Binary - Michael Crichton [45]
'And they presumably have a timer of some kind.'
'Presumably.'
'Battery-powered or line-powered?'
'Well, he's plugged one of the boxes into the wall. But the valve mechanisms are probably battery powered.'
Nordmann nodded. 'That makes sense,' he said. 'He wouldn't have the most important elements dependent on an external system. So what did he plug into the wall?'
'I don't know.'
'Vibration sensors?'
'Maybe,' Graves said. He looked at his watch. It was 4:20. He would have to move soon. What had Wright expected him to do? The psychological report was folded up in his pocket. He took it out and looked at the last few lines.
IF THERE ARE ANY DEFECTS OR HIDDEN FLAWS IN HIS BEHAVIOUR, THEY ARE HIS IMPULSIVENESS AND HIS DESIRE TO FINISH A TEST SITUATION RAPIDLY.
Well, he didn't have much choice now. He was going to have to make a move, and soon.
'You know,' Nordmann said thoughtfully, 'most of the equipment in that room is defensive. It's designed to keep people out of there until the gas is ready to be released. But I suspect some of those defences are meant to be penetrated.'
'I agree,' Graves said. 'And in any case, we have to start penetrating.'
'Wall current first?' Nordmann asked.
Graves nodded. He glanced at Phelps, who was sitting in a corner of the room literally chewing his nails. Graves sent Lewis across the street to disconnect power to the apartment. Four minutes later, the power was off. Graves watched through the big telephoto lens. He saw a single yellow pilot light in the vibration sensor box go out.
'Well,' Nordmann said, 'that's a start. We've killed part of the system.'
'Have we?' Graves said. He watched through the telephoto as the solenoid mechanism tripped open the tank valves, then a moment later tripped them shut.
The apartment became filled with whitish gas. 'What's happening?' Phelps said, very agitated.
'Quick,' Graves said. 'Those cops. Tell the cops.'
'What cops?' Phelps said.
Officer Martin finished his cigarette and ground it out on the floor. His heel squeaked. 'Sssh,' Jencks said, suddenly tense. 'What is it?' 'Sssssh. Listen.'
The two men listened in silence. There was a hissing. 'You hear that?' Jencks said.
'Yeah. It's coming from the room.'
'Are you sure?'
Martin moved closer to the door. 'I think so -'
'Maybe you shouldn't -'
Martin began to cough. His nose ran. 'Shit,' he said. 'What is this?' He coughed again.
Jencks went forward to help him. Then Jencks felt the stinging in his nostrils, and the liquid began to pour over his shirt. He didn't know a nose could run that way. His eyes ached and stung; he felt dizzy. 'What the hell...' He had a coughing fit.
The walkie-talkie crackled. 'This is Phelps,' a voice said. 'Over.'
Martin took a step towards the walkie-talkie and fell to the floor. Now he could see the faint wispy whiteness seeping through the door.
'This is Phelps. Over.'
Jencks was coughing loudly and groaning.
Martin stretched out his hand towards the walkietalkie. He was weak. His arm trembled. Then, without warning, he vomited and lost consciousness.
'I'm not getting an answer,' Phelps said.
Graves and Nordmann exchanged glances, then looked back out the window at the opposite apartment. The room now had a faint milky haze.
'Are they dead?' Phelps said. 'Probably.' 'How can you just stand there?'
'Because,' Graves said, 'it was just a short burst. The valves are turned off again.' Phelps looked puzzled.
'It wasn't a full release,' Graves said. 'It's just a partial release, to fill the room with gas. That's why Wright carefully closed the windows. Now we really can't get in there.'
'You sound so appreciative,' Phelps said. 'I'm not. But we understand now what Wright meant by a complex staging sequence.' 'God damn it, this is not a jigsaw puzzle! Two cops have died and -'
'We're all right,' Nordmann said quietly, 'until five PM.'
'And what do you