He moved out into the alcove and followed a short hallway to a set of double doors that was tightly closed. It was the only doorway on the entire floor. He briefly put his ear against it but could hear no sound from within. The entire level had a deserted feeling to it. He checked his watch: 9:40. He was on schedule, and it was apparent that Dr. Buhner hadn't arrived yet.
Ba hurried back to the stairwell to wait. He had decided that the simplest and safest course was to intercept Dr. Bulmer as he stepped from the elevator and bring him back down to street level—leaving behind whoever had been escorting him to the twentieth floor, of course.
When he heard the knock on the door, Alan glanced at the clock. Nine twenty-six. Right on time.
He opened the door and found himself face to face with the swarthy security guard who had refused to let him leave the wing hours ago. With him was another guard. They looked familiar, and then he recognized them as Axford's assistants. Their name tags said "Henly" and "Rossi."
He swallowed the anger that had been simmering for hours and said: "What happened to the white coats?"
"Traded them in," Henly, the blond guard, said.
"Catch that maniac?" Alan asked Rossi.
He nodded. "Yep. And we brought you a visitor."
Leaning heavily on his cane, Senator McCready shuffled into the room. An empty wheelchair sat behind him in the hall.
"Good evening, Dr. Bulmer!" he said, genially enough. "I hope the unavoidable extension of your stay here hasn't inconvenienced you too much."
Alan hid his shock at seeing the senator come to him. He had expected the opposite. Much of his rage evaporated at seeing the infirmity and debility of the man close up. The slowness of his movements, the exertion they cost him—he was in sad shape.
"What an unexpected pleasure!" he managed to say. "And don't give my incarceration a second thought. How often does a man get a chance to be alone with his thoughts for nearly half a day? A little introspection is good for the soul." He grabbed McCready's hand and shook it. "I can't thank you enough for what you've done for me!"
That last sentence, at least, was true. By coming to the Foundation, Alan had learned that he could prove the existence of the Dat-tay-vao and could predict the hour of its occurrence with a simple tide chart. He had also learned that it was destroying his mind. He had gained something despite McCready's treachery.
McCready smiled. "As the barker said, 'You ain't seen nothin' yet!' " He fairly dropped into the chair. "We've gathered enough evidence to polish up your reputation and safeguard your medical license."
But you've destroyed it! Alan thought, his anger rising.
"We'll be sending out a general press release first thing tomorrow morning."
You lying bastard! It would never be composed, much less released.
Alan forced a smile. "I can barely wait to see it."
Suddenly the air was full of whooping sirens and clanging bells.
McCready snapped a glance at the two guards. "What's that all about?" His voice was barely audible above the din.
"Beats me," Henly said, his expression concerned and puzzled as he unclipped his walkie-talkie from his belt. "Sounds like fire and break-in and everything else. I'll check with Dave."
He turned and stuck his head into a relatively quiet corner while Alan and the others waited in silence. Finally Henly turned back to them.
"It's all right. Dave says some lady came in stewed to the gills demanding to see a patient and spilled a drink on the control console. Says it's a mess down there."
"Go help him out," McCready said. He turned to Rossi. "And you wait outside. I have a personal matter to discuss with Dr. Buhner."
The guard stepped out and closed the door, muffling somewhat the continued clamor of the alarms.
"Personal matter?" Alan said.
"Yes." The senator rested both hands atop his cane and leaned forward. "As I'm sure you can see, I'm not a well man. By this time of night I'm usually fast asleep from exhaustion. It is only from sheer force of will that I made it here tonight."
"What's the problem?"
McCready removed his dark glasses. "You tell me, Doctor."
Alan saw the pathognomonic drooping, half-closed eyelids.
"Myasthenia gravis."
"Correct. A relentlessly progressive case. I… this is so difficult to ask… I was wondering if you might—"
"Heal you?"
"Yes. If you would."
Over my dead body! was what Alan wanted to say, but he kept his expression bland.
"Do you happen to know when high tide is, Senator?"
"It's at ten-eighteen." McCready checked his watch. "Just a little over thirty minutes away."
"Good. Then the Dat-tay-vao should be working soon."
"The what?"
"The Touch, Senator. The Touch that heals. Let's give it a try, shall we?"
Alan waited a few moments until his watch ticked around to 9:50. He had had a long time to think today, and had decided that his life had been manipulated too often for too long. He was reclaiming control, and here was where it began. McCready could wreck his career, ruin his reputation, send his teetering marriage over the edge, and convince the world that he was insane. But Alan Bulmer could still decide if and when to use the Dat-tay-vao. It was all he had left.
And it was all that McCready wanted.
Not quite knowing what would happen next, Alan stood up and placed his hands upon the senator's head.
Out in the hall, the alarms stopped.
Ba's watch said it was almost ten o'clock. All was quiet— too quiet. No one had come or gone on the top floor here. This troubled him. If they were going to bring the Doctor up to the senator's quarters, they surely would have done so by now.
Which left two possibilities: Either Dr. Bulmer wasn't coming up here tonight or the senator had gone to him. Dr. Axford had seemed quite sure that the senator would stay where he was and have Dr. Bulmer brought up. But Dr. Axford had been wrong before.
Seven-nineteen. That was the number of Dr. Bulmer's room.
Ba started down the steps.
"Had a few too many, lady?"
The blond guy was leering down at her as she slumped on the bench. He had arrived like the cavalry to help the downstairs guard stop the racket and reset all the alarms. He strutted before her as if he knew without question that his uniform made him irresistible to women. Sylvia hated uniforms. Especially paramilitary models.
"Buzzsh-off, bozo," she said. "I ain't feelin' too good."
"Oh, but you're looking fine!"
"Yeah. Right."
He took her gently but firmly by the arm. "Let's you and me take a walk back to the overnight quarters where we can talk about this privately."
Sylvia snatched her arm away. She wanted to lash out at lover-boy, here, but held back.
"Talk about what?"
"About how much trouble you're in, honey. But maybe we can work something out."
Sylvia had a pretty good idea of how he wanted to work out. "Ain't in no trouble. Senator's a friend of mine."
"Yeah? What's your name?"
"Toad. Mrs. S. Toad."
The guard waved her off with disgust. "Get her out of here, Dave. I've got to get back upstairs to the senator."
Sylvia's heart leaped. Alan would be wherever the senator was. She took a fresh and sudden interest in the guard.