Micro - Michael Crichton [40]
“Christ,” Vin Drake said.
He turned to Mirasol. “The police are going to be arriving soon,” he said, “and someone needs to show them around.”
“Should I page Ms. Bender?”
“No,” Vin said. “Ms. Bender will be—she will be busy working with me. I have some lab work to ship out. It can’t wait.”
“Who should I call?”
“Get Don Makele, the head of security,” he said. “He can show the officers around. They’ll want to see Mr. Jansen’s office.”
“And wherever else he worked,” the ensign added. He was staring fixedly at the receptionist.
“And wherever else he worked,” Drake repeated. Cars were pulling up in the street outside. He repressed an urge to bolt, and instead calmly shook the ensign’s hand. “You’re welcome to go along with the police,” he said. “And Mirasol, why don’t you accompany the officers, see that they get coffee, whatever.”
“All right, Mr. Drake.”
“I believe I will stay,” the ensign said.
“Then you must excuse me for the moment,” Drake said. He turned and walked down the hallway. The moment he was out of sight, he began to run.
Alyson Bender sat in her office and bit her lip. The monitor on her desk showed the reception area; she could see Drake talking to the uniformed kid, and see Mirasol flirting, fussing with the flower in her hair.
As usual, Drake was impatient, quick, aggressive in his movements. Almost hostile, really. Of course he was under pressure, but seeing the way he moved—no words, just the body language—made it clear how angry he was. He was an angry, angry man.
And he was going to kill all of those kids.
It was only too clear what he intended to do. Peter Jansen had trapped him, and Vin was going to escape the only way possible, by leaving no witnesses. Seven young people, bright students with their lives before them, he didn’t seem to care. It didn’t seem to matter to him.
They were merely in the way.
It frightened her. Her hands trembled even when she pressed them flat against the desk. She was afraid of him, and terrified of the situation she found herself in. She could not confront him directly, of course. He’d kill her if she did.
But she had to stop him from killing those kids. Somehow, she had to do that. She knew what she had done. She knew her involvement in Eric Jansen’s death, knew it only too well. Making those calls to the trigger phone. But to be involved in the murder of seven more people—no, eight, including the Nanigen employee who’d had the bad luck to be in the control room when Drake came in—she wasn’t sure she could do it. It would be homicide on a grand scale. But she might have to do it…to save herself.
On the monitor, Drake was telling the receptionist what to do. The ensign was grinning. Drake would soon leave.
Alyson stood up, and hurried out of her office. She didn’t have much time. He could return to the lab looking for the students at any moment.
In the lab, the students had gotten out of the bag, and they stood on the transparent top of the krait cage, looking down at Peter Jansen. Alyson Bender burst into the room. She bent down and stared at them, her face looming over them. “I—won’t—hurt—you,” she said. Her eyes were wide and frightened. She put out her hand, palm flat, and picked up Jenny Linn very gently, and placed her on her palm. She gestured to the others. “Hurry. I—don’t—know—where—he—is.”
“Ms. Bender! Let me talk with Mr. Drake!” Jarel Kinsky shouted at her, waving his arms.
She didn’t seem to hear or understand.
The others, seeing no other option, climbed onto Alyson’s palm. She lifted them into the air, and the room spun around, the wind blew, knocking them off their feet—she carried them swiftly to a desk, and placed them down on it. Then she went over to the snake cage, opened it, and lifted Peter out, and put him on the desk with the others. She stared at them, seeming not to know what to do with them. Her breathing was ragged and loud.
Karen King said, “We should try