Ideally, the surgeon would have forceps or tweezers to remove the shell. Herbert had only the knife. That meant he had to get under the bullet and pop it out fast, lest her writhing drive the blade this way and that.
He studied the wound for a moment, then put the tip to the opening. The bullet had entered at a slight left-to-right angle. He would have to go in the same way. He held his breath, steadied the knife, then pushed it in slowly.
Jody screamed into his hand. She struggled hard against Herbert, but he pinned her with his left forearm.
There was nothing like pushing around a wheelchair to build the upper body.
Herbert pushed the blade along the bullet. He felt its end, angled the tip of the knife beneath it, and used the Skinner like a lever to ease the shell out. It emerged slowly, then tumbled down her body.
Herbert tucked the knife into his belt and released her.
He grabbed the matches.
“I need four or five seconds to seal the wound,” he said. “Will you give me that?” Her lips and eyes pressed shut, she nodded briskly.
Herbert struck a match and used it to set the rest of the matchbook on fire. The matches would be hotter and faster than if he heated the knife and used it to close the wound. And seconds mattered now.
Once again pressing his hand to her mouth, Herbert pressed the heads of the matches to the bloody wound.
Jody tensed and bit his hand. He knew this pain and knew it would grow worse as the moisture in her skin evaporated. As she dug her teeth into him, he fought his own pain and bent toward her ear.
“Did you ever see Kenneth Branagh in Henry V?” One second. The blood boiled off. Jody’s hands shot toward Herbert’s wrist.
“Remember what he told his soldiers?” Two seconds. The flesh began to sear. Jody’s teeth sliced through the meat of his palm.
“Henry said that one day they’d point to their scars and tell their kids that they were tough cookies.” Three seconds. The wound sizzled. Jody’s strength seemed to evaporate. Her eyes rolled up.
“That’s you,” Herbert said. “Except you’ll probably have plastic surgery.” Four seconds. The edges of the wound knit together under the heat. Jody’s hands fell back.
“No one will ever believe you were shot. That you fought with King Bob Herbert on St. Crispin’s Day.” Five seconds. He pulled at the matches. They broke from the burned flesh with a slight tug. He dropped the book, then brushed away the embers which still clung to her skin. It was a small, ugly job, but at least the wound was closed.
He removed his hand from her teeth. His palm was bleeding.
“Now we’ll both have scars to show off,” he grumbled as he reached for the passenger’s side door. “Think you’ll be able to walk now?” Jody looked at him. She was sweating and her perspiration glistened in the car light.
“I’ll make it,” she said. She didn’t look at the wound as she pulled her blouse over it. “Did I hurt your hand?” “Unless you have rabies I’ll be fine.” He opened the door. “Now if you’ll help me with the chair we can get the hell out of here.” Jody moved slowly, tentatively as she came around the car. She was more confident with each step and seemed her old self by the time she reached him. She struggled slightly to get the chair out, then held it open for him.
Pressing his hands on the car seat, he hopped in.
“Let’s go,” he said. “Due east. To the left.” “That’s not the way I came,” she said.
“I know,” Herbert replied. “Just do it.” She started pushing. The chair seemed to snag on every exposed root and fallen branch. Far behind them, in an otherwise still and silent night, they heard crunching.
“We’re never going to make it,” Jody said.
“We are,” Herbert said, “as long as you keep going in this direction.
Jody leaned into the chair and they moved slowly through the dark. And as they did, Herbert told the young woman one thing more he needed her to do.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE Thursday, 9:56 P.M., Toulouse, France
Leaving the vans behind, Ballon, Hood, Stoll, Hausen, and Nancy crossed the Tarn by foot across the high-arched brick bridge. Streetlights placed every twenty yards or so provided enough light for them to see— and, Hood knew, enough light for them to be seen.
Not that that mattered. Dominique would have assumed he was being watched in any case. Their approach would probably not cause him to take any extra precautions.
Upon reaching the former bastide, the group stopped.
They sat beside a thicket on the narrow stretch of grass which sloped toward the river.
Muttering the entire time, Stoll entrusted his computer to Nancy while he unpacked the T-Bird.
“You’re sure we’re not doing anything illegal,” Stoll said. “I’m not going to end up starring in Midnight Express II and getting caned.” “We don’t do that in France,” Ballon said. “And this is not illegal.” “I should’ve read the warrant on the plane,” Stoll said.
“Except I don’t read French, so what difference would it’ve made?” The computer scientist hooked the shoebox-like device to the fax-machine-sized imager. He pointed the front at the building and used a button on the imager to activate the laser line scanner. This scanner would clean up the image, removing blur caused by air particles which scattered the light.
Stoll said, “Colonel, you got any idea how thick those walls are?” “Half afoot in most places.” “Then we should be okay,” Stoll said as he squatted and switched on the terahertz generator. Less than ten seconds later the device beeped. “But we’ll know now for sure in half a minute.” Still squatting, Stoll leaned over and waited for the color picture to come from the imager. The paper emerged at a rate equivalent to a moderately slow fax machine.
Ballon watched expectantly as the glossy sheet curled out.
When the machine stopped, Stop tore off the paper and handed it up to Ballon. The Colonel studied it in the light of a small flashlight. The others moved closer.
Hood’s spirits plummeted. On the strength of this they’d be going nowhere very soon.
“What is this?” Ballon asked. “It looks like a swimming pool.” Stoll’s knees popped as he rose. He looked at the image. “It’s a picture of wall which is a lot thicker than six inches,” he said. He studied beam-back data on the bottom of the paper. “It got 6.27 inches through the wall, then stopped. Which means it’s either thicker than you thought or there’s something on the other side.” Hood looked at Nancy, who was frowning. Then he looked at the five-story-tall edifice. There were windows, but they were shuttered. He was sure there would be radioreflective materials on the other side.
Ballon threw the paper down angrily. “This is what we came here for?” “Ya pays yer money and ya takes yer chances,” Stoll said. He was obviously relieved. “I guess we should’ve known it wouldn’t be as easy as hacking into government computers.” Even as he said it, Stoll obviously knew he’d made a mistake. Ballon turned the flashlight on him. Hood regarded the computer whiz.
“Can you break into computers?” Ballon asked.
Stoll looked at Hood. “Yes. I mean, I have. But that’s highly illegal, especially—” “We tried to get into Demain’s computers,” Ballon said, “but Dominique wasn’t on-line anywhere we could find. I had some of our best people working on the problem.” Nancy said, “That’s because you probably didn’t know what you were, looking for. Did you find any of his games?” “Of course,” said Ballon.
“Then they were probably in there. Hidden inside MUDs. Multi-User Dungeons.” “Hey,” said Stoll. “I was fooling around with one on the plane.” “I know,” Nancy said. “I saw the commands you were typing. Also, the other message you sent.” Hood grew warm with embarrassment.
“It’s like reading lips,” Nancy said. “With enough experience you can read keyboards. Anyway, when we program games we always put in secret doorways to other games. I hid a game of Tetris inside Ironjaw, a game I wrote for Demain.” “That was yours?” Stoll asked. “That was awesome!” “It was mine,” she said. “No one ever reads the credits at the end. But if you did, you’d have found Tetris. All you had to do was highlight the correct letters sequentially in the fictitious names Ted Roberts and Trish Fallo.” Hood said, “How the hell would anyone ever think to do that?” “They wouldn’t,” Nancy smiled. “That’s what makes it so much fun. We leak the information through fan magazines and on-line bulletin boards.” Hood said, “But no one would ever think of looking for an activation code in an innocent adventure game.” “Right,” said Nancy. “But that’s exactly what it takes. A simple activation code. A program in somebody’s computer in Jerkwater Township, U.S.A., could unleash a hate game across the entire Internet.” “Why didn’t you say anything about this?” Hood asked.