Alternative 3, p.30
Alternative 3, page 30
‘Sector Two clear!’ someone shouted through the static. Curtis ripped the radio from the guard’s belt clip and listened. Maybe he had a chance. If he could put them off the scent long enough to get back outside. He pushed the transmit button and shouted into the mike.
‘Suspect now in Sector Three!’
The response came instantly. ‘Roger. All units proceed to Sector Three.’ Curtis listened nervously by the door and heard more footsteps in the corridor. They faded into the siren. Maybe they’d fallen for it. Maybe they hadn’t. He couldn’t hang around to find out. He ripped the supervisor’s uniform off and began pulling the guard’s clothes from the body. Time for disguise number two. He clipped the radio to his belt, but left the gun inside a drawer in the supervisor’s desk. Guns weren’t his thing, and he didn’t want to risk getting shot if he got caught with it. He went back and put his ear to the door. He couldn’t hear any movement over the sound of the siren. He had to risk it.
He swiped the super’s card and punched in the PIN, slowly twisting the door handle to take a peek outside. But the door didn’t open. He tried the card and PIN again, making sure he’d typed it in correctly. Still the door wouldn’t open. He leaned on it with his shoulder, but it wouldn’t budge. The lock-down. With a sick feeling he realised the doors must have been locked centrally when the alert had sounded. And now he was trapped inside the office. He leaned with his back to the door and slowly sunk to the ground. It was time to face facts. There was no way out of this. He’d failed. Maybe he’d been foolish to even try. There was nothing he could do but wait for them to arrive.
17
As he sat hunched against the door, Curtis felt the fight ebb from his body. He’d had enough. He resigned himself to the inevitable. He couldn’t believe he’d come this far, to be beaten by a fucking door. He pulled out his radio and headphones from the supervisor’s pockets.
‘Homer, you there?’ he said.
‘Curtis?’ Al sounded worried. He’d even dropped the nickname.
‘Al, I’m fucked,’ said Curtis urgently. ‘You guys better get away while you can. Forget about me and disappear for a while. Thanks for everything.’
‘What do you mean?’ said Al. ‘Calm down and talk to me.’ Curtis took a deep breath.
‘I got busted by a guard. I’ve zapped him but I’m trapped inside the super’s office. They’ve locked the whole place down. I can’t get out.’ Al took a second to absorb all this. Curtis was sure he could hear the siren in the background.
‘Are they outside?’ said Al.
‘Don’t think so,’ said Curtis. ‘I used the guard’s radio to send them searching somewhere else. But it’s only a matter of time. It’s no good.’ But Al wasn’t giving up so easily.
‘Did you find anything?’ he asked hopefully.
‘Plenty,’ said Curtis. ‘But it’s no use to me now.’
‘Now listen. You have to focus. Tell me what sort of lock mechanism they’ve got on the door. How did you get in?’
Curtis shook his head in frustration. ‘They use a swipe card and a PIN number. I used the super’s to get in, but it’s not working now. They’ve locked the doors centrally.’
‘Try it again, and walk me through it as you go. Take it slow . . . one step at a time.’
Curtis sighed. ‘I told you, it’s no use. I’ve tried it.’
‘Try it again!’ demanded Al. ‘Do it! Now!’ Curtis slowly got up and went through the whole process again, talking Al through it as he went.
‘OK . . . swiping the card . . . it’s asking me for the PIN. I’m typing it in, four numbers, nine-oh-four-oh, now I’m turning the handle . . .’ Again, the door handle twisted, but the door remained shut. ‘It’s not going to work.’
‘Check for some other sort of locking mechanism. Does it have a key lock? Are there any locks on the door? They probably go to a higher security level when they lock down. There has to be something.’ Curtis checked again for any other sign of a lock.
‘Nothing,’ said Curtis. ‘I’ve got the guard’s gun. I could shoot the door handle?’ Yeah right. Thankfully, Al didn’t think the idea was too hot either.
‘No . . . they’ll hear it straight away,’ he said. ‘What about around the doorframe? Tell me what you see.’ Curtis checked the doorframe carefully.
‘There’s some sort of lens thing built into the wall . . . but it’s not anywhere near the keypad . . .’
‘What sort of lens? Where is it exactly?’ said Al. Curtis examined it more closely.
‘Just a little black glass lens, like the peepholes they have in hotel doors. Can’t see anything through it, though. Must be shut from the other side.’
‘That’s not right,’ said Al. ‘If it was a peephole it wouldn’t be in the wall. How high is it?’
Curtis estimated its height. ‘About level with my eye . . . same as a peephole.’
‘Now listen, Curtis.’ Al was starting to sound excited. ‘Swipe the card again, and punch the PIN in. But before you touch the handle, tell me what the keypad display says.’ Curtis had just about had enough of this. It was fine for Al to waltz through all this from the comfort of the motel room. But the siren was driving Curtis crazy. He checked the guard again. He was still out cold. He’d give it one more go. He swiped the card and punched the PIN in again. But this time he noticed that the display had in fact changed. He’d been so intent on getting out that he hadn’t bothered to read the display before he tried the handle. Maybe Al was onto something.
‘It says “scanning”,’ said Curtis. ‘Nothing happening though.’
‘Listen carefully, Curtis,’ said Al. He was getting really excited now. ‘It’s not a peephole. It’s a retina scan. It reads the iris . . . it’s like a fingerprint . . . everyone has a different —’
‘OK,’ said Curtis. He felt a faint finger of hope rise inside him as he realised what Al was saying. ‘I don’t need the details. I’ve got the picture. I’ll give it a go.’ He had the guard’s swipe card, and he might just be able to lift him up to the eye scanner, but he didn’t have his PIN number. There was no way he could find the guard’s PIN, unless — he remembered that the supervisor had used his PIN as part of his password. He was sure it wasn’t a random coincidence. He sat down at the computer and brought up the network again. This time he chanced accessing the backdoor to the network — it was pointless trying to hide his actions now. As soon as they found the guard they’d know he’d been here.
Chances were the guard would also have a profile on the network. Curtis accessed the root directory and brought up a list of users. There were thousands of them. He scrolled through the list until he found the guard’s name. Bingo. Then he brought up the system-user profile and there it was. Name and number. Curtis couldn’t believe it had been that easy. But the hard part was to come. He dragged the guard’s body over to the door, and propped him up against the wall underneath the scanner. He was a heavy mother all right. And since he was now wearing only his T-shirt and boxers, there wasn’t much Curtis could use to get a good hold of him. This was going to be interesting.
He swiped the guard’s card this time, and punched in his PIN. The keypad display said ‘scanning’, as for the super’s card. Curtis squatted down like a weightlifter, wrapped his arms under the guard’s armpits, and heaved him up to a standing position. Except he was facing the wrong way, and a thick line of spittle oozed from his mouth onto Curtis’s neck when his head flopped forward. With a huge effort, Curtis got him facing round the right way, wrapping one arm around his midriff as he pulled the guard’s head back by his hair. But he still had to get the guard’s eye open, and close enough to the scanner for it to read his retina. As he tried to swing his arm up over the guard’s head, the body slid through his arms and back to the floor with a sickening thunk. Ouch. This guy was going to wake up with a few bruises, that was for sure. He lifted him up for a second time, only to find that when he was in position, the keypad display had gone blank. It must have been on a timer. He’d have to go through the whole card-swipe, PIN-punch process again.
Curtis couldn’t believe how hard this was. He vowed never to become a serial murderer — he would never be able to hide a body in a trunk. He lowered the guard, positioning him more carefully this time, and did the swipe-punch thing. Practice made perfect. This time he lifted the guard with both arms under the armpits far enough to get his hands up to the head, lifting his chin with one hand and spreading his eyelids apart with the other. With a huge final effort, he jammed the guard’s head up close to the scanner. The display flashed and went blank, and Curtis held his breath. Moment of truth. He lowered the body and tried the handle, while gently pushing the door — it opened. A wave of relief surged through him, but he wasn’t out of the woods yet.
He checked the corridor. It was deserted. Time to exit, stage left. He grabbed Sam’s camera and the prod, and without really thinking why, decided to leave a pen on the floor so the door would remain slightly ajar. Maybe it was his sense of self-preservation. Maybe he’d played too many computer games. But the office was his only sanctuary if he saw someone approaching before he had time to get out.
He walked quickly to the door he’d entered only minutes earlier — even though it seemed like hours — and pushed hard. But again, he found himself with a door that wasn’t going to open. He spotted the keypad, and was busy wondering why on earth they would want to lock people in, when his heart sank. Above the keypad was another retina scanner. There was no way he was going to be able to drag the guard’s body down the corridor without getting caught. Curtis decided to go back to the super’s office while he worked out a way through this. It was so unexpected but so obvious, that he kicked himself for not realising every door in the whole place probably needed an eye scan to get through. That was what they’d meant by a lock-down. More like a lock-up, Curtis though drily. At least he’d left the office door ajar. When he returned he shut the door firmly behind him. He leaned back on the door and wondered whether it was worth risking trying to drag the guard’s body down the corridor. Even if he made it, he still had to go through the swipe-punch routine. He shook his head in disgust. To come so close, and yet still be so far away was almost soul-destroying. Maybe Al could think of something.
‘Talk to me, Al,’ he said into the mike.
‘It’s Rita,’ came the reply. Where the fuck was Al?
‘Rita,’ he said urgently, ‘where’s Al?’
‘He’s not here,’ she said. ‘They’ve gone to the base to find you. Are you out?’ She sounded very matter-of-fact. Curtis began to wonder if anything got this woman excited.
‘What do you mean, coming to find me?’ said Curtis.
‘You’re gonna need some help. We’re in this with you, remember. Where are you?’ Curtis shook his head in wonder. These people were incredible. Maybe even stupid.
‘I’m still in the office. I got the retina scan to work OK, but there’s another one on the outside door. I think every door’s got a scanner. I can’t drag his body down the corridor. It’s just a little too obvious, don’t you think?’ The frustrated sarcasm wasn’t lost on Rita.
‘I understand, Curtis,’ she said. ‘Give me a second.’
‘I’m sorry, Rita. I gave it my best shot . . .’ Curtis let his head drop into his hand. He was at the point of just giving up.
‘There is an alternative,’ said Rita finally.
Curtis waited for her to explain. ‘Yeah . . . well . . . are you going to make me guess?’
‘It’s not an attractive one,’ she said after a short pause. What the hell was this woman up to?
‘Rita, I don’t have time for games. Either you tell me or I’m finished.’
‘OK, Curtis, I understand your situation perfectly.’ She sounded a little indignant at Curtis’s impatience. Not that Curtis gave a fuck. ‘If you can’t take the guard’s whole body with you, why don’t you just take his eyeball instead?’ She said it so deadpan, it took Curtis a couple of seconds to realise what she was saying.
‘You’ve got to be fucking joking, Rita!’ He shook his head in disgust. ‘I can’t believe you’re even suggesting it.’ But he couldn’t help looking at the guard’s closed eyes as he spoke. The very thought of it was repugnant. It would make him no better than them.
‘Listen. If you can think of another way out, then go for it. I just want you to understand it’s an option.’ Curtis sat in silence for a moment. He was wondering if he had the balls to do it. Nope. No way.
‘Sorry, Rita,’ he said finally. ‘Nice idea in theory. But I couldn’t do that to someone.’
‘Even someone who would shoot you without a second thought? For all you know he could be the same guard who killed Jim.’ She did have a point. A completely repulsive one, but a point nonetheless.
‘Do you think it would work?’ he asked finally. ‘Hypothetically speaking.’
‘Yes, I do, but you’d have to move fast. The iris dilates once the blood supply is removed. Once that happens it probably won’t be recognised by the scanner.’
‘How long would I have?’ he said.
‘I’d say two minutes. It’s not as bad as it sounds. The eyeball is connected to the brain by a nerve stem. It’s long enough to let the eyeball hang from the socket once it’s removed. It’s just like pulling a hard-boiled egg through a doughnut. You can use the cattle prod to separate and cauterise the stem. He’ll have a hell of a headache, but you’ll seal the wound so he won’t bleed to death. It won’t kill him.’
‘Yeah, right,’ said Curtis sarcastically. ‘Just blind him in one eye for life.’ He found the whole conversation surreal. He’d never had the stomach for blood and guts. Even TV hospital docu-dramas left him squeamish. But that was before all this. Things had sure changed.
‘OK, I’ll give it a go,’ he said finally. ‘I can’t stay here much longer, that’s for sure. Are you in touch with Al?’
‘Only by cellphone,’ said Rita.
‘Tell him I’m heading back the way I came, and not to do anything stupid. No point all of us getting arrested.’
‘I think that’s the least we’ve got to worry about,’ said Rita. ‘Good luck, Curtis. You can do it. I know you can.’
‘Thanks. If you don’t hear from me, it worked.’
Curtis looked again at the guard’s face. He was so vulnerable in his underwear. Sure, he was a big boy —and probably a mean mother when he was conscious —but his pale white skin made him look helpless. Losing an eye was just an on-the-job hazard. He’d have a good medical plan. Curtis realised he was talking himself into it — drumming up his courage.
He went over and knelt down beside the guard, tilting his head back and opening his left eye. It was remarkably blue. At the same moment he was admiring Blue Eyes, he heard someone run down the corridor outside. It was all the incentive he needed to stop procrastinating. He extended his forefinger and gently lowered it into the corner of the guard’s eye socket. The eyeball flexed under the pressure, making a wet sucking sound as it separated from the socket lining. It was too much for Curtis. The rising nausea in his stomach sent a shot of bile up into his mouth and he gagged on it. He quickly withdrew his finger and coughed it through. It made him angry that he was such a wimp. Fucking guard — it was his fault he was in this situation. He fought down the nausea and steeled himself for the disgusting job ahead.
The anger helped. This was for Turk. He rammed his finger in hard, up to his second knuckle. It looked gross. He curled his finger round the back of the eyeball and pulled, the guard’s eye seeming to swell in size, pushing his eyelid open into a surprised expression. Curtis pulled harder. He could feel the tissue tearing underneath, and the hollow eye socket suddenly filled with bright red blood. He’d broken a blood vessel. The sight of the blood filling the guard’s eye was completely obscene. Curtis tried to ignore it and pulled again, even harder this time, forcing down his repugnance with a loud shout of disgust. Suddenly the eyeball plopped out of the socket, dangling limply from a thin red stringy tube. That was the clincher. Curtis let go of the eyeball and promptly vomited onto the floor. It was a hard, gagging vomit, his eyes watering over with the effort, and he had to wipe away the puke from his chin with his sleeve. He felt another pitching in his belly as his stomach contracted for a second time. This time there wasn’t anything to bring up, but it left him coughing and gagging up green bile.
Curtis looked up to the roof as he sucked in a few breaths of air to recover from the effort. He chanced a quick look back at the eyeball. It was still hanging out, staring at him. He had to finish it. He lifted the cattle prod in one hand, and held the eyeball delicately between two fingers with the other. When the stem was between the contacts he zapped it, and it instantly separated, burning both ends into small, black, congealed stumps. If he hadn’t already thrown up, he would have now. Two minutes and counting. Time to get the fuck out of there. He got up and wiped his mouth again, forcing himself to look at the guard’s face for the last time. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Curtis felt sick to his soul. But as Rita had said — it was his only option.
He swiped the guard’s card and punched in the PIN, holding the eyeball up to the scanner. He tried the door handle and pushed. The door opened. It was going to work. He checked the corridor again — it was empty, but he didn’t know for how long. He walked through the door and closed it firmly behind him, and walked briskly to the exit. Again he swiped and punched, and again he held the eyeball up, and with his heart in his mouth, he pushed on the door. It opened. He was so relieved at finally getting outside that he momentarily relaxed. He didn’t see the guard on the other side preparing to swipe his card to get in, until it was too late.
‘Hey!’ said the guard, almost as surprised as Curtis. Despite wearing the one-eyed guard’s uniform, Curtis could tell this one wasn’t fooled for an instant. He reached for his gun. Without thinking, Curtis threw the eyeball up in front of his face. The guard recognised what it was instantly, forgetting his weapon for a second. There was no mistaking it was the real thing. It looked gross, the little stem swinging wildly from the back. As the eyeball rose and fell in front of the guard’s face, Curtis barged past him, heaving him backwards onto the ground, and sprinted off in the direction of the substation, round to the far side where he’d left the night-vision goggles. He stooped and picked them up without stopping, and continued his mad dash for the safety of the darkness at the base perimeter. As he reached the edge of the base where the asphalt turned back into desert, he allowed himself the luxury of imagining he might just make it.
