The Edge (15 page)

Jake ran again towards the fence, water dripping off him. He threw himself at the mesh, and climbed quick as a monkey hand over fist. He dropped down the other side into the car park. A small girl beside a car tugged at her mum’s elbow and gasped.

Jake sprinted to the main road. When he reached the street, he skidded to a stop and tried to get his bearings, but his body was a revving engine. He jumped to exert the energy that was building inside of him. Bolting towards town, he navigated by memory as he went. The pain lurched across his shoulder once more, and his heart seemed to clench. Black spots speckled his vision for a few seconds then faded.

Traffic was heavy, but Jake didn’t stop to think – he continued in a straight line to his destination. He dashed
across the busy street. Car horns seemed to blast from all directions at once, and a vehicle jolted to a halt with a screech just a metre away. Jake caught a glimpse of the driver’s face, contorted with anger. A cop on the other side of the road stood with his hands on his hips, shouting abuse.

Jake faced the traffic head on and ran down the centre of the street. The car horns blasted, and drivers swerved either side or pressed their feet on the brakes. He heard screeches and shouts, and the clash of metal on metal as cars shunted into one another. Between the passing cars, he saw the cop running along the pavement, gripping his hat to his head with one hand and pushing his radio button with the other.

A car door opened in front of Jake, and an angry woman stepped out to stop him. Jake leapt up on to the bonnet of her car, and ran across the roof in pounding steps.

‘Why, you little . . .’ she called after him as he dropped off the other side and continued. Up ahead, the road dropped into an underpass. Jake didn’t fancy going that way, so he climbed a steady incline. He guessed he’d run almost a mile since Dr Chow’s lab. He wasn’t even out of breath, but he knew his body must be suffering inside. The fire in his lungs seemed to drive him on rather than slowing him down.

From somewhere, his ears picked up the sound of sirens.
Seconds later, he caught the flashing blue lights coming from a road on the right. He reached a bridge over the underpass – at least a ten-metre drop. Another car swerved in from the left. They had him covered from both sides. One of the cars stopped and two cops jumped out, both with their guns drawn.

‘Freeze!’ one yelled.

The other car stopped as well. The black spots appeared again, stronger than before. He saw a truck dipping under the bridge. He didn’t have a choice. With a yell of determination, he threw himself off the rail of the bridge. His legs wheeled in the air as he plummeted, landing on top of the moving lorry. He rolled, the world a blur, and managed to grab a securing rope before he fell off the side. Back on the bridge, the two policemen watched him in astonishment.

The truck driver couldn’t have realised anything was wrong. He didn’t stop. Jake crouched as the remaining blocks sped past. The truck pulled up at a corner Jake thought he recognised to stop at a red light.

Jake used the securing ropes to lower himself off the back, and landed in the road. The water on his skin had dried, but his clothes were sodden and torn. He heard sirens again, and ducked down a side street. It was quieter here and residential, with just the occasional shop. He passed a florist and convenience store, scanning for anything familiar.
Finally he saw it, two blocks down to his left. The green shamrock of Hannigan’s. Almost there.

When he tried to carry on running, his legs seemed weaker. He stumbled against a rubbish bin. The lid landed on the pavement with a crash, and a dog started barking. Jake managed to stay on his feet, and he pressed onwards in an uneven jog, the black spots floating across his eyes like ink stains. His skin was suddenly hot, and sweat dripped into his eyes.

He practically fell through the door of the pub, weaving his way like a drunk towards the bar. Francesca was replacing a bottle over the rear counter.

‘Jake?’ she said, worried.

He didn’t dare stop, and went through the door at the back.

‘Hey, you can’t just . . .’

Jake staggered on, steadying himself with his hands against the walls, and reached the end of the corridor. He yanked the grille aside, and stepped into the lift as Francesca came running after him. ‘Wait, Jake.’

‘Can’t,’ he said, his voice sounding strangely distant to his own ears.

He hit the down button, and watched her drift out of sight.

At the bottom, Jake had to use all his strength to pull the grille aside, and staggered along the corridor. Rick appeared
in the doorway at the far end, swimming double then triple in front of Jake’s eyes.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ the scientist yelled. Jake sagged on to his knees. ‘My God, what happened?’

Jake tried to stand, but couldn’t. All his limbs seemed to have shut down, and all he could feel was his heart thudding. Rick arrived at his side.

‘You’ve got to find out what’s in me,’ Jake mumbled. ‘I drank it.’

‘You did what?’ Rick asked.

‘Olympic Edge,’ Jake gasped.

‘But we already tested it,’ Rick said. ‘I found nothing. Oh Christ, what have you done?’

‘This is different.’ Jake’s voice was a hoarse whisper. ‘More potent. Please . . .’

‘Don’t talk.’ He felt Rick pulling him upright, and draped his arm over the scientist’s shoulders. He was half dragged into the lab, and laid in a chair. Jake focused on breathing.
In, out. In, out.

‘This may hurt a bit,’ Rick said. ‘Hold still.’

Rick’s hand positioned Jake’s head and he felt a stabbing in his neck, and the sensation of a needle probing deep under the skin.

‘That should do it,’ he said.

Jake could barely see a thing other than blurred grey shapes. He realised that Rick was moving quickly across the lab, and picked up the low beeps and clicks of a machine. He heard the CIA scientist muttering, but not the exact words.

The pins and needles, which before had been confined to his extremities, now seemed to assault his whole body in waves. Jake could do nothing as deep shudders spread across his chest. Rick was swearing, and then Francesca’s voice called: ‘Hold on, Jake. Hold on!’

As everything went black, Jake wondered if they’d be the last words he would ever hear.

S
ounds, but he couldn’t see anything.

A woman’s voice: ‘. . . is it too late?’

‘How the hell should I know?’

Jake blinked, and the world seemed too bright. He clenched his eyes closed.

‘Jake?’ He recognised Rick’s voice.

He tried to mumble, ‘Bright.’ It came out slurred.

‘Take it easy, Jake. Nice and slow.’

Jake managed to open his eyes a crack and saw Rick and Francesca standing over him. He moved his fingers, his toes. ‘I’m . . . I’m OK.’

‘Damn, kid!’ Rick said. ‘You had us scared.’

Jake shifted in the seat, and managed to sit up. His throat swam with nausea. ‘I’m going to be sick.’

He felt a dish pressed into his hands, and Jake wretched violently, throwing up a huge spray of clear Olympic Edge
and chunks of his breakfast.

‘Better out than in,’ Francesca said, rubbing his back. ‘We gave you a concentrated emetic, and also something to slow your heart.’

‘It took us an hour to put together an antidote,’ he said.

Jake sat bolt upright, wiping his lips. ‘I’ve been out for an hour?’

‘Your pulse was up near two-fifty,’ Rick said. ‘We couldn’t risk rushing things.’

Jake stood shakily.

‘Whoa!’ Francesca said. ‘You’re not going anywhere.’

‘I need the antidote,’ Jake demanded. ‘My friend’s going to die if I don’t get it to her.’

Rick frowned. ‘Someone else has taken that stuff?’

Jake nodded. ‘Perhaps not the same concentration, but she’s in hospital at the moment.’

‘Jake,’ Rick said. ‘I’m still not quite sure what we’re dealing with. What you swallowed, it was a damn
cocktail.
If I hadn’t known what to look for – without all this equipment –’ he waved his hand across the lab – ‘you’d be dead right now.’

‘That’s why I need your help,’ Jake said.

Rick sighed, and went to the counter. He took a syringe, and sucked up some fluid from a beaker, then corked the end. He handed it to Jake. ‘Is there anything we can do?’

‘Call my dad,’ Jake said, taking his own waterlogged phone out of his pocket and dropping it in the bin. ‘Tell him that Dr Chow is responsible . . . for everything.’

Back out on the street, Jake hailed a cab to the hospital, and said he’d pay double if they got there quickly. The driver obliged, cutting up other traffic and jumping a red light just as it turned. Jake apologised for the soaked dollar notes when he handed them over, but the driver didn’t seem to mind.

As he hurried through the hospital corridors, Jake earned plenty of strange stares. He realised he must resemble an escaped mental patient in his bedraggled clothes and with a plaster taped across his neck where Rick had bandaged him after the injection.

A black doctor the size of a prop-forward barred his way. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

‘I need to see Veronika Richardson.’ Jake pointed ahead. ‘Room E12.’

‘Are you family?’ the doctor asked suspiciously.

‘I haven’t got time for this.’ Jake tried to push past.

‘Don’t make me call security,’ the doctor said, placing a solid arm in the way.

Jake fingered the syringe in his pocket. He was about to make a dash for it, when a Russian voice spoke behind him.

‘It’s about damn time!’

Igor Popov stood there with a bunch of purple and orange flowers. Even though the doctor was the size of both of them put together, Popov’s voice seemed to carry a greater authority. ‘He’s with me,’ Popov said, clapping a firm hand on Jake’s shoulders.

‘Sure thing, sir,’ said the doctor, stepping aside and off along the corridor.

Popov ushered Jake towards Veronika’s room. ‘So?’

‘I’ve got the antidote,’ Jake said, tapping the syringe through his pocket.

They rushed through the hospital, dodging medical staff and patients.

‘Veronika was conscious earlier. She was even able to walk a bit. I left her sleeping.’ A great breath of relief left Jake as Popov’s words washed over him.

‘The doctor says she needs her rest,’ continued Popov. ‘Thank God you’re here, Jake. The doctors still have no idea what caused this or how to help her.’

‘Well, this should do the trick.’ Jake walked beside his enemy to room E12 with a bounce in his step. Maybe this Olympic-size nightmare was finally over.

When they pushed the door open, however, Veronika’s bed was empty.

Popov put the flowers on the bedside table and went to the bathroom door, which was half open. ‘She’s not here,’ he said.

He stepped back into the corridor, and clicked his fingers impatiently. A passing nurse approached. ‘Yes, sir?’

‘The girl in here – my daughter,’ he snapped. ‘Where is she?’

‘She was here a moment ago,’ the nurse said, scanning the room.

Popov checked the cupboard. ‘But all her things are gone,’ he said.

‘I’ll alert security,’ the nurse said, slipping away.

Popov turned back to Jake, muttering,
‘Nyet. Nyet.’

‘What is it?’ Jake asked.

For the first time since he’d met Igor Popov, Jake saw an expression of fear cross his face. The Russian ran a hand through his hair. ‘She wouldn’t have . . .’

‘Wouldn’t have what?’ said Jake.

Popov looked up, panicked. ‘The last time I saw her, we talked about what you told me, about Dr Chow being the one who’s been killing athletes . . .’

‘You think she’s gone to confront her?’ Jake asked.

Popov nodded, with a haunted expression in his eyes. ‘She was angry, really angry. She said something about proving something to you, that she could be trusted.’

Popov turned from Jake and placed a call on his mobile phone. He tapped his fingers anxiously on the bed. Eventually he hung up. ‘Jake, she isn’t answering.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Jake said. ‘It’s unlikely Dr Chow will try anything. She knows people are on to her.’

Popov picked up the bunch of flowers and hurled them across the room. Blooms scattered down the wall. ‘You don’t understand! It’s not Dr Chow I’m worried about! She won’t see tomorrow anyway.’

Suddenly Jake understood. Dr Chow had poisoned Popov’s daughter. Of course the Russian wasn’t going to let Chow live!

‘What have you done?’ Jake asked.

Popov sank on to the end of the bed. ‘I’ve sent my people,’ he said. ‘They know what must be done.’

Jake gripped the Russian’s shoulders, and shook him. ‘Tell me!’

‘They’re going to kill Dr Chow,’ he said. ‘Then blow up the lab and everything in it.’

‘And what if your daughter’s in there?’ Jake asked.

Popov’s haunted expression told him everything he needed to know.

But it wasn’t just Veronika’s life at stake. It was his dad’s too – Rick would have told him everything by now, and he’d be on his way to arrest Dr Chow.

‘Call it off!’ Jake shouted. Popov’s hand was limply holding his phone.

‘They won’t have their phones on them,’ Popov said. ‘Not while they’re on a job. Strict instructions – they must be untraceable in case they’re compromised.’

Jake pulled Popov off the bed. ‘We need to get to the complex – now!’

Popov seemed to shake himself out of his reverie. ‘My car’s outside.’

As they left the room, Jake held out his hand. ‘I need to call my dad. Perhaps he can get there first.’

Popov looked momentarily unsure, then gave up his phone.

Jake dialled quickly.

‘This is Steve Bastin. Sorry I can’t pick up at the . . .’

‘Dammit!’ shouted Jake, bringing glares from several of the people in reception. Two of Popov’s suits stood up on cue. He waited for the recording to finish then left a message: ‘Dad, listen to me carefully. Popov’s rigged Chow’s lab to blow. Make sure Veronika isn’t in there!’

They climbed into the leather interior of Popov’s 4x4 and the Russian barked an instruction to the driver in his native language. The vehicle lurched away from the parking lot with a screech of burning rubber, and pulled into traffic outside the hospital gates.