Distant memory, p.25
Distant Memory, page 25
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather sleep?” Nick asked. “I know I’m exhausted.”
“I’m too tired to sleep,” Lisa replied.
“What? That doesn’t make sense. How can you be too tired to sleep?”
“It’s something my mother used to say.”
Nick raised an eyebrow. “Really. You remember your mother?”
Lisa nodded slightly. “A little. I can’t remember her name or where we lived, but I can see her face.”
“Well, that is a step up, isn’t it? Your memory really is coming back. What else do you recall?”
“Nothing, and you’re changing the subject.” Lisa had been pushing for an explanation. Some things about Nick and the events of the day bothered her, and she wanted answers. So far he had been evasive.
“No, I’m not. I’m genuinely happy that you’re starting to remember things. I just think you’re a little confused.”
“Things don’t add up, Nick. Your being an NSA agent answers some questions, like why you were on the scene of my accident and why you seemed like anything but a truck driver.”
“What more is there?” Nick looked frustrated and weary. Lisa felt guilty about grilling him, but she needed answers.
“At your home,” she said. “In your sister’s bedroom, there was a radio alarm clock.”
“That’s not unusual,” Nick protested. “Nearly every bedroom in the country has a radio alarm clock.”
“But this one was just like the one I saw when I woke up in the Pretty Penny Motel.”
“It’s a common model.”
“Perhaps so,” Lisa persisted. “But everything in that motel room was old and battered. The alarm clock was new.”
“So they’re not much on renovation. Lisa, I don’t see what this has to do with anything.”
“It nags at me, Nick. Why does it nag at me?”
“Because you’ve had a very upsetting day.”
“No, it’s more than that. I know I’m being a pill about this, Nick, but I need to know that I can trust you. Hearing you say that you were something other than what you told me is upsetting. You’ve been lying to me all along.”
“Only to protect you, Lisa. And that’s the truth. You were in shock when I found you, and I didn’t want to add to that.”
“What about the dinner you fixed? You told me you had nothing in the house, but when I came downstairs, you were cooking up a storm.”
“It was just huevos rancheros. How hard is that? Eggs, beans, tortillas, and sauce from a can. It’s not a gourmet meal. It’s one step removed from fast food.”
“Then we ate outside, just in time to see the vapor trail of a rocket fired from Vandenberg Air Force Base. For some reason, seeing that shook me to the core. Were you using that to jog my memory?”
“And what if I was, Lisa?” Nick said defensively. “Don’t you want your memory back? Don’t you want your life back?”
“Why couldn’t you tell me that?” Lisa asked with exasperation.
Nick shook his head. “I’m not an evil man, Lisa. I’m just a man with a job to do. I’m someone who wanted to help a woman in trouble, a colleague at that. We’ve been through a lot over the last twenty-four hours. Let’s not turn on each other now.”
“I’m right about the clock radios, aren’t I?” Lisa asked.
“Why are you so fixated on that?”
“Because something caged in the back of my brain wants out, and I think that may be the key. I know it sounds strange, but I can’t shake the feeling.”
Nick didn’t answer.
A thought popped into Lisa’s mind. “It’s a spy tool, isn’t it?” She closed her eyes trying to get the innocuous, fleeting image in her mind to settle. “Surveillance cameras,” she said flatly.
Nick remained silent.
“Hidden surveillance cameras,” Lisa said. “Of course. You can buy them on the Internet, although I imagine yours are a little more sophisticated. They put cameras in everything now: wall clocks, smoke detectors, pictures.” The crack in the dam of amnesia widened, and a few more memories leaked out.
“Ours,” Nick corrected. “You work for the same organization I do. You know this stuff because you worked in the field.”
“You had a hidden camera in the motel room and in your sister’s room where I slept and changed.”
“It’s not what you think, Lisa. Your condition was fragile; I had to keep an eye on you. It was for your own protection. I placed the one in my sister’s room to see if you had any distress. What if you passed out and fell to the floor? It could be hours before I came looking for you.”
Lisa felt betrayed, manipulated. “And you just happened to have such a device at your home?”
“Yes. That’s what I do, Lisa. That’s my job. I spy on spies. I investigate the lowlifes who try to sell our country out. It’s what I do, and it’s what you do.”
Can that be true? Lisa wondered. Can I be the same kind of person as Nick? Is spying really my game? She knew about the hidden surveillance cameras in the clock radio. Not many people would know such a thing. Her head began to pound, and she felt sick. There was too much to take in, too much to absorb.
Nick must have noticed because he said, “Hey, are you all right?”
“I want to be left alone,” Lisa said, closing her eyes.
“I never meant to upset you, Lisa.”
“Please, Nick. Just go. Let me sort these things out.” She opened her eyes long enough to see Nick amble from the room on his crutch and close the door behind him. The sight of the wounded man broke her heart. He had fought gallantly for her, and she had just sent him packing. But he had lied to her, pulling her strings as if she were a marionette.
Closing her eyes again, she sighed deeply. Some of her memories were returning, but she felt no better about her situation. “Oh, Lord,” she prayed. “What now? What do I do now? Whom do I trust? Where do I turn?”
Massey found what he needed less than a half-mile from the hospital. A pool supply store, which had been set up in a converted house, was situated off the main street in a quiet, oak-lined neighborhood. Locating the store had been easy. He simply looked in the yellow pages for the address. The small-town phone book had a complete map of the community. Ten minutes later he was driving away in the stolen truck, his newly acquired items in the back. The beauty of small towns, Massey thought, was that they were so trusting. The proprietor had not bothered to have an alarm installed. It took less than five minutes for him to lift the bathroom window out of its slide, climb in—which, because of his bulk, was the most difficult part—and find what he wanted. He then walked out the rear door and loaded the booty in the truck.
He smiled to himself. Years of desk work had not taken the edge off his cunning. He was beginning to enjoy the work again, something he was trying to avoid. He was above this now, no longer one to hide in the shadows, arrange secret meetings, and use force when he didn’t get his way. But fate had dealt him this hand; he would play it through.
The hospital appeared on his right, and he headed in the drive to the rear parking lot. It was nearly deserted, populated only by a few cars that he assumed belonged to doctors and nurses.
Massey’s earlier reconnoitering was paying off. He knew exactly where he wanted to park and every step that would come next. By his estimation, it would take five minutes for the setup and another five minutes to implement the plan. Less than fifteen minutes later, the Keller woman would be dead and he would be on his way out of town.
If things went well, he might even get away. But if he didn’t, then he was prepared to pay the price of arrest. Somehow, someway, Moyer would get him out of jail and safely tucked away. He would have to begin a new life with a new identity, but he had done that before. He trusted Moyer completely.
It was all set. Moyer allowed himself the luxury of a moment’s satisfaction. The satellite was in place and all its systems were operational. The process of uploading the software commands had been completed, and the on-board computers acknowledged their receipt. He was ready, the satellite was ready, and soon the world would be too.
The only thorn in it all was Massey. He had yet to call, and Moyer was fearful that he had failed. If he had, then everything was in jeopardy. If Massey had been arrested, he could be trusted to keep quiet, but if the woman was alive, if she spoke about what she knew … Moyer shivered and cursed Lisa Keller for her interference.
CHAPTER 23
Wednesday, 1:48 A.M.
Massey moved quickly but not hurriedly. The parking lot was empty of people, and the warm night air was filled with the sounds of machinery—sounds that were music to his ears. But before he could attend to those sounds, he had something else to do. The hospital had five exits, two at the rear of the building and three at the front. The rear exits were double, metal-clad doors, as were two of the ones at the street side of the building. The lobby exit was made of glass.
Using some nylon cord he had taken from the pool supply store, Massey tied the handles of one set of rear doors together, stringing the cord through the stainless-steel loops. He repeated the action with the other rear exit. He was unconcerned about the doors at the front.
The next part required more physical effort. Pulling the truck next to the rear wall, Massey climbed in the pickup’s bed, removed two plastic pails and two large plastic bottles, and placed them on the roof of the vehicle. He then climbed on top of the cab. The tall truck enabled Massey to reach the hospital’s parapet, which ran the perimeter of the flat roof, and he hoisted the buckets and bottles over its edge. Then, as quietly as possible, he scrambled onto the roof. The effort tired him. He was a large man who could hold his own with anyone, but hauling his bulk up was not something he did often. The task was more than difficult; it was painful. His arms were deeply bruised, and the effort made his injuries hurt all the more. He comforted himself with the thought that getting down would be easier. He derived even greater pleasure from the knowledge that his mission would be over in the next quarter-hour.
With deliberate steps he moved across the roof, stepping as quietly as possible on its gravel-and-tar surface and stopping at a four-foot-square sheet-metal box. It was one of four air-conditioning units. Crouching down, Massey circled the noisy device. A humming-whirring noise filled the night air.
Massey found the intake vent. He placed his hand near the vent and felt the air rush past. This was ideal. Setting the pail down by the grill, he opened the top of one bottle and emptied all of it into the pail. The powerful, pungent aroma of ammonia assaulted Massey’s nose, but he ignored it. Reaching into the second pail, he removed a cardboard box and extracted two three-inch tablets. He dropped them in the ammonia. Immediately a yellow-green gas bubbled out of the pail. The smell of ammonia was replaced with the thick, irritating mist of chlorine gas. Massey’s eyes began to tear.
Chlorine gas, Massey recalled with satisfaction, was first used in gas warfare during World War I. It had been effective then, and it would be effective now. Quickly he moved to the second air-conditioning unit. He had only enough material for two of the four units, but that was all he needed. In fact, it was all he wanted. In moments an evacuation would begin, and Massey wanted everyone to move out the front of the building. Scores of people would soon emerge, but he was interested in only one of the throng. No, he decided, two. Blanchard needed to die also.
Without hesitation, Massey trotted to the edge of the roof over the stolen truck, sat on the parapet, swung his legs over the side, and then dropped to the roof of the cab. Seconds later he scrambled into the truck, started it, and drove to the front parking lot.
It was all just a matter of time now—a very short time.
“What are you doing out here?” Hobbs asked Nick. “What’d she do? Throw you out?” The look on Nick’s face answered the question. “What happened?”
Nick frowned. “She has doubts about me.”
Hobbs thought of saying, Well, so do I, buddy, but he decided against it. He didn’t need a confrontation in the corridor of the hospital. Hobbs was too tired for that. “I was thinking of finding some coffee. How about joining me?”
“That depends. Are you going to grill me again?”
“Probably,” Hobbs said, glancing at the silent Ojai policeman who stood guard. “It’s part of my nature. But if it’s any comfort, I’m out of questions for now.”
“Okay, just remember: Ask me no questions; I’ll tell you no lies.”
Hobbs was about to respond when he caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye. A nurse shot out of a room at the end of the hall. She was holding a hand to her mouth. Hobbs watched as she raced by. Her eyes were wide with fright, and her skin was pale. “That can’t be good,” he said.
“Some patient must have taken an awful turn for the worse.”
“Wait,” Hobbs said, his face twisted into a display of puzzlement and disgust. “What’s that smell?”
“I don’t smell anyth—” Nick began then stopped abruptly. “Chlorine?”
Suddenly the hall filled with nurses, doctors, interns, and other hospital personnel. “What’s going on?” Hobbs called out to a passing man in a white coat.
“We’re evacuating the hospital. We can use all the help we can get.”
The sharp odor grew in intensity. “Chlorine gas,” he said to himself, then exclaimed: “Chlorine gas. That stuff is deadly. We have to get these people out of here.”
“You get your partner,” Nick said decisively. “I’ll get Lisa.” Without waiting for Hobbs to respond, Nick turned and limped into Lisa’s room.
“Go with him,” Hobbs said to the policeman. “And stay with them. Also, make sure the fire department has been called.”
“Got it,” the man answered, but Hobbs was already headed down the corridor, crossing the short distance to Tanner’s room in just a few steps.
Tanner was asleep on the bed. “Tanner!” Hobbs shouted. The man jerked awake in fright.
“What are you doing?” Tanner stopped and sniffed the air. “What is that?”
“No time to talk. We’re out of here.” Hobbs was already by the bedside pulling Tanner to a sitting position.
“I’m up. I’m up,” Tanner protested as he slipped from the bed and stood unsteadily on his good leg. Hobbs stepped to his side, took Tanner’s arm, and placed it around his shoulder.
“We need a wheelchair,” Hobbs said.
“I’m fine. Let’s go.”
Outside the room a flood of patients poured by. Those who could walk did, some pushing wheeled IV stands in front of them. Most wore only a hospital gown. Hobbs was thankful that it was summer. At least they would be warm. Hacking and coughing filled the air. Those who - could not walk were pushed in wheelchairs or rolled along in their hospital beds. In the panic, people stepped on others; bare feet were rolled over by wheels.
“Calmly. Don’t panic.” Someone was shouting.
“I can make it by myself,” Tanner said. “See if anyone else needs help.”
“You can’t walk.”
“Sure I can. I’ve got plenty of motivation. Now go. Don’t worry about me.” A lone woman in a wheelchair was trying to make her way through the morass of patients and having little luck. Tears of fear flowed down her cheeks. Tanner hopped on one leg and took hold of the wheelchair’s handles. “Allow me, ma’am,” he said. Hobbs watched as the ingenious CHP officer helped the frightened woman while providing support for himself. Hobbs decided that when everything was over, he was going to take this unique man out for the best dinner he - could afford.
“Are there more patients back there?” the detective asked a passing nurse.
“Yes. Help us if you can.”
“Use the rear exits,” Hobbs shouted over the clatter of people.
“We can’t. They won’t open. Everyone has to go out the front.”
The truth of the matter was suddenly clear: This was no accident.
It was like swimming up a waterfall, but Hobbs worked his way to the back of the corridor where it intersected another hall that ran to his right. The air was now thick with a yellow-green gas that was quickly settling to the floor. In high school chemistry, Hobbs had learned that chlorine gas was heavier than air. That was very bad news. There were only minutes left before the corridor and all the rooms would be filled with the toxic gas. Tears streamed down his face as the fumes irritated his eyes. The invasive gas burned his throat and lungs, and he began to cough. He checked rooms. The first few were empty. Hospital personnel were braving the deadly mist, valiantly trying to move every patient.
In the third room, Hobbs found a young child, a girl he judged to be only seven or eight, lying in the first bed. She was sound asleep. Without preamble he scooped her up in his arms and returned to the hall, moving as quickly as he could. Awakened by the sudden movement she opened her eyes and stared fearfully at Hobbs.
“It’s all right, sweetheart,” he said softly. “Just be still for another moment.” He stopped suddenly. An elderly man had collapsed in front of him. The man was gagging, struggling for air. Hobbs dropped to a knee. He had to think quickly. He turned to the girl in his arms. “Does your daddy ever give you a piggyback ride?”
She nodded, then said. “The air smells bad. It hurts to breathe.”
“I know, darling. I’m taking you to a place where you can breathe, okay?”
“Okay.”
“I need to give you a piggyback ride, so I can help this man. Can you hang on tight?”
“Yes.”
“Okay then, hop on my back and put your arms around my neck and hold on tight. Hold your breath as long as you can,” he added as it occurred to him that she would be nearer to the ceiling on his back and closer to where the deadly gas was pouring in.
The little girl crawled onto his back and wrapped her arms around his neck tight enough to choke him, but that didn’t matter. Fresh air was a few steps away. He turned to the choking, gasping man. “You’re coming with me, sir.” Hobbs reached underneath the frail frame and took him in his arms. As he stood, the muscles in his back protested the strain. He ignored their protest. He had no other choice. Holding his breath, Hobbs raced toward the lobby. Rancid fumes clung to him as he charged through the cloud of death. In a few more minutes there would be no breathable air in the hospital. He could only hope that the others got outside safely.
