Emil, page 18
A tap sounds on the door, and the female guard speaks. “Sir, it’s security. We need to move.”
Pete and Danny exchange a startled look, then Danny opens the door. “Why?”
“You’re one of several possible targets,” the woman says. “We’re spread too thin to cover them all. Home base has ordered us to move you.”
“Last time someone moved me, it didn’t go so well,” Danny says. “Where’s Ralph?”
The woman grimaces. “Fired for delivering you to Dr. Zahnia. I’m Zuri. That’s Alvaro. You can see our badges on our belts.”
“It’s okay,” Pete says to Danny. “Zuri and Alvaro are part of the regular rotation. I know them.”
“Time to move,” Zuri says. “Alvaro, home base told us to go to Epsilon Two.”
Alvaro jogs to the next intersection, examines both directions, then waves us forward. The hallways are empty, which makes sense this time of night, but the nurse’s station is also dark.
Pete pauses. “That’s not good.”
Zuri pushes his shoulder to get him moving again. “With wi-fi down, it’s useless. Nurses are going room-to-room, checking on patients.”
“Epsilon Two?” Danny asks. “Why the code name?”
“Extra security,” Zuri answers. “If you could all stop talking, it would be much safer.”
Danny and Pete follow Alvaro, with Zuri behind them. Danny’s pulse is elevated, but his breathing is even and his mind is focused. I consider home base’s strategy. The hospital has nine floors. Moving Danny to a random room within it is an effective way of keeping him safe. Any potential abductors would have to search the entire hospital.
We jog through dimly lit hallways until we reach the stairwell. Danny slows.
“What’s wrong?” Pete asks.
“Bad memories. We sure about this?”
Alvaro stands in the open door. “Most of the elevators don’t run while we’re on backup power. This is our quickest way to Epsilon Two.”
“Of course it is,” Danny mutters.
It’s impossible not to think about Elias as we hurry down the stairs. This time, however, we exit on the second floor. Alvaro goes through the door first, followed by the rest of us. The hallway has gray carpeting and pale green walls with paintings of landscapes and uplifting quotes.
We pass blue doors, each labeled with a list of doctors’ names: oncologists, neurologists, orthopedists, and more. A suspicion kindles to life within me. Something about the plan we’re following doesn’t make sense. I can’t identify the flaw, so I stay quiet.
After several intersections, Alvaro stops in front of a wooden door. A plaque next to it says “chapel.”
Danny snorts. “Seriously?”
Alvaro opens the door. The room has five rows of chairs facing a wall painted to look like the sun rising over an ocean. The other walls are covered by heavy dark blue fabric. As we enter, Alvaro flips a light switch and a chandelier on the ceiling glows with a soft warm light. Zuri closes and locks the door behind us.
“You named the chapel Epsilon Two?” Danny asks.
Zuri drags a chair next to the door and sits on it. “Wasn’t me.”
Alvaro stands with his back against the painted wall, facing the door. He’s holding his pistol in both hands, pointed at the floor. “New Human security has code names for everything.”
Code names for everything… That’s the flaw. They’re worried that someone might be listening on the radio.
Pete stretches out across three chairs. “Not quite as comfy as the couch, but it’ll do.”
Danny sits on the floor and leans against a curtain.
“Home base,” Zuri says to her radio. “This is Zuri. We’re secure.”
“Copy that. Police are inbound.”
“What now?” Danny asks.
Alvaro says, “We wait. Once the police are on site, we’ll coordinate with them.”
Danny closes his eyes.
I open them. “There’s a flaw in this plan.” I stand. “We have to leave.”
Zuri puts her back to the door, blocking it. “Excuse me?”
“Security by obscurity is ineffective against someone with detailed knowledge of the system being attacked.”
“What?”
“Dr. McGovern said earlier that two guards have disappeared. If those two guards are involved in this attack, and they have radios, they know exactly where we are. You just confirmed our position to them.”
“Did you just call your mom ‘Dr. McGovern’?” Zuri asks.
“Irrelevant. The attacker, whoever it is, has disabled every means of communication except your radios. Assuming those are compromised, they know everything you’re doing.”
I withdraw from Danny’s body.
Pete stands. “Is that right? Are your radios the only way you can communicate right now?”
“Without wi-fi or cell?” Alvaro says, “Yeah. What else is there?”
Zuri speaks into her radio. “Home base, what’s the status of the radios for the missing personnel?”
“One moment.”
During the pause that follows, Danny cracks his knuckles and bounces on the balls of his feet. His heart rate is speeding up. I block a seizure.
“Unaccounted for,” the radio says.
“The kid’s right,” Alvaro says. “We have to get—”
The door slams open, knocking Zuri off her feet. Men in gas masks fill the opening, firing pistols. Pellets slam into Danny’s chest and burst, releasing clouds of gas. He falls back, eyes filling with tears. The gas burns his nose and throat, triggering uncontrollable spasms of coughing. Through the film of mucus, I see Alvaro on the floor, body convulsing.
Pete’s curled into the fetal position, eyes streaming tears.
Zuri draws her gun, but before it clears the holster, a man hits her with a baton. She staggers. The man continues hitting her until she falls.
I take over Danny’s body. Unlike him, I am unaffected by pain. I stop the convulsions and force his watery eyes open. The air is filled with gas, but I know the only exit. I head for it, half-crawling and half-running. Two more gas pellets explode onto my chest, and then I’m at the doorway. I rise up and slam an elbow into the gas mask of the man who is shooting me.
The blow breaks both the mask and his nose.
He staggers backward, screaming and clawing at his face.
I shove past him, pushing Danny’s body against its own instincts. A hand latches onto the back of my neck. My feet are kicked out from under me, and my face is slammed into the wall.
“Enough.”
Two other hands grab my arms and twist them painfully behind my back. The wrist monitor is torn off and discarded, then plastic zip ties fasten my wrists together. Still heaving and drooling from the effects of the gas, I’m lifted off the ground and slung over someone’s shoulder. More zip ties fasten my ankles to each other.
I can only see the floor of the hospital as Danny is carried through the hallway. Hands pull his phone out of his pocket and toss it away. He’s taken down the stairs, out a door, and shoved into the backseat of an SUV.
“Any trouble?” a woman’s voice asks. I recognize that voice. This is the woman with the ice-blue eyes, the person who first tried to abduct Danny.
“None,” a man replies. “Get out of here. Police are inbound.”
The door is closed, and I feel the SUV accelerate away.
24
PRISONER
With Danny facing the wrong way on the back seat, all I can see is gray leather. I listen to the rain hitting the windshield and the rumble of tires on pavement. Danny is quiet, except for occasional fits of coughing. His wrists and ankles are zip-tied behind him. Tears continue to drip down his face.
I prevent two more seizures.
Every scenario I can conceive of ends badly for Danny. He’s been kidnapped for the hardware and software inside him. Once that’s removed, I put the odds of his survival in the low teens.
The burning in his lungs eases. The swelling around his eyes diminishes. The street lights of the city fade away, and the rain stops falling. Ninety-three minutes after leaving the hospital, the car slows and stops.
The driver keeps the engine running, but I hear the parking brake being set.
A burly man opens the door by Danny’s head. He’s wearing a black cloth cap, and a snake is tattooed in blue ink on his neck. It disappears beneath a black shirt that is tight enough to emphasize his physique. Beyond him, all I can see is a clouded night sky.
He reaches into the car and grabs the back of Danny’s neck. Danny tries to pull away, but he’s dragged out of the car and dropped on the wet grass. We’re in front of a two-story building without any identifying markings. I guess that it’s a warehouse, and assign that assumption a confidence level of fifty-one percent.
Danny’s rage is building. It’s like electricity coursing through his veins.
The man taps the car. “You’re done. Payment same as always.”
The woman with the ice-blue eyes responds. “Pleasure doing business with you.”
The man closes the door, and the car pulls away.
Danny rolls onto his back, then sits up. With his hands zip-tied behind him, it takes a few tries.
“What are you doing?” the man asks, folding his arms across his chest. His biceps and forearms are impressive.
“Getting ready to kick your ass.”
“Might have to wait a bit.” The man nods toward the door of the building, where a woman in blue medical scrubs has emerged, pushing a wheeled hospital bed along the sidewalk. The mattress on the bed is framed by metal bars with handcuffs dangling from them.
Danny’s breath catches in his throat. “What’s that?”
“Your new ride.”
“I don’t…” Danny licks his lips. “Can you get me out of here? My mom has money, a lot of money.”
“Don’t think so. Nice try, though.”
He lifts Danny up by his armpits.
Danny twists, flailing his arms and legs, trying to slam the back of his head into his assailant’s.
The man drops him, moves a half step backwards, then kicks him in the stomach.
Air whooshes out of Danny. He curls into a ball, gasping. I block the pain as much as I can, but that’s not something I’ve been trained to do.
“I’ve been told where not to hit you,” the man says. “Your crotch is also an acceptable target. You want to keep doing this?”
Danny can’t speak. He shakes his head.
“Good.”
The man lifts him and puts him face down on the hospital bed. Gulping for air, Danny lets his face rest against the white sheet. There is no pillow. The zip tie connecting Danny’s wrists is cut, and they’re pulled to opposite sides of the bed. Cold metal handcuffs secure them in place.
Danny’s heart pounds. “Wait,” he gasps. “Wait. At least let me lie on my back.”
“No can do. The first surgery’s on your back.”
Danny pulls his arms, rattling the metal, but the handcuffs don’t yield. He bends his knees, drawing his feet up beneath him. The man grabs his ankles, pulls them to the foot of the bed and handcuffs them there. A chain settles across Danny’s back and is pulled tight, holding him down.
With Danny immobilized, his bed is wheeled toward the door of the warehouse.
I stop a seizure and review what I know about the equipment in Danny’s back. There’s a fair amount, but only the Angel Protocol unit is unique to Danny. I assume that’s the target of the surgery with a confidence level of seventy-five percent.
“I can’t be awake for this,” Danny whispers. “Knock me out. Shut me down. Do something.”
Taking control of his body, I whisper, “I can’t knock you out, but I’ll do what I can.” I start slowing his metabolism. I have no routines that block pain, but at least I can keep him calm. Closing his eyes, I release control of his left hand. “When you want to come back, wiggle your left index finger.”
With our eyes closed, I can’t see the warehouse door. I hear its handle rattle as it’s pulled open, then the slam of it closing behind us and the metallic thud of a deadbolt slamming into place. The air feels cool and dry, and the low hum of air conditioning surrounds us.
The gurney rolls down a hallway, then stops, and another door opens. The harsh smell of antiseptic washes over me, then the gurney is turned and wheeled into a room with tile floors. Danny’s left arm is rotated, and an IV needle is inserted and taped into place.
A sensor is connected to his right index finger. Somewhere in the room, a monitor starts to beep.
Using a finger sensor to measure oxygen and pulse? Why? Plugging into the New Human rig would provide much more information. I open my eyes. I’m in a sterile white room with a single closed door and no windows. A shelf runs the length of the nearest wall, with cabinets beneath it. A white towel is spread over part of the counter and seven syringes are neatly lined up on it. Next to it are trays of scalpels, forceps, speculums, and other surgical equipment.
I twist my head back and forth, trying to see everything. A metal apparatus is suspended from the ceiling above me. I don’t know what its arms do, but it’s easy to guess they’ve been built to help extract hardware from Danny’s body.
Despite the chemicals I’ve been releasing, Danny’s heart starts to race.
The woman who was pushing the gurney sits at a small table, peering at a laptop. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a ponytail and tied tight, and under the harsh lights of the room, her skin looks pale and sickly.
Why isn’t she using the New Human rig? Do they not have the appropriate software to interface with it? That seems hard to believe.
My eyes focus on the network cable connecting her laptop to the wall. “No wi-fi?” I ask.
“Anything wireless can be hacked.” She turns to face me, a red sharpie in her hand. Her voice is raspy and tired, and her eyes have deep shadows under them. “Or that’s what they tell me.”
She walks to my side and pulls up my shirt.
I try to watch, but my head doesn’t turn far enough. The pressure of Danny’s fear builds behind his eyes.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer. The cold tip of the sharpie touches my back. I jerk away. With the chain holding me to the bed, I can’t go far. She presses her other hand on me, anyway.
“I wouldn’t do that,” she says, drawing a line. “I’m drawing guidelines for the surgeon.” She forces her fingers into my flesh, feeling the hard piece of metal beneath it. “I get these lines wrong, and he might clip your spine by accident.”
I stop another seizure and stay as still as I can. At least now I have confirmation of my earlier suspicion. She’s prepping me for surgery to remove the Angel Protocol unit from Danny’s back.
Not that knowing what’s happening helps me in any way.
She draws a shape that I think might be a rectangle, then adds additional lines. Words are written, though I can’t tell what they are.
I notice that she hasn’t attached anything to Danny’s IV. It’s just installed in his arm, waiting for when drugs are needed. Keeping my voice casual, I ask, “When do I get anesthesia?”
She doesn’t answer.
“Is the surgery soon?” I ask. “You can tell me. I’m not going anywhere.”
Her phone rings.
She drops the pen on my back and walks out of my line of vision, talking. “What do you mean they’re not coming?” she asks. “Yes, I know it’s 3:30 in the morning. I’ve been here all night. Everything’s prepped.”
There’s a pause, and then she says, “Fine. I’ll see you then.”
She walks into my line of vision and selects a syringe from the towel on the counter. “Lucky you,” she says. “You get to spend the night. Surgery’s been put off to tomorrow.”
She taps the syringe with her finger and holds it up to the light.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Something to make you sleep.” She connects the syringe to my IV and presses the plunger. Warmth spreads through my veins. She gives me a wink. “Don’t worry. I’ll be sure to wake you up for the surgery.”
“Wait!” I shout, trying to stall. I haven’t learned anything at all, certainly not anything that will help me free Danny. “What if I have to go the bathroom?”
“Please don’t.”
She walks out of the room, pulling the door closed behind her. The overhead lights turn off. I focus on a monitor showing Danny’s vitals in green lines on a black screen. Something beeps rhythmically.
Danny’s body is completely relaxed, so much so that I’m having trouble keeping his eyes open. I release control.
He groans. “We’re so screwed.”
I tap his finger once.
His eyes close. His head rests on the bed, and he falls unconscious.
While he sleeps, I try to formulate an escape plan. Nothing seems feasible. Danny lacks the physical strength to break his bonds, and even if he did get off the bed, the tattooed man who put him there is more than capable of putting him back.
My mind returns to the Angel Protocol unit. I still don’t understand why it was installed in Danny. His seizures don’t even require the Muscular Support Interface, let alone the Angel Protocol.
It must be critical to the New Human rig’s functioning in some way that I don’t understand. I struggle with the problem for four hours before giving up. I simply don’t have the tools to determine how my commands are carried out by the hardware. The one clue I have, that it was only installed in Danny and not in anyone else, doesn’t help.
At eight o’clock in the morning, I hear the door open and close. The lights turn on, and footsteps walk past my bed.
Danny groans and opens his eyes. His lips are chapped. His body is stiff and cramped. “Unless you want a serious mess,” he growls, “you need to let me use a bathroom.”
The nurse from the previous night steps into view. She looks less tired, but just as disinterested. “Just a moment. I’ve called for help.”
“Thanks,” Danny says. “I’m Danny, by the way.”
“I know,” she says, walking to the laptop.
