The Proteus Cure (43 page)

Sheila!

He’d been so focused on Coog he’d all but forgotten about her. If Gilchrist had abducted Coog, what had he done to Sheila?

He pulled out his cell phone and turned it on. Fuck the police. Fuck giving his position away. The last thing he needed was to be stopped by the cops and hauled off to jail, but he bet they now had their hands full with flood-related problems.

He speed-dialed her cell number and waited.

“Paul?”

Relief poured though him like sunlight.

“Sheila! You’re okay? Where are you?”

“At the hospital. It’s crazy here. Most of the staff can’t get in. We’re keeping things going with a skeleton crew. But shouldn’t you be calling from a land line?”

How did she know he—? Oh, right. Her caller ID.

“I’m past caring about that now. Gilchrist has Coog.”

“
What?
”

“He’s Swann.”

“Yes, I know.”

“You know? Then why didn’t—?”

“I wanted to tell you last night but I couldn’t risk it.”

Paul sighed. “Wouldn’t have made any difference. But he called the IV line this morning. He’s kidnapped Coogan and wants to meet with me.”

“It’s got to be a trap, Paul! Don’t go!”

“Don’t have much choice. He said if I don’t show up he’d kill him.”

“Wh-where are you meeting him?”

Paul opened his mouth to reply, then quickly shut it. If he told her the Admin building, she wouldn’t be able to stay away. She’d run through the tunnels and do something crazy, like confronting Gilchrist to talk some sense into him.

But Gilchrist was out of control. No talking sense into that man now.

“At a motel.”

“Which one?”

Think fast. He chose a cheap trysting spot on the edge of town.

“The Starlight.”

“The Starlight? Why on—?”

“I don’t know. But don’t go doing something foolish like rushing out there. This is my fight. I’ll take care of it. You stay there where you’re needed.”

“But Paul—”

“Can’t talk now. I’m running into deep water. Bye.”

No lie about the water. He’d entered a particularly deep intersection. He heard the water sloshing in his wheel wells.

The engine coughed …

… sputtered …

… died.

•

As the elevator descended to the tunnels, Shen wished he had refused this mission and had already left. But he would do that soon, in a few hours.

Dr. Gilchrist had promised to take him to
Ji
ù-zhù-zh
e
so that he could hear the boy’s fate from the woman herself. But Shen knew he had been lying. He could see from his reaction that she knew nothing about it. Shen had been a
fool
.
Ji
ù-zhù-zh
e
knew nothing of
any
of the murders. All along this had been the doctor’s fight, his plan to eliminate threats to Tethys. And he had used Shen’s devotion to his sister to carry it out.

Shen gritted his teeth. No one makes a fool of Li Shen.

He looked down at the boy, a fallen angel.

But as the elevator doors began to slide open this angel became a writhing, kicking, biting, screaming demon who twisted from his grasp. He landed on his feet and turned to run. Shen grabbed his shoulder but the wet fabric of the shirt slipped from his grasp. The child whirled and kicked at him. Shen lurched backward with pain blazing through his right knee as the boy ran down the tunnel crying for help.

Shen leaped in pursuit but his injured knee slowed him, his limp making him unsteady on the puddled floor. As he rounded the first turn he stuttered to a halt. An empty tunnel stretched before him. Impossible. The boy could not have run that fast.

Shen looked around. He had to be hiding, but—

Then he spied a doorway labeled
Authorized Personnel Only
. Shen smiled. He had to be in there. The boy had probably never been down here. And since the passages weren’t labeled, he would have no way of knowing which way to the hospital—might not even know he could reach the hospital from here. So he’d done what Shen would have done: Got out of sight as soon as possible.

Too bad for him that he chose that door. It dead-ended down toward the river. He was headed
away
from all possible help.

Shen opened the door but did not immediately step through—in case the boy was waiting with another kick. But he found no one. He listened and heard splashes echoing from somewhere ahead—the boy, running away. He followed them along the dim corridor.

This tunnel ran slightly downward and curved to the left. Since it led nowhere useful, it had not been renovated. Dark mold and mildew coated its stone walls; lighting consisted of naked incandescent bulbs widely spaced along the ceiling.

The splashing grew louder, but this was not the sound of footsteps. More like a small waterfall into a pond. Shen picked up his pace, but slowed again when he rounded the bend and saw the water.

A shiny dark pool reflected the overhead lights, stretching away to where a stream gushed through the ceiling and fed it. Shen felt his chest clench. The overflowing river had broken through the ceiling. A small break, but who knew how long it would stay small? If the ceiling should collapse many people could be killed.

Where was Coogan? Though Shen could not see past the waterfall, he knew that was where he had to be hiding. Cold and frightened, no doubt. Soon he would start to make his way back. Shen could wait until he reappeared and grab him then, but that might take a long time. He had to warn Dr. Gilchrist of the leak.

He took a step into the water, then snatched his foot back.
Cold!
No more than a few degrees above freezing. Clenching his teeth he stepped in again and kept going. The cold penetrated to and through his bones. His ankles felt as if someone were driving dull spikes into them. His calf muscles began to cramp.

How had the boy done it? Fear must have given him a will of iron. Shen would lose great face if his resolve proved to be less than that of a teenage boy.

The water deepened, reaching almost to his knees as he approached the waterfall. The stream seemed larger and louder than when he’d first seen it. No doubt because he was closer now. He hoped.

He angled to his left to skirt the icy cataract. The boy had to be just beyond it. Shen hadn’t been in this shaft in a while but his memory told him that it ended not too far ahead. As soon as he got past—

Movement to his left, a flash of something slashing toward his head. As Shen raised his arm to ward off the blow he saw the boy’s terrified face as he swung a length of two-by-four like a baseball bat. It struck Shen’s forearm and shattered into a cloud of splinters and sawdust.

Termites.

The boy hesitated for a heartbeat, then turned to run. Shen grabbed him by the shoulder and this time his grip held.

“You have twice caused me pain, Coogan Rosko.” He began dragging him back toward the dry area of the tunnel. “A third time and I will cause you pain. I am not here to hurt you.”

“Yes, you are!” His voice shook and his eyes puddled with tears. “You’re supposed to kill me. I heard Doctor Gilchrist say so.”

Shen smiled again. “How long were you playing as the possum?”

He had spunk, this boy. He had not curled into a ball and awaited his fate. He had fought back. Shen liked that. He hoped Fai would grow up to be as spirited.

“Long enough!”

“Did you hear him tell me to break your arm?”

The boy nodded.

“And is your arm broken?”

The boy shook his head.

At last they reached dry floor, yet the deep ache in Shen’s legs eased slowly.

“Then you must trust me to keep you safe until I take care of things.”

As they began to round the bend, Shen glanced back and saw that the water level in the tunnel had risen. The waterfall seemed wider … and louder.

•

Sheila was furious. Why wasn’t Paul answering her calls?

She started to pace, rubbing her upper arms. She had a wool sweater under her white coat but still she felt cold.

Tethys … the once idyllic medical center had become a hellhole.

Because of Bill Gilchrist, of all people. But how could she stop him? She’d never get out to the Starlight through all the flooding.

And then a thought struck. The Starlight … Paul had hesitated before saying that was where he was meeting Bill. Why? Because he hadn’t wanted her to know? Or because the meeting place was closer?

No way it would be Bill’s house. That left his office. Tethys was his home turf, and virtually deserted today.

Without a word to anyone, she left the lounge and headed for the elevators. The wards were quiet.

The tunnels. They’d give her quick, discreet access to the Admin. If Bill wasn’t there, she’d return to pacing the doctors’ lounge. But if he was …

Maybe she could help.

•

The goddamn car wouldn’t restart. Paul had bloody fingers from turning the key so hard and so often. He had exhausted every four-, ten-, and twelve-letter word he knew in every possible combination he could imagine.

And while the car sat quite literally dead in the water, the clock kept ticking.

His phone began to ring—again. He checked the ID: Sheila—again. He couldn’t talk to her now, couldn’t risk giving away anything about where he was or where he was going.

He needed more time. He punched in the Swann number and held his breath until Gilchrist answered.

A low, affected voice said, “
I don’t suppose I have to ask who’s calling
.”

“Gilchrist, I’m stalled out at Pine and Holmwood. The intersection’s flooded. I’ll need more time.”

“
Sorry. We agreed on thirty minutes and you’ve used almost half that.
”

“Give me another thirty minutes. I’ll get there. I’ll swim there if I have to.”

“
Sorry, no. I—”

Paul squeezed his phone, then eased up. Breaking it would only screw things up worse.

“Well, then, if that’s the case I’ll skip going to your office and head straight for your home.”

A pause, then, “
You’re bluffing, Rosko.”

Of course he was. Too many innocent lives had already been lost. But he had to keep up a front.

“You’re sure of that? You know my record. You know what happens when I’m pushed too far.”

“
All right, Rosko. Another fifteen minutes and that’s it. Because if you can’t get here you can’t get anywhere else
.”

Paul cut the connection.

Fifteen minutes … what good was that? In fact, what good was an hour,
two
hours if he couldn’t move past this intersection?

He hit the switch to lower the window but it didn’t move. Dead. He wiped off the condensation and looked around. None of the other cars he saw within the limited view the deluge allowed were moving. He climbed over the console and wiped the passenger window. This side faced the river where the deeper water made the chances of finding a working car even less. He spotted one vehicle—an empty Hummer. Christ, if a Hummer couldn’t get through, what hope had an Explorer?

He noticed something white and red bobbing in the water past the Hummer. He wiped again and squinted. Looked like a boat, a dinghy.

Of course. Baxter’s boat dock was down that way. They rented rowboats and putt-putts to people who wanted to cruise the river. The river than ran right through Tethys.

The dinghy lay upside down, but still afloat.

What good was that?

Then again, what other option did he have?

Paul pushed open the door. It moved two or three inches before the flowing water caught it and ripped it from his grasp. The car canted as ice-cold muddy water rushed in. He gasped when it ran over his feet and ankles. In a whine of tortured metal the current broke the door’s hinges and bent it back to where it bounced against the front fender. Not a fast flow, but enormous force behind it. Paul didn’t know if he could fight it, but he didn’t see any choice.

He grabbed his baseball cap, tucked his cell phone under it, and put it on as he slid out of the car into the rain and flood.

A shudder ran through him as frigid water swirled to mid-thigh level. He forced himself forward, one step at a time. It was like walking through icy Jell-O. The water kept pushing him to his left and it took all his strength to fight it and stay on a perpendicular course from his car. He’d aimed himself at a spot upstream from the boat.

But the closer he moved to the river, the deeper the water and the stronger the current.

Still he fought forward. The water had risen to his waist and Paul sensed himself losing ground. He couldn’t feel his legs; his muscles seemed to be turning to rubber. But he was the only hope Coog had, so he gritted his teeth and soldiered on.

He glanced back and saw that his intended ninety-degree angle from the car had been eroded to forty-five. Losing it. Not going to make it. Just a question of which got him first—the water or hypothermia.

The water had reached the bottom of his rib cage when he lost his footing and was swept into the current. He knew he’d never regain his feet so he started swimming. He stroked crosscurrent, trying to stay upstream from the boat just a little longer.

As he neared it he realized he was going to miss it unless he could goose a little more force from his frozen arms and legs. He pushed them like he’d never pushed them before.

Closer … closer … he lunged and caught the edge of the stern with one hand. The water fought to tear him free but he forced his fingers to keep their grip. He pulled himself to the boat and eased along its side. It was aluminum, maybe ten or twelve feet long.

He felt something bang against his knees. Another boat. The overturned dinghy was resting atop one of its sunken brothers. Both were still tied to a piling.

Paul positioned his feet on the drowned boat, grabbed the gunwale of the dinghy, and pushed up with all the force he could muster. The boat resisted until the gunwale broke the surface. The wind caught it, and with its help Paul righted the boat, but not before it took on four or five inches of water.