Douglas Preston - Gideons Corpse

To Barbara Peters

The authors thank Patrick Allocco, Douglas Child, Douglas Webb, and Jon Couch for their invaluable assistance with certain details of this book.

G IDEON CREW STOOD at the window of the conference room, looking out over the former Meatpacking District of Manhattan. His gaze followed the tarred roofs of the old buildings, now hip boutiques and trendy restaurants; moved past the new High Line park thick with people; past the rotting piers; and came to rest on the broad expanse of the Hudson River. In the hazy sun of early summer, the river for a change looked like real water, the surface a mass of blue moving upstream with the incoming tide.

The Hudson reminded him of other rivers he had known, and streams and creeks, and his thoughts lingered on one stream in particular, high in the Jemez Mountains. He thought about a deep pool in it and the large cutthroat trout he was sure lurked in its dappled depths.

He couldnt wait to get the hell out of there, out of New York City, away from that withered gnome named Glinn and his mysterious company, Effective Engineering Solutions.

Im going fishing, he said.

Glinn shifted in his wheelchair and sighed. Gideon turned. The mans crippled hand appeared from under the blanket that was shrouding his knees. It contained a brown-paper package. Your payment.

Gideon hesitated. Youre paying me? After what I did?

The fact is, based on what youve told me, our payment structure has changed. Glinn opened the package, counted out several banded bricks of hundreds, and laid them on the table in the conference room. Here is half of the hundred thousand.

Gideon snatched it up before Glinn could change his mind.

Then, to his surprise, Glinn handed him the other half. And heres the rest. Not as payment for services rendered, however. More in the way of, shall we say, an advance.

Gideon stuffed the money into his jacket pockets. An advance on what?

Before you leave town, Glinn said, I thought you might like to drop in on an old friend of yours.

Thanks, but Ive got a date with a cutthroat trout in Chihuahueos Creek.

Ah, but I was so hoping youd have time to see your friend.

I dont have any friends. And if I did, I sure as hell wouldnt be interested in dropping in on them right now. As you so kindly pointed out, Im living on borrowed time.

Reed Chalker is his name. I believe you worked with him?

We worked in the same Tech Areathats not the same as working with him. I havent seen the guy around Los Alamos in months.

Well, youre about to see him now. The authorities are hoping you could have a little chat with him.

The authorities? A chat? What the hells this about?

At this moment, Chalkers got a hostage. Four of them, actually. A family in Queens. Held at gunpoint.

Gideon laughed. Chalker? No way. The guy I knew was a typical Los Alamos geek, straight as an arrow, wouldnt hurt a fly.

Hes raving. Paranoid. Out of his mind. Youre the only person within range who knows him. The police want you to calm him down, get him to release those hostages.

Gideon didnt reply.

So Im sorry to tell you, Dr. Crew, but that cutthroat trout is going to be enjoying life just a little bit longer. And now you really do need to go. That family cant wait.

Gideon felt a swell of outrage at the imposition. Find someone else.

No time. There are two children involved, along with their mother and father. It seems the father is Chalkers landlord, rented him a basement apartment in their row house. Frankly, were very lucky youre here.

I hardly knew Chalker. He stuck to me like a limpetbut only briefly, after his wife left him. Then he got religion and drifted away, much to my relief.

Garza will take you over. Youll be liaising with Special Agent Stone Fordyce, FBI.

Liaising? Why is the FBI involved?

Its standard operating procedure whenever someone with a high-level security clearance like Chalker gets into trouble, on the chance he might go, ah, out of school. Glinn fixed his lone good eye on Gideon. This isnt some undercover operation like last timejust a straightforward assignment. If all goes well, you should be on your way back to New Mexico in a day or two.

Gideon said nothing. He had eleven months of life leftor at least thats what they had told him. But then again, the more he thought about it, the more he began to wonder, and he intended to take the first opportunity to get a second opinion. Glinn was a master manipulator, and Gideon didnt trust either him or his people.

If hes as crazy as you say, he might just turn that gun on me.

Two kids. Eight and ten. Boy and a girl. And their parents.

Gideon turned, expelled a long breath. Jesus. Im giving you one day just one day. And Im going to be pissed at you for a long, long time.

Glinn bestowed a cold smile on him.

T HEY ARRIVED AT a scene of controlled chaos. The setting was a nondescript working-class street in the ironically named neighborhood of Sunnyside, Queens. The house was part of a long row of attached brick houses, facing an identical row across a street of cracked pavement. There were no trees on the block; the lawns were overgrown with weeds and brown from lack of rain. The air hummed with the roar of traffic on nearby Queens Boulevard, and a smell of car exhaust drifted in the air.

A cop showed them where to park, and they got out. The police had set up roadblocks and barricades at both ends of the street, and the place was packed with squad cars, their lightbars flashing. Garza showed ID and was waved through a barricade, which held back a seething crowd of rubberneckers, many drinking beer, a few even wearing funny hats and carrying on as if it were a block party.

New York City , thought Gideon with a shake of his head.

The police had cleared a large area in front of the house in which Chalker had taken hostages. Two SWAT teams had been deployed, one in a forward post behind an armored rescue vehicle, the other back behind a set of concrete barricades. Gideon could see snipers peeking above several rooftops. In the middle distance, he could hear the occasional blaring of a voice over a megaphone, apparently a hostage negotiator trying to talk Chalker down.

As Garza pushed toward the front, Gideon experienced a sudden flash of dj vu, a spasm of nausea. This was the way his father had been killed, exactly like this: with the megaphones, the SWAT teams, the snipers and barricadesshot in cold blood, surrendering, with his hands upGideon fought to push the memory aside.

They passed through another set of barricades to an FBI command post. An agent detached himself from the group and came over.

Special Agent Stone Fordyce, said Garza, introducing him. Assistant commander of the FBI team on site. Youll be working with him.

Gideon eyed the man with instinctual hostility. The guy was straight out of a TV series, dressed in a blue suit, starched white shirt, and repp tie, ID hanging around his neck, tall, handsome, arrogant, self-assured, and ridiculously fit. His narrow blue eyes looked down at Gideon as if examining a lower form of life.

So youre the friend ? asked Fordyce, his eyes lingering on Gideon, particularly on his clothesblack jeans, black Keds without laces, secondhand tuxedo shirt, thin scarf.

Im not the maiden aunt, if thats what you mean, Gideon replied.

Heres the deal, the man went on, after a pause. This friend of yours, Chalker, hes paranoid, delusional. Classic psychotic break. Hes spouting a bunch of conspiracy ideas: that the government kidnapped him, used him for radiation experiments, and beamed rays into his headthe usual. He thinks his landlord and landlady are in on the conspiracy and hes taken them hostage, along with their two kids.