"I'll make a point of it."
*
"WE'RE FIVE MINUTES out, approximately."
"Okay, here."
Alex handed Carston his phone. He turned it on, then, after a second, selected a number from his address book. The phone rang twice over the car's speaker.
"Why are you interrupting me?" a man answered. His voice was pitched to be quiet, almost a whisper, but Alex could hear that it was a deep baritone. He sounded annoyed.
Carston was annoyed, too. "I'm assuming there's been no progress."
"I don't have time for this."
"None of us have time for this," Carston snapped. "Enough is enough. I'll be at the gate in two minutes. Make sure they're expecting me and my assistants."
"What--" Deavers started, but Carston hung up.
"Combative," Alex commented.
"It's our normal form of interaction."
"I hope so."
"I'll do my part, Jules. If Livvy weren't involved, I think I would actually enjoy this. I am so tired of that pompous fool."
The building they pulled up to would have looked abandoned if there weren't two cars parked beside the entrance. The small lot was protected by steep, man-made hills that surrounded it on three sides, the unassuming, one-story concrete building taking up the fourth. The front of the building wasn't visible until you were already in the lot. The location was hidden in the middle of miles of warehouses and Soviet bloc-style office buildings, all certainly owned by some arm of the government and all seemingly empty. As was the maze of roads weaving through them. She doubted anyone would wander back here by accident, and she was glad she'd had Carston to guide them through the maze. She hoped Daniel had paid attention. She'd tried to memorize the route, but it was unlikely she'd be there to guide him back out.
There were no lights in the small, shaded windows, but that was expected. The ground floor was nothing but camouflage.
Carston got out and came around to hold the car door for her, already acting his role. She almost smiled, remembering what it had been like when she had been the talent. Well, that was her part to play tonight. She would have to get into character.
Daniel pulled the steel toolbox on rollers out of the trunk and brought it around to her. Someone was probably already watching, though she couldn't see where the cameras were hidden.
"Careful with that," she admonished in a stern tone, taking the handle from him. She straightened her left cuff, and brushed an imaginary speck of dust off her sleeve. Daniel went to stand just behind Carston's right shoulder. She noticed the gold pinkie ring. It didn't quite fit the picture, but the rest of him did--even in the dark lot, his black suit looked just right, conservative, not expensive; every FBI agent in the country had something exactly like it in his or her closet. No badge, but then, anyone working as an aide to this department wouldn't be expected to carry identification. It wasn't a badge kind of organization.
She squared her shoulders and faced the dark building, trying to come to terms with the fact that she'd probably never see this ugly parking lot again.
CHAPTER 30
This way, Dr. Reid," Carston said, and he led them to a blank gray door. Daniel stayed close on his heels, his back to Alex. She walked briskly behind them, struggling to keep up with her shorter legs.
Carston didn't knock on the door; he merely stood directly in front of it. Expectant, like he'd already rung the bell.
The door opened a second after Carston planted himself. The man who answered it wore a suit not unlike Daniel's, though this man's was so new it still had a sheen on it. He was shorter than Daniel and wider through the shoulders. There was an obvious bulge under his left arm.
"Sir," the man said, and saluted Carston. His hair was high and tight, and she guessed he'd feel more at home in a uniform. But his appearance was still part of the camouflage. The uniforms would be downstairs.
"I need to see Deavers immediately."
"Yes, sir, he informed us you'd be arriving. This way."
The soldier turned abruptly and paced inside.
She followed Daniel into a drab office space: gray carpet, a few tight cubicles, some uncomfortable-looking chairs. The door closed behind her with a solid-sounding thud and an ominous click. No doubt someone was still watching; she couldn't afford a glance back to look at the lock. She would have to hope it was meant to keep people out and not in. It hadn't taken the soldier long to open the door to them.
The soldier turned sharply down a dim hallway, took them past several darkened rooms with open doors, then stopped at the very end. There was a door there labeled JANITORIAL SUPPLIES. He reached into his left sleeve and pulled out a spiral cord with a key. He unlocked the door and led the way inside.
The room was dimly lit by an emergency exit sign over another door opposite the first. Mops and buckets lined the wall, presumably for show. The soldier opened the emergency door, revealing a featureless, metal-lined box. An elevator. She'd known to expect this; she hoped Daniel was controlling his expressions.
They joined the soldier in the elevator. When she turned to face the doors, she saw that there were only two buttons. He pressed the bottom one, and she felt the descent begin immediately. She couldn't be sure, but it felt like at least three floors. Not entirely necessary, but definitely disconcerting. Though this building had not been used for the same kind of interrogations she had conducted, it would still be part of the routine to make the subject feel alarmed and isolated.
It worked; she felt an increase in both.
The elevator came to an abrupt halt, and the doors opened on a brightly lit anteroom. It looked like an airport security post, only much less crowded and more colorless. There were two more men, these in dark blue army uniforms, and a standard metal detector with a short counter and even the little plastic trays for belt buckles and car keys. The uniforms made Alex think these must be Pace's men.
The surveillance cameras were very obvious in this room.
Carston moved forward, impatient and sure of himself. He put his phone in the tray, and a handful of change. Then he stalked through the square frame. Daniel moved quickly behind him, putting the car keys in another tray, then retrieving Carston's belongings and handing them back to him before reclaiming the keys for himself.
Alex wheeled the steel toolbox to the side of the detector.
"I'm afraid you'll have to search that by hand," she said as she walked through the frame. "I have a lot of metal tools. Please be careful, some of my things are breakable, and some are pressurized."
The two soldiers looked at each other, obviously uncertain. They looked at her damaged face, then at her toolbox. The taller one knelt down to open the top compartment while the shorter one stared at her face again.
"Please be careful," she repeated. "Those syringes are delicate."
The short soldier watched now as the tall soldier lifted the top tray of syringes, only to find an identical tray below it. He carefully replaced it, not checking the two trays beneath. He opened the second compartment, then looked up quickly at his companion. Then at Carston.
"Sir, we aren't supposed to let weapons past this point."
"Of course I'll need my scalpels," Alex said, letting some irritation bleed into her tone. "I'm not here to play Scrabble."
The soldiers looked at her again, understanding beginning to dawn in their eyes.
Yes, she wanted to say, I'm that kind of guest.
They might have read the words in her expression. The tall one straightened up.
"We're going to have to get authorization for this." He turned on his heel and strode through the metal double doors behind them.
Carston huffed out a big, exasperated breath and folded his arms across his chest. Alex schooled her expression into one of impatience. Daniel stood very still by Carston's right shoulder, his face blank. He was doing well. No one had paid him any attention at all. To the soldiers, he was just one of those anonymous briefcase holders, which was exactly what she'd hoped for.
Val was right thus far--they would have paid much more attention to her.
It was only a few minutes before the doors opened again. The tall soldier was back with two other men.
It was easy to tell which was Deavers. He was smaller and more gaunt than the voice had suggested, but he moved with an obvious authority. He didn't watch to see where the other men walked; he expected them to move around him. He wore a well-cut black suit, several pay grades in price and style above what Daniel and the door guard were wearing. His hair was steel gray, but still thick.
From his lack of formality, Alex guessed the man behind Deavers was the interrogator. He was dressed in a rumpled T-shirt and black pants that looked like scrubs. His lank brown hair was greasy and disheveled; there were substantial bags under his bloodshot eyes. Though he'd obviously had a long day, there was fire in those eyes as he focused on her lab coat, then her toolbox, the scalpel tray still exposed.
"What is this, Carston?" he blustered.
Neither Carston nor Deavers looked at him. Their eyes were focused on each other.
"What do you think you're doing?" Deavers asked in an even voice.
"I'm not going to let that hack kill the subject when I have a better option."
Deavers looked at her for the first time. She tried to project calm, but she felt her heart racing as he examined her, his eyes lingering on the damage to her face.
He turned back to Carston. "And where did you suddenly get this better option?"
At least he hadn't recognized her immediately. And he hadn't so much as looked at Daniel. The two men were focused on each other again, antagonism running between them like an electric current.
"I've been developing alternatives to save the program. This alternative has already proven herself more than capable."
"Proven how?"
Carston's chin moved up an inch. "Uludere."
The current seemed to break on that word. Deavers took an unconscious step back and blew out an annoyed breath. He looked at Alex's bandaged face again, then at his adversary.
"I should have known there was more going on in Turkey. Carston, this is beyond your authority."
"I'm currently being underutilized. Just trying to make myself more valuable."
Deavers pursed his lips and glanced back at her again. "She's good?"
"You'll see," Carston promised.
"But I'm at a critical point," the interrogator protested. "You can't pull me off the case now."
Carston gave him a withering glance. "Shut up, Lindauer. You're out of your league."
"All right," Deavers said sourly. "Let's see if your better option can get us what we need."
*
THE ROOM WAS as Carston had described. Plain concrete walls, plain concrete floor. One door, a large one-way mirror between this and the observation room, a round overhead light flush with the ceiling.
At one time, there would have been a desk in this room, two chairs, and a very bright desk lamp. Subjects would have been questioned, harangued, threatened, and pressured, but that would have been the extent of it.
Now a surgical table took the place of the desk. It was like something from a World War I movie, one solid piece of unpadded stainless steel with the kind of wheels a gurney had. There was a folding chair in the corner. This facility was nowhere near as functional as the state-of-the-art suites back at the department, but clearly, this interrogation was off even the most covert section's records.
She kept her inspection clinical and prayed that Daniel would have the restraint necessary for this.
Daniel had accompanied Carston and the others into the observation room, and he was invisible to her behind the glass. Before the group divided, neither Deavers nor any of the others had looked at his face. She desperately hoped he would do nothing now to change their indifference to suspicion.
Kevin lay on the table under the one light, handcuffed and shackled in place. He was naked, his body gleaming wet with sweat and blood. Long burns blistered a multitude of uneven parallel lines down his chest. Thin slices ran up his ribs, ragged skin blanched at the edges--probably with acid. The soles of his feet were covered in blisters and bleached white as well. Lindauer had poured acid into those burns. Kevin was missing another toe on his left foot, the one next to the first stump.
Lindauer's tools littered the floor, messy with blood and his dirty handprints. She knew there was a toe down there, too, but she couldn't find it at first glance.
She'd expected a clean, clinical setup; that was what she was used to. This was savagery. Her nose wrinkled in disgust.
Kevin was alert. He watched her as she walked in behind the interrogator, his face tightly controlled.
With a precision meant to mock Lindauer's unprofessional work habits, she bent to her toolbox and carefully laid out a few of her syringe trays.
"What's this?" Kevin asked hoarsely. She glanced up automatically to see that he was addressing the mirror, not her. "You think a little girl can break me? I thought this flunky was the low. Honestly, you guys never cease to disappoint."
Lindauer, who had insisted on being in the room, leaned furiously over the table. He jammed one finger into a slash wound that cut across a burn on Kevin's chest. Kevin grunted and clenched his jaw.
"Don't worry, Mr. Beach. The little girl is just a nice rest period for you. Get your strength back. I'll return later, and then we'll have some productive conversations."
"Enough, Doctor," Alex snapped in a ringing tone. "I agreed to let you observe, but you will kindly step away from my subject now."
Lindauer glanced at the mirror as if expecting backup. When he got only silence in response, he frowned sullenly and went to sit in the lone chair. Once he was down, he seemed to collapse a little, whether from exhaustion or disgrace, she couldn't tell.
Alex turned her back on Lindauer and pulled on a pair of blue latex gloves. The small piece of metal she'd palmed in the process was invisible beneath the right glove.
She stepped to the edge of the table, gingerly clearing a swath in Lindauer's mess with one foot.
"Hello, Mr. Beach. How are you feeling?"
"Good to go a few more rounds, sweetheart. Looks like somebody already had a nice time with you, eh? Hope it was fun for him."
While he spit the words through his teeth, she began examining him, shining a small flashlight in his eyes and then assessing the veins in his arms and hands.
"A little dehydrated, I think," she said. She looked directly at the mirror while she put his right hand back on the table, leaving the thin key under his palm. "I assumed there would be an IV in place. Could I get a pole, please? I have my own saline and needles."
"I'll bet you know your way around a pole," Kevin said.
"No need to be crass, Mr. Beach. Now that I'm here, things will be much more civilized. I do apologize for the current conditions. This is all very unprofessional." She sniffed scornfully, giving Lindauer her most cutting side-eye. He looked away.
"Honey, if this is the good-cop routine, sorry, but you're not really my type."
"I assure you, Mr. Beach, I am not the good cop. I am a specialist, and I should warn you now, I won't play the same silly games this... interrogator"--the desire to use a less flattering word was clear in her inflection--"has wasted your time with. We'll get down to business immediately."
"Yeah, sugar, let's get down to business, that's what I'm talking about." Kevin tried to keep his voice loud and his tone derisive, but she could see the effort it was costing him.
The door opened behind her. She watched in the mirror as the tall soldier brought in an IV pole. So far she'd seen only four others besides Deavers and Lindauer, but there were probably more hidden from view.
"Just put that at the head of the table, thank you," she said without turning to look at him, voice dismissive. She bent to retrieve the syringe she wanted.
"You gonna dance for me now?" Kevin muttered.
She looked at Kevin coldly as she straightened. "This will b
e just a sample of what we'll be doing tonight," she told him as she circled the table. She placed the syringe by his head while she hung the saline bag and the tubing. The door closed, but she didn't look away from Kevin. She examined his veins again, then chose his left arm. He didn't resist. While she carefully inserted the needle, she tried to spy the key she'd given him, but it was nowhere in sight. She picked up the largest blade she could see on the floor and laid it next to his right arm. "You see, I don't need such crude weapons; I have something better. I always think it's fairer to let the subject understand what he's up against before I go full strength. Let me know what you think."
"I'll tell you what I think, you--" Kevin launched into an avalanche of profanity that put all his previous creative descriptions to shame. The man had a talent.
"I appreciate your bravery, really, I do," Alex said when he was done. She held the point of the syringe against the IV port. "But please know, it's a wasted effort. Playtime is over."
She stabbed the needle through the plastic and depressed the plunger.
The response was nearly immediate. She heard his breathing accelerate, and then he started shrieking.
Lindauer's head snapped up. She could tell he'd never gotten a reaction like this from Kevin, despite his best efforts. She heard movement behind the glass as the audience edged closer, and the faint murmur of voices. She thought she could pick out a surprised tone, and it was gratifying. Though, honestly, it was all due to Kevin's acting.
She knew how he would be feeling now as the strength raced through his veins and all the pain vanished. She'd used more than double the highest dose of Survive she'd ever used on herself, taking into account his greater mass and need. His screams were primal, almost triumphant. She hoped she was the only one to notice that nuance and that he'd remember that the damage done to his body was still very real, whether he felt it any longer or not.
She waited only five minutes--tapping her foot and watching him dispassionately--while he did his part, keeping his screams loud and constant. She wanted him to have as much time with the drugs in his system as possible. When they wore off, he would be incapacitated.
"There, Mr. Beach," she said as she shot ordinary saline into the IV line. She gave him the cue he would need. "I think we understand each other now, so I can let this end. Shall we talk?"
The Chemist Page 46