For a few minutes Jack allowed himself the luxury of contemplating being rescued. The problem was that the chances were minuscule. The only person who knew that the National Biologicals probe test was positive with the plague culture was Ted Lynch, not that he could know what it meant. Agnes might, but there was no reason for Ted to tell Agnes what he’d found.
If rescue was not a viable possibility, then he’d have to rely on escape. With numb fingers Jack felt up and down the length of the drainpipe to which he was shackled. He tried to feel for any imperfections, but there were none. He positioned the handcuffs at various heights and, with his feet against the pipes, pushed until the handcuffs cut into his skin. The pipes were there to stay.
If he were to escape it would have to occur when he was allowed to go to the bathroom. How he would actually do it, he had no idea. All he could hope was that they’d become careless.
Jack shuddered when he thought of’ what morning might bring. A good night’s sleep would only toughen Terese’s resolve. The fact that neither Terese nor Richard could shoot him in cold blood the night before was scant reassurance. As self-centered as they both were, he couldn’t bank on that continuing indefinitely.
Using his legs, Jack succeeded in getting the rag rug to fold over him again. Settling down as best he could, he tried to rest. If an opportunity of escape presented itself, he hoped he’d be physically able to take full advantage of it.
33
* * *
THURSDAY, 8:15 A.M., MARCH 28, 1996
CATSKILL MOUNTAINS, NEW YORK
The hours had passed slowly and miserably for Jack. He’d not been able to fall back asleep. Nor could he even find a comfortable position with his shivering. When Richard finally staggered into the room with his hair standing on end, Jack was almost glad to see him. “I’ve got to use the bathroom,” Jack called out.
“You’ll have to wait for Terese to get up,” Richard said. He was busy rebuilding the fire.
The door to Terese’s room opened a few minutes later. Terese was dressed in an old bathrobe; she didn’t look any better than Richard. Her normal helmet of highlighted curls looked more like a mop. She was without makeup, and the contrast with her normal appearance made her seem exceptionally pale.
“I’ve still got my headache,” Terese complained. “And I slept lousy.”
“Me too,” Richard said. “It’s the stress, and we never really had any dinner.”
“But I’m not hungry,” Terese said. “I can’t understand it.”
“I’ve got to go to the bathroom,” Jack repeated. “I’ve been waiting for hours.”
“Get the gun,” Terese said to Richard. “I’ll unlock the handcuffs.”
Terese came into the kitchen and bent down to reach under the sink with the handcuff key.
“Sorry you didn’t sleep well,” Jack said. “You should have joined me out here in the kitchen. It’s been delightful.”
“I don’t want to hear any mouth from you,” Terese warned. “I’m not in the mood.”
The handcuff snapped open. Jack rubbed his chafed wrist as he stiffly got to his feet. A wave of dizziness spread over him, forcing him to lean against the kitchen table. Terese quickly relocked the handcuff around Jack’s free wrist. Jack wouldn’t have been able to resist even if he’d had the intention.
“Okay, march!” Richard said. He was training the gun on Jack.
“In a second,” Jack said. The room was still spinning.
“No tricks!” Terese said. She stepped away from him.
As soon as he could, Jack walked to the bathroom on rubbery legs. The first order of business was to relieve himself. The second was to take a dose of the rimantadine with a long drink of water. Only then did he hazard a look in the mirror. What he saw surprised him. He wasn’t sure he would have recognized himself. He looked like a vagrant. His eyes were bright red and slightly swollen. Dried blood was on the left side of his face and spattered on the shoulder of his uniform shirt, apparently from the blow he’d received in the car at the tollbooth. His lip was swollen where Richard had split it. Dried mucus stuck to his formidable stubble.