at eight hundred, until one late night he was waiting at the pharmacy window, the key already in hand, and thought, They’ve got no protection, and I know the guys who could take it away from them.
It all seemed so simple. And it should have been.
NOW HERE he was, freezing his ass off, trying to set up an assassination. Not simple anymore. Not uninteresting, though, if only he’d been working with a competent crew. The whole concept of crime was interesting: the strong taking from the weak, the smart from the stupid. A game, with interesting stakes ... if only he hadn’t been working with the Macks.
At twenty minutes after five o’clock, a black Audi convertible rolled up the ramp, headlights bouncing when its tires bumped over expansion joints. The car swooped into a reserved parking place in the physicians’ area. Five seconds later, a short blond woman got out and started toward the exit door opposite Barakat.
Had to be her—the same woman he’d seen in the elevator. He let the door close: he couldn’t allow her to see him again. Even being in the same part of the building, where she might see him by accident, could trip off a memory.
He waited, nervous, stressed, sweating in the freezing cold, and when she’d gone through the door, went after her. And as he went, the thought crossed his mind: fix it now. Take her. She was a small woman in a deserted building, he could break her neck, who’d know what happened?
Just a thought, but it stayed with him. He might catch her at the elevators ... but when he got there, she was gone. A little feather of disappointment trickled across his heart, his gut. He could have done it.
So now, the question remained. Who was she, and where was she going?
She was early for most docs. They wouldn’t normally arrive until sometime after six. On the other hand, the Frenchman’s surgical team was supposed to start separating the twins ...
He went that way.
THIRTY PEOPLE milled in the hallway outside the special operating theater. Like most of the other docs, he’d found an excuse to look the place over—the special double operating table, the intricate anesthesia setup, the newly painted, sign-posted floor, an attempt to better choreograph the movements of the massive operating team, to keep the sterile and the non-steriles separate, even as they walked among each other.
He saw the blond woman, still in her long winter coat, talking to Gabriel Maret, the Frenchman. Maret was listening closely. She had to be somebody important.
Barakat was an emergency room doc, not on the team, or anything close to it, and all the team members knew each other, so he couldn’t risk joining the crowd. What he could do, though, was climb into the small observation theater above the OR. If you wanted a seat, all you had to do was get there early. One of the team members would be narrating the surgical procedures for the observers. The woman, if she were central to the work, would be introduced.
LUCY AND LARRY RAYNES were with the children, who were still awake, but about to be moved to the operating theater. Sara saw Weather and her eyes misted up. She was still a baby, but she recognized the woman who’d caused her pain in the past. She began to cry, softly, and then Ellen started, not yet knowing why.
Lucy Raines bent over them, comforting them. Larry flapped his hands around, helplessly, and said to Weather, “They’re about to give them something.”
Weather nodded: “We’re not the only ones who feel the stress. They’re babies, but they know something is happening.”
Ellen pushed against the sides of the hospital bed, and that torqued Sara, who stopped crying and thrashed with her hands. The babies could hear each other talking, but had never seen each other.
Larry said, “We just talked to Gabriel, he said everything was going smoothly.”
“Yesterday was like a freak accident,” Weather said. “Everything now is just like it was yesterday—maybe
It all seemed so simple. And it should have been.
NOW HERE he was, freezing his ass off, trying to set up an assassination. Not simple anymore. Not uninteresting, though, if only he’d been working with a competent crew. The whole concept of crime was interesting: the strong taking from the weak, the smart from the stupid. A game, with interesting stakes ... if only he hadn’t been working with the Macks.
At twenty minutes after five o’clock, a black Audi convertible rolled up the ramp, headlights bouncing when its tires bumped over expansion joints. The car swooped into a reserved parking place in the physicians’ area. Five seconds later, a short blond woman got out and started toward the exit door opposite Barakat.
Had to be her—the same woman he’d seen in the elevator. He let the door close: he couldn’t allow her to see him again. Even being in the same part of the building, where she might see him by accident, could trip off a memory.
He waited, nervous, stressed, sweating in the freezing cold, and when she’d gone through the door, went after her. And as he went, the thought crossed his mind: fix it now. Take her. She was a small woman in a deserted building, he could break her neck, who’d know what happened?
Just a thought, but it stayed with him. He might catch her at the elevators ... but when he got there, she was gone. A little feather of disappointment trickled across his heart, his gut. He could have done it.
So now, the question remained. Who was she, and where was she going?
She was early for most docs. They wouldn’t normally arrive until sometime after six. On the other hand, the Frenchman’s surgical team was supposed to start separating the twins ...
He went that way.
THIRTY PEOPLE milled in the hallway outside the special operating theater. Like most of the other docs, he’d found an excuse to look the place over—the special double operating table, the intricate anesthesia setup, the newly painted, sign-posted floor, an attempt to better choreograph the movements of the massive operating team, to keep the sterile and the non-steriles separate, even as they walked among each other.
He saw the blond woman, still in her long winter coat, talking to Gabriel Maret, the Frenchman. Maret was listening closely. She had to be somebody important.
Barakat was an emergency room doc, not on the team, or anything close to it, and all the team members knew each other, so he couldn’t risk joining the crowd. What he could do, though, was climb into the small observation theater above the OR. If you wanted a seat, all you had to do was get there early. One of the team members would be narrating the surgical procedures for the observers. The woman, if she were central to the work, would be introduced.
LUCY AND LARRY RAYNES were with the children, who were still awake, but about to be moved to the operating theater. Sara saw Weather and her eyes misted up. She was still a baby, but she recognized the woman who’d caused her pain in the past. She began to cry, softly, and then Ellen started, not yet knowing why.
Lucy Raines bent over them, comforting them. Larry flapped his hands around, helplessly, and said to Weather, “They’re about to give them something.”
Weather nodded: “We’re not the only ones who feel the stress. They’re babies, but they know something is happening.”
Ellen pushed against the sides of the hospital bed, and that torqued Sara, who stopped crying and thrashed with her hands. The babies could hear each other talking, but had never seen each other.
Larry said, “We just talked to Gabriel, he said everything was going smoothly.”
“Yesterday was like a freak accident,” Weather said. “Everything now is just like it was yesterday—maybe
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