“Only if you’ve got a brain. Ask the guys who came looking for it. That is, unless they’re too embarrassed by the beating I gave them.”
"Beating?" Her eyes flashed with sudden understanding. "So, that's why they looked like mud wrestlers."
Caplan smirked.
“Fine," Morgan said. "What caused the crash?”
“We were flying here when the Blare—”
“Blare?”
“That weird phenomena three hours ago.” He searched her face, but saw no sign of recognition. “You didn’t experience it?”
She shook her head.
“Consider yourself lucky. It sounded like blaring horns. The air got hot and thick. I felt these sharp pinpricks of ice. This weird glow covered everything. And then I passed out. When I woke up, I was surrounded by wreckage and dead bodies.”
“Oh my God, the 1-Gens.” Her eyes widened. “The full expulsion sequence must’ve created some kind of, I don’t know, weird energy.”
“The 1-Gens?”
“Never mind.” She paused. “So, you came here after the crash?”
“Where else was I going to go?”
A long pause followed. Finally, Morgan sighed. “What did Corbotch tell you about us?”
“Can I just…?” Prepping for another blow, Caplan slowly swiveled his head. But this time, Morgan didn’t strike him. Emboldened, he twisted all the way around on his knees and gave her a good look.
A tattered lab coat, soaked with blood on one side, covered her gaunt, sweaty frame. Underneath it, he saw hints of a tight crimson shirt and black yoga pants. “You’re hurt,” he said.
She aimed her pistol between his eyes. “I can still shoot.”
“Let me help you.”
“Not a chance. Now, answer the question.”
Caplan sighed. “It’s like I told you. He said terrorists seized Hatcher and a bunch of dignitaries. You and the others were in danger.”
“So, he lied.” She exhaled. “Typical James.”
Thoughts of Tony swirled inside Caplan’s head. He still didn’t know what was going on. Nor did he understand her motives. But one thing was certain.
It was time to start making things right.
“It’s no lie,” he replied. “Tell me something. Did you have to hack your way through that hatch to enter the Lab?”
Her eyes glittered with suspicion. “What’s your point?”
“And when you entered the shaft, did you feel a rush of air?”
“Of course. It happens every time the hatch is opened. That’s part of how we keep the Lab free of contaminants.” Her gaze narrowed. “What’s this got to do with anything?”
“Everything. The hack triggered a gas switch. So, that wasn’t air you released into the shaft.” He paused. “It was HA-78.”
“HA-78?”
“James told me all about it. But don’t worry. He gave me enough antibiotics for everyone. They’re in my backpack along with a whole mess of syringes.”
She stared at him.
“Once his people took out the terrorists, he wanted me to distribute the treatments to all of you. Of course, he never realized you were the terrorists. You’ll have to explain that one to me.” Caplan paused. “But not now. We only have until five o’clock. After that, people start dying.”
“Let me get this straight. You came here to stop us. But now, you want to help us?”
“Just distribute the antibiotics. Then we’ll sit down and figure this out.”
Morgan paced to the door. Cracked it open and leaned her head out. Occasionally glancing at Caplan, she chatted quietly with someone in the Heptagon. Then she took hold of a small cooler and turned back to the Galley. “Is this it?” she asked.
His eyes brightened at the sight of the familiar container. “The syringes are inside. You just have to—”
She opened the cooler and turned it upside down. Syringes and vials plunged to the ground. The syringes bounced harmlessly against the beige vinyl flooring. But the vials shattered upon impact, spilling liquid everywhere.
Caplan gaped at the vials, then at her. “Are you crazy?” he said. “Do you know what you just did?”
“Yes.” Her eyes were dark, unreadable. “I spilled water.”
“No.” A cloud of confusion passed over his brain. “Those vials held antibiotics.”
“Not according to the people who just analyzed them.” She sighed. “This isn’t a BSL-4 lab, Zach. Not even close. There are no deadly biological agents on the premises.”
“But James said—”
“James lied to you. He must’ve told you that story so you’d agree to lead his people here. But don’t feel bad about it. He lied to all of us too. That’s why we took over Hatcher. We’re going to stop him, expose him.” She extended a hand to Caplan. He took it and she helped him to his feet. “Or die trying.”
Chapter 38
There’s your life lesson for the day, Caplan thought. Never trust a guy who fakes his own kidnapping.
Pain exploded inside Caplan as he dragged his exhausted body across the room. Aches ripped through his back and shoulders, his calves and thighs. It felt like he’d played a few games of pinball… from inside the machine.
Amanda Morgan made her way to the nearest table. Her eyes glassed over as she eased her body into a metal chair and began to pull off her lab coat.
Caplan frowned. “Hey, are you alright?”
The tattered and bloodied lab coat fell to the floor. She lifted her crimson t-shirt a few inches, exposing some blood-soaked bandages. “I’ll live,” she replied in a faint voice.
“That doesn’t look so good.” Shifting course, he doubled back to the door. “I’ll get the doc.”
“No, no.” She nodded to her right. “Check the cabinets. There should be first-aid kits in one of them.”
Caplan grabbed one of the battery-powered lamps and hurried to a stretch of countertop. It held drink-serving machines — coffee, espresso, soda — along with several large sinks, interspersed by paper cups, lids, sugar packets, straws, and other items. Underneath, he saw a series of unmarked cabinets.
Quickly, he filtered through the cabinets, taking a few first-aid kits along with some spare linens. Then he filled a paper cup with water from the sink, helped himself to a straw, and returned to the table.
Morgan held out her hand, fingers relaxed but wrist cocked. “I’ll take it from here.”
Caplan placed the lamp and items on the table. Then he opened the first-aid kits and pulled out some large bandages. “Yeah, because you’ve done such a good job of taking care of yourself.”
“I’ll have you know—”
“Just shut up and sit still.”
Morgan moaned as Caplan peeled off the bandages. Underneath, he saw a deep wound zigzagging across her smooth skin. He poured a bit of water on her waist, clearing away the blood. Then he watched as more blood slowly oozed out of the gash.
He grabbed a saltshaker from the table and twisted off the top. Then he dumped the contents into the cup.
Morgan cast him a wide-eyed look. “Uh, on second thought, maybe you should get Dr. Adnan.”
“What’s wrong?” Using the straw, Caplan stirred the salt into the water. Then he poured the mixture onto a fresh linen, completely saturating the cloth. “Don’t you trust me?”
“Do you really want me to—?”
Caplan pressed the saturated cloth against her wound.
Her teeth ground together. “Ahh!”
“Does that hurt?”
“What do you think?”
“I think it’s better than bleeding to death.” For the next three minutes, Caplan held the cloth against her waist, occasionally lifting it to take a look at the gash. Then he repeated the process with a separate linen, also soaked in salt water. Afterward, he studied her skin. “You could probably use a few stitches. But at least it’s stopped bleeding. Plus, the salt should act as a disinfectant.”