Chapter 42/43
Chapters Forty-Two & Forty-Three
Mon/September/2008 07:00 AM
Chapter
42
Brick started losing steam as he got to the eight floor landing. Christ. How long before this would be done and his onion tartlet evening could get started? That was gonna taste better than ever after this ordeal.
The doors to the roof slammed two floors above him.
How fast were they moving?
If he went out there now, would they see him coming up behind them?
It was a pretty flat stretch of roof between the health sciences building and the wing that connected the research building to the main hospital. A few too many opportunities to takes some good clean shots at him. He could call out to Phelps, tell him to put some sharpshooters on the three men upstairs, but he knew that was undoubtedly taking place already. Brick leaned against the wall and pressed his thumb on the receiver on his shoulder.
“Can you see em up there?”
A crackle, then silence and a hum.
“Yeah,” Phelps’ voice came through. “We got em. They’re tucked in behind the stair access on the roof. Annnd there they go, they’re taking the scenic route.”
Brick could picture the scenic route quite clearly. He’d just been over every sunbaked inch of it fifteen minutes ago. They were looking for a way to block any possible shots, not that the feds would be crazy enough to try that with Jeff Pepper in the middle of the situation, but nevertheless he knew the route they’d be taking: Right across the northern most side of the building, where the brick façade rose up about six feet to their left and the ventilation and air equipment closed them in on the right, giving them a little rooftop corridor for some cover. Hell, there was no reason for him to go up to the top and pop out where they could see him. That would be stupidest move he could pull. The smarter route would be to cut through the building on the next floor, circumvent his way into the main wing, and come at them as they neared the helipad.
He sucked in a deep breath, lifted his foot, and took off up the stairs in a sprint. Brick darted to the left At the ninth floor, grabbed the handle to the door, and pulled it forward. The air around him hiccupped, them shuddered-
PHHOOM!
The explosion rang in his ears as brick and mortar and plaster tore into his face and neck. He pulled one hand over his eyes as he saw a burst of white, then nothing.
Chapter 43
Luke slid the knife blade between the door and the frame, where he held it as close to the wood as possible while pressing a thin strip of metal against the wire. He held the metal steady in his right hand, pulling it down and into place as he lowered his knife, pressed the top of the blade against his leg, and flipped it closed. He tucked the knife into a side pocket, pulled out a roll of silver tape, and tossed it to Nick.
“Tear off a couple of five inch pieces for me, will ya kid?”
Nick spun the tape in his hands, tore off the pieces, and handed them to Luke, who pressed the metal strip against the doorframe until his knuckles turned white, then carefully pressed the tape across the strip and onto the wall, scratching it with his thumbnail to smooth the edges.
The tape held. Luke gave Gomez and Nick a “here goes nothing” eyebrow arch, then turned the handle and pulled the door open. Nothing happened. Luke took the tape and ripped off another strip, which he ran down the inside of the frame, holding the metal strip more securely.
“Was that a lucky guess or what?” he muttered.
Nick tugged at the back of his shirt, shaking the fabric that clung to his back with sweat.
They started down the corridor.
“What are those?” Nick whispered. He pointed to two rows of white plastic-wrapped bundles that ran down the length of the hall.
“Those,” Gomez responded, “are the things we don’t want to go off.”
Nick nodded and followed behind them as they continued down the hall. They were in the Department of Immunology offices, where he’d spent countless, insufferable hours. Raj filled his weekdays with an endless series of “advisory meetings” with his researchers, during which his impatient, arrogant comments were carried across in his distinctive singsong, whiney lilt. Nick had the distinct displeasure of hearing each and every conversation, as though he too were involved in the meetings. Raj never closed the door to his office, no doubt spooked by stories of abused postdocs of the past who had taken closed door meetings with their similarly assholish advisors and ultimately vented their supreme frustrations by shooting their arrogant superiors in the head, repeatedly, using the various handguns they’d picked up on fieldtrips to Aurora Avenue.
Nick had imagined this scenario playing out in the Immunology offices for the better part of the year. There were one or two particularly despondent research associates, ones for whom Raj pulled no punches, and Nick had devised a series of appropriate responses should they indeed go on the offensive one day, pumping Dr. Gupta full of hot lead, and, rather than turning the guns on themselves, decide to walk out of the hall and go on a shooting spree through the department offices. Nick’s proximity to ground zero for such an attack would be a double-edged sword. On the one hand, he’d be the first to know where the hail of gunfire was coming from, but at the same time, he’d also be the first person the gunman would see as he exited Raj’s office. For this reason, when he arranged his cubicle, Nick had set his file cabinets and desk drawers in a layout which left about a foot and a half of space between the office furniture and the cubicle walls. At the first sign of trouble, he just had to slip to the floor and crawl back behind the equipment, leaving perhaps a foot or part of his leg exposed. He figured the shooter would either walk past without noticing him, or fire a few rounds into his legs, but leave his main body relatively sound. That’s what he hoped. Anyway, he’d spent a great deal of time daydreaming about Raj’s demise. Now it seemed relatively close, and even still, he didn’t feel to sorry for the guy.
When Raj wasn’t taking meetings with his researchers and abusing them from the comfort of his broken down old office chair, he wandered down to the labs, where he looked over his researchers’ shoulders, observing the work they were conducting. Nick had heard many of the lab workers complain that Raj was incapable of conducting such research himself, indeed, that he was completely and utterly clueless when it came to the inner workings of the projects at hand, but that didn’t stop DOCTOR Gupta from practicing his micromanagement ways. Of course, on such occasions when Raj decided to spend the bulk of his days in the labs, those were the times Nick was expected to scamper downstairs with every message, every delivery, every guest and visitor.
“Oh, Dr. Gupta is terribly, terribly, terribly, terribly busy today. Let me take you down to his labs directly,” he’d announce in a semi-condescending, borderline tongue-in-cheek manner.
He wondered if the people to whom he directed these comments picked up on his tone. No doubt they felt the same way, as anyone and everyone was a potential victim of the good doctor’s tendency to use people for his personal gain. That was one personality trait Nick found particularly insufferable about the man; you could enter his office with a quick question, and the first greeting would be such that you felt the “great” man was much too busy for your intrusion. Yet over the course of the continually lengthening meeting, Raj would move from repeating himself in a seemingly endless loop -- as though the people he was dealing with were borderline idiots from the Hee-Haw demographic -- to suddenly shifting gears into the mindset of “I’m so busy and important, what can this person do for me.” That was when Raj would hand off more work or devise an extra research assignment. Nick had heard variations of this scene played out at least a half dozen times a day since he’d started there. In fact, he himself had been an unfortunate victim of the practice more times than he could count, which was why he found it particularly bothersome to personally bring a researcher or a candidate for a position down to Raj’s lab. He didn’t wish a job in Dr. Gupta’s staff on anyone, not even his worst enemy.
“You know your way around here, kid?” Luke asked.
Nick nodded. “Yep.”
From here it was a quick jaunt around the corner and down a flight of stairs into Raj’s research wing.
“Then I guess it’s showtime,” Gomez muttered.
The two men raised their weapons and turned to Nick. Gomez pulled the radio from his shoulder and slipped it into Nick’s hand.
“Wait here, kid,” they said in unison.
Nick took a deep breath as the two men hesitated, then took off running around the corner. It seemed they had no sooner left him, then the sound of gunfire filled the air. He pulled his hands to his head, fighting the impulse to take off running down the corridor. A stray bullet tore through the sheetrock in the hallway, gysum and plastic exploded into the air around him. Nick fell to the ground, pulling his arms and legs in for cover as the sound of the gunshots grew louder.
Then he heard the radio crackling to life.
Brick started losing steam as he got to the eight floor landing. Christ. How long before this would be done and his onion tartlet evening could get started? That was gonna taste better than ever after this ordeal.
The doors to the roof slammed two floors above him.
How fast were they moving?
If he went out there now, would they see him coming up behind them?
It was a pretty flat stretch of roof between the health sciences building and the wing that connected the research building to the main hospital. A few too many opportunities to takes some good clean shots at him. He could call out to Phelps, tell him to put some sharpshooters on the three men upstairs, but he knew that was undoubtedly taking place already. Brick leaned against the wall and pressed his thumb on the receiver on his shoulder.
“Can you see em up there?”
A crackle, then silence and a hum.
“Yeah,” Phelps’ voice came through. “We got em. They’re tucked in behind the stair access on the roof. Annnd there they go, they’re taking the scenic route.”
Brick could picture the scenic route quite clearly. He’d just been over every sunbaked inch of it fifteen minutes ago. They were looking for a way to block any possible shots, not that the feds would be crazy enough to try that with Jeff Pepper in the middle of the situation, but nevertheless he knew the route they’d be taking: Right across the northern most side of the building, where the brick façade rose up about six feet to their left and the ventilation and air equipment closed them in on the right, giving them a little rooftop corridor for some cover. Hell, there was no reason for him to go up to the top and pop out where they could see him. That would be stupidest move he could pull. The smarter route would be to cut through the building on the next floor, circumvent his way into the main wing, and come at them as they neared the helipad.
He sucked in a deep breath, lifted his foot, and took off up the stairs in a sprint. Brick darted to the left At the ninth floor, grabbed the handle to the door, and pulled it forward. The air around him hiccupped, them shuddered-
PHHOOM!
The explosion rang in his ears as brick and mortar and plaster tore into his face and neck. He pulled one hand over his eyes as he saw a burst of white, then nothing.
Chapter 43
Luke slid the knife blade between the door and the frame, where he held it as close to the wood as possible while pressing a thin strip of metal against the wire. He held the metal steady in his right hand, pulling it down and into place as he lowered his knife, pressed the top of the blade against his leg, and flipped it closed. He tucked the knife into a side pocket, pulled out a roll of silver tape, and tossed it to Nick.
“Tear off a couple of five inch pieces for me, will ya kid?”
Nick spun the tape in his hands, tore off the pieces, and handed them to Luke, who pressed the metal strip against the doorframe until his knuckles turned white, then carefully pressed the tape across the strip and onto the wall, scratching it with his thumbnail to smooth the edges.
The tape held. Luke gave Gomez and Nick a “here goes nothing” eyebrow arch, then turned the handle and pulled the door open. Nothing happened. Luke took the tape and ripped off another strip, which he ran down the inside of the frame, holding the metal strip more securely.
“Was that a lucky guess or what?” he muttered.
Nick tugged at the back of his shirt, shaking the fabric that clung to his back with sweat.
They started down the corridor.
“What are those?” Nick whispered. He pointed to two rows of white plastic-wrapped bundles that ran down the length of the hall.
“Those,” Gomez responded, “are the things we don’t want to go off.”
Nick nodded and followed behind them as they continued down the hall. They were in the Department of Immunology offices, where he’d spent countless, insufferable hours. Raj filled his weekdays with an endless series of “advisory meetings” with his researchers, during which his impatient, arrogant comments were carried across in his distinctive singsong, whiney lilt. Nick had the distinct displeasure of hearing each and every conversation, as though he too were involved in the meetings. Raj never closed the door to his office, no doubt spooked by stories of abused postdocs of the past who had taken closed door meetings with their similarly assholish advisors and ultimately vented their supreme frustrations by shooting their arrogant superiors in the head, repeatedly, using the various handguns they’d picked up on fieldtrips to Aurora Avenue.
Nick had imagined this scenario playing out in the Immunology offices for the better part of the year. There were one or two particularly despondent research associates, ones for whom Raj pulled no punches, and Nick had devised a series of appropriate responses should they indeed go on the offensive one day, pumping Dr. Gupta full of hot lead, and, rather than turning the guns on themselves, decide to walk out of the hall and go on a shooting spree through the department offices. Nick’s proximity to ground zero for such an attack would be a double-edged sword. On the one hand, he’d be the first to know where the hail of gunfire was coming from, but at the same time, he’d also be the first person the gunman would see as he exited Raj’s office. For this reason, when he arranged his cubicle, Nick had set his file cabinets and desk drawers in a layout which left about a foot and a half of space between the office furniture and the cubicle walls. At the first sign of trouble, he just had to slip to the floor and crawl back behind the equipment, leaving perhaps a foot or part of his leg exposed. He figured the shooter would either walk past without noticing him, or fire a few rounds into his legs, but leave his main body relatively sound. That’s what he hoped. Anyway, he’d spent a great deal of time daydreaming about Raj’s demise. Now it seemed relatively close, and even still, he didn’t feel to sorry for the guy.
When Raj wasn’t taking meetings with his researchers and abusing them from the comfort of his broken down old office chair, he wandered down to the labs, where he looked over his researchers’ shoulders, observing the work they were conducting. Nick had heard many of the lab workers complain that Raj was incapable of conducting such research himself, indeed, that he was completely and utterly clueless when it came to the inner workings of the projects at hand, but that didn’t stop DOCTOR Gupta from practicing his micromanagement ways. Of course, on such occasions when Raj decided to spend the bulk of his days in the labs, those were the times Nick was expected to scamper downstairs with every message, every delivery, every guest and visitor.
“Oh, Dr. Gupta is terribly, terribly, terribly, terribly busy today. Let me take you down to his labs directly,” he’d announce in a semi-condescending, borderline tongue-in-cheek manner.
He wondered if the people to whom he directed these comments picked up on his tone. No doubt they felt the same way, as anyone and everyone was a potential victim of the good doctor’s tendency to use people for his personal gain. That was one personality trait Nick found particularly insufferable about the man; you could enter his office with a quick question, and the first greeting would be such that you felt the “great” man was much too busy for your intrusion. Yet over the course of the continually lengthening meeting, Raj would move from repeating himself in a seemingly endless loop -- as though the people he was dealing with were borderline idiots from the Hee-Haw demographic -- to suddenly shifting gears into the mindset of “I’m so busy and important, what can this person do for me.” That was when Raj would hand off more work or devise an extra research assignment. Nick had heard variations of this scene played out at least a half dozen times a day since he’d started there. In fact, he himself had been an unfortunate victim of the practice more times than he could count, which was why he found it particularly bothersome to personally bring a researcher or a candidate for a position down to Raj’s lab. He didn’t wish a job in Dr. Gupta’s staff on anyone, not even his worst enemy.
“You know your way around here, kid?” Luke asked.
Nick nodded. “Yep.”
From here it was a quick jaunt around the corner and down a flight of stairs into Raj’s research wing.
“Then I guess it’s showtime,” Gomez muttered.
The two men raised their weapons and turned to Nick. Gomez pulled the radio from his shoulder and slipped it into Nick’s hand.
“Wait here, kid,” they said in unison.
Nick took a deep breath as the two men hesitated, then took off running around the corner. It seemed they had no sooner left him, then the sound of gunfire filled the air. He pulled his hands to his head, fighting the impulse to take off running down the corridor. A stray bullet tore through the sheetrock in the hallway, gysum and plastic exploded into the air around him. Nick fell to the ground, pulling his arms and legs in for cover as the sound of the gunshots grew louder.
Then he heard the radio crackling to life.