Between a Bear and a Hard Place(48)
Draven narrowed his gaze. “Let me tell you something. I escaped from these jokers over twenty years ago, yeah?”
Jill nodded.
“They don’t change their game that much. All it takes is a coat, a fake ID badge and a convincing limp. But that doesn’t matter right now. We have to get out of here. Where’s Jacques?”
“Hurt,” Jill said. “He had some kind of wound that kept getting bigger, I—”
“How did he get it?” Draven was already collecting Claire’s things, already pushing Jill toward the door.
She shook her head. “There was a noise, a buffet of wind hit the chopper while we were looking for Rogue and King, and then he just kinda screeched and keeled over with a hole in his shoulder.
The look on Draven’s face was hard set. The lines on either side of his mouth firm with purpose. He nodded gravely. “We really, really need to get out of here.”
*
The next five minutes passed in a flurry. As soon as Claire was conscious and awake enough to move, Draven filled her in, briefly, on the wild story that he was almost sure she wasn’t going to believe. At first, she didn’t, but the second time the same orderlies walked past, and turned their heads at exactly the same moment, she started getting a little more than curious.
And then, when Draven punched a window, broke it, and revealed they were in the middle of a compound instead of overlooking a nice terrace? That was all the convincing she needed.
“How did they know, though?” Claire was pretty close to ‘in a tizzy’. “How did they find out we were here? Or... there, or whatever? How could they possibly have talked us into landing here?”
“Did you ever use your phone?” Draven asked.
When Claire closed her eyes tight and squeezed the bridge of her nose, he grabbed her shoulder. “You couldn’t have known. They likely fixed your location and intercepted the radio signal when Jill sent the distress call for a hospital taking landers. Don’t blame yourself – the only important thing now is getting the fuck out of here. And use burners from now on. Use ‘em and toss ‘em.”
Two more orderlies walked past, steps so smooth they seemed to be gliding. Each of them turned their heads at exactly the same point the others did. They nodded exactly the same way, they turned back at the exact same time.
“It’s like I’m living in a broken record, except even stranger, because I’m in the broken record!”
“You’re wheezing,” Jill said.
“Shit,” Claire cursed. “Of course I am. Of course I start getting all asthmatic when we need me most to not be a helpless nerd. Why can’t I just—”
“No, this is good,” Draven said, in a way that reminded Claire of Hannibal from The A-Team. He had that same glint of mischief in his eye that the old commander did every time he was about to hatch an insane plane that always worked perfectly. “You’re gonna get ahold of one of them. Tell them you need an emergency inhaler.”
“But if they’re—”
“We’ll follow you. I’m guessing that unless we have some way to sneak in, there’s no way we’re getting through those doors that close off the ward from the rest of the place. Have you noticed how there’s no one else here?”
“Now that you mention it,” Jill said, still a little confused. “This is really, really intricate.”
“If you have unlimited money, unlimited political power, and unlimited ambition? You’ll go to any extent to protect your secrets. That wound Jacques suffered? Sound waves.”
The two women looked at each other, perplexed. “But how?” Jill asked.
“Not sure. Before I escaped, they were testing it on me. It spreads somehow, like an infection in the muscle tissue. The only way to stop it is to cut out the affected tissue and cauterize it.” He rolled up one of his flannel sleeves, showing off a puckered wound. “I’d know that description anywhere. So here’s the plan. Claire, you really put on a show – start wheezing up a storm, and the next time the orderlies come through. Grab one of them, start croaking and carrying on. They’ll be confused, they’ll take you through the doors, and then suddenly, we’ll, uh...”
Claire was listening intently. “And then?”
Draven shrugged. “I find it best not to get bogged down in complicated plans. Leave a little room for, you know, extemporaneous thinking, improvisation. All that stuff’s important.”
“Let me translate,” Jill said. “I don’t have any other plan. That’s it.”
“So... the plan is for me to get taken back behind the ward doors, to God knows where, and then you’re going to follow me, and then you’re going to, what, think of something?”