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shiny watch, too, then.’ Cook huffed and undid the strap and
     tossed it over.‘You know what I’ll do to you if you’re lying,’ Bishop said, attaching it to his wrist.
    ‘I’m not stupid.’
    ‘No, just incompetent,’ Bishop said. ‘So it’s Carmody on duty tonight?’ He’d recognized the Texas drawl coming through the
     walkie-talkie earlier.
    ‘Right.’
    ‘And he likes to hear about your lady friends, huh?’
    ‘He’ll realize you’re not me.’
    ‘He won’t be able to tell the difference,’ Bishop said in a pretty good imitation of Cook’s whine. Pleased with the result,
     he added in his own voice, ‘Want me to bring out the pen again?’
    Cook shook his head and sighed. ‘Yeah, he likes to know about my latest pick-ups.’
    ‘So where’d you go lastnight?’
    ‘707, on Elmshire.’
    ‘Yeah, I know it,’ Bishop lied. ‘And what was the young lady’s name at the 707?’
    Cook stood there and considered his options. Then he said, ‘Girl called Leona. She’s got a thing for doctors.’
    ‘I bet she has. See what you can remember when—’ Bishop glanced over Cook’s shoulder at the doorway. ‘You hear something?’
    As Cook turned to look, Bishop slammed his elbow into the side of his head. The doctor grunted once as he tripped over his
     own feet and slumped to the floor in a heap.
    Bishop looked down at the unconscious man. ‘Guess I was mistaken.’

ELEVEN
    Bishop withdrew the empty syringe from Cook’s arm and dropped it in his side pocket. As he checked the man’s pulse, he felt
     a glimmer of satisfaction. Something he hadn’t felt in a long time. So far, everything was progressing as planned.
    With the high propofol dosage he’d just been given, Cook would be out for the next fourhours, at least. Bishop checked the
     time on his fancy new Citizen ProMaster. 02.43. Quarter of an hour.
    He raised Cook’s head from the pillow and pulled free the rubber band that held his hair in place. As he entwined it in his
     own, he double-checked the cuffs that held one hand to the railings. He’d attached Cook’s other wrist to the bed with ducttape he’d found in the supply room, pulling the stiff white hospital sheet over the arm in case anyone glanced at the bed.
     He made sure it was still good and tight.
    He looked briefly at the still unconscious Alvin, then left the room and locked the door with the third key he tried.
    Two rows of twelve beds lay stretched out before him. Only three heldpatients and they weren’t moving much. To his left he
     could see the barred gate and the electronically monitored corridor. Beyond that, another barred gate and another corridor.
     And then another. Every time a gate opened an electronic signal was transmitted to the surveillance room in the main building
     and a short, sharp alarm would go off. Like an over-sized rat maze,until you reached the front entrance to the building.
    The night duty guard, Carmody, would now be sitting in his cubbyhole just outside the final corridor watching video feeds
     as Cook made his rounds. Bishop could only hope his likeness to Cook was good enough for closed-circuit TV. Even so, he still
     made sure his head was down as he passed through the ward.
    To the left of the exit was another barred gate in front of a short hallway. It held no surprises as Bishop had already unlocked
     it to getthe propofol. He’d also taken a minute to check the medical equipment room and the large storeroom in back. In the opposite
     corner of the ward, a steel door led to the stairs to the offices above. Bishop kept his walkcasual and his head down as
     he approached it in full view of the three cameras covering the room. He was grateful for the minimal lighting.
    Playing the role of Cook was a refreshing change after three years of monotony. All that planning and waiting was beginning
     to pay off. If the stakes weren’t so high, he’d probably be enjoying this. But he held himselfin check. There was still plenty
     more to