F Paul Wilson - Novel 02 (45 page)

 
          
Am
I sane?

 
          
Could
all this be simply the fabrication of a mind sent off course because her brain
had begun synthesizing faulty neurochemicals or producing the right ones in the
wrong proportions? How many paranoids had she seen in her psych rounds who were
utterly convinced of the veracity of their absurd claims? They'd heard with
their own ears, seen with their own eyes. If you can't trust your senses and
your own ability to interpret their input, who or what can you trust?

 
          
Gin
rubbed her thigh, gently. Maybe that mark was nothing more than a bruise. And
maybe the hangover this morning was nothing more than too much amarone and
sambuca. And maybe
Duncan
hadn't asked her to assist on the president's surgery tomorrow.

 
          
God,
what was real?

 
          
She
slammed her palm once against the pay phone.

 
          
No!
She wasn't crazy!

 
          
That's
what they all say . . .

 
          
Something
black and gleaming caught her eye. Duncan's Mercedes, or one exactly like it,
was passing on the street. It turned onto Kalorama.

 
          
Abruptly
the doubts were gone, the fatigue and the headache forgotten.

 
          
She
ducked back to her booth, threw a couple of dollars on her table, and returned
to the door. The car was out of sight now. She stepped outside. The cool, damp
air refreshed her. A drop of water hit her forehead. She glanced up. The low,
gray, moisture-laden clouds seemed to be sinking under their own weight.

 
          
She
begged the rain to hold off a few more minutes.

 
          
She
hurried across
Columbia
and trotted downhill to Kalorama. She stopped under the front canopy of
an apartment house on the corner and craned her neck to peer down the street.
She could see her building from here.

 
          
Duncan
, looking very dapper in his blue blazer and
charcoal slacks, was on his way up the front steps.

 
          
She
watched him step inside the front door. Unless someone let him in, unlikely
because everybody worked, he'd spend the next few minutes waiting for her to
answer his rings. As soon as he left, she'd jump in her car and head straight
downtown to the FBBuilding.

 
          
She
waited. What was he doing in there? Why didn't he come out?

 
          
Then
she glanced up at the third floor and gasped when she saw a man standing in her
bay window.

 
          
Duncan
! He had a key. He must have had a copy made
last night. Sure.

 
          
He
establishes with Barbara that Gin's acting irrationally, so he rushes down,
supposedly to see what he can do. He finds her, zaps the implant in her leg,
and then reports that the poor girl was sitting there drooling and babbling
incoherently when he found her.

 
          
Well,
guess what,
Duncan
, Gin thought as her jaw muscles bunched.

 
          
Gin's
not there. And she's not letting you within striking distance.

 
          
It
began to rain. Only a gentle drizzle now, but cold.

 
          
Great.
What else could go wrong? She was wearing only jeans, an old Tulane sweatshirt,
and no hat. If her hair and her clothes got wet, how convincing would she be if
she looked like a drowned rat when she got to Gerry?

 
          
Duncan
gazed down at the street from the empty
apartment, his right hand gripping the ultrasound transducer in his pocket.

 
          
What
am I doing here?

 
          
He
hated this. He'd regretted implanting Gin with the TPD almost as soon as he'd
done it. But performing the act was like burning a bridge behind you. Once
done, there was no going back. He had to follow through and dissolve it.

 
          
He
seemed to be spiraling out of control. It was never supposed to turn out like
this. But he couldn't stop himself. He had to keep going until he got to the
president. After that he didn't care.

 
          
The
situation was deteriorating, as well. Gin had been scheduled to show up at the
surgicenter this morning, they were to go through their usual routines, then,
somewhere around lunchtime, he'd intended to give her leg a burst of ultrasound
and leave for the day. He'd have been miles away before she began to show the
first effects. Maybe some visual hallucinations, maybe auditory, maybe both.
She'd become disoriented, incoherent, might even start pulling at her hair and
screaming. Or she might simply withdraw into a catatonic state, curled in a
fetal position and drooling in a corner of the records room.

 
          
The
images nauseated
Duncan
. He swallowed back the acid creeping up from his stomach.

 
          
Why
couldn't you have stayed out of this, Gin?

 
          
Bad
enough he'd have to pull the trigger on her. But she'd somehow discovered what
he'd done to her last night. So now he had to hunt her down. That implant was a
two-edged sword. Knowing it was there, she could use it against him, if she
could get someone to believe her. He had to catch up with her before she had it
removed.

 
          
Where
was Gin now? Couldn't be too far. Her car was parked on the street below. Maybe
she was out there, watching him, waiting to see his next move.

 
          
He
nodded slowly. Yes . . . that would be just like her. Let him find her gone,
then return to her place and ponder her next move calmly and in comfort while
he ran around in circles.

 
          
All
right. He'd do a circle. Circle the block and see if he could catch sight
oњ her.

 
          
Lord,
he hated this. The whole idea sickened him. He wanted to have it all over and
done with.

 
          
And
after that he'd have to find a way to live with himself.

 
          
Gin
watched
Duncan
hurry down her front steps and get into his
car.

 
          
Where
to now,
Duncan
? A little worried, perhaps, now that your
pigeon has flown?

 
          
She
watched him drive away. She waited until he turned off Kalorama onto 18th, then
she sprinted for her Sunbird. She jumped in and started her up.

 
          
The
drizzle graduated to full-fledged rain as she headed down Kalorama, following
Duncan
's path. Only she wasn't following him. He
was probably on his way back to
Chevy Chase
,
she was headed downtown.

 
          
She
peered up and down 18th, very possibly the most colorful street in the
District. No sign of
Duncan
. She made a right and raced down to
Florida
where she hung another right. That brought
her to a red light at
Connecticut Avenue
.

 
          
Gin
searched
Connecticut
uphill and down, but no sign of
Duncan
. She allowed herself to relax. She had to
forget about
Duncan
for the moment and figure out a way to convince Gerry that she, Gin
jumped in her seat as she glanced in her rearview mirror. Through the rain and
the slightly fogged rear window she saw a black Mercedes ease to a stop two
cars behind her. She stared at the Mercedes's windshield, but the rain and the
sweeping wipers prevented her from seeing the driver.

 
          
She
swallowed. Her mouth was dry. She couldn't make out the plates, but that could
be
Duncan
back there. . . could easily be
Duncan
.

 
          
But
why would he be following her? Had to be more than simply to see where she was
going. What did he have in mind? Running her off the road?

 
          
Hardly.
She was sure the last thing he wanted was to be placed in her vicinity. So what
was he up to? What did he hope to, Ultrasound.

 
          
An
icy hand clamped down hard on the back of her neck as she remembered the
specialty electronics store he'd visited. Did
Duncan
have a device that could send an ultrasonic
pulse into her car and dissolve the implant? She didn't see how. What she knew
of the physics of sound said it wasn’t possible, but a lot of events connected
with
Duncan
didn't seem possible. Maybe he had a way .
. .

 
          
Another
glance in the rearview mirror.

 
          
How
convenient to have her begin to hallucinate while driving.

 
          
The
Honda directly behind her gave a polite toot. She looked up and saw the light
was green. She also saw the NO LEFT TURN sign. One way to find out if that Mercedes
was following her . . .

 
          
Gin
floored the Sunbird and swung left onto
Connecticut
. She saw the startled face of the driver of
a yellow VW coming the other way as Gin dodged in front of him. The VW
stuttered to a halt with an angry horn blast as Gin swerved past. She felt her
back end slip a little on the wet pavement but the front-wheel drive pulled her
out of it and seconds later she was speeding downtown.

 
          
Another
glance in the rearview showed no Mercedes, didn't show much of anything through
the rain and fogged up glass. The traffic behind her was a mass of blurred gray
shapes. He could be anywhere.

 
          
Dupont Circle
was dead ahead. She could see traffic
slowing, backing up. A perfect spot for
Duncan
to pull up alongside and . . .

 
          
Her
hands became slippery on the wheel as she began to weave through the traffic.
Had to get through the circle. She made a few reckless moves, earned a few more
angry horn blasts, but moments later she was cruising toward the circle.

 
          
She
blew through an amber light and then slowed to get her bearings.

 
          
As
she swung around the curve she checked the rearview again. She twisted left and
right, peering out the side windows. No Mercedes.

 
          
She
leaned back in her seat and took a deep breath. Maybe it hadn't been
Duncan
after all. Lots of big black Mercedes in
this town. The diplomats loved them.

 
          
She
swung off the circle onto
Connecticut
again.

 
          
Okay.
She was on her way. With a pang she suddenly realized where she was. Only a few
blocks from Galileo. Seemed like so much longer, but only a dozen hours had
passed since she'd been dining with
Duncan
, feeling happy, carefree.