F Paul Wilson - Novel 02 (49 page)

 
          
My
God, I slept away the whole afternoon!

 
          
She
eased herself to her feet and wobbled only slightly on her way to the bathroom.
She had to see it, had to make sure it was still there.

 
          
It
was. The Coricidin bottle sat where she had left it on the marble counter. She
ran the sink water and drank three glasses without taking her eyes off the
implant resting within, turning brown now as its blood-streaked surface dried.

 
          
She
brought it with her when she returned to the bed. Still weak, but feeling lots
better, she carefully lowered herself to sit on the edge.

 
          
Time
to call Gerry. Time to meet with him and show him what
Duncan
had placed inside her.

 
          
She
got an outside line and punched in his office number. The FBI operator said he
wasn’t in at the moment. Would she like to leave a message?

 
          
"When
will he be back?"

           
"Agent Canney did not say. May
I ask who's calling, please?"

           
"That's okay," Gin said.
"I'll call back."

           
Maybe he got tired of waiting for
her and went home. She called his house but got only his answering machine.

 
          
Maybe
he was in transit. She'd have to wait till he picked up Martha and got home . .
. if home was where he was headed. She wondered if he was worried about her, or
even thinking about her. It would be comforting to know that someone besides
Duncan
was wondering where she was. She unwrapped
the Ace bandage from her leg to expose the gauze beneath.

 
          
She
noticed that blood was beginning to seep through the dressing.

 
          
Gingerly,
she peeled it away. The antibiotic ointment kept the gauze from sticking. The
incision looked good, the thread seemed to be holding. But as she stared at the
wound, and then at the little bottle containing the bloody implant, she was
filled with an overwhelming despair.

 
          
Gerry's
not going to believe me.

 
          
The
realization made her sick. What would he think when he saw that bloody thing in
the bottle? No one had seen her cut it out. No witness to the procedure. Who
was to say she hadn't cut herself and smeared the implant with blood to
convince others of her delusions?

 
          
Self-mutilation
was common in certain forms of psychosis. Or maybe she'd be diagnosed as some
sort of variant of Munchausen syndrome.

 
          
She'd
done something extreme, something radical, something that would appear bizarre
and, well, deranged to anyone who didn't fully understand the threat the
implant posed to her.

 
          
In
short, showing Gerry that bloody implant and telling him she'd cut it out of
her own leg might only confirm his worst fears about her sanity. Her paranoid
delusions had now escalated to self-mutilation.

 
          
Gin
pressed her hands to her face. Couched in a sob, her voice rang through the
tiny room.

 
          
"What
am I going to do?" She had to find someone who'd believe her, someone who
wouldn't think she'd watched too many episodes of Twilight Zone. . . .

 
          
Oliver.

 
          
Of
course. Oliver would believe her. He was the only other person in the world who
knew about both TPD and the implants. He'd understand why she'd had to cut
herself open to remove the TPD.

 
          
But
how would he react when she told him
Duncan
was behind it all?

 
          
Oliver
was so devoted to his older brother. Damn near worshiped him.

 
          
Would
he be able to accept the idea that
Duncan
was hurting people?

 
          
Another
thought, a shattering one, What if Oliver was involved? No. She couldn't buy
that. Oliver was the straightest of straight arrows. He'd be crushed at the
thought of his implants being used to harm instead of heal. And if he were
involved in any way, he'd never have given her Dr. VanDuyne's name.

 
          
That
was it. She'd present her case to Oliver, and once he was convinced, the two of
them would go to Gerry or the Secret Service, or anyone who could stop
Duncan
.

 
          
She
stood up quickly, then sat down again, suddenly weak. Maybe she should eat
something first. No breakfast, no lunch. . . just a few Snickers bars. She was
asking for trouble if she didn't pack in a few calories pretty soon.

 
          
She
pulled out the room service menu and ordered a hamburger, fries, and a Coke,
protein, complex carbs, and caffeine. That ought to keep her going for a while.

 
          
She
stood up again, a little more deliberately this time, and made her way back to
the bathroom. She redressed the incision with clean gauze and secured it again
with the Ace wrap. Then she pulled on her sweatshirt and carefully slipped back
into her jeans. She was looking pretty normal by the time room service knocked.

 
          
She
glanced out the window as the waiter positioned the rolling cart and uncovered
the food. The aroma set her mouth to watering. She hadn't realized how hungry
she was. Dusk outside. She'd gobble down her food and wait until it was fully
dark, then she'd hustle out to the curb, jump into the first waiting cab, and
make a beeline for Oliver's house.

 
          
Oliver
lived in the northwest extreme of the District. She'd been there once for a
dinner party. A nice little ranch in a nice neighborhood, but not even close to
the same class as
Duncan
's.

 
          
Probably
didn't even have to wait until dark.
Duncan
was surely long gone by now.

 
          
Tracking
down Gin's credit trail took a little longer than Gerry had expected. He'd had
to call Mrs. Snedecker and ask her if she'd keep Martha a few hours longer and
feed her dinner. He'd spoken to Martha to tell her that he'd be late and had
been warmed by her cheery 'Okay.

 
          
Good
thing she liked Mrs. S.

 
          
The
credit trace came through a few minutes later showing a charge to her Visa from
the Tremont Hotel on
K Street
.
K Street
! Christ, he'd just been there! What was she doing in the Tremont?
Hiding?

 
          
More
baffled than ever, he got the number from information and asked the desk to
connect him to Ms. Panzella. He let the phone ring a dozen times, almost hung
up, then listened to at least half a dozen more rings.

 
          
Where
the hell was she? If she'd already checked out, the desk wouldn't have
connected him. Was she afraid to answer the phone?

 
          
Gerry
grabbed his coat and headed out.

 
          
*
* *

 
          
As
night shrouded the District in umbral gloom and the streetlights flared to
life, setting the misty air aglow, Duncan decided to call it quits. Obviously
she was nowhere about, most likely gone for hours.

 
          
Futile
to dally here any longer.

 
          
But
what next? Where next? He couldn't quit now. Too much hung in the balance. As
he headed for his car, he made a last-ditch effort by experimenting with a
little mental exercise.

 
          
If
I were Gin, and I were still in the vicinity, where could I possibly be? Where
could I have hidden this long?

 
          
He
rolled the question through his mind as he walked along the north end of the
square. He was turning down
K Street
when the marquee of the Tremont Hotel
caught his eye.

 
          
He
paused, shook his head, took a few more steps, then stopped at the curb and
stared . He'd noticed it before, but . . .

 
          
Could
she have rented a hotel room? Not likely. He could see the possibility of her
running in there, renting a room, and using it as a safe place to meet with her
FBI man. But obviously she hadn't done that, or else Agent Canney wouldn't have
been wandering around
Farragut Square
like a lost soul a little while ago. And
Duncan
couldn't see Gin holing up there by herself
all afternoon watching television.

 
          
But
still . . . it was one place he hadn't checked out. It wouldn't take him long.
What were a few more minutes added to all the time he'd already wasted?

 
          
He
entered the lobby and strolled toward the registration desk. The young man
behind the counter looked at him expectantly.
Duncan
debated how he should pose his questions
about her, then realized that no decent hotel gave out guest room numbers.

 
          
He
smiled at the desk man whose badge said
Roy
. House Roy pointed to the far corner of the
lobby. "Right over there, by the big fern, just past the elevators."
Duncan
nodded his thanks. He found the row of
phones and dialed "O" on the nearest.

 
          
When
the operator answered, he said, "Panzella room please," and was
startled when she thanked him and connected him.

 
          
Stunned,
he listened to the phone ring, wondering what he was going to say. He realized
he could say nothing. He couldn't let her know he'd found her.

 
          
He
hung up and leaned against the wall.

 
          
She's
here.

 
          
She'd
probably been here all day. But what had she been doing all this time? And why
had she registered under her own name? Such a dumb thing to do, and Gin was
anything but dumb.

 
          
It
didn't matter. None of it mattered except the fact that he'd found her. All he
needed now was her room number. He glanced over at the registration desk.
Roy
was alone there. Would a hundred-dollar
bill,?

 
          
And
then the revolving doors began to move and Special Agent Canney strode into the
lobby. Startled,
Duncan
froze, his heart pounding.

 
          
No!
Not when I'm so close!

 
          
He
ducked behind the large fern and peered through the branches.

 
          
Canney
was showing his ID to the desk man and talking fast. He looked agitated.

 
          
Apparently
Gin had finally got in touch with him. But if so, why was he showing his ID?

 
          
What
did it matter?
Duncan
realized that a solution had just presented itself. The elevators were
only a few feet away. Canney would go up to Gin's room and bring her down, or
perhaps call her to come down and meet him. Either way, she'd have to pass
close to
Duncan
's position.