Corrupting Dr. Nice (11 page)

Simon had to get rid of him before Maureen returned. Shaken, he dashed into the storage closet, grabbed a sack of food off a pallet and shoved it into the man's hands. Simon's watch read 10:31.

He rushed back to his locker, got the pistol. He hurried back to the warehouse and checked to see that the time travel stage was still out of commission. Before Callahan could spot him, he ducked out and hustled down to the employees’ entrance. Bauer had a newspaper turned on at his desk, but was ignoring it as he peered at something on the floor. It was one of the security midges.

Simon slipped into the booth and pressed the pistol up against the back of Bauer’s neck. “Don’t move.”

Bauer stiffened. “Simon? What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Come away from the desk. We’re going to wait here. Just a few minutes.”

Bauer jerked back from the desk. A minute later a van pulled up to the loading dock. Simon waved through the window and Jephthah and the others slammed out of the van. “You are going to be in a world of shit,” Bauer muttered. Simon buzzed the security doors and the zealots, hauling their rifles from beneath their robes, rushed in.

“God will honor you, Simon,” Jephthah said.

So far they had not been noticed. Most of the staff were preoccupied with the downed transit stage. The security AI, fed with Halam's canned images, must not have realized the midges were out. Zebediah put on Bauer’s uniform and sat in the security checkpoint. They hauled Bauer down the corridor, tied him up and dumped him in a supply closet.

Before they reached the kennel an alarm started sounding. The buzz was ear-splitting; several of the zealots were so surprised they dropped their rifles and covered their ears. “Pick up your guns!” Jephthah shouted. “Hurry!”

They raced down the hall to the cross corridor, but the security doors had slammed and locked before they got there.

“There's a service elevator near the kennel,” Simon shouted over the din of the alarm.

He led them to the side corridor, through the double doors. The tourist with the creature, plus a couple of others, were at the elevator. The doors were open. The younger of the two men turned toward the zealots, and Simon realized with dismay that he was going to put up a fight. But the woman yanked him back, and before the man could react Jephthah slammed the butt of his rifle against his head, shoved the others aside and hit the elevator button for the lobby level. Nothing happened.

“It’s not working!” Simon shouted. Somehow the hotel's security system had been tripped. They were trapped.

He watched Jephthah as this sank in. He could read Jephthah's thoughts: the only thing they had now was the tourists--if he couldn't hurt the hotel, he could at least hurt them. The woman was trying to help the dazed man on the elevator floor. With dismay, Simon recognized her and the older man as the father and daughter he had taken to Honest Abednego's.

The Lord was playing some game with him.

Jephthah poked the muzzle of his rifle into the older man's ribs and herded him and the others back to the kennel. He picked up the phone and waved it at Simon. "Call them," he said in Aramaic.

Simon took the phone from his hand, stared at the blank screen. He wished he could get a message out to Samuel. He hoped the boy had not gone back home that day. He wondered if he'd ever see him again.

#

Genevieve had beaten August. There was no way he could get out of this situation without opening the animal case. As his tight expression slipped into a rueful smile, she felt triumph--but sadness too. She had never crossed her dad before.

Gen watched Owen poke at the crushed security midge. An alarm shrieked, and she jumped. From down the hall came the sound of slamming security doors. A band of dark men carrying rifles burst through the double doors at the opposite end of the corridor. “Stop!” the lead one yelled.

Owen turned toward the men, crouched as if he were about to take them on. It was suicide. Gen grabbed his collar and yanked him into the elevator, but by then the attackers were on them. The tall one in front whipped his rifle butt across Owen's face, knocking him to the floor. He shoved August aside and hit the elevator button. The doors would not close.

“It’s not working!” another shouted. It was Simon.

Maybe Owen was right about the risks of getting involved with historicals. Gen knelt beside him. The blow had opened a gash over his eyebrow that bled profusely, but she did not think he was badly hurt. He touched a hand to his head, then stared, dazed, at the blood that came away on it. Gen gave him her scarf to hold against the cut.

The zealot leader, an extremely handsome man with dark eyes and a brooding profile, poked the muzzle of his rifle into August's ribs. Face glistening, he pushed them back into the kennel office, made them sit in a corner. On the window wall, the man in lederhosen had reached the top of the ridge and had turned back to wave.

The leader picked a phone off a desk and waved it at Simon. “Call them," he said in Aramaic. Simon took it from his hand. Turning, the zealot leader seized Gen's shoulder. “You like to have men pay attention to you, whore? We will find out how much your rulers value your painted face.”

"Leave her alone," August said.

The man spat in August's face. Gen, her hand on Owen's chest, felt him try to get up, and she held him down. Simon pulled the man away from August. "Jephthah, listen. We can't harm them. These people are our only chance to get out of here alive." Jephthah shrugged off Simon's hand, but stepped back. Simon took Gen's, August's and Owen's wrist cuffs and gave them to one of the other zealots. "Take these to some other room. Let the hotel AI think we are somewhere else."

Jephthah scowled. He pointed to the phone. "I told you to call them. Tell them only what I say."

Before Simon could even touch the phone's keys a window opened in the middle of the alpine scene and a man in a Saltimbanque security uniform appeared on the screen. “You are trapped in the basement of the hotel," the officer said. "There is no way out. You must surrender. If you harm anyone you will pay a heavy price.”

Jephthah cursed. He took a step toward the wall and smashed the butt of his weapon into the face on the window. The wall went blank gray, with a nice dent where the rifle had struck. Gen began to think this was going to be a long day.

The other zealots looked worried. "Joset, Elam--take this furniture and make a barricade in the corridor," Jephthah said. "Make sure you have a clear shot at both the cross corridor doors and the elevator. Get those carriers these infidels were carrying and bring them back here."

"Tell them to retrieve the guard," Simon said.

The other men looked at Jephthah without moving. "Yes. Get that other one." The men moved, and Jephthah turned on Simon. "Call them and tell them we have four of their people," he said.

Gen, August, and Owen sat on a couple of quilts in a corner of the office. The cut on Owen's brow stopped bleeding, but not before Gen's scarf was dark with blood. Owen's eyes were bloodshot but he seemed otherwise okay. He leaned against his animal carrier, and Gen sat beside him, holding his hand.

Jephthah directed Simon's negotiations. “Tell them that they must surrender the hotel to us or we will kill the hostages,” Jephthah said.

Simon relayed the demands over the hotel phone. While he spoke, Jephthah took a portable phone from his pocket and spoke in rapid Aramaic with someone outside the hotel. A couple of the zealots returned to the office dragging a blunt looking man wearing only his underwear. As soon as he saw Simon he tried to speak, but the guards dumped him in the corner with Gen and the others.

"August Faison," August said to the man. "My daughter Genevieve. Dr. Owen Vannice."

The man looked them over. "Hans Bauer," he said, eying the skinny young man who sat guard over them. The boy could not have been more than fifteen. He did not look like he knew which end of his antiquated rifle was which.

Jephthah folded up the portable phone. "The others have taken one of the towers at the Antonia, but the Romans are keeping them from the courtyard and the Temple. The mercenaries were so surprised we should have been able to take the hotel before anyone realized what was happening."

Simon looked unhappy. “God is against us,” he muttered. “We should not be here.”

"How did they know we were in the building? We have been betrayed."

"Perhaps Halam's computer worm failed."

Jephthah stared at Simon. "Why did you linger with Halam after we met the other night? What did you talk to him about?"

"Nothing."

"One does not talk when there is nothing to say." He pulled out his dagger.

The room was swept with a sudden silence. The air conditioning had stopped. Until it had stopped Gen had not noticed the rush of the air. Simon looked up at the vents, and got back on the phone to hotel security.

An hour after the stalemate started, the Zealots’ portable phone went dead. Over the hotel phone, the Saltimbanque negotiators informed them that the raid on the Antonia had been squelched and the Zealots taken captive.

Jephthah said nothing; he played with his dagger. Gen watched the dynamics of power among the zealots shifting. Jephthah only grew more angry as time passed and nothing happened. Simon seemed to be the only one able to grasp the bind they were in. But most of the men still looked to Jephthah for orders. It was not a reassuring situation.

They demanded that the hotel turn the air conditioning back on. They Saltimbanque negotiators blamed the shutdown on the mess that had been made of their computer system. The hours stretched, and the basement got hotter. Whenever Jephthah lost patience with the slow pace of Simon's negotiations he would seize the phone and take over, but soon enough after doing so he would get frustrated by his tangled attempts at English and thrust the receiver back into Simon's hands.

After it became clear the futurians were not going to surrender the hotel, Simon and Jephthah got into a debate over whether they should kill one of the hostages and send the body back up on the elevator to show they meant business. Simon persuaded Jephthah, at least for the moment, that they should hold off on such a suicidal move. "We must live to fight again," he insisted. He convinced Jephthah to ask for a vehicle and safe conduct out of Jerusalem. Saltimbanque security promised as soon as possible to provide an armored hovercraft.

But nothing happened. More hours passed. The zealots crouched behind the barricade in the corridor, discussed the situation in low conversations freighted with fear, or searched the kennel for something to eat.

The hostages sat in silence for a long time. Bauer actually fell asleep, and began to snore. Owen occasionally touched a hand to his swollen eyebrow. “I hope you‘re proud of yourself, daughter,” August said.

“What do you mean, sir?” Owen asked.

“He means that if I hadn’t come down here I’d be safe,” Gen said.

“What else could I mean?” August said.

Owen looked distracted. Gen wondered if he was entirely clear from the blow on his head.

“You know, when we do get out I could still probably get the wrong case--by mistake,” August said to no one in particular. “I’m sure the confusion will be great.”

“I’ll make sure you keep them straight,” said Gen.

"I hope Wilma is all right," Owen said. "But if I open her case they'll no doubt kill her."

"Owen, as long as we're waiting here, why don't you tell us some more about your work? How long before you know whether your theory about dinosaur growth is correct?"

"I should know within a year."

"Assuming we're not still down here a year from now." August said.

"We're going to get out," said Owen, tight-lipped. "You will, anyway."

“I admire your optimism,” August said. “But I think you’re being a trifle unrealistic. These are desperate men.”

At the desk, Simon hung up the phone and turned to Jephthah. "They say they should have the hovercraft here in another hour. It will be piloted by a historical, but it will take another hour to get here from the company oil field."

"They are stalling."

"We cannot know that. What else are we going to do?"

"Do they think we won't kill these hostages? You may not, but I will. Make that clear to them." Jephthah twisted the rifle in his hands. "Tell them if it isn't here in half an hour we start killing the hostages."

“No, Bill,” Owen whispered. Gen watched his face. His lips moved, ever so slightly, with a faint stir of breath.

"Owen, are you all right?" Gen asked.

"Uh--I'm fine."

Gen whispered in Owen’s ear, "You’re sub-vocalizing. Do you have an AIdvisor?"

Owen looked at her, a sober expression on his face. "You figured it out.”

“What's it telling you? Does it see a way out of this?”

“Bill got us into it--Bill's his name. Last night, while I was asleep, he took me over and called the hotel AI. He had extra monitoring set up. He was afraid Wilma would be stolen.”

“How paranoid,” August said.

“Yes. He doesn’t trust people.”

“Took you over?" Gen whispered. "Bill can take over your body?”

Owen nodded. “Right now he’s blasting Wagner into my mind. Siegfried. He wants to get me in the mood.”

“Mood for what?”

“He’s looking for a chance for me to overpower these terrorists.”

“For god’s sake, stop him! He’ll get us all killed.”

The boy guard surged toward them, clutching his rifle. “What are you speaking? You will say out loud! Say or I will kill you!”

Simon came over. “Go over there,” he said to the boy. “Be quiet,” he told the hostages gruffly. He sat down on one of the carriers, and after a moment added, “Some of these men would rather kill you than get out of here alive.”

Gen watched Simon, who was watching Jephthah. She laid a hand on Owen's side, hoping to keep him from doing anything. Simon did not look happy. After some time he turned to the hostages, his rifle across his knees. He said to Genevieve, "Why did you save Samuel last night?"

"We did not want to see him hurt."

Simon's brow furrowed. "I do not understand you people. This is not some game. You push us aside like animals, step on us like weeds. Do you expect me to be grateful to you for saving him from your own thugs?"