“Then you’ll be pleased to know I talked Mrs. Peters into selling her shares back to the company.”
“For how much?”
“Eight hundred thousand.”
“Bullshit. They’re worth at least four times that much.”
“Quick sale. Certified check. She’ll make t-shirts, you guys do whatever you want.”
“You both know too much.”
“Thanks for the compliment.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Of course. Knowing what you mean is a natural extension of knowing too much.”
“You’re half as funny as you think.”
“The eight hundred buys Gwen’s shares and her silence.”
“What about you?”
“I still want to meet Boris.”
“He’s threatening to kill my family.”
“I figured as much. That’s how they roll. Put the gun down, and we’ll talk about it.”
“No.”
I angle the staple gun slightly upward and pull the trigger. The staple hits his hand and makes him lose his grip on the gun. I jump across the table and knock it to the floor. George tries to reach beneath him to pick it up, but before his hand can find it, I’ve struck him with enough force to knock him out.
Like tearing off an ear, delivering a one-punch knockout blow requires a great deal of technique. The human brain is suspended in liquid, so a blow must be hard enough to force the brain to move through the liquid and strike the interior of the skull. The harder the brain hits the skull, the longer the victim remains unconscious. Boxers aim for the chin for several reasons. One, the mandibular nerve is located behind the hinge of the jaw, and the biomechanical response to a sudden impact is overload. Two, the jaw is the most muscular part of the face, and provides the most cushion for your fist, which allows for greater impact. Three, the chin is the furthest facial point from the brain, and affords your blow the most leverage. It makes the top of the head move faster in the opposite direction of the blow, which in turn causes the brain to pass through the liquid and hit the skull.
When George wakes up he finds himself on his back, on the conference table, unable to move. I’ve stapled the sleeves and sides of his shirt, and his pants, to the table. There’s no pain involved, but he’s understandably nervous.
“Wh-what are you going to do?” he says.
“I’m going to stop the terrorists.”
“How?”
“I’ve got a plan, but it requires some answers. Ready?”
“Yes.”
36.
“LET’S START WITH the chip they put in Connor Payne’s brain.”
“What about it?”
“The chip can be activated by punching a four-digit code into a wrist device that looks like a watch.”
“That’s old news.”
“Dr. Willis told the government only two wrist units were manufactured.”
“So?”
“Apparently there were five.”
“Lucky Peters told you that?”
“Yes.”
“And you believe him?”
“I do.”
“Why?”
“When a corporation’s medical director shares a bed with its largest stockholder, over time, there’s a lot more than body fluids being exchanged.”
“That’s disgusting.”
I can already account for three of the devices. My homeland security boss, Darwin, has one. Doc Howard, who placed the chip in my brain, had the second device, but sold it to me for a hundred million bucks. Dr. Phyllis Willis had the third, but I confiscated it after killing her. Which leaves two wrist devices unaccounted for. I think I know where one of them is.
“You sold one of the wrist devices to the arms dealer, correct?”
“Of course. That’s the only way to detonate the chips.”
“And you’ve got one.”
“Why would you assume that?”
“Because I know how you guys operate.”
“Whether we do or don’t, what difference does it make? All the chips are gone.”
“How many chips did you sell? Hundreds?”
“Two hundred and twelve.”
“Any idea where they are now?”
“No.”
“That’s why I want to meet Boris.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“I assume he’s reprogrammed the chips so that each is linked to a specific code.”
“Of course. And whoever he sold them to has reprogrammed them again.”
“But my ceramic device can reset those codes, correct?”
He looks confused for a minute, then says, “Holy shit!”
I smile.
George says, “Why do you need to talk to Boris?”
“I want to know what he’s done with the chips.”
“I can tell you what he’s done with them. He’s sold them to terrorist cells all over the world!”
“You think?”
“I know it for a fact.”
“Do you suppose he’s like you guys?”
“What do you mean?”
“Two hundred and twelve’s an odd number of chips. You think he sold two hundred and kept a dozen for himself?”
George says, “Now that you mention it, I think it’s a certainty.”
“I think so too. How many chips do you think each terrorist cell has in their stash?”
“Probably twenty groups have ten each.”
“Or ten have twenty.”
“Or forty have five.”
I think about it a minute, and say, “It’s more likely fifty terrorist cells have four chips each.”
“Why?”
“There are only so many times you can sew bombs into people’s mouths in the same neighborhood without attracting attention.”
George says, “You don’t need to meet Boris! If you’ve got the ceramic device, we can reprogram everything right now! We can kill Boris and a bunch of terrorists at the same time!”
George is right. I don’t need Boris. And I probably could kill dozens of terrorists in one fell swoop, assuming they’ve stashed the chips in their homes, or their clothing. Of course, there will be instances where I’m simply blowing up chips in an empty building or storage locker, or hole in the ground where they’ve been buried. But there’s a high probability key people would be killed, and probably Boris, since twelve chips going off at the same time would kill him if he’s anywhere near his stash.
“Do you think Boris knows about the ceramic device?”
“No one knows about it.”
“Except you and the board members,” I say.
“Right. And Gwen Peters.”
“Which means a lot of people could know by now.”
“True. We’d better hurry up and change the code.”
“I can’t do that, George.”
“Of course you can! Press the button four times and blow the bastards to hell!”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I’m Connor Payne.”
He thinks about that.
“You killed Dr. Willis?”
I say nothing.
“And her staff?”
I say nothing.
He goes quiet a minute. Then says, “Are you going to kill me?”
“Probably.”
“I’ve got a family.”
“I know. And I’ve got a problem.”
“What problem?”
“As I see it, there are two ways to do this. First, I can plug the ceramic device into the wrist unit, and reprogram each of the two hundred and twelve chips, as well as the chip in my brain.”
George says, “That only works if you know the codes in advance.”
“In that case, I only have one option. Press the button on the ceramic device four times in ten seconds and blow up all the units at once.”
“Correct.”
“But when I press the four digits to kill the terrorists, I’ll boil my own brain
s.”
“Oh.”
“Exactly.”
He says, “You have to do it anyway.”
“What?”
“You have to sacrifice yourself. This is a chance to save not only my family, but thousands of families all over the world!”
“What kind of man would I be not to do that?” I ask.
“Exactly,” George says. “It’s a horrible situation, but it’s the right thing to do.”
“Think on it a little longer. Maybe there’s a way to reprogram the other chips while bypassing the one in my head.”
My cell phone vibrates. I walk toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“I’ve got a call. Work on my problem till I get back.”
37.
“BAD NEWS, DONOVAN,” Lou says.
“Let’s hear it.”
“The guy we had tailing Kimberly last year? Jimmy T.?”
“What about him?”
“He’s dead.”
I pause to let the news sink in. “What happened?”
“He moved to South Carolina, changed his name, got a teaching job at Viceroy College.”
“What was his new name?”
“Jonah Toth.”
“What happened, heart attack?”
“He was murdered.”
“Where?”
“In the men’s room. At the college.”
“When?”
“That’s the weird part. This happened a week ago today.”
“Did they get the guy who did it?”
“No leads. No one knows anything. He taught his class, walked across the hall to use the bathroom, got shot standing at the urinal.
“And this happened a week ago.”
“A week ago exactly.”
“Could he have been on drugs? Fooling around on his wife? Anything like that?”
“Are you asking if he got caught with his dick out?”
“Good one. Since you brought it up, did the report specify?”
“It did. Care to bet?”
“Fifty bucks says it was out.”
“Is that your bet?”
“It is.”
“I’ll pay you next time I see you.”
“All jokes aside,” I say. “Was he doing something wrong?”
“He was clean and faithful a year ago,” Lou says. “But people can change.”
“Can you get me someone else to keep an eye on Kimberly? I want to make sure she’s safe.”
“I’ll work on it.”
When I enter the consultation room a few minutes later, I’m holding a syringe in my hand.
“How about it George? Got a solution to my problem yet?”
38.
“UIC,” GEORGE SAYS.
“What’s that?”
“A possible solution for your problem.”
“Tell me.”
“UIC, the University of Illinois at Chicago, has the strongest Magnetic Resonance Imaging Machine in the world. It’s got a 45 ton magnet that generates a 9.4 Tesla magnetic field!”
“Pretend I’m not as smart as you and tell me why that’s a big deal.”
“Most MRI machines generate 3 Tesla.”
“Talk to me, George. I have no idea what you’re saying.”
“If you can arrange to be scanned by that particular machine for at least twenty minutes, the magnetic field it generates should be powerful enough to erase the data imbedded in the chip.”
“Should be able to?”
“There are no guarantees, of course, but yes. I’m virtually certain.”
“If the machine is that special, there’s probably a long waiting list to use it.”
“I’m sure. Do you have any government connections?”
I do. My boss, Darwin, could get me in there in minutes. Unfortunately, he’s the one who ordered the chip placed in my brain.
“No,” I say.
“Then you’d have to wait awhile. But you can’t.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because Boris is going to kill my family.”
“You seem like an honest man,” I say.
“Thanks.”
“You’re asking me to sacrifice my life. Would you sacrifice your life to save my family?”
He pauses. “Your family? No. Your family and thousands of others? Yes, absolutely.”
“How about your family?”
“Of course.”
“I believe you.”
I press the syringe into his neck. As he starts to die, I say, “You’re a good man. I’ll make sure your family is safe. You have my word.”
I didn’t want to kill George, but it was the smart play. Now that he’s dead, Boris has nothing to gain by killing George’s family. The Las Vegas terror cell will think Boris killed George, which will help appease them. I can de-magnetize the chip and kill the terrorists, and live to kill more of them. It’s not that I’m unwilling to sacrifice myself, I just think I’m more valuable alive than dead.
As I head for the tool box to remove the staplers from the table, I realize I’ve got another problem. Who do I trust to hold the ceramic device while I’m getting the MRI? I can’t take the device in there with me, for fear the magnet will destroy its imprint. Without that, I wouldn’t be able to detonate the chips.
I stop to think who I trust enough to safeguard the device for twenty minutes.
Callie could do it, but can I trust her not to press the button four times while I’m in the imaging room? Until a few weeks ago I would’ve trusted her completely. But she’s made comments recently that make me wonder. I seriously doubt she’d kill me while I’m on the table. Then again, she might.
I could certainly trust Kimberly, if she’ll take my call.
I open my cell phone and try.
No answer.
I leave a message: “Kimberly, please call me when you get this message. Anytime before nine a.m. tomorrow morning, eastern time.”
If I can get an appointment tomorrow I’ll fly Kimberly to Chicago by private jet. She can hold the device for twenty minutes and maybe spend a day or two with me. Maybe we can patch things up between us.
What if she doesn’t call back? Who then?
Not Lou Kelly. He tried to kill me once already.
Not Rachel, my girlfriend. She’s living in an underground bunker, having her eggs harvested by the government. Plus, she’s homicidal.
Not Gwen. She tried to kill me today.
Not Janet, the ex-wife. She’d love to see me dead.
Not Darwin, my boss. He wants the chip active so he can kill me whenever it suits him.
What about…Beth?
Beth Daniels owns The Seaside, a quaint little bed and breakfast in St. Alban’s Beach, Florida. She and I never hooked up in the classic sense, but there was some serious chemistry between us during the short time Rachel and I worked for her. We sort of left things in limbo, and I never called her back, figuring she’s better off without me. She’s the right woman for me, but I’m all wrong for her, which is why I can’t ask her to fly to Chicago to safeguard a chip for me.
I would certainly trust Kathleen Gray. Well, her last name isn’t Gray anymore, which is one of the two reasons I can’t ask her to safeguard the chip. The other is she thinks I’m dead. Kathleen’s a married woman now, living in New York, and it would completely disrupt her life if I suddenly appeared.
I trust two others: Miranda Rodriguez, and Nadine Crouch. Miranda’s my favorite hooker, and Nadine’s my former shrink.
It’s pitiful to admit the list of friends I can trust is shorter than the list of friends who’ve tried to kill me.
39.
IF KIMBERLY CALLS me back, she’s my first choice. If not, I’ll try Miranda. Why Miranda over Nadine? She’s non-judgmental, she’s beautiful, and she’d love to fly to Chicago to spend a couple of romantic days with me. For a fee. Assuming another client hasn’t booked her yet, and that she’s not busy with a project at NYU, where she’s working toward her Maste
r’s in Counseling Psychology.
I decide to call Miranda, to put her in the on-deck position in case Kimberly fails to call. When her voice mail comes on, I leave a message. When I hang up, it dawns on me I left her and Kimberly the same message. It also registers I have three women in my life who are twenty years old. One’s my daughter, one’s my lover, and the third is Gwen, who tried to have me killed today, after having sex.
I know what you’re thinking. I need to get involved with a nice woman my own age, right? Problem is, I don’t know any hookers my age.
It’s possible neither Kimberly nor Miranda will call me back. And I don’t want to fly to Cincinnati to drop the device off with Nadine. It would be in her care for hours instead of minutes. It would make more sense to hire four security guards in Chicago and have them accompany me to UIC. I’d put the device in a locker outside the MRI room and hire one to stand in front of it and the other three to watch him!
Then I realize I don’t even have an appointment.
Since I can’t trust Darwin, and Dr. Petrovsky’s a plastic surgeon, I can only think of one doctor who might be able to get me in.
Dr. Howard.
I dial his number.
“Damn it, Creed! Why is it you never call me during business hours?”
“Because you never take my calls during the day.”
“That’s bullshit. What do you want?”
“I need an MRI appointment this afternoon at UIC.”
“Why?”
I tell him. Turns out he’s heard about their jumbo MRI machine.
“Why do you need a scan?”
I tell him that, too.
“I don’t have that kind of pull,” he says.
“Listen up, Doc. You’re the one that put the chip in my head. Then you charged me a hundred million dollars—a hundred million dollars!—for the code to deactivate it, and then you tell me I’m still at risk. You owe me.”
“I do owe you. But I don’t know how you expect me to get you in. Or what I’m supposed to tell them.”
“You’re going to tell them it’s a national emergency, that I’m an agent with homeland security and I’ve got a chip in my brain and you need to know if it can be surgically removed. While I’m getting the scan, the magnet should erase the imbedded messaging.”