John Locke - Wish List

“What’s the game?”

“They call it ��Run, Son!’”

“Never heard of it.”

“There are a dozen hunters with rifles, and Buddy and forty-nine other Wish List alumni are prey. They’ll have a two-hour head start, but they won’t escape.”

“Why’s that?”

“They’ve had monitoring devices planted in their backs, next to their spines, where they can’t reach them.”

“What if Buddy gets one of the other participants to dig it out?”

“It’ll explode, rendering him paralyzed.”

“Like Victor.”

“Except that Victor won’t be lying on the desert floor, helpless, when the hunters come.”

“Tell me the rest of it.”

“There’s a point system. As prey, Buddy’s worth seventy points to the hunter that bags him. The younger, stronger, faster targets are worth up to 250 points. When the last kill is made, the points are totaled and the winners receive valuable prizes.”

“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?”