He nodded and glanced up as Finley came down the hall.
"You're early," Finley commented, pushing his thick glasses back up his nose.
He wondered why the young doctor just didn't have laser correction or get implants for his eyes. Hell, given Finley's skills in the medical field, he could probably even do the procedure himself.
"How small do they make microchips these days?"
Finley's expression was one of surprise. So was Sam's.
"The largest they make them is pinhead size. Those ones are rather outdated, of course."
"Can they be inserted into a human body? Used to track movements?"
Finley glanced at Sam. "Yeah. Want me to look for one?"
He nodded. They'd been found too quickly at the Rosewater. They hadn't been followed there from Sam's apartment, nor had he told anyone that they were going to be there. Only Karl had known, and even he didn't know who Sam was.
Which left them with Sam herself.
"Let you know what I find." Finley stated, and waved her ahead of him.
He nodded and turned, heading for his office. He had to call Karl, and then he had plans to make. There was a traitor in the Federation's midst, a traitor intent on taking the life of his brother. It wasn't going to happen. Not if he could do anything to stop it.
He had no idea who was behind this particular attempt, but he would find the culprit.
And then he'd kill him.
Chapter Five
Sam leaned back in the well-padded armchair and watched Finley walk out the door. In some ways, the doctor reminded her of a dragonfly — he was always darting about from one machine to another, as if he couldn't remain still for more than a few minutes. And he was about as skinny as one of those insects, too.
She glanced at the monitor on the far wall. It was nearly nine. Four hours she'd been here, being poked and prodded and shoved inside huge, impersonal machines. And she'd really had just about enough. None of this would find any answers. Not the answers she wanted found, anyway.
Her gaze dropped to the ID tag sitting on the nearby table. She frowned, reached forward and picked it up. Finley had given it to her earlier, warning that she'd need it if she wanted to go to the restroom. She'd thought he'd been joking, until she'd actually tried to go. Anyone would think the toilet seats were damn gold.
She turned the card over and caught sight of some writing in the left corner. Security clearance level three. Her heart began to beat a little faster. It was probably the minimum clearance you needed to move around the SIU halls, but upstairs, in the areas governed by State, level three would get her into the morgue.
Dare she?
Her gaze went to the door through which Finley had disappeared, and she smiled grimly. How could she not? She needed answers, and this tag would at least help her get some.
She clipped it on, rose and walked across to the door. Finley glanced up from the com-screen as she entered the outer room and gave her a distracted smile. Her own smile was easy. Jack had once told she could act right up there with the best of them. She hoped like hell he was right.
"Restroom again," she said. They'd been feeding her enough fluid over the past few hours that she knew he'd accept the explanation.
He nodded and returned his attention to the monitor. She moved into the hall and stopped. It was still deserted, and the silence was almost intense. Finley had told her that only a skeletal staff worked here during the day. The SIU, with its task of investigating all matters relating to the paranormal, tended to have its normal working day during the night, which meant there would be few people around to question or stop her. All she had to do was hope no one in the know was watching the monitors.
She turned left and headed up the corridor. The elevators came quickly into view, the doors opening as she neared. She stepped inside and swiped her card, as she'd seen Gabriel do earlier. Then she pressed the button for sub level three. For a moment, there was no reaction, and her breath caught. What if she'd been wrong about the pass? God, the last thing she wanted was more damn trouble landing on her shoulders.
Which undoubtedly was what she'd get by doing what she was doing. But, damn it, trouble brought about by searching for answers was worth it. It was the doing nothing that was driving her crazy.
The doors decided to shut, and the elevator moved up. She sighed in relief and watched the numbers zip by. At upper-fourteen, the elevator stopped and the doors opened. She peered out. The corridor was silent and quite dark. Obviously, no one had reported in to work up here yet, which had to be good news for her. Unless, of course, security noticed her presence and decided to do something about it.
She studied the ceiling, looking for monitors. One ... two near the elevator, and at least one halfway down the hall. But if she kept to the walls, out of the light sensor range, maybe she'd escape notice long enough to get to the morgue and take a look at Jack's corpse. If they hadn't processed him — though it would have to be something of a record if they had. Technology might have made everyone's job simpler, but things still seemed to take the same amount of time, if not longer.
She walked along the corridor, keeping as close to the thick shadows crowding the wall as possible. Above her, the security cam's hummed as they tracked her movement, but no lights came on, and more importantly, no alarm had sounded. She found the entrance to the morgue, and swiped her card. The door clicked open. In the morgue's outer rooms, bright light flared, making her eyes water.
Cursing softly, she quickly stepped inside and shut the door. "Light's dim," she hissed. Instantly, the glare became a muted glow. She glanced around. Though she'd only come down here when absolutely necessary, that was still often enough to know the general layout of the place. Mark Righter, the medical examiner, had a desk in the far corner. More than likely he'd be handling Jack's examination himself.