‘Down there, honey,’ the nurse said, gesturing further down a corridor that led towards the treatment rooms.
Chance had dumped her backpack back at the scene. All she had now were the clothes she was standing in, and her knife. But that was hidden. Which was why she’d freaked out when the paramedic had tried to examine her.
She slipped into the relative cool of the ladies’ room and locked herself in one of the stalls. With the knife retrieved, she walked back out, using the pretext of getting cleaned up to wait at the sinks without arousing suspicion.
She didn’t have long to wait for what she needed. A harassed-looking resident ran towards a stall, firing a ‘Can’t even get the time to have a pee in this place’ before stepping inside.
With three quick steps, Chance was at the stall door before the woman could lock it.
‘What the-’
Chance pushed her back and held the knife to her throat. ‘One more word and you die. Nod if you understand me. Now, get undressed.’
The resident stripped out of her scrubs. Chance took off her own jeans and T-shirt and donned the scrubs. Then she slashed a strip from the jeans, and did the same with the T-shirt. She jammed a piece of T-shirt into the resident’s mouth and tied the young woman’s hands behind her back with the denim strip.
‘OK, turn round.’
The resident banged her shins against the toilet bowl as she did so, her cry of pain and then her screams muffled as Chance reached round and slashed her throat, making sure to slice the carotid artery.
One good thing about what she was wearing, Chance thought as she left the ladies’ room: no one was going to notice a little blood.
70
St Francis Hospital was four blocks away and the roads were crammed with bumper-to-bumper traffic. Lock and Ty ran, as best they could, towards it, as Carrie tried to get word to the hospital — a task complicated by the fact that the cell phone network was seriously overloaded, as was the hospital’s switchboard.
There was no sign of the civil unrest or the race war Reaper had been aiming for. From what Carrie had gleaned, the country was still in shock. But, so far at least, people were being drawn together by their collective fear rather than divided by it. Lock, however, knew that this might not hold if Chance got to finish her mission.
He was forced to stop to catch his breath, hands on knees. He could see the entrance to the hospital up ahead.
‘We’re gonna have to clear people out of the way,’ he told Ty. ‘If she’s in there and about to make a move, she’s going to be relying on hiding in the crowd.’
‘OK, I’ll see you up there,’ said Ty, moving off, his long legs carrying him faster than Lock could manage.
Lock straightened up and broke into a semi-run, pushing himself through the pain. He turned left on to Pine Street, the doors of the emergency room in plain view.
It was chaos, far beyond a normal big-city emergency room. Triage had spilled out on to the sidewalk. Lock managed to walk straight in, past Ty, who was engaged in a heated argument with a couple of security guards. In the main foyer he spotted a couple of Secret Service agents having a vehement discussion of their own with a guy in a suit and a St Francis Hospital badge that identified him as some sort of manager.
‘We need this whole front area clear,’ they were yelling. ‘The President’s going to make a statement.’
‘Then book a goddamn hotel,’ the manager yelled back. ‘This is a hospital.’
Lock left them to it, walking on, up a long corridor with rooms off it. Ten doors ahead he saw a phalanx of Secret Service personnel, some in suits, some in T-shirts or windbreakers. He jogged towards them.
Chance stood in a private room, her back pressed against the door. The patient occupying the room was too far gone to offer any resistance. Rather than stab him, she had cut his oxygen line and let nature take its course.
Further down the corridor was where she guessed the President was holding vigil with his family. There were too many people there, so she’d waited. There was chatter about a press conference out front — she had heard a couple of yuppie types talking about it just before she elected to duck in here. All she had to do now was bide her time.
The President held his youngest daughter’s hand, watched her heart monitor and prayed. Right here, right now, the weight of parenthood was making him feel like the most impotent man in the world rather than the most powerful.
The door opened. A staffer tiptoed in and bent down next to him. ‘Sir, they’re ready for you out front.’
He nodded and got to his feet. ‘Give me a second here, Rob. Then I’ll be right out.’
‘Yes, Mr President.’
He bent down and softly kissed his daughter’s forehead. ‘I’ll be right back, sweetheart. OK? And I still haven’t forgotten about that sundae I owe you and your sister.’
He straightened up, sliding on his game-face at the same time as the door opened again and the head of his personal escort section walked in.
‘Sir, we’ve had a change of plan. The woman involved in the attack — we have credible evidence that she’s inside the hospital.’
The President blanched. ‘Ashley can’t be moved.’
‘I understand that. We want you and the family to stay exactly where you are.’
‘And where is the woman who tried to kill us?’
‘We’re trying to locate her right now.’
Lock nudged Ty’s elbow. ‘Come on, you have to get dressed.’
Ty broke off from his argument with the hospital security guards. ‘What you talking about?’
Lock was joined by one of the Secret Service agents. ‘Come with us.’
The agent led Lock and Ty back out of the front entrance and around the side of the building. A fire exit door opened and a suited Secret Service agent ushered them inside. They were led down another short stretch of corridor and into a side room.
A woman handed Ty a suit carrier, brushing off some dust from the vinyl covering. ‘Here, put this on. The quicker we get this done, the quicker the President can address the nation.’
Someone else flung Ty a lightweight vest. ‘You’ll want this on under the shirt.’
‘Someone mind telling me what the hell’s going on?’ Ty protested.
‘Remember how everyone thought we were nuts trying to stop someone killing Reaper?’ Lock asked him, stripping off himself.
‘Uh-huh.’
‘We’re about to prove to them that they were right. We really are nuts.’
71
The door at the far end of the corridor opened and the President strode out, four Secret Service agents immediately falling into a diamond formation around him. His head was bowed in thought as he studied his speech. Six steps further along, where the corridor widened another foot, four more suited agents fell into step, filling the gaps in the diamond so that the President was almost completely obscured.
Lock, who was now sporting a suit similar to the other members of the personal escort section, took the rear point of the diamond, which gave him the best eyes-on in the narrow corridor.
He’d never had much time for the Secret Service before, disliking their whole frat-boy, shade-wearing, talking-into-their-sleeve shtick. But he had to hand it to them, when it came to walking drills they had their shit down cold.
