Chapter 26
IT WAS TIME for the second story to unfold.
Nine hundred fifty-five brave souls were filing toward and into their plush seats at the Kennedy Center that night. The Grand Foyer was lit by eighteen one-ton crystal chandeliers that resembled . . . what? Giant stalactites? The foyer was huge, more than six hundred feet in length. At its center was an eight-foot bronze bust of the great Kennedy himself, never more august and serious in his life.
A crew of thirty-seven worked behind the scenes here. Impressive. Expensive too.
A cast of no fewer than seventeen trod the boards.
And one lone figure waited, quietly, underneath the stage.
Dr. Xander Swift.
At three o’clock that afternoon, he’d come in through the stage door. A large toolbox in hand and a few rehearsed phrases about the boiler were all it took. Inside the toolbox were his props.
Pistol.
Ice pick, just in case.
Butane torch.
Supply of ethanol.
Now it was more than five hours later and almost time for the main act. Above his head, the play was in progress. The house was full, theater lovers one and all, drama and suspense fans.
Matthew Jay Walker was well into a scene in which he talked somewhat robotically with another character on a monitor. Walker was excessively handsome, of course, a little shorter than expected, and quite the spoiled brat, if truth be known. His agent had made demands for fresh exotic fruit, a supply of Evian water, a personal makeup artist. Now it was time for Walker to meet his costar.
“Hello, Matthew Jay! Greetings,” said Dr. Swift. “I’m here . . . behind you.”
The actor looked around, surprised—no, shocked—when the trapdoor in the stage floor, normally used only in the second act, flew open.
“What th—”
“Ladies and Gentlemen, I am so sorry for the interruption,” said Dr. Xander Swift in a loud, clear, commanding voice that could be heard way up in the cheap seats. “But please, may I have your attention, your full attention, your undivided attention? This is a matter of life and death.”
Chapter 27
AT FIRST, the only noticeable stir in the audience was that of riffling pages as dozens of people looked to their programs to see who this was up on the stage.
Matthew Jay Walker turned his back to the audience and spoke in a whisper. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Who the hell are you? Get off the stage! Now!”
Suddenly, Dr. Xander Swift held forth a pistol until it nearly touched the actor’s face. He let his hand shake, as if he were nervous—which he was not. “Shhh,” he said in a stage whisper. “You don’t have any lines here.”
He continued to push the gun at the actor until Walker went down on his knees. “Please,” Walker said on mike, “I’ll do whatever you want. Just calm down.”
“Call nine one one,” someone yelled out in the front row. The audience was finally beginning to get it.
The killer addressed them. “I am Dr. Xander Swift, from Immunization and Control. I must inform you that this man has been tagged for extinction,” he explained. “Frankly, I’m as shocked and saddened as you are.”
“He’s crazy! He’s not an actor!” cried Matthew Jay Walker suddenly.
“I’m not crazy. There’s a very sensible plan,” replied Dr. Swift.
Holding his gun on the actor with one hand, Swift began to swab Walker with ethanol gel from an industrial foil pouch in one of his pockets. He plastered the gel down the actor’s chest, through his wavy blond hair, under his chin. The smell was so intense that Walker gagged and choked. “What are you doing? Please, stop!” he cried out.
Now the audience was on its feet. Shouts came from the wings. “Stop him! Somebody get up there. Where is security?”
The doctor’s voice boomed from the stage again. “Anyone who comes up here will be shot dead. Thank you for your attention and your patience. Now please, watch closely! This will be indelible in your mind’s eye. Never to be forgotten by any of you, so help me God!”