Gideon's Corpse

Hammersmith’s voice sounded in his earpiece, and Gideon repeated his words. “Nobody’s gotten to me. I was in town, heard the news, came down here to help. I’m not with anybody.”

“Liar!” Chalker shrieked back, high and quavering. “They’ve gotten you, too! Has the pain started yet? Is it in your mind? In your guts? It will be! Oh yes, it will—!” The voice suddenly stopped, replaced by a violent retching.

“Exploit the pause,” came Hammersmith’s voice. “You need to gain control of the conversation. Ask him, How can I help?”

“Reed,” said Gideon. “How can I help?”

More retching—then silence.

“Let me help, please. How can I help you?”

“There’s nothing you can do! Save your own ass, get away from them. These bastards will do anything—look what they did to me! I’m burning up! Oh Christ, my gut—!”

“Ask him to step out where you can see him,” said Hammersmith in Gideon’s ear.

Gideon paused, recalling the snipers. He felt himself go cold; he knew if any of the snipers had a clear shot, they’d take it. Just like they did with my father…He also reminded himself that Chalker had a family in there, at gunpoint. He could see some men on the roof of the row house. They were getting ready to lower something through the chimney, a device that looked like a video camera. He hoped to hell they knew what they were doing.

“Tell them to turn off the rays!”

“Tell him you really want to help him, but he needs to tell you how.”

“Reed, I really want to help you. Just tell me how.”

“Stop the experiments!” Suddenly Gideon saw movement in the doorway. “They’re killing me! Turn off the rays or I blow his head off!”

“Tell him we will do all that he asks,” came the disembodied voice of Hammersmith. “But he has to step out where you can talk to him face-to-face.”

Gideon said nothing. Try as he might, he couldn’t get the image of his father out of his head: his father, hands in the air, shot in the face…No, he decided, he wasn’t going to ask that. At least, not yet.

“Gideon,” said Hammersmith, after a long pause, “I know you can hear me—”

“Reed,” Gideon said, cutting off Hammersmith, “I’m not with these people. I’m not with anyone. I’m here to help you.”

“I don’t believe you!”

“Don’t believe me, then. But hear me out.”

No response.

“You say your landlord and landlady are in on it?”

“Don’t go off script,” warned the voice of Hammersmith.

“They aren’t my landlady and landlord,” came Chalker’s response, ramping up, hysterical. “I never saw them before! The whole thing’s a setup. I’ve never been here before in my life, they’re government agents! I was kidnapped, held for experiments—”

Gideon held up a hand. “Reed, hold on. You say they’re in on it and it’s a setup. What about the kids? Are they part of it?”

“It’s all a setup! Aaaahhh, the heat! The heat!”

“Eight and ten years old?”

A long silence.

“Reed, answer my question. Are the kids acting? Are they conspirators, too?”

“Don’t confuse me!”

More silence. He heard Hammersmith’s voice. “Okay, this is good. Follow up.”

“No confusion here, Reed. They’re children. I

More silence.

“Let them go. Send them out here to me. You’ll still have two hostages.”

The long silence stretched on, and then there was a sudden movement, a high-pitched scream, and one of the kids appeared in the doorway—the boy. He was a little kid with a mop of brown hair, wearing an I ♥ My Grandma T-shirt, and he came out into the light, keening in fear.

For a moment Gideon thought Chalker was releasing the kids. But when he saw the nickel-plated .45 shoved into the boy’s neck, he realized he was wrong.

“You see this? I’m not kidding! Stop the rays or I kill the kid! I’m counting to ten! One, two—”

The mother was screaming hysterically in the background. “Don’t, please don’t!”

“Shut up, you lying bitch, they’re not your kids!” Chalker turned and fired the gun once into the darkness of the house behind him. The woman’s screaming stopped abruptly.

With one brusque movement, Gideon stepped out from behind the Plexiglas cubicle and walked into the open area before the house. There were shouts, cops yelling at him—get back, get down, the man’s armed—but he kept walking until he was less than fifty yards from the front door.

“What the hell are you doing? Get back behind the barrier, he’ll kill you!” Hammersmith shouted into his earpiece.

Gideon plucked the earpiece out, held it up. “Reed? You see this? You’re right. They were telling me what to say.” He tossed the earpiece on the asphalt. “But not anymore. From now on we talk straight.”

“Three, four, five—”

“Wait, for God’s sake, please.” Gideon spoke loudly. “He’s just a child. Listen to him screaming. You think he’s faking that?”

“Shut up!” Chalker screamed at the boy, and, remarkably, the boy stopped. He stood, trembling and pale, his lips fluttering. “My head!” Chalker shrieked. “My—”

“Remember when those school groups came to see the lab?” Gideon said, struggling to keep his voice calm. “You loved those kids, loved showing them around. And they responded to you. Not to me. Not to the others. To you. Remember that, Reed?”

“I’m burning up!” Chalker screamed. “They got the rays on again! I’ll kill him, and the death will be on your head, not mine! You HEAR me? SEVEN, EIGHT—”

“Let the poor boy go,” Gideon said, taking another step forward. It deeply frightened him that Chalker couldn’t even count straight. “Let him go. You can have me instead.”

With a brusque motion, Chalker turned, aimed the weapon at Gideon. “Get back, you’re one of them!”

Gideon held his arms out toward Chalker almost beseechingly. “You think I’m in on the conspiracy? Take your best shot. But please, please, let the kid go.”

“You asked for it!” And Chalker fired.

4

And missed.

Gideon dropped to the tarmac, his heart suddenly pounding so hard it seemed to knock itself against his rib cage. He squeezed his eyes tight shut, waiting for another explosion, a searing pain, and oblivion.

But a second shot did not come. He heard a confusing welter of noise, voices shouting over one another, the rasp of the megaphone. Slowly, slowly, he opened his eyes, looked toward the house. There was Chalker, barely visible in the doorway, holding the boy in front of him. He could tell from the way the man handled the weapon, his shaking hand, his stance and grip, that it was probably the first time in his life he had fired a handgun. And he was shooting from fifty yards.

“It’s a trick!” Chalker shrieked. “You’re not even Gideon! You’re a fake!”

Gideon got up slowly, keeping his hands in sight. His heart refused to slow down. “Reed, let’s just do the trade. Take me. Let the little boy go.”

“Tell them to turn off the rays!”

Don’t argue with his delusion, they had told him. It was good advice. But how the hell should he respond? “Reed, everything will be all right if you just release the boy. And the little girl.”

“Turn off the rays!” Chalker crouched behind the boy, using him as cover. “They’re killing me! Turn off the rays or I blow his head off!”

“We can work it out,” Gideon called. “Everything’s going to be fine. But you have to let the boy go.” He took another step, and another. He had to get close enough for a final rush—if it became necessary. If he didn’t rush Chalker, tackle him, the little boy would die and the snipers would take Chalker out—and Gideon didn’t think he could bear seeing that happen.

Chalker screamed as if in agony. “Stop the radiation!” His whole body was shaking as he waved the gun around.