'You said the patient rooms are all in the left wing.'
'Right. Beadermeyer's office is in the far end of the right wing. If the bastard's still here, he's a good distance away.'
'There should just be a small night shift complement.'
'I hope. I didn't take the time to access their personnel and administration files. I don't know how many employees work the night shift.'
'Damned useless machine.'
Dillon laughed. 'Don't accuse me of being married to my computer when you're at your damned club most weekends wailing away on your sax. Whoa, Quinlan, stop.'
They froze in an instant, pressed against the brick building, just behind two tall bushes. Someone was coming, walking briskly, a flashlight in his hand.
He was whistling the theme from Gone with the Wind.
'A romantic security guard,' Quinlan whispered.
The man waved the flashlight to both sides and back again to the front. He never stopped whistling. The light flowed right over their bent heads, showing the guard only black shadows.
'I just hope she's here,' Quinlan said. 'Beadermeyer has to know I'll come here. If he's the one who hit me, then he would have checked my ID. What if they've already taken her away?'
'She's here. Stop worrying. If she isn't, well, then, we'll find her soon enough. Did I tell you I had a date tonight? I had a damned date and look what I'm doing. Playing Rescue Squad with you. Stop worrying.
You're smarter than Beadermeyer. She's still here, I'll bet you on it. I get the feeling there's more arrogance in this Beadermeyer than in most folk. I think the bastard believes he's invincible.'
They were moving again, bent nearly double, no flashlights, just two black shadows skimming over the Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
well-manicured lawn.
'We've got to get inside.'
'Soon,' Dillon said. 'Just ahead. Then it's going to be tricky. Imagine seeing the two of us dressed like cat burglars roaming down the halls.'
'We'll find a nurse soon enough. She'll tell us.' 'We're nearly to the back emergency entrance. Yeah, here we are. Help me pull up the doors, Quinlan.'
Well oiled, thank God, Quinlan thought when they gently eased the doors back down. He turned up the flashlight. They were in an enclosed space that could hold at least six cars. There were four cars there.
They made their way around them, then Quinlan turned and trained his flashlight on the license plates.
'Look, Dillon. Good guess, huh? The bastard would have a luxury plate-BEADRMYR. So he's still here.
I wouldn't mind running into him.' 'Marvin would have our balls.' Quinlan laughed.
Dillon used one of his lock picks to get into the door. It only took a moment.
'You're getting good at this.'
'I practiced for at least six hours at Quantico. They have about three dozen kinds of locks. They use a stopwatch on you. I came in sixth.'
'How many agents were entered?'
'Seven. Me and six women.'
'I want to hear more about this later.'
They were in a long hallway, low lights giving off a dim, mellow glow. There were no names on the doors, just numbers.
'We've got to get us a nurse,' Dillon said.
They turned a corner to see a nurses' station just ahead. There was only one woman there, reading a novel. She looked up every once in a while at the TV screen in front of her. They were nearly upon her when she saw them. She gasped, her novel dropping to the linoleum floor as she tried to scoot off her chair and run.
Quinlan grabbed her arm and gently pressed his hand over her mouth. 'We won't hurt you. Just hold still.
You got her chart, Dillon?''
'Yep, here it is. Room 222.'
'Sorry,' Quinlan said quietly as he struck her in the jaw. She collapsed against him and he lowered her to the floor, pushing her under the desk.
'We passed 222. Quick, Dillon, I've got a feeling that our charmed existence is about to be shot down in flames.'
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
They ran swiftly down the hallway, back the way they had come. 'Here it is. No light. Good.'
Quinlan slowly pushed at the door. The damned thing was locked, just as he'd known it would be. He motioned Dillon forward. Dillon examined the lock, then pulled out a pick. He didn't say a word, just changed to another pick. After a good three minutes, the lock slid open.
Quinlan pushed the door open. The soft light from the hallway beamed into the room, right on the face of a man who was seated on a narrow bed, leaning over a woman. He whipped around on the bed, half rising, his mouth
