CHAPTER 25

           The Director shall oversee the Hundred, but shall not supersede any one of them.

        —LANCASTER R. HILL, 100 Neighbors, SAWYER RIVER BOOKS, 1930, P. 102

By the time Cap’s nurse, a full-figured woman named Elisha bustled into the room and shooed Lou out, he was already five minutes late for his meeting with Humphrey. Cap dozed through some of their hour together, but in general, he forced himself to stay awake, asking about the kids he had been training at the gym, including Emily, his prize pupil, and also about some of their other mutual friends.

For the moment, Stick and Move was being covered gratis, but no one connected with the gritty inner-city joint had any money to spare. Thanks to Walter Filstrup, Lou’s calendar had lightened some, but he was determined to spend his newfound free time right there at Arbor General.

Mostly, though, the two of them skirted the money issues, both surrounding the business and also Cap’s mounting hospital bills. The overriding problem—the elephant in the tub—was Cap’s leg infection. Once that behemoth was sent back to the jungle, they could focus on redecorating the bathroom.

“He needs his rest,” Elisha said.

Given the sheen of perspiration coating Cap’s forehead and the clammy feel of his hand, Lou was not about to disagree.

“I’ll be back, pal,” he said.

The nurse placed a firm hand on his shoulder and turned him toward the door.

“He’ll be fine,” she insisted as if addressing a grade-schooler.

Lou wished he felt buoyed by her reassurance.

It took him a bit of time to discard his paper clothing, ride downstairs, and wend his way through the bustling corridors of the hospital. Humphrey was waiting to one side of the modestly busy lobby, but from what Lou could discern, he looked less cheerful than usual.

“I’m sorry for being late,” Lou said. “Cap isn’t in good shape.”

“That’s want discuss with you,” Humphrey replied, wheeling past the bank of elevators and the massive information desk to an unoccupied nook. As usual, Lou saw people stare at the man as they passed, then uncomfortably turn away.

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” Lou said. “What is there to discuss?”

Humphrey held Lou’s gaze as best he could. When he finally spoke, he abandoned his shorthand speech and did his best to carefully enunciate every word.

“I believe your friend is dying, Lou, and there is nothing anyone can do about it.… Except me.”

With those few words, it felt as if Humphrey had completely altered the dynamics of their connection. He was suddenly not the affable, upbeat, indomitable cripple, struggling along despite his limitations and the disregard of so many. He was no longer desperately grateful for Lou’s understanding and respect. He was, instead, a stern, deadly serious man.

“Go on,” Lou said, sensing he was as much annoyed as engaged by the change in his unusual new friend.

“Before we talk. Before I show you what I mean, there’s something you need to watch.”

Humphrey didn’t give Lou the chance to question the order. He depressed a large button on the right side of his tray, and a modest-sized computer screen rose smoothly in front of him, already booted up.

“Game versus Henri Delacourt,” he said.

Many might have had trouble discerning Humphrey’s thick speech, but the computer had none at all. In seconds a chessboard appeared on the screen. Lou could play a half-decent game, but over the last six months or so, Emily, a fierce game player at everything from jacks to Monopoly, had begun to win their encounters more often than not. He knew enough to see that the game on the screen was already in progress, but it wasn’t clear whether white or black was winning.

Henri, it’s Humphrey. Are you there?

The words he spoke printed out in a dialogue window below the board.

Right here, my friend.

How are things in Paris?

Rainy as usual. And there in Atlanta?

Hot. I believe you are in some trouble, good sir.

I believe you are right, Monsieur Miller. One more move, and if it is the right one, I am afraid you will have beaten me once again.

In that case, it is time for us to plan our next encounter. Ng1-f3 discovered check.

On the screen, the black knight moved from the first space in the G row to the third space in the F row.

There was a prolonged pause, and then the word RESIGN appeared on the screen, followed by a few words of gentlemanly congratulations, and the promise to schedule another match as soon as time allowed.

The chessboard was replaced by a screen saver showing an eagle in constant flight.

“Nice going,” Lou said, not bothering to ask the obvious question regarding the connection between Cap’s situation and Humphrey’s victorious online encounter. He did not have to wait long for at least a part of the answer.

“Henri Delacourt’s bio,” Humphrey said to the console.

In seconds, a handsome, aging face appeared, topped by a thicket of silver hair. Lou was only a few lines into the man’s résumé, when he understood at least some of the demonstration. Delacourt, a professor of physics, was an international chess grandmaster, and the champion of his country seven times.

“Quite a pedigree,” Lou said.

“Seldom lose to him, or any of ten grandmasters I play.”

“You must be very good.”

“Correction,” Humphrey said. “I must be very smart. Need you believe just how smart before we can move to purpose of this little trip.”

“Well, that was quite a demonstration. I am genuinely interested in what this is all about if that’s what you mean.”

A genius … Not just smart, a frigging genius.

Lou had no trouble seeing how difficult it must have been throughout Humphrey’s life, being thought of first and foremost as broken and unappealing, especially with an intellect as remarkable as his obviously was. How difficult and frustrating over the years for the pharmacy tech to be unable, for whatever reasons, even to approach his potential.

“Okay, then,” Humphrey said. “Let’s travel.”

“Where are we going?”

“Down,” was the terse reply.

He spun his chair around and motored to the elevators, with Lou hurrying to keep up. The car at the far end was labeled as FREIGHT ONLY. With practiced skill, Humphrey took a custom-made rod created out of metal and plastic, and hanging off his tray table. A key card was fixed to one end. Then, with difficulty, he drew the card along a slot on the wall, and the elevator door glided open.

The padded car had only two buttons: SB 1 and SB 2. Humphrey, clumsily turning the extension wand around, used a rubber tip to press the bottom button. Lou found himself wondering if the repeatedly vanquished chess masters had any idea of the nature of the man who was drubbing them again and again.

The elevator came to a stop, the doors slid open, and in moments Lou was following Humphrey along the poorly lit corridor of Subbasement Two. On either side were closed metal doors, labeled in black-painted block letters with the equipment and supplies stored within. In the dense quiet, the soft hum of Humphrey’s wheelchair was the only sound. Lou’s eyes had adjusted to the dim light when they turned a corner and came to a stop facing a metal door labeled simply STOCK OVERFLOW.

“What is this place?” Lou asked.

“Where we’re going to save Cap’s life.”

There was a note of excited pride in his voice as he inserted the key card straight into a slot above the handle of the door. Instantly, a lock clicked, the door swung open, and they entered an extremely chilly room—in the fifties Fahrenheit, Lou guessed.

“Impressive,” Lou said.

“Choose friends carefully,” Humphrey responded. “One is hospital engineer. I ask, he makes.”

“Why so cold?”

“Muscles less spastic.”

Grinning, Humphrey lifted an arm, and Lou saw somewhat of an improvement, although not a great one.

The faint spill of light from the corridor partially illuminated a high-ceilinged room approximately the size of a two-car garage. Lou could see the outlines of boxes, stacked in towers and arranged in neatly ordered rows. When Humphrey used his extender to flip on the lights, Lou saw two ten-foot-long Corion-topped tables with storage units built underneath. A side-wall table with a built-in sink occupied one corner of the room, and opposite that was an antivibration table—a workstation specifically designed for vibration-sensitive imaging applications. There were some other items not boxed, including a small refrigerator, a freezer, and even an ice machine, but most of the supplies were still sealed inside their cartons.

In addition, there was a pair of large incubators against the far wall. And from what Lou could tell, both of them were functioning, and contained labeled petri dishes of microorganisms.

Humphrey wheeled around to face Lou.

“You like?” he asked.

“Humphrey,” Lou said, struggling to find his voice. “What’s going on?”

“Less exhausting if I write this.”

Humphrey set his hand around his joystick. His screen featured an alphabet and a large number of word combinations. His text was produced slowly, but accurately, and faster than even his verbal shorthand would have produced. Lou read patiently.

I told you I had many interests besides chess—mathematics, the Japanese game of go, physics, anthropology, classical music. When a person of great intelligence is chained to a computer and the Internet, there is no limit to the world available to him. Chief among my areas of expertise, the one I am much more adept at than any of the others or any board game, is microbiology. That bacteria eating away at your friend’s leg is known by those working on it as the Doomsday Germ. With your help, we are going to cure it.