by Matt Brolly
Daniel won’t remember me.
The thought led to more tears. How had he never considered that before? Most, if not all, of Daniel’s memories would be of his prison. He wouldn’t remember a life outside and for the time being, Lynch couldn’t comprehend the enormity of what that meant.
He had to regain his composure. There were greater concerns than his own mental well-being. He had to remain strong for Daniel. If it was to be the last thing he did, he would free him from his hell.
Lynch blinked, trying to banish the negativity. For the first time since being moved, he studied his surroundings and realized he was in a kill room. Every surface of the small room was covered in linoleum. Apart from the incident at the barn with Balfour, Lynch had been in such a room only once before. Had suffered twenty minutes of torture before being rescued by his SWAT team. He’d received counseling following that attack, and the memory occasionally woke him in a cold sweat.
His breathing became rapid, and he did his best to manage it as he considered the meager chance of a similar rescue occurring now.
‘Ah, Samuel,’ said Mallard, entering the room behind him. The Controller placed a warm hand on the back of Lynch’s neck before walking into view. The touch sent an involuntary shudder through Lynch’s body, as if Mallard had tainted his skin with poison.
‘I’m glad you’re back with us. It was touch and go there. People can have such visceral responses to seeing their loved ones in distress.’ Mallard was stripped down to his briefs. Lynch blinked, the patterns on Mallard’s torso, arms and legs, merging into one distorted blob of color and scar tissue.
‘That is all,’ said Mallard, to the glamorous waitress, who disappeared as quietly as she’d emerged.
Mallard - the Controller – held his hand aloft, his eyes darting to the linoleum-covered room. ‘So here we are, Samuel.’
Lynch wondered how many people had been tortured in this room, had eventually lost their lives. As if reading his thoughts, Mallard smiled and said, ‘don’t worry, Samuel, this is not for you. Prior to your relapse, we were discussing my markings.’
‘You were,’ said Lynch, surprised at the thin sound of his own voice.
Mallard ignored him. ‘We were discussing how one receives such a mark. I think you understand now.’ Mallard pointed to one of the tracks on his chest. Two vertical lines stretched from naval to sternum. The marks were thicker than the rest, the raised scar tissue protruding from his skin like a growth.
‘Count the sleepers, Samuel.’
‘Fuck you.’
Mallard sighed. ‘This is my most important line. Reserved for my greatest conquests. There are eight sleepers, space for two more lines. Of course, I could have accepted one of those lines some time ago but I wanted to wait for you. I wanted to collect the set.’
From behind him, Balfour emerged through a plastic-coated door carrying a set of surgical instruments. ‘Lynch,’ he said.
Balfour bent before the Controller, holding a scalpel. He looked up at his master who nodded. Balfour placed the scalpel to Mallard’s chest and sliced a line across his chest.
Mallard was almost orgasmic in his response. ‘You see, Samuel, it’s not enough to take a life. Not for us. You have to own it.’ He shuddered with delight as Balfour placed a second cut across him. ‘I’m not spiritual, but if I was I would describe it as owning another’s soul.’
Lynch watched the scene with detachment. Despite the jeopardy, the risk to his and his son’s life, he could see the absurdity in the situation. ‘You are quite mad,’ he said, forcing himself to laugh as Balfour placed ink on Mallard’s open wounds.
Mallard was indignant. ‘I was wrong about you, Samuel, and that is a shame. But I carry you here now. He pointed to the seeping wounds. ‘You are forever mine. As is Daniel,’ he said, pointing to the second of the two fresh lines on his chest.
Lynch looked from the makeshift tattoo to the imbecilic smile on Balfour still holding the scalpel, to Mallard lost in his perverse ecstasy, and much to the Controller’s annoyance he repeated. ‘Quite mad.’
59
Mallard called after him as he was led from the kill room but Lynch didn’t look back. His mind was in overdrive. The measured, professional, part of him had managed to put all personal concerns aside. He was fully focused. The Controller had what he wanted. The two new tattoos signified, to his distorted mind, that he’d acquired Lynch and his son. Would he have any more use for them now? Lynch surmised that Mallard would take some joy in watching him suffer, and then would tire of him. His future would then be death, or prolonged torture in one of the cells. There would be time for remorse in the future. The present was a time for action.
The guard ushering him back to his cell was unknown to him. It was not the right time. The guard would be expected back, would be under surveillance. He had to wait. Ethan was the key. His captor had bonded with him and that made him vulnerable.
The guard pushed him into the cell. The place hadn’t been cleaned and reeked of ammonia and excrement. Lynch heaved, as the guard instructed him to place his hands in the trap door and undid his cuffs.
This would not be the end of him. There would be an opportunity. Only one, but Lynch was ready to take it.
Over the coming hours, Lynch used every ounce of training, every hour of experience to prepare. Every time his thoughts turned to despair, dwelled on the vision of Daniel in one of his cells, he practiced the maneuver of dropping the paperclip from his sleeve to his palm. He kept active pacing the confines of his cell, doing occasional push-ups and sit-ups, wary of tiring himself out.
Twice he was instructed to place his hands behind him in the trap door. The first time an unknown guard emptied his buckets and made a rudimentary effort to spray the stone floor with disinfectant as if the place didn’t smell enough already. The second time, the same guard placed a tray of food in the middle of the room. Both times, Lynch practiced the maneuver. He was ready, he just needed Ethan to show up.
He was asleep when the cell door knocked once more. His captors had refrained from piping in music and Lynch felt as close to being rested as was possible in this situation. ‘Samuel, it’s me,’ said Ethan, through the peephole. ‘You know the routine.’
Lynch took a deep breath, and pushed himself over to the trap door. He checked the metal was in place, and slipped his hands through the opening. Ethan grabbed his arms, and pulled them back. He put the cuffs on but to Lynch’s surprise didn’t lock them in place.
Lynch’s breathing intensified as Ethan opened the cell door and locked it behind him. It couldn’t have been an oversight.
‘Bring your hands back in before anyone sees,’ said Ethan.
Lynch did as instructed. He held his arms in front of him and the cuffs fell away. He was alone in the cell with Ethan, less than two meters apart. Whatever strengths the young man possessed, Lynch had the upper hand. He could attack now and end it before it began but curiosity kept him restrained.
The last time he’d seen Ethan, the guard had refused to look Lynch in the eyes as he led him to Mallard and to see his son again. ‘You need to speak, Ethan.’
Ethan hesitated and Lynch was seconds from attacking him when he finally opened his mouth. ‘I saw what they did to your son,’ he said.
Lynch’s experience told him not to trust the man. It could so easily be another one of Mallard’s games. A false glimpse of solidarity. ‘And?’
‘I want out. I want to help you escape.’
‘And how do you plan to do that?’
Ethan rubbed his face. ‘There is a tunnel. Only a few people know about it. I’ve been here awhile now. My time is pretty much my own, with the exception of these duties. I can wonder around the facility without interruption. I’ve travelled through the tunnel. It goes on for miles. I thought it was never-ending but it’s not.’
Lynch scratched his head. ‘You can imagine it’s quite hard for me to trust you, Ethan.’
‘What other option do you have?’
> Lynch closed his eyes and imagined attacking the man, taking his keys and weapons, and running amok through the area. He would find Mallard and kill him, would take delight in doing the same to Balfour before finding Daniel and leaving the place. But it could never be that easy. Ethan was right, he had little option but to trust him for the time being.
Lynch lowered his voice. He needed to know something ‘What is it you do here, Ethan?’
Ethan shifted his legs and stared down at the floor like a dog caught doing something its shouldn’t by its master. ‘I can’t say, Mr Lynch. I just need your word that once we’re out we can go our separate ways and that you won’t come for me.’
Ethan held his hand out and Lynch saw him for what he was: a scared boy, out of his depth. He grabbed his hand, considered pulling him close and smashing his nose, before letting him go. ‘What time is it?’
‘Ten pm.’
‘Does this place run to normal timings?’
‘To a certain extent. There is less guard presence at the moment. If we can get you out before morning it could be hours before they realize you’re gone.’
‘This tunnel. Is it man made?’
‘I believe so, though it’s not very well maintained.’
Ethan unlocked the cell, giving Lynch another chance to take him out. Instead, he followed the guard out of the room.
Ethan placed the cuffs loose on his wrists but didn’t secure them. ‘In case anyone asks,’ he said.
Lynch stared at him, the balance of power fully shifted.
Ethan led him through a route he didn’t know. Lynch tried not to focus on the rows and rows of prison cells, and the unfortunate souls within. He vowed to bring this place to its knees, but he had to be free to do so. ‘We need to go somewhere first,’ he told Ethan, freezing on the spot.
‘What?’ Ethan was incredulous, forcing the question under his breath. ‘I don’t know where they’re keeping your son.’
Lynch flinched at the mention of Daniel. ‘The computer room. I passed it with Mallard when I first entered this place.’
‘The information you want won’t be there. Not all the cells have cameras, and those that do don’t have universal access.’
‘You misunderstand my intentions, Ethan. Take me there now.’
Ethan closed his eyes, frozen to the spot. Lynch saw the indecision, and the realization that things had changed irrevocably between them. ‘Fine,’ said Ethan, through gritted teeth.
The journey was not a long one. Ethan weaved through the maze of prisons with the skills of a cat burglar, making Lynch wonder exactly how long the man had been part of the set up. Ethan pointed to the glass-paneled room. ‘I’ll need to access it with my card so they‘ll know I’ve been there.
‘What difference does that make if we’re going to escape?’
Ethan frowned, considering the logic. ‘This was a mistake,’ he said, as a second guard rounded the corner and stood before them.
60
The second guard hesitated. Lynch didn’t.
He flung his arms towards the man, his metal cuffs striking the guard’s teeth, and followed the movement with a flurry of precision kicks and punches to his groin and throat. The guard fell to the floor as if dead, a thin wheezing noise escaping from his lips.
Lynch turned around to see Ethan pointing a gun towards him. Lynch nodded and, in a move he’d practiced thousands of times before, snatched the gun from him and smashed the butt of the pistol into Ethan’s face.
Ethan collapsed, putting up less of a fight than the other guard, who was now trying to get to his feet. Lynch put that plan to rest with a kick square to the man’s temple. The guard’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and he hit the stone floor with a crack. Lynch checked his pulse before stripping him of his uniform and using cuffs to link the men together. He changed into the fallen guard’s clothes, and ripped the shirt off Ethan’s back to use as a makeshift gag for both men. Ethan looked at him, his eyes pleading.
‘There’s a lot of things you shouldn’t have done, but pointing that gun at me was your biggest mistake.’ Lynch cracked the gun to the back of Ethan’s head and left the unlikely pair out cold as he moved towards the computer room.
Relieved that Ethan’s pass card worked, Lynch entered the open area where the compound’s IT equipment was stored. If he destroyed the small city of machinery in front of him it could lead to a disruption that would bring the compound to its knees and possibly aid Rose should she be tracking him. Now he just had to work out a way to do it.
His first try was brute force. Picking up a heavy office chair, he smashed it into the blinking lights of one of the servers and repeated the movement on every piece of technology he could see. Days of confinement had zapped his strength and soon the action was too much. Some of the lights still taunted him and he needed a better way.
He ran through the rest of the building, thankful for the lack of guards, and found what he’d been looking for. A storage unit, padlocked. From his shirt-sleeve, he retrieved the paperclip and broke through the flimsy lock. He presumed security was so lacking because of the situation. Everyone worked for the Controller, and no one in their right mind would turn against him.
‘I’m not in my right mind,’ he whispered to himself, taking two Koch submachine guns from the store. He stuffed his pockets with clips and was about to return to the IT equipment when he uncovered a steel protected case. Inside, nestled like eggs in a box were nine M68 military grenades. Not believing his luck, he carefully removed two of the green objects and walked carefully back to the computer room.
If this didn’t do the job, nothing would. The church was directly above them. He pulled the pins from both the grenades and threw them towards the machinery. As the explosion rang out, he pushed the magazines into the machine guns and moved into the shadows.
61
They’d stopped along the perimeter every five minutes, each time seeing nothing but blankness from within. It was now late evening, their way lit only by the car’s headlights. ‘You think Miller knows what’s here?’ asked Rose, returning’ to the car after their tenth stop.
‘Something spooked him.’
‘You think a private citizen could own this place?’
‘Mallard? Possible. Private land is private land and money talks. And he has all the money, or at least most of it.’
Rose considered the legal ramifications. Considering the security procedures they’d encountered so far, it would be days, probably weeks, before they’d get permission to enter the site; if they ever could.
McBride drank from a bottle of iced water. ‘They knew we were coming. We haven’t seen any cameras on the fences so they must be watching us from above.’
Rose considered the irony of another drone tracking their movement. ‘We need to breach this fence,’ she said.
‘What we need to do and what we can do are two different things. They’ll definitely have eyes on us now. We’ve been warned off entering the site. We go through that fence we’d be executed, no question.’
Rose agreed but it didn’t make the situation any less frustrating. There was no cover, no covert way they could breach the perimeter without being detected. If they were going to get through the fence they would have to reach the building within seconds and the location of the church was vague at best. The building was somewhere within the perimeter; it was there, they had photographic proof, but at that moment it all meant nothing.
‘What’s that saying? If you can’t go through it, you go over it?’ said Rose.
‘That’s not a saying,’ said McBride.
‘But a potential solution to our problem. The drone managed to fly over the site without being detected.’
‘As far as we know. Even if that is true, it’s different from flying a helicopter. And who would we get to fly it? It might sound farfetched but they may have air to ground missiles.’
‘What, in a private residence?’
‘Who knows what agreements they’ve m
ade with the government. Anyway, we are only hypothesizing. It could be CIA.’
‘Or military,’ said Rose.
‘Either, but neither would hesitate to shoot down an unknown craft. Not that we would get permission from Miller anyway.’
‘So what? We just give up?’
McBride ground his teeth, the noise reverberating around the interior of the car. ‘I don’t know what to suggest, Rose,’ he said, his voice rising. ‘For what it’s worth, I believe your assertions are right but this isn’t the way to go about it. We need to get back to HQ and start working through the proper channels. We’ll get permission sooner or later to investigate the place.’
‘It will be too late by then,’ said Rose.
‘This is about Lynch?’
‘Of course it fucking is. It’s my fault he’s disappeared.’
McBride looked away, as if gathering his thoughts. ‘You’re not going to like this, Rose, but did you ever think that he might be one of them?’
Rose was expecting the question but it still stung. ‘I’ve considered it and dismissed it. You didn’t see him at the compound. He went back to see Razinski under all that potential fire. He had the chance to take me out at any time and he’s the one who led us to Mallard. His son was kidnapped for god’s sake, why would he have anything to do with them?’