“So there’s nothing you can do for Leonard, Dr. Tak? Nothing we can do for him? Nothing I can do?”
“I will give him painkillers for when the angina returns,” said the old Thai. “And he must avoid all strenuous exercise. And, of course, any great excitement or tension.”
Nick couldn’t keep himself from laughing at that. When Dr. Tak frowned at him as only a doctor can frown, Nick said, “Leonard just escaped from Los Angeles and got my son out of that war zone, Doc. I don’t know how he did it, but I’ll be grateful to him for the rest of my life for saving my son. If I could give him my entire heart now in a transplant, I’d do it.”
“I accept,” came Professor Emeritus George Leonard Fox’s reedy voice from behind them. “Dr. Tak, please prep my son-in-law for an immediate heart transplant to me. And while you’re at it, take his kidneys and prostate. Mine keep me awake all night.”
Nick and the doctor turned, but only Nick blushed. He went to one knee by the bed. “How long have you been awake, Leonard?”
“Long enough to hear all the bad news,” said the old man. “Did I miss any good news about this condition?”
“Well,” said Nick, “four percent of those who have it show a first symptom of sudden death. You didn’t.”
Leonard smiled. “I’ve always enjoyed being in the bland majority. Actually, I feel sort of good for a doomed old fart who’s just had a near-death experience. Mellow. Did you give me something in this IV, Dr. Tak?”
“A mild tranquilizer.”
“Please give me a few hundred of those pills in a doggie bag when I leave,” said Leonard. He squeezed Nick’s hand. “And we will be leaving soon, won’t we?”
“I think we have to,” said Nick.
“Did Val return?” asked Leonard and his grip intensified.
Nick shook his head. “I have trouble believing he got out of the building.”
As if just remembering something, Leonard whispered, “The phone,” and released Nick’s hand, beckoning him to lean closer.
Nick put his ear almost to the old man’s mouth.
“Dara’s phone, Nick. It’s in your cubie. It’s double-password-protected. The first password is ‘dream’—d… r… e… a… m. The second-level password is ‘Kildare,’ the name of her pet parakeet. I just figured out that second-level password. ‘Kildare.’ That opens text files from the months before she died, Nick. The text I understand. It’s important. Very important. More important than finding Val. You need to go read it… see the videos. Her diary… or notes she made for you, I think… it changes everything.”
Nick blinked in response. More important than finding Val? What could be more important than that to Val’s grandfather? Or to Nick?
“Go now,” whispered Leonard. “Go look at the phone now.” More loudly, he said, “Dr. Tak will help me get dressed and ready to travel, won’t you, sir?”
Tak frowned again. “You should not travel for some time, Professor Fox. You need to rest. Days of rest.”
“Yes, yes,” said Leonard. “But you’ll help me get dressed, won’t you? While Nick goes to tend to some things? Not being part of the Really Surprised Four Percent, I need to get on with what’s left of my life.”
Dr. Tak continued frowning but nodded.
“I’ll be back for you in a few minutes, Leonard,” said Nick. He took Dr. Tak aside and squeezed all the remaining big bills he had from the Nakamura old-bucks advance into the old Thai doctor’s gnarled hand. It left him with about thirty bucks in small bills with none left on his NICC card, but that didn’t matter.
“This is too much money,” said Dr. Tak.
Nick shook his head. “You’ve helped me before when I couldn’t pay enough. And you can put it toward whatever pills Leonard needs for the immediate future. Anyway, if I keep this cash, I’ll just blow it on wine, women, and song.” He again squeezed the old medic’s hands shut around the little wad of bills.
“Thank you, Dr. Tak.”
Gunny G. was waiting in the hall and eager to show Nick Val’s escape route. Since it appeared to be on the way to his cubie, more or less, Nick followed along as the stocky ex-marine sprinted up the unmoving escalator like a boot at Parris Island. Nick followed more stiffly, favoring his tightly taped ribs.
“My kid did that?” said Nick as he stood on the mezzanine and looked out at the cable—beyond his own reach or jumping ability, he was sure—and then up at the shattered skylight glass forty feet above.
“He did,” said Gunny G., not hiding his own admiration. “With about twenty pounds of climbing rope, pitons, and carabiners hitched over his shoulder. When I showed him and the old man into the place earlier, I sorta thought that the boy was a bit of a runt for the sixteen-year-old described on the DHS all-points-bulletin.”
Nick was going to let that pass but heard himself saying, “Not a bad jump and climb for a runt.”
Gunny G. keyed in the access code and they went up the stairs to the roof. Once at the skylight, Nick paused for a second to look down through the missing glass pane at the long drop to the glass-shard-littered soil of the dirt-filled fountain far below. Then he followed spatters of blood to the southwest corner of the roof.
“I pulled the rope up and coiled it,” said Gunny, “but left it anchored here.”
Nick was disturbed by the amount of blood. It was obvious that his son had slashed himself pretty badly during the climb.
Gunny was pointing down the south wall of the parking garage. “The video cam down there caught just a blur when your son shinnied down past it, then picked him up when he walked over to the bridge there.”
“What did he do there?”
The security man shrugged. “My guess is that he had a weapon hidden there, but he was wearing a jacket so it was hard to say for sure. Your boy stayed over there on the other side of the bridge for a while and then walked off—limped off, really—to the west. I was busy getting your father-in-law to Dr. Tak, but when I had time later I went out and checked the bridge and saw where the kid had bled quite a bit.”
“Bad?” said Nick. He heard the concerned edge in his own voice. A little late to play the concerned daddy, isn’t it, asshole? demanded a more honest voice in his head.
“It’ll probably need some stitches and tending,” said Gunny. “But he’s not going to bleed out or anything. I’ve had Lennie and Dorrie watch the external cams extra close this afternoon, but there’s been no sign of Val watching from across the street or coming back to the bridge.”
“Okay,” said Nick. “Thanks.” He headed back to the stairway, trying not to stare at the blood trail. It was true that he’d seen much worse.
Suddenly there flowed in the unbidden memory of his youngest attacker, wounded and begging for his life in the predawn dimness of the Huntington Botanical Gardens the previous Monday. That young man had been three or four years older than Val, at least, and had almost certainly spent his night with his older pals shooting at unarmed civilians as if they were deer in the woods—it was just his bad luck that Nick hadn’t been unarmed—but who was going to be the merciless older man aiming the muzzle of his Glock at Val’s forehead and shielding his face from spatter if this crap kept up?
Knock it off, shithead. It doesn’t help.