Somewhere down the road—not far down the road, either—they were going to have to shut this thing down. All of it. The operations in Houston and St. Charles and Reston. The operation here. It was his guess that the only person in this room who didn’t understand that was Childs.
“It would probably take two, maybe three days at the most to get it set up,” Childs said. “And it would buy us enough time to work out a more permanent solution.”
“All right, then why don’t we give it a try?”
[125]
Outside the grounds of the Devol Research Institute, Walt pulled the Sunbird off the road and into the shadows. He looked across the seat at Teri and raised his eyebrows questioningly. “You sure you want to do this tonight?”
“I want my son.”
“I know you do. But that’s not what I asked you.”
“Yes, tonight. I want him tonight. No more waiting. They’ve had him long enough. I’m not letting them have him another moment.”
“Another day or two and we’d have a much better idea—”
“Tonight,” she said firmly.
“All right.” He leaned back and brought the blueprints out from behind the passenger seat. He slid the rubber bands off each end, unrolled the plans, and used his flashlight as a weight to pin the top against the dashboard. “Let’s take a look at these. How about a little light?”
Teri took the flashlight out of her backpack, turned it on and held it over the plans.
The building was three stories plus a basement. There was an open receptionist’s area when you first went through the front door and two elevators off to the left. Only one of the elevators went down to the basement level. Upstairs appeared to be mostly office space, including a myriad of small cubicles, a couple of conference rooms, and a huge open area that was labeled “The Lab.” The intended use of the basement appeared less certain. Labeled as “Storage,” it appeared to be well wired, with an unusual array of electrical outlets. At the back of the building, sat a loading dock, and next to that, a set of glass double doors. The only other way in or out besides an upstairs window would be what looked to be an emergency exit, next to the only staircase in the building.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“My best guess would be—if they have him, they have him in the basement.”
“How do we get down there?”
Walt pointed to the back of the building, at the emergency exit. “See the stairwell? That’s the only way down unless you want to walk through the front door and try the elevator.”
“And what if he isn’t in the basement?”
“Then I guess we’ll take a walk upstairs.”
[126]
Childs had found his way back to the lab, glad to be out of the presence of his quote—associates—unquote. It wasn’t that he didn’t like them; he had never actually liked them. And he had never actually doubted that their feeling for him was mutual. But sometimes when people were forced together in a common goal—or what might appear to be a common goal—it was necessary for the personalities involved to overlook some of the petty quirks of the other group members. And yes, it sounded like a group therapy session, but that was the dynamics of interpersonal relationships. You learned to tolerate your differences.
He pulled out the most recent sample of liver cells taken from the two boys. The first sample belonged to Gabriel Knight. He placed it into the specimen chamber of the electron microscope, positioned it, and turned to the control panel. When he finally brought up the visual, he compared it to a visual display of the cells taken when the Knight boy had still been comatose. There was a marked difference. The mitochondria, which had been round and smooth and resembled the basic form of a grape while the boy was comatose, now looked something more like a raisin. It was shriveled and misshapen. And instead of dividing every five to six days, it teased you, threatening to divide but never quite getting around to it.
There was no denying the evidence. Somehow, through an interaction that Childs still did not fully comprehend, the AA103 had served to keep the Knight boy both comatose and ageless for a good number of years. But suddenly, without an obvious trigger, that causatum had mysteriously shut down. More than that, it appeared the process had actually reversed itself. The body was making up for lost time, so to speak. It was aging at such an alarming rate that before long the boy’s physical maturation might very well overtake his chronological maturation. And after that…
Death, Childs thought glumly.
He pulled out the liver cell sample of the Breswick boy, and exchanged it in the specimen chamber. It was mostly a matter of confirming what he already knew at this point. He had given some thought to the possibility that the DOD might be interested in this new wrinkle, this premature aging. But in his heart, he knew that was more dream than reality. It didn’t take a genius to realize that things were rapidly drawing to a close around here.
D.C. wasn’t the kind of man who would tell him that, of course. He wasn’t the kind of man who would even hint at it. But the writing on the wall was an easy read. Too many things were beginning to go wrong. It was easier—and probably smarter in the long run—to shut things down before they got too far out of hand.
Childs positioned the specimen, and turned his attention to the control panel. It was frightening how quickly everything had seemed to spin out of control. A lifetime of work was on the line and they were ready to scrap it. Just like that. No second thoughts. No regrets.
What an ungodly waste, he thought.
[127]
They had made their way around the perimeter of the Institute property, staying close to the fence where the shadows were darkest. There was a sliver of moon out tonight, just enough to cast a grayish tint over the landscape. It was that grayish tint that served as their eyes.
At the back of the building, they kept low and moved along the line of shrubbery until the last twenty or thirty feet, where they were forced to scamper across an opening. Walt held Teri’s hand all the way. They reached the emergency exit door, Teri breathing hard on one side, Walt scanning their surroundings on the other.
“So far so good,” she said.
“That was the easy part.” He grinned at her, thoroughly enjoying himself.
“Great. Now you tell me.”
It was a matter of picking the lock next, and it took him less than thirty seconds to do it. She watched him, amazed at how simple he made it look. The lock popped. He turned the knob slowly, then opened the door a crack and waited.
“What—”
“Shhh.” He waited for another five count, then motioned her on through, and entered right behind her. Inside, a short hallway faced them. At the far end, the darkness was spotted by a couple of overnight lights in the receptionist’s area. Off to the right, just as the blueprints had shown, was the stairway that was supposed to take them down to the basement. What the blueprints hadn’t shown was the locked door that blocked access to the stairway.
“Christ!” Walt ran the palm of his hand over the surface and Teri could see that the door was made of metal. It was painted an ugly navy gray that contrasted sharply with the large black lettering. The lettering said, simply enough: STAIRWAY.