John Locke - Wish List
“How do you verify the points?”
“The hunters dig the devices out of their backs.”
“Each device is labeled with the points?”
“Correct.”
“You think Buddy’s head will wind up mounted on someone’s wall?”
“I think we’ll bury him with the others deep in the desert after the point count, unless you return Jinny to us. Where is she?”
“I left her chained to a tree in the woods.”
“Her health won’t permit it. You’ve got to get her to us immediately.”
“I can do that. Provided you spare Buddy’s life.”
“Buddy’s worth squat. There’s got to be a catch.”
“I also want you to leave his wife alone. Forever.”
“Will that do it?”
“Nearly.”
“What else?”
“They get to keep the million dollars.”
“Done.”
Chapter 12
When Jinny Kidwell and Harrison Ford heard me coming they broke into excited stage whispers. Poor things, that’s all the vocal power they had left. Had I been searching a hundred yards away instead of knowing their exact location, I would have missed them.
As I made my way through the underbrush, their pleas became more urgent. But upon seeing me, they grew silent.
Jinny didn’t look as frail as I expected, but she was pissed. She unleashed a torrent of curses at me like none I’d ever heard from a woman. And I’ve known some tough women! But curses are more effective with volume, and Jinny’s invectives, though scathing, came across as comical.
I tried not to smile. She caught me and began another round.
“Relax, Jinny,” I said. “You’re about to be saved.”
Calling over my shoulder, I said, “You too, Harrison. Hang on. I’ll be there in a minute. You’ll be back with your wife before you know it.”
Jinny's steel wrist band was secured to a length of chain that wound around the tree. When I circled the tree to remove the chain I noticed something on the ground.
“Is that yours?”
She turned to look at me and followed my stare. Then she stopped cursing and lowered her head, embarrassed.
“I’ll be damned,” I said, grinning.
“A gentleman would pretend not to notice my droppings,” she whispered. Then she grew angry again and whisper-shouted, “What the hell’s wrong with you?”
“I was just trying to calculate what that might be worth on eBay, if I could get it documented.”
It took her a moment to process my words. Then she whispered, “What?”
“Scarlett Johansson blew her nose into a handkerchief and sold it for fifty-three hundred dollars. The same buyer paid twenty-eight thousand for a half-eaten grilled cheese sandwich.”
“That’s disgusting. You’re disgusting!”
“I suppose I could get one of those DNA testing labs to authenticate it. They might certify it came from you.”
“You’re joking!”
I was joking. But not about the value of Jinny Kidwell’s scat in today’s celebrity-crazed society. I had no doubt that her droppings would fetch a hundred grand, if marketed properly.
Really, I’m kidding. I mean, about actually doing it.
Later, in the car heading south, after two hours of angry silence and a couple of hot teas with honey and lemon, Jinny’s voice was on the mend. She was hoarse, but I could understand her.
“Did you even stop to think about us?”
“What do you mean?”
“If something had happened to you, we would have died out there.”
“I told someone where you were.”
“You did?”
“Not the exact location, but yes, in general.”
“I doubt that.”
“No, really. I told my girlfriend.”
She appeared, not surprised, but stunned. “You’ve got a girlfriend?”
“I do.”
“For real?”
“Of course.”
“What’s her name?”
“Rachel.”
Jinny shook her head, sadly.
“What’s the matter?” I said.
“She’d have to be insane.”
Chapter 13
I continued driving south, through Nashville, and eventually dropped Jinny and me off at a private airstrip near Franklin, Tennessee. Before boarding our charter jet, I untied Harrison, returned his car keys, and gave him a generous tip, along with a warning that I was counting on his complete discretion. Jinny showed her sweet side by giving him a long hug and thanking him for helping her get through their ordeal. Then Jinny and I climbed in the Hawker 400 XP and flew to the remote landing strip near Great Bend, Kansas, where the exchange would be made. Hugo and I were in constant contact during the flight, and he caught me up to speed on everything that had happened in Buddy’s miserable life since filling out the form on WishList.bz.
Upon landing, I told Jinny and the pilots to remain onboard and visible. Then I walked, as instructed, to the fourth hangar, and knocked on the door.
“Face the wall while I pat you down,” said one of Victor’s huge, well-muscled goons.
I looked at Hugo and said, “Is this really necessary?”
He shrugged. “Sorry. Try to take it as a compliment.”
I endured it.
“He’s clean,” the goon said.
“I can guarantee you, he’s armed.” Hugo said.
The goon looked down at Hugo with scorn. “You tellin’ me my job, little man?”
“Maybe you two should get a room,” I said.
“Maybe I should stuff my foot up your ass!”
“You’ll have to buy me dinner first.”
“Where’s the weapon?” Hugo said.
I pointed to the watch on my left wrist.
Hugo nodded.
“The fuck is that?” said the goon.
“Wireless detonator.”
“Bullshit,” he said. “You haven’t had time to wire this place.”
Hugo shook his head. “The plane, stupid.”
“Why would he blow up the—oh. Shit!”
I sighed. “Hugo. Can we get this thing done?”
We walked into the hanger and up to a Lear 45 where I saw Buddy Pancake’s face in one of the windows.
“Why’s he making that stupid face?” said Hugo.
“I think he’s trying to signal me that someone’s holding a gun on him.”
“Like you wouldn’t have figured that out.”
The goon stopped near the exit door of the jet, and Hugo and I kept walking toward the office in the back of the hangar. As I passed, I nodded at Buddy to let him know I got his message. Buddy kept mouthing the words, “They’ve got guns! Guns!”
Hugo said, “What a moron.”
I said, “Jinny Kidwell for this guy? Gotta be the worst hostage trade in history.”
Hugo laughed.
A voice behind me said, “Hello, Donovan.”
I knew the voice. I turned.
“I’ll be damned,” I said.
“Yes you will.”
It was Rachel’s husband.
“What have you been up to, Sam?”
Sam said, “You know. Just livin’ the dream.” Then he said, “You still banging my wife?”
“Not so much.”
“Can’t say I blame her.”
There were dark circles under Sam’s eyes. His face had a pasty pallor, and his hair was unkempt. He sounded bitter, and looked five years older than he should. I’m sure it’s hard being Sam, a lonely computer genius with no family, friends, or peers in his profession.
“Rachel was asking about you,” I said.
“When?”
“Earlier today.”
“And what did you say?”
I shrugged. “What’s there to say?”
He nodded. “Do I have any chance with her at all? Your honest opinion.”
I said, “The Wish List computer program. Is that your work?”
“You like it?”
“I admire the effort.”
“Do you have any inkling how impressive an achievement that is? I mean, can you even comprehend the magnitude of what I put together?”
I couldn't. But based on his question I figured it must be pretty damn special. I said, “It’s sheer genius.”
“It’s child’s play,” he said.
I shrugged. “Victor hired you to create it?”
“Wouldn’t you?”
“I would. You’re the best computer person I’ve ever known.”
He shook his head. “You have no idea.” Then he muttered something about how the rest of us are mere insects trying to fathom quantum physics.
Then he walked away.
Chapter 14
Victor was sitting in the front office in his space age wheelchair, flanked by two little people half my size who I regarded as more dangerous than the goon outside.
“Hugo…tells me…that…Jinny’s alive.”
“She is.”
“Then…let’s…make the…trade.”
Victor’s metallic voice is creepy enough on the phone. In person it’s unearthly.
I said, “What’s wrong with Jinny?”
“She’s got…AIDS.”
“Jesus.”
“Exactly.”
“And you’ve got a cure?”
“One…dose.”
“Damn.”
“Exactly.”
“Look, Victor, you can’t just tell me some guy, working alone, discovered a cure for AIDS. He’s got no notes? Give me a break. That’s not how these things work in real life.”
“Why…do you…care?”
“I might want to write a book someday. You think my readers are going to accept that type of bullshit explanation?”
“You…haven’t…even…written a…book but…you’re worried…about…what your… readers are…going…to think?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“Well if…you…write…a book…”
“Yeah?”
“Keep me…out of it.”
“You’ll change your mind when we shoot the movie version.”
“Who…do you…think they’ll…get to…play me…in…the movie?”
I thought about it a minute, then gave up. “Victor, you’re an original. They’ll have to pay through the nose to get you to play yourself. You’ll have them over a barrel.”
He seemed pleased about the movie role, so I got back to it. “So what happened? Tell me about the doctor.”
Victor motioned to Hugo to speak, which is what he did whenever too many words needed to be said. Using the respirator to generate his computer voice for more than a few sentences was not only time consuming, but exhausting for Victor.
Hugo said, “His name was Gero Mielke.”
“German?”
“Correct.”
“What was his specialty?”
Hugo shrugged. “Microbiology, virology, blood cancer specialist….” His voice trailed off.
“Working alone?”
“When we met him he was director of the Berlin Mutational Virology Laboratory. He led his team to the edge of what he realized was a breakthrough, then moved them in a different direction and continued the work alone.”
“Why?”
“He wanted to cash in.”
“How much did you offer?”
“He was going to sell us the formula for a billion dollars.”
“Beats a salary bump at the lab, I’ll bet.”
“Exactly.”
We were all quiet for a moment. I spoke first. “You’re positive Jinny’s got AIDS?”
“Yes,” said Hugo. “One hundred percent. But it’s nearly cured.”
“And her husband?”
“HIV positive.”
“But not AIDS?”
“Not yet.”
“And Buddy?”
“I’m afraid Buddy will be dead by December.”
“But how is that possible? AIDS doesn’t kill that quickly.”
“Apparently the serum that is saving Jinny accelerates the disease in her sexual partners. Dr. Mielke learned that during the testing phase.”
“So Jinny knew she was killing Buddy by sleeping with him?”
“Of course.”
I shook my head. “And she called me disgusting!”
“Women, right?” Hugo said.
“But why isn’t Jinny’s husband dead by now?”
“She and Pete haven’t had sex since learning about her condition.”
An interesting thought came into my mind. “If Jinny gets cured, will she kill all her future sexual partners?”
“No one knows.”
“What about Buddy’s wife, Lissie?”
“What about her?”
“Has he infected her?”
“No. There’s been no sexual contact between them since he’s been with Jinny.”
“Good thing,” I said.
Then I thought of something else. “Who infected Jinny Kidwell?”
“Her husband.”
“What?”
“He was cheating on Jinny and wound up with HIV. He didn’t contract the disease, but he became a carrier, and passed it on to Jinny.”
“I was wondering why he allowed her to fuck Buddy Pancake.”
“Now you know. So, are you ready to make the trade?”
“There are what, twenty, thirty million people living with AIDS?”
“More like forty-five million. And five million new cases a year.”
“A billion dollars seems cheap. What happened, you got greedy?”
“No. We made several payments, but Dr. Mielke began making impossible demands. In the end, he was a raging paranoid who thought we were going to steal his formula. He tore up his notes and worked alone at night, after his team left the lab. He began missing our deadlines and refused to continue working without being paid. The situation got out of hand.”
“What happened to him?”
Hugo and Victor exchanged a look. Hugo said, “Unfortunately, Dr. Mielke died before we could resolve our issues.”
“Cause of death?”
“Heart attack.”
“Uh huh. Was there torture involved?”
Victor said, “A little.”
“You thought you might be able to force his cooperation.”
Hugo said, “The idea made sense at the time.”
“But you tortured him to death.”
“Not me, but yes, that was the unhappy result.”
“The man was living a double life.”
“Yes.”
“Working day and night, the guilt, the stress…your people should have known.”
“True.”
“Torture is an exact science, better left to professionals.”
“So we’ve learned.”
“You should have called me.”
Victor smiled. “Next time.”
Chapter 15
After making the trade, Buddy and I climbed in the Hawker and strapped on the seat belts.
“What about the device in my back?” he said.
“Is it uncomfortable?”
“What do you think? They dug a hole in my back and stuck a piece of metal in there.”
“What are you taking for it?”
“They gave me Dilaudid tablets. Said they have two to eight times the painkilling effects of morphine.” He looked at me. “Is that true?”
“How would I know? I don’t use pain pills.”
“Why not?”
“They keep you from feeling pain, right?”
He didn’t know how to respond, so he said, “Can you believe those bastards did this to me? Now I’m going to need surgery to dig that thing out.”
“You’d better use one of my contacts. Otherwise it’ll be reported.”
“I want it to be reported. They were going to hunt me down, shoot me like a fuckin’ animal. I’m going straight to the cops. I’ll bring those assholes to their knees!”
