by JL Terra
“Please d-don’t kill me.”
He frowned for a split second. So fast she almost didn’t see it. Then he shook her once, hard.
Her head slammed the wall, and everything went black.
Chapter 23
Cascade, ID. Wednesday, 17:34hrs MDT
Taya stood at the door and watched as Roger’s chest rose and fell. A tiny movement, but it was there. He didn’t have long left. That meant her time was short as well. She needed him lucid so she could question him.
Years ago, she’d have felt a pang of conscience at the idea she was going to put undue stress on a man who was already so sick. Too bad for Roger those days had gone. The last thing she needed was compassion—or empathy—to spring up at the wrong moment. She had to be tough in this business. Detached.
Perhaps that was why she’d kept her feelings for Ben so closely guarded. She’d never wanted to lose that longing. The pain kept her focused.
Roger’s eyelids fluttered. A low moan issued from his throat.
She patted his cheek. “Wake up, Karl. It’s time for confession.”
His gaze hit her, cloudy and unfocused. He frowned.
“Not happy to see me? Too bad.” She lifted the tubing that fed pain medication straight into his veins. “See this?” She bent the tube, halting the flow of morphine. “Answer some questions to my satisfaction, and you get what you need.”
His lips parted, teeth pressed together. The muscle in his jaw flexed.
“Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? Where is your research?”
His eyes narrowed. “Not giving…up.”
“Ben Mason.”
He said nothing.
“Mei Zhao.”
A spark lit in his eyes.
Taya bit down on her molars. He’d destroyed the lives of everyone she loved in this world. Wrecked their lives.
Maybe life had handed him the consequences of his actions. Balanced the scales. She didn’t trust, though. Karma wasn’t perfect justice, and God didn’t dispense happiness and kindness based on a person’s behavior.
Her father had believed that good behavior was rewarded. Which meant sin was unacceptable—her brother’s the worst of all, according to their father. It had taken her years to unpack the damage that particular ideology had done and learn to love first. To show mercy, first. She’d fought her way to understanding that God was the only loving Father she would ever know, and it was up to her to show that love to her brother. She might be the only Christian he’d ever know. Their father had denied him any semblance of grace or mercy. She had purposed to give twice as much instead. He’d had enough judgment.
She patted Roger’s cheek again. “This is your chance to offer recompense.”
Roger might have some spark of goodness left in him. No one was completely good or evil. Life was far more complicated. Every day she fought that battle. It would be so easy to deny the good God had put inside her. To shut herself off from everyone and be only a spy. Cold. Efficient. Some days she thought she might prefer that life.
This one was far messier. But it was what God had called her to.
A tiny breath pushed his lips out.
“Don’t leave this world without making up for what you’ve done.” She held his gaze. “Do you want death and pain to be your legacy?”
“Not sorry.”
She could make him sorry if she had enough time. “We all have some good in us. We’re made in the image of the divine. Even if we’ve only done evil, the imprint of at least the need for good is still in us. You created something. You know how to control it. Tell me.”
“Can’t control it.” He sucked a breath in through his nose. “No one. Can.”
“Tell me where your research is, and I’ll take the pain away.” She didn’t want to give in to the darkness she was capable of, but if it got the job done… “Things will get uncomfortable for you. You’ll beg me to put you out of your misery, Karl. A taste of your ministrations.”
He’d called himself a doctor for so long. All he brought was death—that misery he was currently experiencing.
A tear wet the lashes of his left eye and rolled down his cheek.
“Where is your research?”
“Hidden.”
“Is it in the office here, or another office?” She’d already searched the one here at the cabin. He could have a hidden safe, though. Then there was his office at the pharmaceutical company, which had been taken over by the interim CEO. She’d have to break in there and search it as well.
“Suden…land.”
She only knew the name because of her research into Karl’s history. “Sudentenland?”
He nodded.
“Your research is in Czechoslovakia.” She blew out a breath.
Her European geography was rusty. The CIA mostly sent her to Asia. Given her heritage, she blended in a little better there. A Chinese woman stuck out in Europe and South America, though she had done a little work in France and the UK. It was a melting pot world now. So many places had immigrants from all over.
Roger’s eyes closed.
She stepped back. Didn’t need to be so close she could smell him if he wasn’t talking.
If he was telling the truth, and not confused and delirious, how was she going to get to Eastern Europe when she had no papers and the CIA was hunting her? She’d taken a big risk going AWOL. They would probably send a UAV like they had with Eric Tiller. Or they’d send someone to silence her for fear she might intend to betray the US to one of their enemies.
She walked a fine line. Most of the time the rush of teetering made her feel alive. Now it was a noose around her neck. She was going to fall, break her spine, and choke to death. Cause: recklessness. Mei and Ben would be safe, though. She was going to make sure of that before she died.
Her iPad dinged. The notification that flashed on the screen was for a tripped sensor. The patio door had been opened.
Probably just Malcolm coming home. Last night he’d come on to her, and she’d put him down. He hadn’t looked her in the eye this morning. Who cared what he thought had happened? If he was drunk—again—and looking for her—again—she would make it hurt this time instead of just giving him a bad headache.
There was no way he was innocent. He couldn’t have zero knowledge of what his father had been up to all these years. Malcolm was many things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. It stood to reason he was so disconnected, drowning his feelings in alcohol and extra-marital relationships, because of what he knew. That sounded so benign, but likely it was because he had something he wanted to forget.
Taya wandered down the hall toward the back patio. The door was open, the room empty. She rounded the table and pulled the stiff door shut. The sensor would reset, but if no more doors or windows were opened, she wouldn’t know where Malcolm was.
Instinct held her tongue. Instead of calling out for him, she wandered through the cabin. Trailed her hand along the back of the leather couch. The chair rail in the hall. The whole place smelled like the lemon scent the cleaner used. She listened but heard no footsteps. Malcolm was never this silent.
Taya doubled back and grabbed a steak knife from the kitchen. Tested the weight of it in her hand. She could do some damage, at least.
The door to Roger’s room was still open. As she’d left it. When she reached the door she hung back, listened. The covers rustled. Roger shifting on the bed. He moaned.
“Where is your research?”
That sounded familiar.
She stepped into the room before Roger could answer. The man was tall. His knife was military issue—the kind Special Forces personnel were given. Army. “Step back.”
Blood trickled down Roger’s neck.
The man turned to her. His eyes swept down her, the knife behind her back. Nurse. Gutsy, but no threat.
“My patient is not in the position to be questioned at this time. If you’d like to come back in the morning, I’ll be happy to supervise some time. For a price.” She smiled like
this was any other transaction. “You can leave the knife at home.”
Knife fights weren’t her thing. Especially considering this guy likely knew how to use his. It could get real ugly real fast. His lips curled up at one side. Nothing but a sneer. She’d surprised him, but he still intended to do what he was going to do.
He’d have to kill her as well.
Taya moved closer to the end of Roger’s bed. “You need to leave now. It’s time for Roger’s sponge bath.”
“If I’m nice to you, will you give me one?”
“No.” She kept her face passive. “My patient is bleeding. You need to leave.”
“Not until I get the answer to my question.”
Roger’s eyes were open. His gaze was still unfocused but darted between her and this new man. The assailant. There would be time later to get his identity from Remy. When he was dead, and she could photograph his face and fingerprints with her cell phone.
The man saw it in her face, whatever change had come over her with those thoughts. She’d given herself away. Such a rookie mistake. She’d been a spy now for more than twenty years. Apparently this was what humility felt like. Thank You, Lord, for letting me see that. Hopefully the mistake wouldn’t get her killed.
He swung with the knife. Taya weaved and came up with her hand. The heel of her palm hit him. Solar plexus. He sputtered. The knife dropped. Mid-breath she grabbed his knife arm, spun him. Stabbed right in his kidney before he realized what had happened.
“Not a nurse.”
No, she had a medical degree actually. And a few years’ worth of pent-up frustration to burn. And an opponent skilled enough he’d make her earn the victory.
He kicked. She blocked it with her knee.
He knocked the knife aside. Didn’t need it anyway. She wasn’t going to waste time going after it. One-two combination. His elbow came up too fast, caught her on the side of the head. Those darn few inches men always had on her. She’d had her bell rung more than once just because she was five-four. Like that was her fault.
Good thing she wasn’t nearly as dainty as she came across.
She brought her knee up. Did some damage. When he slumped, she grabbed his shoulders and sent her knee into his nose. He grabbed her waist and took her down. Their fight turned to wrestling as he twisted and pinned her.
She wrapped his body with her legs and crawled out of the grip far enough she could grab his face. Two thumbs. He clawed at her hands while she pressed his eyelids shut. He bucked, and the momentum sent them rolling. Her back hit the lamp stand, and it smashed to the floor.
Glass skittered across the rug.
They rolled. Her arm caught shards, and she hissed. Kicked out. No use. Brute force wasn’t going to stop him from overpowering her. She jabbed with her fingers, and he cried out. If he wasn’t blind after this, she’d be surprised.
He kicked her. She slapped him. Slammed his head against the floor.
He grunted. She tried to roll, but his body weight stalled them.
Then he was on top. She sucked in a breath. In that second, he grabbed her wrist and slammed it down.
Bone snapped.
Taya screamed. The pain blinded her. She kicked out at him, but he got up, too far away now. He laughed. “When I’m done with him, I’ll be back. That was fun.”
She planted her feet, still on her back, and scooted her body across the floor. When her back hit the wall, she scrambled up.
He was back at Roger’s bedside. No knife this time. “Where is your research?”
She clutched her arm to her chest. Fought the urge to vomit. The knife was across the room.
While he spoke, low in Roger’s wide-eyed face, she moved. Quietly as she could Taya snatched up the knife. His back was to her now. Intent on his task. She circled the bed to the other side. He looked up.
Taya brought the knife down and sank it into Roger’s chest. He bucked. His eyes flashed wide, and he gasped.
The assailant grabbed the knife from her. Taya backed up. Would he throw it?
“What’s going…” Malcolm strode into the room. “Whoa. This…I’m calling the cops!” He fumbled for his phone. Drunk.
Taya didn’t move her gaze from the assailant. Her arm felt like he’d torn it off. No blood. He’d broken the bone, though. It wouldn’t be long before she blacked out.
The assailant threw his knife.
It flipped in the air and sank into Malcolm’s chest.
He gurgled. Dropped his phone. Fell to the ground in a heap.
Taya backed up, some semblance of instinct still firing in her brain. The assailant crossed to Malcolm and pulled the knife out. Wiped it on his leg. Moved toward her.
“You know where it is.”
“He didn’t tell me.”
“Who are you?”
She swallowed the bile rising in her throat. If he got close enough for her to hurt him he’d be sinking that knife into her chest before she could. “An interested third party.”
He didn’t react to that.
She said, “Who are you?”
“The ones who are going to gain control of this thing before it kills anyone else. It is the Teacher’s will.”
There was a lot there, and no time to consider its meaning. He moved closer to her. Taya tried to think through the pain, but it pushed out all thought until there was nothing but the broken bone in her arm and the inability to move her hand. Her left side was incapacitated. Anything she did would only bring on unconsciousness faster, and then what would he do to her? She didn’t want to think about that.
He pulled a phone out with his free hand, swiped and put it to his ear. “What?” He listened, half his attention now on the phone.
Mistake.
Taya grabbed the lamp stand, the broken bulb out in front of her. Nothing in her mind except the need to kill before she was killed.
“What do you mean Mason is loose?” Pause. “I’m not even there. I’m in Idaho.”
It sank into his chest like a spear. The knife slashed. She screamed, he sputtered. Blood traced his lips like fine wine.
They fell to the floor together in a tangle of limbs. Taya tried to breathe. To push away the encroaching darkness. With the last of her strength she pulled the knife from his fingers and slit his throat.
She slumped back, onto her hip. Kept falling. Her elbow hit the floor, and she passed out.
Ben.
Chapter 24
Spencer, WV. Wednesday, 20:42hrs EDT
The stairwell was dark, but the woman was alive. Ben stared at her for a while. She’d been knocked out. He didn’t remember doing it. Yet he’d watched while her head snapped, and she slumped to the floor. He hadn’t lowered her down, he’d dropped her. All the while, fire had raged through him from the mark on his chest. Each of those black veins now circling his torso had pumped magma to every nerve in his body. He’d moved. Spoken. But it hadn’t been Ben.
And yet it was.
He headed up the stairs. Left the terror of his captivity behind. Let it slip from him like the last time, so long ago, when his feet had stepped from grass to blacktop and a semi had roared past. When he’d blinked away the fog of Roger’s medication and realized he wasn’t home. That he needed help.
Now each step up to the ground floor was labored. Like an additional hundred pounds lay across his shoulders. Whatever they’d pumped into him was slow to dissipate. The fire in his chest had banked now, only a constant glow of embers. It had burned hot. Now it was dormant.
I don’t want your help anyway.
He had to discover who these people were. The kind of people who built a makeshift prison below their mansion. People with the setup to perform experiments. Surgery, even. They’d studied him for long enough they’d succeeded in kidnapping him. He’d never live that down.
They’d dragged him to wherever this house was. Experimented on him. What day was it? Or was it night? He realized he didn’t even know. His watch was gone. Did anyone know where he was?
&
nbsp; Last time he’d been taken to a hospital. His family had rushed into the room. Mom crying. Dad trying to pretend he wasn’t. His brothers looking shocked. They’d never looked at him the same after that. What happened to you? What’s wrong with you?
Not knowing wasn’t better.
This time he remembered everything. The drugs. The memories they’d brought up. The flash of each one had stretched out. Lives he had never lived, places he’d never been. Long ago. The missing time he hadn’t remembered. His dad’s knowledge of his kidnapping, and yet he’d never said a word. Content to let it be forgotten along with Ben’s memories. All of it had played as though they took place in mere hours through the fog in his brain. They’d asked him questions. Who he was. Who he had killed. Did he know Charlota Katzova?
A Jewish girl, alone in a graveyard. She’d called up that thing to protect her people, and it had become…her. What did the plight of Jews seventy years ago have to do with him? He didn’t know her. He didn’t want anything to do with this. He’d been a teen boy with girl troubles, trying to figure out who he was.
Now there was a monster in the world. One that killed. Did it look like him?
Those virtual reality goggles they’d attached to his head, forcing him to watch pictures. World War II footage had rolled like a movie. A computer game, except it had been real. So many people didn’t even get that. Kids playing first-person shooter games didn’t understand that allied forces had died. Nazis had been ruthless. Innocents were killed. Millions of lives had been lost as war swept an entire continent. Experiments. Destruction. Morals lost and won.
Ben had lived it all in a matter of hours. The combination of drugs and historical images forced his brain to recall a past he hadn’t lived. Was it even real?
The top of the stairs was silent but for the distant hum of electronics. Some kind of security system. He shut his eyes. The hum undulated, a steady rhythm.
Silent alarm.
Ben stepped into the hallway. His muscles were too loose, his gait smooth. Not of his own making. He lifted his hand, looked at his fingers. Dirt smudges. Blood under his nails. The black veins covered his arm now, like a sleeve of tattoos. He made a fist. The veins shifted with his muscles. It was only alive because he was. If he died, could it kill that thing as well? Or would he wind up releasing it into the world, dormant until some other poor soul called it up?