No 9574! Tim restrained himself from pumping a defiant fist in her face. Yes!
"But not to worry. There'll be more along as soon as Dr. Alston opens up the third floor for us. And then you'll get your dose, Number Eight. A little late, but better late than never, ay?" She smiled sourly. "And who knows? Maybe your girlfriend will be up here by then, and she'll be getting her own dose of it."
Tim squeezed his eyes shut, and fought his hands from creeping up and covering his ears.
Oh, no. Not Quinn. Not here.
"Well, you didn't really think she got away, did you? Not a chance. Kurt caught up to her, but I doubt that's the last we've seen of her." She sighed. "Why couldn't the two of you have just let things be? Why'd you have to go snooping about? It puts us all in a terrible position. Believe me, nobody's happy with this situation. This is not what we're about."
She turned and walked among the other patients, reassuring them, checking their IVs and their dressings. Suddenly the room began to vibrate. It took Tim a moment to recognize the sound: a helicopter. Who'd be coming in by helicopter at this hour—whatever it was? Doris must have wondered too. She bustled out to the nurses station, turning off the lights as she closed the door behind her, leaving the patients of Ward C in the dark.
Tim lay still for a few moments, dazed and sickened by the news that Quinn was a prisoner, then he burst into furious activity, moving his limbs, rubbing his hands together, massaging his muscles. He'd lain here like a lump long enough. He had to do something, had to think of something he could do despite his weakened state. How long did he have before Doris returned with a fresh supply of 9574? An hour? A few minutes?
Whatever the answer, he had to be ready for her.
*
"Do I have to tell you how upset Mr. Kleederman is, Arthur?"
Quinn heard the distantly familiar voice through the thick, sick, unrelenting pain that hammered against the inner wall of her skull. She was on her back; the feel of the cushions against her shoulders and buttocks was very much like a couch, but she had no idea where that couch was.
Wherever the couch was, the air smelled stale, like old cigar smoke.
"No. Not at all. Your very presence here at this hour is testimony to that."
A new voice. Quinn knew that one: Dr. Alston. No surprise there. She'd guessed he was in on this. But Dr. Emerson...
She fought a sob and forced her eyes to open a slit. She saw Dr. Alston half turned away from her. The man he was speaking to was tall, sleek, well-dressed, with not a single one of his salt-and-pepper hairs out of place. Even through the web of her eyelashes, Quinn recognized him immediately: former Senator Whitney.
"We need a major overhaul of the screening process, Arthur."
"The screening process works extremely well," Dr. Alston said. "But it's not perfect. No system dealing with human variables can be perfect."
Through her lid slits, Quinn saw the senator point her way without looking at her.
"This will be the third student to disappear in two years, Arthur. Three in two years. Sooner or later, and I fear it will be sooner, someone is going to become suspicious and begin asking questions. Someone is going to demand an investigation. With my connections and the combined influence of our board, we can bury a certain amount of that sort of thing. But one suspicious parent coupled with one loud-mouthed reporter and we could have the makings of a disaster for the Foundation. Tell me, Arthur: How do we explain two students disappearing this year?"
"I..." Dr. Alston didn't seem to have an answer.
"And she does have to disappear, Arthur. She doesn't know The Ingraham's mission and methods, but she can bring charges of kidnapping, unlawful imprisonment, battery, and who knows what else against us. If you can think of another way out of this, I'll gladly present it to the board. I don't like this, any of it, but you and I know how the board decides on these matters: She's got to go."
Quinn knew she had to be hallucinating. A former U.S. senator and a respected professor at one of the world's premier medical schools were discussing the necessity of making her "disappear." This couldn't be true.
Then came a third voice, also familiar: "I think I've got the answer."
Security Chief Verran was speaking from somewhere to her right.
"Well, don't keep us in suspense, Lou," Whitney said. "How do we settle this?"
"We put the two disappearances together. Link them. Make them one disappearance."
Dr. Alston had turned to face Verran, who Quinn still couldn't see.
"We're listening," Whitney said.
"I've already set it in motion. I got hold of Elliot in Baltimore. He says there wasn't much snow down there and the airport never shut down. So I sent him out to BWI to get the Brown kid's car out of the long-term lot and drive it back here."
"What?" Dr. Alston said. "Are you insane? That will only serve to point the finger directly at us!"
"Let him finish, Arthur," Whitney said.
"Thank you, Senator. My plan is to say the Brown kid came back, picked up his girlfriend Cleary, and the two of them drove off together. We haven't seen them since."
"I see," Whitney said. "So even though we've got two missing students, it's really only one incident. I like it. Excellent thinking, Louis."
"But we've still got a car to get rid of," Dr. Alston said.
"I'm sure we can hide it for awhile until things cool down, then find a way to destroy it," Whitney said.
"Destroy it tonight."
A new speaker, a fourth voice.
Verran's voice said, "What do you mean, Kurt?"
The blond man who had chased her and knocked her out stepped into Quinn's field of vision.
"Crash and burn. It's the perfect night for it. We inject a little booze into the guy's bloodstream, pour a little down his throat. The two lovebirds go racing down the icy road, skid into a tree, the gas tank explodes, boom, they have to be identified by their dental records. No disappearances. No questions. A tragic case of drunk driving. Case closed."
Quinn watched Dr. Alston and the former senator look at each other, saw their gazes meet, then break away. Her heart began to pound.
Why aren't they saying anything? The man's talking about a double murder. Why isn't anybody telling him to shut up?
Whitney broke the silence. "No. That's out of the question."
Thank you, God! A voice of sanity!
The man called Kurt shrugged. "Just a thought."
Silence. Complete except for the low electrical hum of the equipment that filled the room.
Suddenly Whitney said, "You could...handle this?" He kept his eyes down, not looking at Dr. Alston, not looking at Kurt, looking at no one.
"Sure," Kurt said. "No problem." His tone was apropos to someone discussing who was going to make a run to the nearby Pizza Hut.
Another silence, chilled and calculating this time, was shattered by the ringing of the phone. Quinn jumped and hoped nobody noticed.
From her right, Verran spoke monosyllables into the receiver, then hung up.
"It's Doris up on Fifth, Doc," Verran said. "She's howling for that fresh supply of juice you promised her."
"She'll have to be patient," Dr. Alston said.
"She says the natives are getting restless."
"Oh, very well," Dr. Alston said peevishly. "Call her and tell her to meet me on Three. I'll be right back."
"First we settle this," Whitney said. "I think the car crash sounds like the answer."
"Now wait a minute," Dr. Alston said. "Do you realize what you're saying?"
Whitney spun on him. "Of course I do, Arthur! And I don't like it any more than you! I loathe it! But extreme problems sometimes call for extreme solutions."