Leapholes

Chapter 9

The bright light of interrogation was shining in Ryan's eyes.

The blast in the Infectious Disease Control Center had knocked him out, cold. Apart from that, he was unhurt. He didn't know how long he had been unconscious. Even more disconcerting, he had no idea where he was.

"You are in a tremendous amount of trouble, young man." The deep voice filled the room, but Ryan's interrogator was a dark silhouette in the shadows, standing behind a bright spotlight. It was like staring into the headlights of an oncoming car in the dead of night and trying to identify the driver. Somehow, however, Ryan could feel the weight of the stranger's stare.

"Who are you?" asked Ryan.

"I'm Detective Frank Malone. And 77/ be the one asking the questions from here on out, thank you."

Ryan couldn't look into that white light another minute. As he averted his eyes, he noticed that he was no longer wearing his jeans and sweatshirt. His basketball jersey was gone, too. Someone had removed his street clothes. He was clad in a jumpsuit. An orange jumpsuit-the same kind of orange jumpsuit that his father wore whenever Ryan visited him at the state penitentiary.

"Am I in prison?"

"No more questions," said the detective. "It's time for you to cough up some answers, Mr. Coolidge."

Coolidge! They knew his name. But how? It must have been the missing person's report that the ER physician had mentioned. His mother had probably filed it, and the police figured out that Ryan LNU was Ryan Coolidge. "Sir, I know what you must be thinking. But I'm not like my father. I didn't do anything wrong."

"We'll see about that. Right now, I'd venture to say that you're in far more trouble than your father ever got himself into."

Ryan couldn't imagine why the detective would say such a thing. Then it came to him. They must think I started thatfire. "It wasn't me. I didn't start that hospital on fire."

"I'm not talking about that. Don't play dumb. Your friend Kaylee confirmed everything that Dr. Watkins told us."

"Kaylee?" he said aloud, and the wheels began to turn in his head. So far, he hadn't been thinking too clearly. He suddenly remembered that he had been exposed to a deadly and contagious disease. "Is Kaylee all right? She should be… I should be…"

"Dead?"

"Yes. We were all infected by that virus. BODS."

"Both you and Kaylee are fine."

Ryan sighed with relief, but his concern quickly returned. "What about the others?"

"Oh, you're worried about them, are you?" he said, his voice dripping with skepticism. "Funny, you weren't quite so concerned when you took away their vaccines."

"I wasn't trying to take anything away from anyone. There were six of us and only five vaccines. I was trying to make enough for everyone."

"No, you were trying to save Kaylee, at the expense of everyone else."

"That's not true."

"You agreed to cast lots, did you not?"

"Yes, but-"

"The five winners were supposed to get the vaccine. The loser would not."

"Yes, but it didn't have to be that way."

"But you agreed to the system," the detective said.

"The others wanted it. I never agreed. It wasn't right."

The detective chuckled. "You mean it wasn't right because you didn't like the result."

"No. It just wasn't right."

"So when Kaylee lost, you went berserk."

"I did what I had to do. That's all."

"You took the vials. You tried to stretch five vaccines into six."

"Yes."

"Which was foolish, of course. There was only enough vaccine for five. If you try to stretch it into six, none of them would be any good."

"We had to try. We couldn't just let Kaylee die."

"So you admit that you broke the agreement to cast lots?"

Ryan hesitated. It sounded bad, the way the detective said it. "Yes, sir."

"You had a better idea. Mix up the vials and blow everything up."

"I had no idea that mixing up the vaccines would cause an explosion."

The detective leaned closer, his eyes narrowing. "Like I said before, son. You are in a lot of trouble."

"Why?"

"You and Kaylee were the only survivors. Four people died."

The detective's words hit him like a punch in the chest. "Coach, Flu Lady, Sling Man, Head Case. All dead?" he said, his voice quaking.

"That's right. Thanks to you."

Ryan's mouth went dry. He'd never hurt anyone in his entire life, and now four people were dead. "This can't be. I didn't mean for this to turn out this way."

"It is a rather interesting result, isn't it," said the detective.

"I wouldn't call it interesting at all. It's terrible. I'm sick over this."

"Actually, you're not sick. That's what is so interesting. You see, the BODS virus had never been tested on children before. Turns out it's lethal only in adults. Dr. Watkins believes that it has something to do with lower levels of certain hormones in children."

"So Kaylee and I are safe?"

"Yes. But we know all too well that BODS is fatal to adults. Without the vaccine, none of them survived."

Ryan swallowed the lump in his throat. Each time the detective reminded him of the consequences of his actions, it became more difficult for Ryan to speak. "I'm very sorry about that," he said softly.

"You should be," said the detective. "If you had honored the agreement to cast lots, none of those four adults would have died."

"But… it didn't seem fair, us deciding who should live and die."

The detective held up his hand, as if he'd heard enough. "Tell it to the judge, young man."

"The judge?" said Ryan.

"Yes. You're going to stand trial."

"Trial? For what?"

"Manslaughter, of course. Like I said: You are in a lot of trouble."

Ryan sank into his chair, his mind awhirl. On his last visit to a courtroom he'd watched his father plead guilty to a crime. "Another Coolidge in trouble with the law," he said, almost speaking to himself. "Our neighborhood is just going to have a field day, isn't it?"

"Don't worry. This trial won't be anywhere near your hometown."

"It won't?"

"No. Like Dr. Watkins told you, everything connected to a possible BODS epidemic is top secret. Your trial will be no different. You will be tried before a special tribunal assembled by the Court of International Justice. The exact location is of no concern to you. It will be a fair trial. That's all I can guarantee you."

Ryan wasn't sure what to say, so he said the first thing that came to mind. "Can I call home, please? I want to speak to my mother."

"Call homeV The detective's head rolled back with laughter. "You really have no idea what you're up against, do you?"

Ryan felt an emptiness inside, a dark loneliness. "No, sir," he said quietly. "I honestly don't."

The detective switched off the intense interrogation lamp. The room was suddenly black, and Ryan's heart skipped a beat. He heard another flip of a switch, and the lights were back on. It was a softer light, however, much easier on the eyes.

"Guards!" the detective called.

The door opened, and two men entered. Both were dressed in dark green uniforms. Ryan gave them a quick once-over, searching for any markings or insignias that might tell him who these people were. He spotted nothing useful. The only thing he could say for certain was that these guys were absolutely huge. Both were well over six feet tall. Their necks were like sequoia trees, and rock-hard biceps bulged beneath their shirt sleeves. One guard was armed with a nightstick. The other carried a heavy-duty flashlight.

"Hands behind your head," said the man with the nightstick.

Ryan did as he was told. They cuffed his hands behind his back and escorted him from the interrogation room, one man on his left, the other on the right. The passageways were dark and narrow, and the guards led him down a winding, metal stairwell. At the bottom of the stairs, the lead man opened a sealed hatchway, which led to total darkness.

"In you go," the guard said.

"What's this?"

"The brig, of course."

The beam of the flashlight pointed the way. Ryan stood in the open hatchway and stared inside. Cold metal walls, a metal floor. No windows. A bunk on one side, a smelly toilet with no seat on the other. So this is what prison is all about. It almost didn't feel real to him.

"Move it, kid!"

The nightstick poking at his kidney-that was real.

Ryan stumbled into the brig, then something came to mind. "I noticed you called this the brig. I thought brigs were on ships."

"Not necessarily. But good guess, genius. You are on a ship."

"Where are we going?"

The guard snorted with laughter.

"What's so funny?" asked Ryan.

"First of all, they don't tell us. Second of all, if they did tell us, we wouldn't tell your The guard handed Ryan an extra flashlight, and Ryan switched it on.

"Use it wisely, kid. The batteries won't last forever."

The door closed, and Ryan was left alone in the cell. The dim glow of the flashlight was his only relief from total darkness. Wherever he aimed it, the sweeping beam of light sent cockroaches scurrying. They were on the floor, the walls, and even on the ceiling. Some were as big as his baby sister's foot. They disappeared behind the toilet or between cracks in the metal planks, though Ryan knew they would return as soon as the light went out. He sat on the bunk and tested the mattress. He wondered if there were roach nests in there, too. It didn't matter. He couldn't possibly sleep in that bunk anyway. The mattress was hard and lumpy, about as comfortable as a sack of corn husks. The blankets and sheets had a strong, musty odor. It reminded Ryan of the pungent smell of the bay when the tide went out. Or the smell of his socks after soccer practice.

He sat quietly for several minutes, until the sensation of movement made him start. It was a gentle sway, almost imperceptible. But no doubt about it, the ship was moving. Ryan was on his way, sailing off to some undisclosed location to stand trial before the Court of International Justice-for manslaughter!

It was hard for him to believe that any of this was happening. But then he reconsidered. Of course it was happening. He was a Coolidge.

That's why I'm being charged.

Somehow, Ryan had known for months that it would come to this. He knew that all the taunting, all the jokes, all the gossip behind his back would someday snowball into disaster. Eventually, they would pin something on him. They'd nail him, and they'd nail him good.

All because his father was a crook.

Thanks, Dad. Thanks a million.