Shock (33 page)

Carlton accompanied the women down in the elevator while they kept up their debate in forced whispers in deference to the other passengers. They even persisted quarreling all the way down the main corridor to the front door of the hospital.

"This is where I have to leave you two," Carlton said, interrupting the women and pointing toward the emergency department. Then, looking at Joanna, he said: "Great to see you. And I'm sorry about that ovary."

"Thank you for arranging the ultrasound," Joanna said.

"Glad to be able to help. I'll call you later."

"Do that," Joanna said. She smiled and he did the same. Then he waved self-consciously before disappearing through the swinging doors.

Deborah made the gesture she was sticking her finger down her throat to gag.

"Oh, please!" Joanna said. "He's not that bad."

"Says who?" Deborah countered. " 'Sorry about that ovary'! What a bird-brained, insensitive thing to say! It's like you lost your pet turtle and not part of your identity as a woman."

The two women exited the hospital and headed toward the parking garage. Evening had turned into night and the streetlamps had come on. Approaching ambulance sirens could be heard screaming in the distance.

"Doctors see tragedies more poignant than losing an ovary every day," Joanna said. "He doesn't see it in the same way you and I do. Besides, you said yourself one ovary will not physically affect me."

"But you were his fiancée," Deborah said. "It's not like you're just another patient. But, you know what? Just forget it. He's your problem, not mine. Let's get back to the issue at hand. I'm going to go out to the Wingate tonight whether you go or not. I can't do anything about the computer part, but I can get in that egg room, and if there's incriminating evidence, I'm going to find it."

"You're not going out there by yourself!" Joanna ordered.

"Oh, really?" Deborah questioned superciliously. "What are you going to do, let the air out of my tires or lock me in my bedroom? Because you're going to have to do one or the other."

"I cannot believe you are this adamant about such a stupid, idiotic, dim-witted idea of yours."

"Ah . . ." Deborah cooed sarcastically. "I'm getting the impression you're sensing my commitment! I'm impressed. Such clairvoyance!"

Feeling irritated with one another and the escalating sharpness of their comments, the women lapsed into silence as they climbed to the proper floor in the hospital's parking garage, found their car, got in, and drove out.

The silence lasted until they were heading up Mount Vernon Street in sight of Louisburg Square. Joanna was the first to speak. "What about a compromise?" she said. "Would you be amenable?"

"I'm listening," Deborah answered.

"I'll come with you, but we restrict our sleuthing to the egg room or whatever it turns out to be."

"What if there's no good evidence in there about what they're up to?"

"That's a risk we'll have to take."

"What's wrong with going back into the server room if we're all the way out there?"

"Because I think Randy Porter will have already made changes in his system, which would mean going back into the server room would be a big risk with a low probability of a payoff. He'41 have detected the hack into the secure files from me downloading them, and he'll figure out how I did it through the server room console. As soon as he does that, he'll beef up the security for the server room keyboard. I doubt I'd get into the system."

"Why didn't you say this earlier?"

"Because I think going out there is idiotic, plain and simple,"

Joanna said. "But I'm not going to let you do it alone even if it is idiotic, just like you wouldn't let me go out there and get a job by myself. So do we have a compromise, or what?"

"All right, we have a compromise," Deborah said as she eased into a parking slot at the end of the square. She cursed under her breath because the spot was so narrow she knew she and Joanna were going to have a hard time getting out of the car. The problem was a black van parked where she normally did.

"I'm not going to be able to get out of this car," Joanna said, eyeing the neighboring vehicle less than five inches away.

"I was afraid of that," Deborah said. She looked over her shoulder and backed out, giving Joanna the chance to exit unencumbered. Then Deborah eased the car back into the slot but even tighter to the passenger-side vehicle. Opening her door against the pesky black van, she was able to squeeze herself out.

SIXTEEN

MAY 1O, 2001 9:48 P.M.

KURT FELT A RENEWED squirt of adrenaline course through his body when he caught sight of an auspicious looking car coming up Mount Vernon Street.

As the time had dragged on he'd become concerned that he'd made a false assumption about the women returning directly to their apartment. By nine-thirty he'd been concerned enough to pace the room, an activity that was foreign to his usual practiced serenity. If he'd been able to read, the wait would have been more tolerable, but he dared not turn on the light. Ultimately Kurt had been reduced to looking out the front window at the gaslit square, wondering what the women's absence meant and how long he should wait before coming up with an alternative plan.

He'd only been at the window for five minutes when a Chevy Malibu had appeared and then nosed into a parking place right next to his van.

Kurt was quite confident it was the women, but he became certain when the car backed up to let off the passenger before nosing back into the slot. The woman who emerged was Prudence Heatherly, the chaste one. Kurt had gotten a fleeting but good look at her face from the glow of the gas lamp on the corner almost directly below him. Then he saw Georgina squeeze herself out between her car and the van. In the process one of her breasts spilled out. Kurt could see her laugh as she readjusted herself.

"Whore!" Kurt whispered to himself with disgust. The woman was shameless in his mind, but he would soon be showing her the consequences of such lewdness. But what Kurt did not allow himself to acknowledge was that the brief flash of carnality had sexually excited him.

Kurt was about to leave the window to finalize his preparations for the women's arrival when his attention was drawn back to the scene below. Instead of advancing toward the door, the women had become engaged in a discussion that quickly escalated in its intensity. Even from as far up as he was, and even with the glass in between, he could hear bits and pieces of their conversation. It had definitely become an argument.

Fascinated by this unexpected turn of events, Kurt pressed his nose against the glass to give a fuller view of the scene. Georgina had come halfway from the car to the house, but Prudence was remaining by the car and pointing to it repeatedly.

Suddenly Georgina threw up her hands and returned to the car. With as much difficulty as she'd evinced getting out of the car, she got back in. Kurt watched with growing concern as the car backed out. When Prudence climbed back in, he inwardly groaned.

And then, when the car took off down Mount Vernon Street, he swore.

Kurt returned to his pacing. A mission he'd assumed would be easy was proving not to be and was now threatening to get out of hand. Where could these women be going at almost ten o'clock at night? He suggested to himself that they could be going out to dinner, but then dismissed the idea, thinking dinner had probably been part of what had kept them away for so long. And how long would they be away? And would they come back alone? The last question was a particular concern.

Kurt had no answers, and the minutes ticked by. He went back to the window. The only people in sight were a few dog walkers with their pets. The Chevy Malibu was nowhere to be seen.

Kurt pulled out his cell phone. Although he was embarrassed not to be able to report success, he felt it best to apprise the commander of the current situation. Paul Saunders answered on the second ring.

"Can you speak freely?" Kurt questioned.

"As much as can be expected on a cell phone."

"Roger!" Kurt said. "I'm in my clients' home. They returned briefly moments ago but drove away without coming in, destination unknown."

Paul was quiet for a moment. "How difficult was it to get into the clients' home?"

"Easy," Kurt reported.

"Then I want you back here," Paul said. "You can go back for the women later. Spencer is the problem at the moment. I need your help."

"I'll be there straightaway," Kurt said, not without disappointment. It meant that dealing with Georgina would have to wait.

Kurt then thought he'd spend a little time looking for a spare set of keys. When he returned he wanted to be able to get in faster than he had earlier.

"l STILL DON'T KNOW WHY YOU WON'T LET ME GO UP IN the apartment and change,' Deborah complained. "It would only take me five minutes." She and Joanna were standing in one of the aisles of the twenty-four-hour CVS, which was more like a mini-mart than a drugstore. Drugs were only a small part of the merchandise available, which ran from car products to industrial cleaning agents.

"Oh, sure, five minutes!" Joanna said sarcastically. "When was the last time you changed clothes in under a half hour? And it's already after ten. If we're going back to the Wingate, I want to get it over with."

"But I don't relish stumbling around in these high heels while we do our detective work."

"Then put on your sneakers," Joanna said. "You admitted your workout gear is in the trunk of your car."

"I'm suppose to wear sneakers with a minidress?"

"We're not going to a fashion show! Come on, Deborah! Have you gotten what you wanted here? If so, let's get on the road."

"I suppose," Deborah said. She was holding several flashlights, batteries, and a disposable camera. "Help me! Is there anything else we should take? I can't think."

"If they sold some common sense, perhaps we should take whatever they have."

"Very funny," Deborah said. "You're being a brat, you know. All right, let's go."

At the checkout register, Deborah grabbed a pack of gum and a few candy bars when she paid for her items. Soon they were back in the car and on their way out of town.

Having spent themselves arguing for the previous half hour, they drove mostly in silence. With no traffic, they made the trip in slightly less than half the time that it had taken previously. Book-ford appeared deserted as they drove up Main Street. The only people they saw were two couples outside the pizza place. The only other sign of activity was the floodlights over the Little League field behind the municipal building.

"I'm kinda hoping our cards will no longer work," Joanna said as they neared the turnoff.

"Such a pessimist," Deborah responded.

They drove up to the gatehouse which looked as dark and unwelcoming as it had the night before.

"Which card should we use?" Joanna asked. "One of ours or Spencer's?"

"I'll try mine," Deborah said. She eased the car up to the card swipe and ran her card through. The gate opened immediately. "Just as I suspected: no problem with the access cards. The ironic thing is that I never thought I'd be appreciative of bureaucratic inefficiency."

Joanna was not appreciative in the slightest. After they'd driven onto the Wingate grounds and started up the driveway, she turned around and forlornly caught a glimpse of the gate closing. Now they were locked in, and she couldn't shake the feeling they were making a big mistake.

WHEN HIS CELL PHONE RANG, KURT HAD BEEN ENGROSSED in his thoughts, and the sound startled him. He'd involuntarily jerked the van's steering wheel and for a brief moment had to struggle to get the vehicle straightened out. He was traveling close to eighty miles an hour, heading northwest on Route 2 and closing in on the turnoff to Bookford.

With the van under control, he fumbled unsuccessfully for his phone in his jacket pocket while its insistent ring continued. Hastily he undid his seat belt. At that point he was able to get the phone out and establish a connection.

"We have a contact," a voice said.

Kurt recognized the voice. It was Bruno Debianco, Kurt's number-two man who served as the evening-shift security supervisor. He'd been in the Special Forces at the same time as Kurt and, like Kurt, had been discharged under less-than-honorable circumstances.

"I'm listening," Kurt responded.

"The Chevy Malibu with the two women just came through the gate."

A shiver of excitement passed down Kurt's spine. The mild despondency he was feeling at having been ordered back to the compound to deal with Spencer Wingate vanished in a split second. Having the women on the grounds would make apprehending them as easy as a turkey shoot.

"Do you copy?" Bruno questioned when Kurt hadn't immediately responded.

"I copy," Kurt said matter-of-factly to cover his excitement. "Follow them, but do not make contact. I want the pleasure. Do I make myself clear?"

"Ten-four," Bruno answered.

"There's one proviso," Kurt said as an afterthought. "If they try to meet up with Wingate, detain them and keep it from happening. Is that understood?"

"Perfectly," Bruno said.

"I should be there in another twenty minutes," Kurt added.

"Ten-four," Bruno said.

Kurt disconnected. A smile spread across his face. The evening that had started out so promising but had turned bleak had become rosy again. Now it was a given that within the hour both women would be locked in the holding cell he'd had constructed in the basement of his living quarters, and they would be tantalizingly at his disposal.

Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, Kurt used his speed dial to call Paul.

"Good news,' Kurt said when Paul came on the line. "The women have returned to base on their own accord." "Excellent!" Paul said. "Good work!"

"Thank you, sir," Kurt said. He was willing to take credit if Paul was willing to offer it.

"Handle the women, then we'll face the Wingate problem,' Paul said. "Call me when you are free!"

"Yes, sir,' Kurt said. Like a conditioned Pavlov dog Kurt felt the almost irresistible urge to salute.