Chapter 26 - THE WOMAN IN ROOM 402
Clara didn't hesitate.
She jammed the sharp pick of the fire axe down into the pilot's right thigh.
The man screamed in agony, his leg seizing up, kicking the rudder pedal violently. The helicopter spun into a wild, terrifying yaw, the tail rotor skimming the ocean spray. Clara reached through the shattered partition, unclipped his oxygen mask, and pressed her thumb viciously into the nerve cluster beneath his ear. The pilot slumped forward against the controls, unconscious.
"Daniel! Wake up! You have to fly this thing!" Clara screamed, coughing as the sweet, toxic gas continued to seep into the cabin.
Daniel dragged himself up, his teeth gritted so hard a line of blood trickled from his lip. "Clara... grab the stick... keep the horizon level!"
Clara reached over the pilot's slumped body, gripping the dual controls with white-knuckled fury. Her hands were shaking so hard the instrument needles danced wildly, but she pulled back, leveling the chopper just as a massive wave crashed against the landing skids.
Daniel tumbled into the copilot's seat, ripped the auxiliary oxygen mask from the ceiling, and slammed it over Clara's face. He pulled a second mask down and secured it over Noah in the back, then jammed a third onto his own face, gasping in clean, pressurized oxygen.
"I’ve got the collective," Daniel coughed out, his hands trembling on the controls. He flipped the cabin environmental switch, venting the neurotoxin out into the slipstream. "We can't go to Sterling Tower. It's an ambush."
"Where do we go?" Clara gasped through the mask. "We need a hospital, Daniel! You're bleeding out!"
"Not a hospital," Daniel said, his eyes burning with feverish intensity. "St. Jude's Psychiatric Facility on Roosevelt Island. Room 402."
Clara stared at him. "A psychiatric ward? Are you out of your mind?"
"My mother is there," Daniel whispered.
Clara’s jaw dropped. "Eleanor Sterling? Daniel, your mother died of an overdose fifteen years ago! It was on the front page of every paper in the country!"
"That's what Victoria and my father told the world," Daniel snarled, banking the helicopter away from Manhattan's central grid toward the narrow strip of Roosevelt Island sitting in the East River. "My mother discovered the truth about Project Chimera fifteen years ago. She tried to go to the Department of Justice. Victoria had her declared legally insane, forged a death certificate, and locked her in an off-the-books wing under a false identity."
Daniel looked back at Noah, who was clutching his seatbelt, wide-eyed but breathing normally through the mask.
"Eleanor was the lead geneticist who designed the cipher," Daniel said, his voice dropping to a gravelly rasp. "My father only funded it. She built the failsafe. If anyone knows how to extract the cipher without killing Noah... it’s her."
Ten minutes later, through the dense sea fog, the dark, gothic spires of the abandoned municipal hospital complex on Roosevelt Island emerged like stone ghosts rising from the river.
Daniel dropped the helicopter unceremoniously onto an overgrown helipad behind the dilapidated brick building. The landing gear struck the concrete with a bone-jarring thud.
The engines cut out, the blades slowing to a mournful whistle.
Daniel collapsed across the center console, completely spent.
"Daniel!" Clara shook him frantically.
"I can't walk, Clara," he breathed, his skin cold and clammy. "Take my gun. Take the master keycard in my jacket pocket. Room 402. The service elevator in the basement still has backup power."
Clara looked at him, tears blurring her vision. "I'm not leaving you here."
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"You have to," Daniel whispered, pressing the heavy Glock into her hand. "Victoria knows this helicopter didn't land at the tower. Her hounds are already on their way. Find my mother. End this."
***
