Harry Harrison - The Turing Option

“Where is the patient now?” he asked.

She turned to the indicator board and touched a lit number. “Here. Intensive care. Room 314.”

“Are there any other rooms on this floor that are empty?”

“Just 330. But it is a double…”

“That doesn’t matter. Now change the indicator board and the records to show Delaney in 330, and 314 as being empty.”

“There will be trouble…”

“Do it.”

She did — with great reluctance. As she punched in the changes another nurse hurried in, still pinning on her badge. Schorcht nodded grimly.

“About time, Lieutenant. Get into the station. The rest of us are leaving. If anyone asks, the patient Brian Delaney is in room 330.” He silenced the staff nurse with a quick chop of his hand. “Lieutenant Drake is a military nurse with a great deal of hospital experience. There will be no trouble.” His beeper sounded and he switched on his radio and listened to it. “Understood.” He put it back on his belt and looked around him.

“We have about two minutes, possibly. Listen and don’t ask questions. We will all leave this area — leave this floor in fact. Lieutenant Drake knows what to do. We have just learned that there will be an attempt on the patient’s life. I not only want to prevent this crime but obtain information about the would-be perpetrators. You can all help by simply leaving now. Understood?”

The General led the way; there were no arguments. Nurse Drake stood almost at attention as they were hurried down the corridor to the stairwell and off the third floor. Only when they were gone did she take a deep breath and relax slightly. She pulled her uniform straight and turned to the mirror on the wall to make sure her cap was square and correct. When she turned back she controlled her start of surprise when she saw the young man standing at the counter.

“Can I help you… Doctor?” she said. He was dressed in hospital whites and had an electronic stethoscope hanging from his pocket.

“Nothing important. I just came on. Passed some worried visitors asking about a Brian Delaney. A new admittance?” He leaned over the counter and tapped the indicator. “Is that him?”

“Yes, Doctor. Intensive care, 330. Critical but stable.”

“Thanks. I’ll tell them when I go out.”

The nurse smiled at him. Nice-looking, tanned, late twenties, carrying a black bag. Still smiling, she put her hand to her waist and as soon as he had turned his back pressed twice on the button of what appeared to be an ordinary pager.

Whistling softly through his teeth, the young man went down the corridor, turned a corner and past 330 without a glance. He stopped at the next cross corridor and looked both ways — then ran swiftly and silently back to the room. No one was in sight. With his hand in the black bag he threw open the door and saw the empty beds. Before he could react the two men inside the room, one to each side of the door, pushed automatic pistols into his midriff.

“Whatever you’re thinking of doing — don’t!” the taller one said.

“Hello there,” the young man said and let the bag drop, swinging up the bulbous-tipped revolver at the same time.

They fired to wound, not kill. Quick shots into his arms and shoulder. He was still smiling as he fell face-forward. Before they could grab him and roll him over, there was a muffled pop.

They looked very uncomfortable when Schorcht came stalking in.

“He did it himself, sir, before we could stop him. Single shot into the chest with an explosive bullet. Blew a great damned hole in himself. Nothing left to patch up — even being right here in the hospital.”

The General’s nostrils flared and his glare, aimed first at one then the other of them like a swiveling cannon, was far worse than anything he could have said. It smoked with demotion, reprimand, blighted careers. He turned on his heel and stomped out to the waiting Benicoff.

“Get the FBI onto the body. Find out anything, everything!”

“Will do. Can you tell me now what this is all about?”

“No. This is a need-to-know situation — and you don’t need to know anything further. Let us say only that this Megalobe business has become slotted into something much larger that we have been aware of for some time. And this sort of attack will not be permitted to happen again. There will be guards here right around the clock until the patient can be moved. When he can he is going to go right out of here and over there, across the bay to Idiot’s Island. Coronado. I don’t like the Navy — but at least they are part of the military. They should be able to guard one man inside their hospital inside the largest naval base in the world. I hope.”

“I am sure that they can. But you are going to tell me the background to this assassination attempt. Or my own investigation will be compromised.”

“When the time comes you will be informed.” Icily. But Benicoff was not buying it; his voice was just as cold as the General’s.

“Not satisfactory. If the people behind this are the same as the ones who shot Brian then I do need to know. Now tell me.”

It was a standoff — until General Schorcht reluctantly made the decision.

“I can tell you the absolute minimum. We have an informant in a criminal organization. He discovered this assassination attempt, contacted us as soon as he could. He knows only that the killer was hired — but as yet he doesn’t know who made the approach. If and when he acquires that information it will be passed on to you. Satisfactory?”

“Satisfactory. As long as you remember to tell me.” Benicoff smiled cheerfully in response to General Schorcht’s glare of hatred, turned and left. He found Snaresbrook in her office, closed and locked the door before he told her what had happened.

“And no one knows yet who is behind this attempt, or why they are doing it?” the surgeon asked.

“The why is pretty obvious. Whoever stole the artificial intelligence equipment and details wants a monopoly — and no witnesses. They wanted to be sure that Brian would never be able to talk.”

“In that case — let us see what we can do to interfere with their plans. But the relocation to Coronado will not be easy — or soon. Brian’s in no condition to be moved, nor am I willing to interrupt the healing process. As I have said, this is a battle against time. So you and your obnoxious General will just have to find a way to make this hospital secure.”

“He is going to love that. I’ll take another coffee before I even think about facing him.”

“Help yourself. But I have to get back to the O.R.”

“I’m going with you. I’m staying there until I see just what kind of security the General comes up with.”

The next morning Benicoff got to Dr. Snaresbrook’s office just before she left for the operating room.

“Got a moment?”

“Just that and nothing more. This is going to be a difficult day.”

“I thought you might want to know about the assassin. As was expected no identification, no labels in his clothes, no identification. His blood was more revealing. The report said that his blood type placed his origin in South America. Colombia in fact. I didn’t know they could be that specific.”

“Blood typing is getting more and more refined — and you will probably find that given enough time they will be able to pinpoint his origin exactly. Is that all?”

“Not quite. He had full-blown AIDS and was a three-bag-a-day heroin addict. He came down from his high just long enough to pull the job — but he had a hypodermic in his bag loaded with a dose that would kill a horse. So we have a hired gun, more than ready to kill for his expensive fix. The trail gets cold there but the investigators are trying to work through the people who arranged the contract with him for the hit. I have not yet even been told who they are or how this information reached us. So you will appreciate that it is not very easy.”