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She offered no resistance save a dopey-eyed wink.
"Now you just wait there for a little while," he said, and kissed her on the forehead. He shut the closet door.
Valentine took her keys from the dresser, and her blue ID card. He pocketed them and rode the elevator to the basement.
He'd worked out every move in his mind, gone over it so many times a sense of unreality persisted. Was he still lying in bed, planning this? Was it his real hand reaching for the big Lincoln's door, his bag he placed on the passenger seat, his foot on the accelerator as he backed toward the fuel pump?
The pump clattered loudly enough that he wondered that the whole building didn't come to investigate. He topped off the tank, and filled the two spare twenty-liter plastic containers she kept in the back. He climbed into the driver's seat, and put on the seat belt and com headset. He started the SUV and turned it toward the garage door.
"Two-one-six, leaving," he said into her mouthpiece, pressing the com button on the dash.
"Dr. Paoli?"
"Tar Ayoob, running an errand," he said.
"Two-one-six, leaving," the voice acknowledged. "Enjoy the party." The garage door rose.
Valentine pulled the SUV around to the west tower, parked it in plain sight under a roadside light, and trotted over to the basement door with his bag. He knocked, and Ahn-Kha, in his laundry overcoat, answered.
"Here," Ahn-Kha said, and passed Valentine some blue scrubs.
The boots looked a little funny under them, but he'd pass. Once Ahn-Kha checked the basement hallway, thick with conduits and junction boxes, Valentine went to the larger, gurney-sized elevators and pressed the up button.
Ahn-Kha brought a wheelchair out from around a corner. They were easily found all over the building, but it never hurt to be prepared.
He pushed Fran's blue card in the slot and went up to the fourth floor.
Halloween decorations, traditional orange-and-black paper, festooned the hallway over the honor-in-childbearing propaganda.
Vague noises of something that sounded like a Chevy with a bad starter came from the central common room. Valentine walked behind the wheelchair to Room 4105.
The outer cubicle was empty. A woman lay in the next bed, sleeping-but it wasn't Gail.
He knew Gail Post's schedule by heart. She'd already been fed, and it was getting to the point where the women were usually expected to be in their beds, asleep.
He crossed the building to the common room. Twenty-odd women watched spacecraft blow up a model of long-ago Los Angeles. Vacant, tired eyes reflected the sparking special effects.
Gail Foster sat right in the center.
A nurse popped up at the door. "Can I help?"
"Gail Foster. Follow-up X-ray."
She glanced at Valentine's ID badge, but didn't examine it closely. "Follow-up to what?"
"Not sure. Dr. Kreml's orders. They should have called. She wants it taken tonight."
"That one," the nurse said, pointing.
Valentine tapped her on the shoulder. "Gail, I need you for a moment," he said.
"Sure," she said absently. Valentine helped her to the chair by the door. A few of the other patients exchanged looks, but most watched the movie.
The nurse who had questioned Valentine was at the center console, speaking into the phone.
No choice.
He wheeled Gail to the station. The nurse turned to watch him.
