Implant (DI Gardener 3)

“So you’re not denying it?” Gardener asked the surgeon.

“What would be the point?”

Hobson pulled his running suit top upwards. “And look at this! What do you think that is hiding?”

Gardener saw the scar, a mirror image of Alex Wilson’s.

“An implantable insulin pump at a guess.”

Hobson’s head shot up. “How did you know that?”

“Alex Wilson had one in the same place.”

“Bet he didn’t have his filled with the fucking Ebola virus.”

Everyone took a step back with that sentence.

“Ebola?” said Reilly.

“Not quite, Mr Hobson,” said Sinclair, his arms folded across his chest.

“What?” Reilly asked. “So he hasn’t got the Ebola virus?”

“Oh yes, he has,” replied Sinclair. “But his is modified, it acts much quicker than the standard virus.”

Gardener was lost for words.

Hobson suddenly sunk to his knees. In his left hand he held the gun, which was pointed at the ground. His right hand was across his chest, and he had the most horrific grimace on his face.

“Jesus Christ!” he exclaimed.

Gardener could see the man was in serious pain. He shouted to Frank Thornton. “Ambulance, now!”

Hobson screamed, and let loose with a horrible bowel movement.

“You can’t save him, Mr Gardener,” said Sinclair.

The screaming subsided. Hobson glared at the surgeon. “I know what you think of me, Sinclair, but I’m not like you. I never intentionally killed anyone in my life. I didn’t even know about your son’s death until a day or so later.”

Sinclair snorted.

“I really don’t give a fuck what you think of me, Sinclair, but I reckon I’ve paid the price, and you probably think we’re even now.”

Hobson grimaced again, holding his chest.

“But we’re not, not in my book. You’re one up on me, and I have a score to settle,” he rasped. “Only then can I save myself.”

Gardener stepped forward.

Hobson raised the gun. “Get back, you bastards!” He continued to raise the gun towards the sky and let off a round.

Everyone hit the deck instantly, giving the armed response unit every opportunity.

The second shot came immediately afterwards.

When the dust had settled, Gardener raised his head, only to find that Hobson had shoved the gun inside his own mouth and blown his brains halfway across the drive.

Sinclair was on his feet, wiping down the front of his suit.