"I don't know if it's a matter of life or death or not. Listen, I don't have time to explain. Please, just try."
Jared hurried back to the Volvo, wishing he had more of an idea of who Arlen Paquette was or at least of what was awaiting him at the Omnicenter. It was exactly eight o'clock when he sped over the crest of a long upgrade and saw, ahead and to his right, the glittering tiara of Boston at night.] Perhaps it was the tension of the moment, perhaps the six hours since his last drink, whatever the reason, Arlen Paquette felt his hands beginning to shake and his concentration beginning to waver.
He pulled a gnarled handleerchief from his back pocket and dabbed at the cold sweat on his forehead and upper lip. It was only ten minutes past the hour. The hormone synthesis, which had proceeded flawlessly, was well over half completed. "Are you all right? " Zimmermann asked. "Fine, I'm fine, " Paquette said, clutching a beaker of ice water with two hands to keep its contents from sloshing about. "I… I'd like to talk with Mr. Nunes for a moment. Privately."
"Why? " Zimmermann asked with a defensiveness in his voice. "There's no problem with the procedure up to now. I assure you of that. You are doing an excellent job of following my father's notes. Just keep going.
"It's not that. Listen, I'll be right back. Nunes, " he whispered, his back turned to Zimmermann, "I need a drink."
"No booze until you finish this work. Mr. Redding's orders." As Nunes leaned forward to respond, the coat of his perfectly tailored suit fell away just enough for Paquette to see the holstered revolver beneath his left arm. Any doubt he harbored regarding his fate once the formulas were verified vanished. "Nunes, have a heart."
The gunman's only response was an impatient nod in the direction of the incomplete experiment. "Any problem? " Zimmermann called out. "No problem, " Nunes said as Paquette shuffled back. "Say, Dr. Zimmermann, where's the nearest john?"
Paquette slowed and listened. In less than twenty minutes he planned to ask the same question and wait for Nunes to open the door for him. Then an unexpected push from behind, and the man would be in the arms of the police. It was perfect, provided, of course, that Kate Bennett had gotten his message. William Zimmermann pointed to the wall behind the gunman. "See that recessed handle in the wall right under that shelf?
Just twist it and pull. Nunes did as he was instructed, and a three-foot-wide block of shelves pulled away from the wall, revealing a fairly large bathroom and stall shower. "Father had this obsession about hidden doorways and the like," Zimmermann said. His next sentence, if there was to be one, was cut off by the beaker of ice water, which slipped from Paquette's hands and shattered on the tile floor. Save for the security light in the front lobby, the Omnicenter was completely dark. Jared parked across the street and was beginning a walking inspection of the outside of the building when a blue and white patrol car pulled up. Martin Finn stepped out, looking in the gloom like a large block of granite with a homberg perched on top. Even at a distance, Jared could sense the man's impatience and irritation. I got your message, " Finn said, with no more greeting than that. What's going on? " Behind him, a uniformed officer remained at the wheel of the cruiser. The engine was still running "Thanks for coming so quickly,"
Jared said. "I… didn't know "Well?"
Jared checked the time. There were thirteen minutes. "My wife is in Henderson Hospital. Someone tried to run her down with a car earlier today while she was jogging." Finn said nothing. "She's had to have surgery, but she's going to be okay." Still nothing. "She couldn't speak much, but she said it was Dr. Zimmermann, the head of the Omnicenter, who tried to run her down and then chased her with a tire wrench."
"William Zimmermann?"
"Yes. Do you know him?"
Finn looked at him icily. "He delivered my daughter."
Inwardly, Jared groaned. "Well, he was involved in something illegal, possibly in connection with one of the big pharmaceutical houses. Kate discovered what was going on, so he tried to kill her."
"But he missed." There was neither warmth nor the slightest hint of belief in the man's voice. "Yes, he missed." Jared swallowed back his mounting anger. There was far too much at stake and hardly time for an argument. When I returned home from the hospital a short while ago, there was a message on our answering machine for Kate from a man named Arlen Paquette. I think he works for the drug house. He asked that she meet him here, in the subbasement of this building, and that she bring help. That's why I called you. I suspect that Zimmermann is in the middle of all this and that he's in there right now."
"In there? " Finn gestured at the darkened building. "He said the subbasement."
"Mr. Samuels, Dr. Zimmermann's office is on the third floor. On the corner, right up there. I've been there several times. Now what on earth would he be doing in the subbasement?"
"I… I don't know." There were eleven minutes. "Look, Lieutenant, the man said exactly eight-thirty. There isn't much time."
"So you want me to go busting into a locked hospital building, looking to nail my wife's obstetrician, because you got some mysterious message on your telephone answering machine?"
"If the doors are all locked, we can get in through the tunnels. We don't have to break in. Dammit, Lieutenant, my wife was almost killed today. Do you think she's lying about the broken bones and the punctured lung?"
"No, " Finn said. "Only about everything else. Mr. Samuels, I had a chance to do some checking up on your wife. She's in hot water with just about everyone in the city, it seems. Word has it she's just been fired for screwing up here at the hospital, too. Face it, counselor, you've got a sick woman on your hands. You need help, all right, but not the "Then you won't come with me? " Jared could feel himself losing control "Mr. Samuels, because of your wife, I still have enough egg on my face to make a fucking omelet. I'll file a report if you want me to, and even get a warrant if you can give me some hard facts to justify that. But no commando stuff. Now if I were you, I'd just go on home and see about lining up some professional help for your woman.› Before he could even weigh the consequences, Jared hit the man-a roundhouse punch that landed squarely on the side of Finn's face and sent him spinning down into a pile of plowed snow. Instantly, the uniformed officer was out of the cruiser, his hand on the butt of his service revolver Finn, a trickle of blood forming at the corner of his mouth, waved him off. "No, Jackie," he said. "It's all right. The counselor, here, felt he had a score to settle with me, and he just settled it." He pushed himself to his feet, still shaking off the effects of the blow. "Now, counselor, you just get the fuck out of my sight. If I hear of any trouble involving you tonight, I'm going to bust your ass from here to Toledo. Clear?"
Jared glared at the detective. "You're wrong, Finn. About my wife, about refusing to help me, about everything. You don't know how goddamn wrong you are."
He glanced at his watch, then turned and raced down the block toward the main entrance to the hospital and the stairway that would lead to the Omnicenter tunnel. There were less than five minutes left. Visiting hours had ended. The hospital was quiet. Jared crossed the lobby as quickly as he dared without calling attention to himself and hurried down the nearest staircase. Although he used the dreary tunnels infrequently, he distinctly remembered seeing a sign indicating that the Omnicenter had been tacked onto the system. But where?
The tunnel was deserted, and it seemed even less well lighted than usual. A caravan of stretchers lined one wall, interspersed with empty, canvas industrial laundry hampers. On the wall Opposite was a wooden sign with arrows indicating the direction to various buildings. The bottom three names, almost certainly including the Omnicenter, were obscured by a mixture of grime and graffiti. Kate had once told him that it took a special kind of character to love working at Metro, intimating that the spirit of the hospital staff and the loyalty of many Of its patients were somehow bound to the physical shortcomings of the placethe concept, like so much else about his wife, was something Jared realized he would have to work a little harder at understanding. His often far from dependable sense of direction urged him toward the right. There was no time to question the impulse. His footsteps echoing off the cement floor and walls, Jared raced that way, instinctively casting about for something he could use as a weapon and at the same time, cursing his failure to obtain help. His sense, this time at least, was on the mark.