Sigma One (36 page)

Burt turned and looked at the switchboard and back again at Simmons, now moaning softly on the floor, eyes closed, a river of blood running from the back of his head and across his neck forming a small growing pool on the floor. In spite of the apparent damage he had caused to him, Burt wasn't sure how long the old man would remain unconscious. To be sure he would still have ample time to make his escape even if Simmons awoke prematurely, Burt turned his attention to the switchboard. Squinting his eyes tightly closed, he concentrated on the high tech piece of machinery. Had it been an old tube unit, all the concentration in the world would have done him no good. But those units were as rare as dinosaur eggs, and the NSF had replaced the old system years ago with a newer one, one that would bend to Burt's mental commands. In a matter of seconds, he had reprogrammed all outside lines to begin dialing a series of random seven digit numbers, and upon completing each call, to hang up immediately and begin the process again. Over and over, this sequence would repeat itself totally cutting off the NSF from the outside world: not letting any calls come in, or go out and giving Burt all the time he would need. Unbeknownst to him, his reprogramming had another effect and for nine hours the entire AT&T network was tied up.

Burt smiled a lecherous I've-got-you-now-you-son-of-a-bitch smile in the direction of Huxley's office giving him one last piece of his mind before he left. When he was finished venting his spleen, he stepped out into the cold winter air. In spite of the briskness and Burt's thin sweater, he felt none of it. He was feeling euphoric and he chuckled to himself as he stood on the curb waiting for a cab. Within five minute-q one arrived.

Burt was still chuckling and talking to himself when the cabbie reached over and slowly opened the door for him. The cabbie was hesitant about letting him get in at first, not wanting to take the risk of having to ride with a psycho and by the way Burt was jabbering incoherently, the cabbie half pegged him as one. But he had had such a bad day with fares catching only three short hops in seven hours, he decided to risk it. He needed the money. "Besides," the cabbie thought to himself, "it's just a young kid. Nothin' to worry about."

Burt paid no attention to the fear in the cabbie's eyes when he got in. Instead, he barked out "Dulles International!" and sat back in the seat and turned to look at the front of the NSF as they drove off. As the building faded from view, he got a dullard look on his face and quit babbling to himself. Something wasn't connecting properly in his head. He knew he had been at that building just moments ago, but he couldn't remember why. He was beginning to feel strange inside, but the warm air of the cab felt so good, that he stopped worrying about his temporary loss of memory and sat back and enjoyed the dull rumble of the cab as it sped along. In a few moments, the combined effects of the passing lights, the warm air and the gentle bouncing of the car as it pulled out onto the interstate, lulled him to sleep.

Thirty minutes later, he arrived at the airport and by then was beginning to think more clearly. Although he couldn't remember exactly what had happened back at that strange building with the glass door, deep inside he had a feeling if ever there was a time to run, now was that time. He had done something terrible back at that building, but he didn't know what it was. All he knew was that shouldn't waste any time leaving the city, or for that matter, the state. So he left, but not before risking linking one more short time with the airline ticketing computer to bump up his MasterCard limit so he could buy his ticket. Shortly afterwards, his personality began to change back to the way he was when he was slamming Huxley and Simmons against the wall. Had it not been for the fact he was already seated in the plane in first class and well on his way to sleep, the new Burt might have changed his mind and not left at all. But sleep overtook him and in six and a half hours, he landed in Los Angeles.

Burt walked past the stewardess and the air phone he had used to call Debbie halfway through the flight and rubbed his eyes to bring them into better focus. He felt restless and tired. As he stepped out of the jet way into the terminal, Debbie rushed forward to meet him, but as she neared, she stopped and stared at him and the tremendous goose-egg that had grown on his forehead from his encounter with Simmons.

"What's wrong with you, Burt? Are you hurt?" she asked approaching cautiously, unsure how to act or just what the injury meant.

She had been back at school in class when he had called and had gotten the flight information from the message her roommate had left taped to her door before going out to class herself. At first, Debbie thought the note might have been the result of a prank her roommate, Susan, was playing on her and she wouldn't have blamed her if it had. She had been a certifiable bitch ever since she got back from home two days earlier and had made life miserable for Susan while she moped around the room crying ever since Burt's disappearance. She could understand if Susan had wanted to get even, but when she called United Airlines ticketing in Los Angeles and confirmed that indeed, a Mr. B. Grayson was on the flight like the message said, the thought of her being duped by Susan quickly disappeared and was replaced with guilt for acting the way she had. To make amends, Debbie scratched out a quick thank you note and taped it on the door just before speeding to Los Angeles.

Debbie arrived only moments before Burt, but she still had time enough to call Susan before seeing him. The long drive to LA had given her plenty to think about and being as insecure as she was in their relationship, she needed to find out exactly what Burt had told Susan on the phone. The note just said that he was coming to LA and to meet him, but that didn't give her enough information to know if he was mad at her, in trouble, or what. She had to know before seeing him.

Fortunately, Susan was in when Debbie called, and it was the information Susan had given her that made Debbie proceed cautiously now as she hesitated in front of Burt. Susan had said Burt sounded different-strange and distant, as she put it. She also said he rambled about possibly hurting someone and that he was in trouble, but he didn't give any details.

Now seeing the knot on his head and his disheveled appearance, Debbie had to believe Burt had actually done what he'd alluded to earlier to Susan. Although she loved him and wanted desperately to run to him, she held herself back. Caution was definitely in order.

Seeing Debbie, Burt stepped forward with arms outstretched. He had a pained expression on his face as if he were overcome with grief. Debbie fought the urge to respond and took a step back.

Burt didn't understand. This was Debbie, the girl whom he was going to marry acting now as if she were afraid of him. Now when he needed her, she was acting as if her were a pariah. Why? He had to know. She looked frightened and he didn't like the look on her face. He was scared too and moved forward quickly toward her. In spite of her protests, he caught up to her as she backed away and folded his arms over her shoulders and held on tightly. He then buried his head in the nape of her neck and began to sob quietly.

Debbie's initial reaction when she saw Burt lunge at her and felt his grasp was to try to push him away. But as soon as he began to cry, she was overcome with pity and held on tightly. It had been too long since she had felt his embrace.

"There, there, " She cooed as she stroked the back of his head. "It'll be okay. I promise. It'll be okay." she added.

She didn't know what else to do. Part of her still wanted to run. Part of her was still afraid of him. But the part of her that pitied him won out so she gave in and continued to calm him.

CHAPTER 31

It took Huxley four hours to regain consciousness and another thirty minutes went by before the security company could deactivate the cypher lock that held him captive.

Fortunately for him, Simmons had come to an hour before and had tried to enter the vault door leading to his office to get his help. When he found the door wouldn't open and the phones on the blink, in spite of the pain of his broken nose and partially dislocated shoulder, Simmons managed to stumble to the pay phone down the street and call the security company. Otherwise, more valuab
le time would have been wasted.As the door clanked open, Huxley burst through and hobbled down the hall as fast as his one good leg would take him to check on the others dragging the locksmith behind him. In particular, he wanted to see if Amanda was okay. He knew he had been out cold for a long time, and he didn't know whether Grayson had attacked the others like he had attacked him. This latter thought sent a shiver down his back as he stood in the corridor and helplessly watched while the locksmith went to work on the other lock.

After what seemed like an eternity to Pat, the locksmith completed his job and opened the door. Pat hesitated briefly before entering expecting to see carnage and destruction, but when he finally entered, the lab looked normal and free from harm. Amanda and the scientists ran to the door to greet him.

Before he could speak to ask how they were, Amanda ran forward and put her hands on his shoulders and started jabbering to him. She was speaking so fast she sounded like an LP played at seventy-eight.

"You're okay! I knew you'd be okay! I just knew it! I was worried at first, but I knew you'd be okay. I told them you would." she affirmed, her eyes overflowing with tears making dark mascara trails down her cheeks. And then she blurted it out. "I love you, Pat! I love you and I don't know what I would have done if you were              " She couldn't finish her statement. She was too overcome with embarrassment for unveiling her love for him in front of co-workers and relief that he was uninjured. She honestly didn't know what she would have done if he were killed by Burt and that's exactly what she thought had happened to him after she saw the way Burt had manhandled him and shoved him through the door. For nearly five hours she had tried to convince herself Pat was fine, but thirty minutes or so before he entered, she had lost that battle with herself and had given up and worked herself up to the point of frenzy. Now, seeing him, the emotional dam just broke, and she didn't care who was in the room to hear her proclaim her love. She reached up to kiss him, but he withdrew.

Pat was touched by her emotional outburst, but not enough to let it get in his way. He had more important things on his mind. Now that he knew she was unharmed he felt relieved, but he wasn't about to lose it like she had. He could ill-afford the time it would take to calm her or explain that he felt the same way about her. He had to find Burt first and when he did, had to convince him to rejoin the NSF in spite of how he might feel about his organization. His only hope was that Burt would be rational enough to understand that the NSF was the only safe place for him and that if he didn't get help soon his schizophrenia would worsen. If Burt were unwilling to do what would be in his best interests, Pat would have no other choice but to eliminate him. His power was too great and it would be too dangerous to leave such power in the hands of a schizo. In any event, time was slipping away and Pat certainly couldn't afford the luxury of enjoying Amanda's touch now even though under other circumstances he would have loved to, especially when so much hung in the balance.

Pat brushed her aside and went over to the desk and picked up the phone and dialed Radcliff on the senator's private line. As he punched in the numbers, he began to feel ill. He realized the hopelessness of the situation and it hung in his gut. Only hours before, the experiment with Grayson had been a complete success. Ten years of hope had been answered when the young man reprogrammed the guidance computer. He had seen it with his own eyes. He had even videotaped it and could show the committee. At that moment, he had felt like he had found the holy grail and that a world free from nuclear terror was within his grasp. But like quicksilver, Grayson and the dream with him, had slipped from his hands. Now Pat's only hope would be find him and bring him in. But he knew Burt would be too far gone for that. He knew he'd never help the NSF after what he had said about his crippled brother. Pat knew in the end Burt would have to die just as Kamarov would have to die. Their powers were just too great, too unpredictable and the two men were not under control of the two societies that created them. It was this thought that made him ill: that anytime, either Kamarov or Grayson could start Armageddon and in so doing the blood of mankind would be on his hands.

Andre Kamarov got off the plane in Las Vegas. Hurriedly, he was ushered into a black stretch limousine. He didn't even get the chance to enjoy America's biggest sin city airport; an airport where, while waiting for a plane you could throw your money away in any one of the over three hundred legal slot machines which littered the terminal. The machines stood like glass and chrome beggars, their one arm held high beseeching all who passed to make a donation. But Kamarov passed them up. He didn't get to enjoy them. He was hustled so quickly into the cold night air away from the glittering lights of the slots and the fashion stores which lined the terminal making it look more like a shopping mall that what it actually was, that everything went by in a blur. It annoyed him.