Decoding Darkness

by Marissa Farrar

  “That you are holding back information of national importance.”

  “Did he tell you why?”

  He shook his head. “It is not my job to know why.”

  “Your job is to get information out of people’s heads.”

  He pressed his lips together. “My job is to get the truth.”

  “Hollan killed my father—an FBI agent. How’s that for the truth?” I watched his face, seeing if my words had any impact. He was either really good at hiding it, or they simply had no effect.

  “Your father betrayed your country and stole material of national security. According to Hollan, you and your father are very much alike.”

  So Hollan had gone with that story. Of course this man was going to believe him. I hadn’t been able to get my own aunt to believe my version of events, so I stood little chance of getting this stranger to take my side.

  I shook my head, sudden sadness sweeping over me. “Believe what you want. Nothing I say is going to make any difference. But thank you for the water, I appreciate it.”

  He ducked his head in a nod. “You are welcome.”

  “Oh,” I added, as though I’d forgotten something, “and you know Hollan is going to kill me, too, as soon as you’ve gotten that information from me. I just thought you should know.”

  A cloud passed across his clear features. Yes, that part had gotten to him. He hadn’t considered that Hollan would kill me. What had Hollan told him? That I would be prosecuted and serve my time in jail? I guessed Hollan killing my father was palatable because he’d been a grown man, but the idea of murdering young women sat less easily on Otto’s shoulders.

  Noise came from somewhere else in the building, snatching our attention.

  Without saying another word, he glanced over his shoulder. Quickly, he backed away and pulled the door shut, locking it into place. He clearly didn’t want to be caught fraternizing with the enemy.

  I let out a sigh and sat back down on the bed.

  I felt better now that I’d had a drink, but nothing about my situation had changed. Hollan would come for me soon, then I’d have to fight again.

  If the opportunity arose, I’d stab Hollan with the scissors, but first I needed to find out what he’d done with the memory stick.

  Chapter Eight

  I thought perhaps an hour or so had passed since Otto brought me the bottle of water, though I couldn’t be sure. My hopes that whatever Hollan had been called away to deal with was to do with the guys arriving started to fade. Something else would have happened by now. I’d have heard Hollan calling his men to mobilize, or gunshots would have sounded from outside as Isaac and the others tried to storm the place. Instead, there was nothing more than a frustrating silence. There hadn’t been so much as footsteps passing by my door.

  I agonized over what the guys were doing. Where were they? Had they given up on me? Did they not know my location? I put my fingers to the tiny tracker. Are you even working, you piece of shit? I hissed at it mentally. I wished there was some way of knowing. All the wondering was driving me crazy.

  To keep myself busy, I got back to my feet and did another round of the cell, running my fingers across the brick walls. I scraped my feet across the concrete floor, hoping in vain that I might have missed something the first time. On my hands and knees, I found a brick near the bottom of the far wall that was looser than the others. Could something be hidden there? I scraped and worked at the mortar surrounding it, digging my nails in to work chunks loose. It was partly something to do, but also in this crazy world I’d found myself thrown into, it wouldn’t have surprised me in the slightest if some pervious prisoner had hidden something for the next unfortunate soul to find. I scraped my fingertips over and over at the surrounding mortar, each dribble of dust I managed to dislodge sending my heart racing a little more. I was hanging on to a stupid hope, a fantasy, but as the minutes passed, and the crumbling mortar only revealed more solid brickwork behind, I realized I was expending my energy for nothing.

  I slammed the heels of my hand against the brickwork. “Stupid, mother-fucking piece of shit!”

  Sitting back on my heels, I felt insanely angry at a wall that had done nothing except refuse to be anything more than just a wall. The pads of my fingers were red and raw from all the scraping they’d done, and now the moment was fading, they were starting to sting.

  I was losing my goddamned mind.

  I rubbed my hands over my face, exhaling a heavy sigh. Behind me, the door clicked open. I snapped out of my stupor and jumped back to my feet, spinning to face it.

  Hollan’s hateful figure stood in the doorway. “Ready for round two, Darcy?”

  I scowled at him. “No.”

  “You won’t be running this time. Do you understand me? The moment you show any sign of trying to escape, I will make sure one of my men puts a bullet in your leg.”

  How much did it hurt to get shot? I remembered Lorcan’s pained expression. A lot. If someone like Lorcan had struggled, I’d be a mess. But it was better to get shot than give over the code. The idea filled me with horror, but what else could I do? He wouldn’t kill me. That was what I needed to hang onto. As long as he didn’t have the code, he needed to keep me alive. And I need to stop Otto injecting me with the sodium pentothal, if that was even what he was using. Even if it meant getting shot.

  “What was the phone call about?” I asked, changing the direction of the conversation, hoping to delay things.

  “Nothing for you to be concerned about.”

  Had someone called in a warning? A sign that the guys were somewhere around, closing in on this place? I was clinging onto hope by my fingernails, but I didn’t have any choice. They were what was stopping me giving up, and the thought that they might be somewhere nearby caused my determination to solidify inside me.

  “Right,” he said, “Let’s get on with this.”

  He jerked his head, and, at his unspoken command, Stewart and the other guy, Bryson, stepped forward. I prayed they wouldn’t think to handcuff me again. If they did, the pair of scissors I had shoved down the side of my bra would be useless. I couldn’t use them as a weapon if I couldn’t reach them. But it was tantamount to the cockiness of Hollan and the other men that they thought even if I was able to run in this place, I’d never get anywhere. They just saw me as a weak woman, not an adversary against four fully grown men, with probably more in the building. I hoped I’d get the chance to prove them wrong.

  As they stepped into the room, I took several paces backward. I didn’t want to make any part of this easy for them. I hated the thought of Stewart’s hands on me—the man made my skin crawl. I wasn’t going to fight them physically, not yet, because I didn’t want to give them an excuse to handcuff me, or tie me up in any way, but I still wasn’t going to go easily.

  I darted to the back of the cell, wishing I had something to put between us. I could have pushed the bed across the floor toward them—it was lightweight enough—but I was horribly conscious of the bottle of water I’d hidden beneath the mattress. I didn’t want it to roll out, partly because I thought I might need the water, but also because I didn’t want to have to explain how the bottle got there. Otto was my enemy right now, but that small act of kindness told me he might became an ally, if I played things right.

  Moving to the back of the cell bought me mere seconds. With a couple of long strides, Steward was on me again, grabbing me by the arms. Bryson stepped in to help, so they held me between them and yanked me back to the front of the cell again. Hollan and Otto remained in the open doorway, watching events go down. I glared at Hollan, though I knew it would make no difference. Otto once again held the briefcase, which I assumed contained everything he needed to inject me with this drug, at his side.

  Both men stepped out of the way as I was dragged back into the corridor.

  I looked to Otto, standing to one side, pleading to him with my eyes. I knew he had a heart inside that ice cold exterior. He wouldn’t have brought me the bottle
of water if he didn’t care in the slightest about my welfare.

  “Please,” I begged him. “You don’t have to do this. Just say no. They can’t force you to do this to me.”

  Otto’s expression showed no emotion. His accent made his voice stilted. “I am sorry, but I am a professional, and I have been paid to do a job.”

  “Everything he’s told you is twisted. There are people’s lives at stake—children’s lives. If you do this, their blood will be on your hands. I hope you can live with that!”

  Stewart gave me a rough shake, rattling my teeth. “Shut it, you.”

  But I wasn’t going to be silenced so easily. “I’m one of the good guys. I’m trying to protect people. Hollan is the one who’s betrayed his country.”

  I didn’t think my words would make any difference. I had already told him Hollan had killed my father, and he was still here, determined to inject me with the drugs that would make me spill the truth. I guessed he’d been in this position countless times before, where someone he needed to work on claimed the other person was lying. It wasn’t his job to play judge and jury. It was his job to do what he was paid to do.

  The men hauled me back down the corridor, passing the place where I’d stopped to pretend to throw up only an hour or so ago. I knew I wouldn’t get away with playing the same trick twice. I stared around as I was dragged, hoping to see something or someone who might help me. The thought of Hollan getting the code out of me filled me with both dread and a horrific sense of failure. I’d sworn I would never give the number up, yet now I was facing the very real possibility I would do exactly that. I’d be the one responsible for getting all those people and children killed. The idea of the boys I’d seen—the red-haired boy who’d blushed when I’d smiled at him—lying slaughtered in the underground bunker they called a base, filled me with horror. Dead was dead, and if that happened, there would be no turning the clock back or making things right.

  We stopped outside a door at the end of the corridor. Hollan led the way, opening the door and standing to one side, allowing Stewart and Bryson to push me through.

  Otto followed behind, his case held firmly in his hand.

  I found myself in a medical bay, similar to the one Lorcan had been in back at the base. There were a couple of beds divided by curtains that were currently pulled back, but could be pulled into place to offer privacy via the runners attached to the ceiling. There was also a separate room divided by glass, with shutters on the outside of the windows to block out prying eyes, but again, they were currently open. In the center of the glass room was an operating table. Numerous stainless steel trolleys and other equipment were positioned around the outskirts of the room. Hollan must have this here in case one of his men was shot or hurt. I guessed he wouldn’t want to take him to a regular hospital, especially not with a gunshot wound, and be put in the difficult position of explaining what had happened. Considering how Hollan went about his business, I guessed he wouldn’t want any of the other authorities to start asking questions.

  “What do you need?” Hollan asked Otto.

  Otto nodded over to one of the beds. “Do those go into an upright position?”

  Hollan nodded. “Yes, close enough.”

  He crossed the room to the nearest bed and found a lead with a switch on the end of it. He pressed one of the buttons, and a whirring came from the mechanism. The top third of the bed began to rise, the bottom third dropping down, to bring the bed into a more chair-like position. This was where they planned on having me seated while they pumped my veins full of shit.

  I pulled back on the men holding me, but they pushed me forward, shoving me into the seat. They were strong, and Stewart moved behind the chair, so he could hold me by the shoulders, keeping me pinned. My heart raced, and I gasped for breath. This was going to happen, and there was nothing I could do about it.

  Otto used a table on wheels, which was designed to go over the bed for a patient to put their glass of water or grapes, or whatever else they might have in this setting, on. He placed the briefcase on top and clicked open the catches before folding open the lid. I stared in horror. The case was lined with foam, and, placed into carefully cut out shapes in the foam, were several of the vials of what I assumed were the drug they would be giving me. He reached in and pulled out a syringe which was kept sterile in a paper and plastic packet. The needle was separate, a plastic cap covering the tip. The sight of it filled me with dismay.

  I struggled in the chair, but Stewart held me down. “No, please, don’t do this.”

  Otto wouldn’t look at me.

  “I can get you money,” I blurted, trying to think of anything that might make him change his mind. If he was all about the work, then money might motivate him. “I’ll sign my house over to you. Whatever it takes.”

  Infuriatingly, Hollan laughed. “Do you think I’m just going to let you walk out of here, so you can gazump me? Otto works for me. We have a contract, and he’s already been paid. It doesn’t matter what you offer him, this is still going to happen. He knows better than to go against me.”

  I thought I saw the slightest flicker of annoyance across Otto’s face, but still he didn’t say anything.

  “Please,” I begged Otto again, ignoring Hollan. “I’ll give you anything you want. Anything. Just name it.”

  I knew begging was futile. Otto wouldn’t be able to turn around and agree with me. There were three other men in this room, all of whom were armed. Even if Otto did decide to take my side, which I doubted he would, the two of us wouldn’t be much use against the three of them and their guns.

  I remembered the scissors still pressed against my ribcage. My body heat had warmed the metal. I’d need to use them soon, or it would be too late.

  “I don’t know,” Stewart said from behind me, his fingers pressing into my shoulders, “she said anything. I think I’d be tempted to take her up on that. Have you gotten a decent look at that tight little body? Not sure I could resist the offer of making that bitch my own.” I could hear the disgusting leer in his voice, and the fact that his hands were on me made my skin crawl.

  I didn’t know if Stewart was his first or last name. A part of me didn’t care, but the other part thought that it might be important information for when I needed to track him down and kill him.

  “This isn’t a joke, Stewart,” Hollan snapped. “Behave yourself.”

  Stewart had gotten himself all worked up at the idea of getting his hands on me, but now his ego deflated. “Sorry.”

  “How are you getting on there, Otto?” Hollan asked the Swede.

  “Getting there,” he replied, without looking around. He took the syringe out of the packet, then attached the needle to the end of the syringe, before breaking off the plastic cap. “I need someone to hold down her arm.”

  Bryson grabbed my left hand, pinning it, palm facing up, to the arm of the chair. The fingers of my right hand tingled, the metal of the scissors seeming to get hotter against my skin, telling me it was almost time.

  Go for the eye or throat, I reminded myself. This might be my only chance at changing the course of things, and even though the thought made my stomach churn and acid burn up the lining of my throat, I had to be tough. Getting this wrong might mean the deaths of all those boys.

  Stewart might be the one holding me down, but Otto was the one I needed to take down. He was the one about to inject me. Yes, the others might be able to muddle their way through without him, but I guessed by the fact they’d had to bring him in to do the job that it wasn’t a simple as sticking a needle into a vein. There probably had to be correct dosages given at the right intervals to keep it working, and that took a specialist. In a way, I wished Otto hadn’t given me the bottle of water earlier. This would have been a lot easier to do if he hadn’t shown me that small amount of kindness.

  He approached with the syringe and vial in one hand, a rubber tourniquet in the other. He wrapped the rubber around my upper arm and pulled it tight, pinching my skin. I co
uld try to run again, but it would only buy me a matter of minutes, and they’d just grab me and haul me back here again. I needed to do something bigger, more permanent.

  “Please, Otto. It’s not too late to change your mind. Don’t help him kill children. Please.”

  Otto didn’t meet my eye, his pale blue gaze darting away from mine whenever it came near. I was giving him his last chance, too, only he didn’t realize it, and I couldn’t say anything out loud or I would be warning them all.

  I watched every move he made, biding my time, waiting for the right moment.

  He was focused, concentrating on finding a vein and piercing my skin with the needle. Every muscle in my body tensed, a wound coil ready to spring. My heart thrummed in my chest, my pulse racing. I had my shoulders pressed down against the back of the chair by Stewart, and Bryson held my left arm, but my right hand was free. I moved it slowly to my chest, as though clutching my breast in despair, and then I slipped my fingers into the V-neck of my shirt, reaching for the handles of the scissors.

  I couldn’t let myself think about it, how it would feel to have an eyeball burst beneath the sharp silver blades, the pop of fluid and membrane. I couldn’t let myself think about what I had to do, or I was sure I’d back out.

  Otto leaned in, his gaze focused on my skin, the needle point glinting in the sterile, bright light ...

  With a shriek of rage, I snatched the scissors out of my bra and lunged forward. I’d caught Stewart by surprise once again, and he lost his grip on me. I stabbed at Otto’s face, aiming for his eye, but he saw me coming, and reared back. My blades landed an inch off their mark, stabbing into his cheek instead. My fingers tightened around the handles, my screams of rage and horror filling my ears. I yanked downward, opening a flap in his skin, and then I was off the chair-bed, tumbling to the floor. Otto had dropped the syringe and vial, and it rolled close. Seeing an opportunity, even as the floor became smeared in red, blood pouring from Otto’s ruined face, I lifted my foot and smashed it down onto the vial, shattering the glass into a thousand pieces.