“I’m sorry, but her vital signs are normal enough. She shouldn’t be in any danger.”
“What I want to know is how soon she will be conscious?”
“Oh, well, I can’t tell you that until the blood test is done and even then it’s questionable. If I had to guess I’d say she will probably be awake within twenty-four hours.”
“Twenty-four hours, all right. We can work with that.”
The elevator stopped. Romax and Holdren stepped out first, and then motioned for the doctor and attendant to come out. They moved the gurney down to a private room and transferred Caitlin to a bed. The doctor adjusted the drip on the IV and left.
Holdren closed the door behind her and turned to Romax, who was staring at the jewel-encrusted, cyberphone he held in his left hand.
“So what are we going to do until she wakes up?” Romax asked.
“I’ve been thinking about that. We’re going to arrange a little trap for Blalock. The profilers said he’s a dedicated person. He won’t abandon his client, so I think we can get him to attempt a rescue.”
“Here? That’s a little public, isn’t it?”
“No, we’ll move her to the Los Alamos facility just as soon as she’s awake. We’ll need her to be awake to lure him in. You get things arranged. I’m going to sit with our pretty Ms. Maxwell for awhile.”
“Sure thing.”
Romax closed the door behind him and walked down the hall to the stairwell. Sunlight streamed in through a narrow window in the far wall. Pulling out his cell phone, Romax autodialed the barn.
“Yes?”
“Cronski, please, Mark Romax calling.”
A few seconds later, his boss picked up the phone. “Romax? How are things?”
“We’ve made some progress. We have Ms. Maxwell in custody and we have recovered one of the cyberphones.”
“Excellent, that’s the best news I’ve heard all week. Have you recovered the blueprints?”
“Just for the encoder. We still haven’t found the prints for the cyberphones.”
“Damn, you know we have to have those prints. That damn Curtis destroyed all the copies except for the one he passed on to Corning. It’ll take years to reproduce his work.”
“I know, sir. We’re working on it, but another problem has surfaced.”
The voice on the other end of the call tightened. “What now?”
“It appears that Ms. Maxwell has keyed the cyberphone to herself.”
“Damn!” Cronski paused, then said, “Look Romax, make damn sure she stays alive. We can’t reprogram the phone and without the blueprints....”
“I know, sir. I suspect that Mr. Blalock has the other cyberphone keyed into his mind. If so, we’ll have to have them both until we can manufacture new ones.”
“I agree. You see to it.”
“Yes, sir. And if I may add one more thing.”
“Yes?”
Romax hesitated while he stared out over the snowy rooftops. “Sir, I am uncomfortable with some of Holdren’s actions. It seems to me that he may be losing control.”
“That’s too bad. He’s been a good man. All right, keep an eye on him. If he steps too far out of line, well, I’ll back whatever play you determine is necessary. Just get those plans back!”
“Yes, sir.”
***
The patrol car slowed, stopped, and backed up. Sure enough, there was a brand new Jeep Grand Cherokee parked halfway down the alley. Officer Carl Weber turned into the alley and drove close to the Jeep. The call had come from some lady who was taking out the garbage. She’d reported a body in a car behind her house. Her statement was that the man appeared to be dead from a gunshot or something. She hadn’t gotten too close to the body, but there were bullet holes in the vehicle and blood covered the driver’s head.
There was someone in the driver’s seat. Weber stepped out of his patrol car and paused to report the license plate and his status. Dispatch informed him that the vehicle was a rental, rented two days ago at the airport. It hadn’t been reported stolen. Weber adjusted his dark sunglasses and still had to squint against the glare of the noon sun off fresh snow. He unsnapped the clasp on his holster and moved cautiously toward the driver’s side.
The Jeep had a couple of windows missing and bullet holes pockmarked the near side. Since no one had reported gunshots in the area, Weber guessed that the driver had been fired on somewhere else and had made it this far before he collapsed.
Weber reached the driver’s door and peered in.
The driver’s head was slumped back against the headrest. His eyes were closed. Congealed blood covered the left side of his head and it looked like at least half his ear was missing. An old scar ran down the side of his face giving the man a sinister, menacing appearance. Weber stared at him for a minute, looking for some sign of life, but there was none.
Weber tried the door. It wasn’t locked. He pulled it open and paused to see if the driver would react. Again, no response. The driver was wearing a heavy coat, torn and scraped; it looked like it had been expensive once. The man’s hair and eyebrows were singed and the smell of burnt hair was mingled with a smell similar to diesel fuel, but Weber couldn’t identify the odor. He smiled. This was going to be interesting, something to break the monopoly of minor crimes and traffic arrest.
Careful to avoid the blood, Weber reached over and felt the driver’s neck. It was still warm. If he was dead, he hadn’t been dead long. Weber moved his fingers over the carotid arteries and squeezed in his search for a pulse.
The driver jerked awake.
Before Weber could move the man’s left hand shot out and closed on his neck. The strength in his grip was enormous and it tightened against his windpipe. Weber tried
