Gideon's Corpse

70

With the barrel of the Python on his visor, Blaine froze. Taking advantage of this, Gideon reached quickly down to the biopouch of the man’s bluesuit, unsnapped the flap, and slipped his hand inside. His fingers closed over the still-cold disk, which he removed and placed in his own pocket with care. Keeping the gun on Blaine, he unsealed the hood of his own bluesuit and pulled it off, allowing him to see and breathe better.

“Gideon,” was all Blaine managed to say, in a quavering whisper.

“Lie facedown on the floor next to the captain, arms extended over your head,” said Gideon, more loudly than he intended.

“Gideon, I want you to please listen—” Blaine began, his voice muffled by the hood.

Gideon pulled back the hammer of the Colt. “Do as I say.” He tried to control the shaking of his hands. The idea of killing Alida’s father was horrifying, but he knew the situation was far too critical for him to show any weakness.

He watched as the older man lay on the floor, arms extended. They were both still in their bluesuits, their weapons holstered underneath. Disarming them was going to be awkward, and the captain in particular had the look of a dangerous opponent. Keeping the revolver aimed at him, Gideon took out his cell phone with his other hand and called Fordyce.

After a few rings it switched over to voice mail.

He put the cell phone away. Fordyce was somewhere out of range—which would explain why he’d never gotten the agent’s call. He would have to deal with this himself.

“Captain,” he said, “remove your hood with one hand, keeping your other hand extended above your head and in sight at all times. If you try anything, I’ll shoot to kill.”

The captain complied.

“Now you, Blaine.”

As soon as Blaine got his hood off, he began to talk again. “Gideon, I want you to hear me out—”

“Shut up.” He felt sick, tried to master the shaking of his hands. He turned back to the captain. “I want you to stand up slowly. Then, with your left hand, remove your bluesuit, keeping your right arm extended from your body and in sight at all times. If you so much as twitch, either of you, I start firing and won’t stop until you’re both dead.”

The captain complied and—a credit to his intelligence—didn’t try anything. Gideon was absolutely serious about killing them both, and they must have sensed it.

When the bluesuit was off, Gideon had the captain lie back down on the floor, then searched him, recovering a 9mm sidearm and a knife. He tied the captain’s hands behind his back with some surgical tubing that was lying on the adjacent lab table.

He turned to Blaine. “Now you. Take off your suit just like the captain.”

“For Alida’s sake, listen—”

“One more word and I’ll kill you.” Gideon felt himself flush deeply. He had been trying to keep the whole awful question of Alida out of his head. And here her father was playing that card right up front—the bastard.

Blaine fell silent.

When the bluesuit was off, Gideon searched Blaine, snagging the man’s firearm—a beautiful old Colt .45 Peacemaker with staghorn grips—and tucking it into the waistband at the small of his back.

“Lie back down.”

Blaine complied. Gideon tied his hands with more surgical tubing.

What was he going to do now? He needed Fordyce. Having seen Blaine and the captain enter, Fordyce would surely be on his way down as backup—wouldn’t he? Why wasn’t he here? Had they already had a run-in with him on their way in? Impossible. They had arrived calm, fresh, unsuspecting. Had someone detained Fordyce?

It didn’t matter. He needed help. It was time to call Glinn.

He took out his cell phone. Just then, he heard sounds in the hallway beyond: the heavy running of boots. He took a step back as the doors burst open, soldiers in tactical uniforms rushing in, weapons at the ready.

“Nobody move!” cried the soldier on point. “Drop your weapon!”

Gideon suddenly found himself completely outnumbered; six automatic weapons were pointed at him. Jesus, is this why Fordyce isn’t here? he wondered. They must have seen us on the monitors, sent in an interdiction squad. He froze, unmoving, hands extended, keeping the Python and the captain’s 9mm in sight.

A second later Dart stepped in. He looked around, taking in the room.

Gideon stared at him. “Dart? What’s this?”

“It’s all right,” Dart said quietly to Gideon. “We’ll take care of things from now on.”

“Where’s Fordyce?”

“Waiting by the chopper. He called me without telling you, explained everything. Said you wanted to go it alone. And I see you’ve managed quite well. But now we’re here to take over.”

Gideon stared at him.

“Don’t be concerned, I know all about it—Blaine, the proposal for the novel, the plan, the smallpox. It’s over now, you’re in the clear.”

So Fordyce had made the call after all. And Dart had listened—to the point of coming himself. Amazing. Gideon felt his whole body relax. The long nightmare was finally over.

Dart glanced around. “Who has the smallpox?” he asked.

“I do,” said Gideon.

“May I have it, please?”

Gideon hesitated—why, he was not entirely certain.

Dart held out his hand. “May I have it, please?”

“When you secure those two and get them the hell out of here,” Gideon said. “And then I think the smallpox needs to go straight back into its vault.”

A long silence. Then Dart smiled. “Trust me, it’s going right back where it belongs.”

Still, Gideon hesitated. “I’ll put it back myself.”

Dart’s face lost some of its friendliness. “Why the difficulty, Gideon?”

Gideon couldn’t find an answer. There was something about this that didn’t feel quite right; some vague feeling that Dart was being a little too friendly, that he’d come around to Gideon’s viewpoint a little too easily.

“No difficulty,” said Gideon. “I’d just feel better seeing it go back in the vault.”

“I think we might arrange that. But if we’re going in the lab, you’ll have to disarm. You know—the metal detector.”

Gideon took a step back. “The captain here went in with his 9mm, no problem. There wasn’t any metal detector.” He felt his heart suddenly pounding in his chest. Was this bullshit? Were they lying to him?

Dart turned toward the soldiers. “Disarm this man now.”

The rifles came up again. Gideon stared. He made no move.

A lieutenant stepped forward, drew his sidearm, and placed it against the side of Gideon’s head. “You heard him. Count of five. One, two, three—”

Gideon handed over the Python, the 9mm, and the Peacemaker.

“Now the smallpox.”

Gideon looked from Dart to the men. The expression on their faces was more than unfriendly. They were looking at him as if he were the enemy. Could it be they still believed he was a terrorist? Impossible.

Nevertheless, something felt very wrong.

“Call the director of USAMRIID down here,” Gideon said. “He must be on the premises. I’ll give it to him.”

“You’ll give it to me,” said Dart.

Gideon looked from Dart to the soldiers. He was unarmed and really had no choice. “All right. Tell the lieutenant to back off. I’m not doing this with a gun pressed to my head.”

Dart made a motion and the lieutenant stepped back, keeping his pistol leveled.

Gideon slid his hand into his pocket, his fingers closing over the puck. He slipped it out.

“Easy now,” said Dart.

Gideon held it out. Dart stepped forward to take it, his hands closing over the puck.

“Kill him,” said Dart.