“Are we still in the hotel room?”
“Yes.”
The next time Maybe opens her eyes the lights are on. “Sam?”
“I’m right here, beside you. It’s 4:12.”
She’s lying down on a bed. Her head is still fuzzy, but something feels strange “down there.” What’s strange is she feels numb. She props herself up on her elbows, sees she’s naked from the waist down. A dildo is protruding from between her legs.
“What the fuck?”
“Surprise!” Sam says.
She launches a fist toward his face and nearly breaks his nose.
He yelps, but moves in closer and says, “Hit me as much as you want, as hard as you want, for as long as you want. My only wish is for you to be happy.”
She slaps his face. Looks at him, says, “What’s the matter with you?” Then slaps him again.
“I want you to have a normal life, free of pain.”
She slaps him again. “You bastard! You had no right to touch me!”
He removes the pillow case from a pillow, dabs the blood from his nose and corner of his mouth, looks at it, dabs again. Then says, “Slap me if you want, but realize for the first time in more than a year, you’re not in pain.”
Maybe raises her arm to hit him again, then stops. Looks down. The dildo isn’t as large as the giant purple one Dr. Scott had on his tray, but it’s larger than any of the three young men who’ve spent time inside her. She reaches down and slides it out, noting the complete lack of pain. She briefly touches herself where the dildo had been, wonders if she’s dreaming. Then realizes if she’s not dreaming, she’s naked in real life! She pulls a sheet over herself, and goes back to sleep.
41.
4:15 a.m., Pacific Daylight Time. Donovan Creed.
I don’t require a nice bed or fancy sheets. While at PhySpa, I grab a pillow from the lobby couch, toss it on one of the office floors, and lay my head wherever it lands. No sheets, no bed, no problem. I put my cell phone charger wherever there’s a nearby outlet, and find something made of wood or plastic to set it on so the vibration will make a rattling sound when someone calls.
Like it’s doing right now.
As I reach for it, I play a three-second game of trying to decide who’s calling at 7:15 a.m., Eastern Time. My guess is Miranda. She probably just got in from a “date” and found the message light on. I can picture her exhausted, trying to force a happy voice for my benefit.
I’m wrong. It’s Doc Howard.
“Five-forty this afternoon,” he says, “Central time. It’s the best I can do.”
“How on earth?”
“I won’t begin to tell you how much trouble I went through to make this happen. Let’s just say you owe me.”
“Thanks, Doc.”
“Get there thirty minutes early, to check in.”
“You got an address?”
“No!”
He hangs up.
Thanks to Doc Howard, I’ve got an appointment. But I’m still left with the problem of finding someone to safeguard the device while I’m in the imaging room. While I generally trust Doc Howard, he might feel compelled to tell Darwin my plans, since they involve the unauthorized killing of terrorists. He also might tell in order to cover his ass. Doc Howard planted the chip under Darwin’s orders, so it makes sense he’d tell Darwin I asked him to set an appointment to have the chip erased.
I think a minute. Would he tell Darwin before or after making the appointment?
Before.
Not saying he told Darwin anything, but if he did, he would’ve told him I know about the chip, and that I’m planning to have it erased. If Darwin told him to set the appointment, he might have decided this is his last, best chance to kill me, since he knows exactly where I’ll be at five-forty. Worse, I’ll be vulnerable for at least twenty minutes while I’m being scanned in the imaging room. From five-forty to six p.m. I’ll be unarmed, completely immobilized, on my back, with my head in the machine.
I’ll be as helpless as Curly, after Moe and Larry stick his head in a vice.
I press the button to call Jeff Tuck.
“You asleep?”
“I was dreaming of tea and crumpets with the Queen.”
“Is Joe with you?”
“He’s on the desk.” Meaning he’s watching the bank of TV monitors to ensure nobody’s sneaking up on us.
“I’ll meet you there.”
“Do I have time to piss?”
“You do.”
Moments later, the three of us are in the security room.
“I need you guys to come with me to Chicago.”
“When?” Joe says.
“Now.”
“What about George?”
“How long’s he been in the freezer?”
“Not even close.”
I sigh. The plan is to freeze him solid, lift the freezer lid, and cut him into chunks right where he is, to keep the blood contained. Then we’ll put the chunks in plastic bags, place the plastic bags in laundry bags, and carry them to our cars, and scatter the pieces in various parts of the desert.
“We can’t leave George unguarded,” Jeff says.
“I agree. Joe, you stay. Jeff will go with me.”
“How much should I pack?” Jeff says.
“We’ll be back tonight.”
“Give me two minutes.”
I tell Joe to keep an eye on things.
He nods.
I call Lou. When he answers, I say, “You’ll be pleased to know I’ve got a job for you.”
“What’s that?”
“I need a jet.”
“Where and when?”
“I need to land in Chicago at four, local time.”
“Today?”
“Yeah.”
“You’ll need to leave by ten.”
“That’ll work.”
I hang up and immediately call my friends at Koltech Aviation in Las Vegas. Bob Koltech answers.
“I’ll pay you sixty grand to fly me to Chicago and back.”
“When do you want to leave?”
“Right now.”
