'Matt just told me. He said Blankenship killed him and framed Peter Ettinger.'
'That son of a bitch.'
'Matt's right up here on the left,' Sarah said. 'Matt, honey, we're coming.'
'I hear you.'
Paris stopped at the doorway of the room and shined his light in from there.
'Maintenance is on the way with wire cutters, Matt,' he said. 'They should be here in a minute. Meanwhile, if you can hang on, I'd like Sarah to take me to Blankenship.'
Sarah hesitated.
'Go ahead,' Matt said. 'I've been here like this for hours. I'll be okay.'
She took a flashlight and led Paris up to the elevator shaft opening on the basement level.
'He's hanging from the doorway on the second-'
Sarah stopped in midsentence, directed the light onto her forearm, and gasped. She had been spattered by several thick drops of blood. She leaned into the shaft and directed the beam up at the second floor. The lower third of Blankenship's leg remained wedged as it had been. But the medical chief was gone.
'He's not th-'
Snarling in pain and rage, Blankenship came tumbling out of the darkness, down the slope of rubble. He slammed into Sarah, sending her sprawling out of the shaft and onto the concrete. Sarah cried out as Blankenship grabbed her ankle. Paris quickly stepped forward and put a foot down on his wrist. He held it there until she scrambled free. Then he aimed his flashlight beam straight into Blankenship's face. The medical chief was an apparition, smeared with gore, yet ghostly pale, and clearly more dead than alive.
'Is a medical team on the way?' Sarah asked.
Paris did not answer. Instead, he kicked Blankenship viciously in the mouth.
'You ruined me, you son of a bitch,' he said. 'I invested every cent my hospital could beg or borrow in that diet shit of yours because you swore there were no problems with it. You never said anything about there being a goddamn virus in it, you bastard. Nothing!'
'You knew?' Sarah said, stunned.
'Yes, I knew. I'm not stupid. But by the time I realized what that powder was doing to women, it was too late. We were in it too deep. I know about all the money, too, Eli. Colin's been checking up on you and your bogus foundation since day one. And that goddamn lab in there-I found that months ago. We've already gotten into two of your accounts. As soon as I get back to the office, I'm cleaning them out. Then I'll decide if I need to bail out of here or not. I was set to leave because of what this whole thing was going to do to me. My career and reputation down the drain; everyone blaming me for those women. But now, from what Sarah tells me, it seems that everyone who could connect me to you and that goddamn powder is dead. That is what you said, isn't it, Sarah?'
He loosed another short, choppy kick-this time to Blankenship's chest. Before Sarah could react, he whirled around and grabbed her hair.
'I'm sorry about this,' he said, ignoring her cries of pain. 'I really am.' He reached into her pocket and pulled out Blankenship's keys. 'I'm sorry about not stopping that countdown, too,' he added. 'I ordinarily don't lie about things that important.'
He produced a length of rope from his jacket pocket, forced Sarah onto her belly, and tied her hands behind her. Then he dragged her to her feet and back to the stairs to the subbasement.
'I've changed my mind about a research building on this spot,' he said. 'I think instead we're going to fill it all in and go for a parking lot… or perhaps some tennis courts. I assume you'd rather be downstairs with your lawyer than up here with that monster.'
'Please, Glenn,' Sarah pleaded as he forced her down the stairs. 'Please don't. I beg you. I know you didn't actually hurt anybody. I can tell everyone that.'
'Sorry. I really have no choice. And I promise you won't feel a thing.'
He pushed her back into the space that, once again, was to become a tomb. Ignoring Matt's pleas and Sarah's attempts at reason, he lashed her to an exposed girder, across the room from Matt, and secured her ankles.
Then, without a backward glance, he left them in the darkness and hurried from the Chilton Building.
An instant later, the overhead speakers announced that there were fifteen minutes left before demolition.
CHAPTER 44
'… it is our hope, our dream, that this new Institute for Medical and Healing Studies will form a golden bridge between our rapidly advancing medical technology and the more mystical healing arts from across the centuries and around the world…'
Glenn Paris proudly accepted another round of applause from the two hundred or so dignitaries and other ticket holders seated in the grandstand. The morning was sparkling, clear, and nearly windless-perfect conditions for the spectacle at hand. All around the campus, patients, staff, and visitors watched from rooftops and windows. On the far side of the mall, the Chilton Building stood alone, a deposed queen, facing the crowd with what little grace she could muster as she awaited the guillotine.
'… Now, before the winner of our drawing steps up to thrill us all, I would like to pause for a moment of silence in honor of Mr. Colin Smith, the chief financial officer of this hospital, who perished yesterday in a most tragic boating accident… I intend to recommend that our board of directors name a wing of this new institute after Colin. He will certainly be missed… And now, Governor, Mr. Mayor, esteemed colleagues, and all of you who have been so faithful over the years to the Medical Center of Boston-it gives me great pleasure to announce the winner of our raffle. Thanks to the devoted efforts of our raffle ticket sellers and canvassers, this contest has netted almost thirty-three thousand dollars for the new institute… Thank you, thank you. The winner is here with me, and she is-' He glanced down at a three-by-five card. '-Mrs. Gladys Robertson of West Roxbury.'
To the accompaniment of polite applause, a nervously smiling middle-aged woman in a floral-print dress stepped up to Paris and whispered in his ear.
'Oh, my apologies,' Paris said into the microphone. 'Our winner is Miss Gladys Robinson. I'm not actually a doctor, but obviously I write like one.' Paris milked the ensuing laughter as long as he could. 'So, then, Miss Gladys Robinson of West Roxbury,' he said finally, 'this is your moment. Here's the plunger that will set off the charges placed by our team of world-renowned specialists and give you your place in history. Mr. Crocker, do we have the green light?… Excellent. Miss Robinson, if you'll just allow us to get in a little drumroll…'
Paris pointed to his right. From among the spectators, five men stood up with snare drums slung in front of them. The surprise brought a murmur of approval from the crowd. The drumroll began softly and then crescendoed. Paris waited… and waited, until the tension in the air was almost palpable.
'Now!' he shouted.
A thousand pairs of eyes were fixed on the Chilton Building as Miss Gladys Robinson depressed the plunger that had been set on the podium. For a suspended moment, there was only silence. Then, heralded by puffs of smoke from around the base of the foundation and up the brick walls, a dull rumble began and quickly expanded. The ground shook as the noise increased. A huge, thick cloud of gray dust erupted, enveloping the first two floors. Then, with a wondrous roar, the walls of the building dropped straight down into the billowing gray abyss.
Seconds later, there was silence once again.
The crowd watched in awe as the dense, concrete cloud floated upward and began to slowly disperse on the higher thermals. Then there was applause… and cheers… and whistles and pats on the back. Glenn Paris accepted them all with the confidence and aplomb of a man accustomed to successes. The governor shook his hand, and then the mayor.
Proudly, jaw thrust forward, Paris turned to survey his hospital. Suddenly he paled. His smile vanished. Two men and a woman, none of whom he expected to see, were approaching the grandstand across the grassy campus. Behind them walked two more men. Both of those men were tall and broad-shouldered, and carried themselves like
