm nor weaknesses, a Burt who would surely not cow tow to his weak objections. He was dealing with an altered Burt, a Burt who would just as soon step on him like a bug on the sidewalk as tip his hat to him--a Burt who couldn't be rattled by feeble protests of a crippled weakling like Pat. But Pat knew none of this and continued. "So what the hell do you want anyway? What about your mission? What about saving all the gimps in the world like your brother Daniel?"

With the word "Daniel" no sooner out of his mouth, Pat grimaced in pain again as Burt wrenched his arm up tighter.

Fighting the pain, Pat continued. "What about that?" he said..."you can forget helping Daniel now unless you back off and let me go." Pat was hoping this appeal to his sense of loyalty would stop him.

It did, momentarily. Burt loosened his grip on Pat's arm slowly, but not before relishing in the pain he was causing. He liked the fact it was he in control of the situation rather than the other way around. He was glad he had control of Pat and he wasn't about to let completely go. He knew Pat had lied when he had tried to convince him he was going to fund research on a project to help others. He knew Pat was simply out for his own benefit and the promised research project was just a front to get him to reprogram a missile. At least that's what Burt suspected from what he had been able to read in the computer files from the three lab technicians' computers. But still, he had to know for sure--no second hand jive. And he had to know why Huxley was doing this and what better way to find out than from the horse's mouth. He also wanted to know what was in the report Pat had hurriedly hid earlier.

He gripped Pat's arm again and pulled it high, almost causing Pat to pass out. He then shoved Pat into the office and up against the far wall behind the desk             

"Stop              stop!" Pat cried. He couldn't endure it.

"All right then," Burt replied lowering his arm again and pointing to the desk. "God damn it! Open it! Open it now!"

Pat knew he couldn't overpower him and even if he did what would he do then? Apologize? "Gee, Mr. Grayson, I'm so sorry I lied. You see I really needed a person with your abilities so that I could continue with my quest to save the world from nuclear annihilation. You understand, don't you? It really wasn't my fault. I didn't mean to lie to you. Can't we just start over and be friends?"

Even if he could overpower Burt, Pat knew he'd never be able to control him, or for that matter how much longer Burt would live even if he could. Pat looked at the drawer containing the report and then he knew. It was happening just as Dr. Jerome had said: successful linking brings on either death to the faint of heart as it had O'Shaunnesey or, for those stronger in constitution, it brings on schizophrenia."

Burt grabbed Pat's arm again and pulled it higher. "Open the fuckin' desk now!" he yelled.

With his free hand, Pat reached into his pocket and got his key. Burt grabbed it out of his hand and shoved it in the lock in the center drawer. He then yanked the drawer open and pulled out Jerome's report. As he read, he realized linking had definite medical disadvantages as he already suspected              " The subject (O'Shaunnesey)              completed linking with the guidance computer," the report read. "Suddenly, for no apparent reason the subject grabbed his chest and rolled on the floor efforts to revive him failed death by cardiac arrest...."

Burt continued reading and remembered the near brush with death he had experienced back at school. It caused him to shudder as he thought about what had almost happened to him then, but he read on anyway wanting to find out why O'Shaunnesey had had a heart attack. The next paragraphs gave him the answer. "massive amounts of dopamine were found in the bloodstream--------The subsequent autopsy indicated no previous heart condition."

Burt stopped reading momentarily and began to ask himself what O'Shaunnesey could have died from if his heart showed no prior damage. As he flipped the page it became obvious. Jerome's diagnosis read like his own epitaph. "....Mr. O'Shaunnesey's death was definitely caused by his linking. The linking caused his heart to explode as he tried to regain the sanity he lost just momentarily after he called out the correct numbers he had read in the computer memory. I've reviewed the videotapes of the experiment and correlated his bio-signs and electro-encephalogram with the time of his outburst and I'm positive: O'Shaunnesey did die of a heart attack. But his cardiac failure was not the result of his age or because of his alcoholism. He died because he experienced a massive state of euphoria right after linking and his heart just couldn't take the strain. The brain wave patterns indicate that. The euphoria, I suspect was brought about by the dopamine released into his bloodstream. What caused the chemical imbalance in his brain , though, I don't know, but I will continue my tests until I find an answer...signed, Dr. Jerome."

Burt put the report down.Euphoria? Wasn't that what he was experiencing now?

He nodded to himself as he answered his own question. He then looked up at Huxley and leered. As his eyes met Pat's, Pat noticed saliva was running down Burt's chin and by the look on Burt's face, he appeared to be in a stupor. If there was ever a time to take his captor unawares, now would be it. Pat reached for him, but before he could get his arm up, Burt reached over and grabbed him by the nape of the neck and in one quick motion, slammed his head into the desk, cracking his skull. A small trickle of blood flowed from each of Huxley's nostrils.

Burt looked down at Pat and wiped the drool from his chin and in a Jack-Nicholson maniacal tone of voice reminiscent of The Shining, he began to chant. "Euphoria! fuckin' a yeah! Euphoria! Fuckin' a yeah here's Burt!!!" With that, he reached down and slammed Huxley's head into the desk again. As he released him, Huxley fell to the floor in a crumpled mass letting out a deep moan of pain before slipping into unconsciousness.

Burt didn't even turn around to look at him as he left. Instead, he just grabbed the report, shoved it under his arm and went out into the hall.

Moments later, he entered the lobby. Simmons heard him and looked up, putting down his Stephen King novel The Dark Half as he moved forward in his chair to get up and retrieve the badge Burt had unclipped from his lapel and slid along the counter to him as he passed on his way to the exit.

"Are you coming back, Mr. Grayson?" Simons asked innocently, smiling.

Burt extended his hand and put it up against the glass door but ignored the question.

Simmons continued, "'cause if you are you can keep the badge." He then reached over, picked the badge off the counter and held it up as he waited for a reply.

Burt snapped his head around at the intrusion into his dark thoughts and growled at the old man. Simultaneously he removed his hand from the glass door and turned around and moved toward the desk.

Simmons was caught completely by surprise, but on seeing the anger in Burt's eyes, he slowly stepped back from the desk. Had he been thirty years younger and quicker, he might have been able to escape Burt's grasp and managed to get his Smith Wesson from his holster before Burt got to the counter. Then he could have held him at bay until he could call for help. But he wasn't thirty years younger and his reactions had been dulled with age, so instead of being able to quickly draw his gun and bring it up to point at Burt, all he was able to do was to barely get his hand on the butt just as Burt reached over and put both hands on his shoulders. Instantly, Burt grabbed him and lifted him off his feet and over the counter like he weighed nothing. When Simmons was on the other side, Burt leaned his head back, gritted his teeth and smashed his forehead against the bridge of Simmons' nose. There was a sharp crack as the brittle cartilage instantly gave way to the force of the impact.

Burt pulled his head back and looked into Simmon's dazed eyes, but as he did, he detected a glimmer of defiance. This infuriated him. What right had this old man to be angry at him? He was doing him a favor by only stunning him when he could have just as easily wrenched the gun from his holster and shot him. Quickly he let go of his victim's left shoulder and with his right hand, he back handed the old man with such force, Simmons flew across the room like a leaf caught in a strong wind until he struck the wall with a loud THRACK. Simmons slid down the wall and slumped into a heap of jerking flesh on the floor and passed out.