Toys - A Novel Part 21

I needed her to understand something. "They're going to kill you by inches! It's called a slow death. It's excruciating."

d.a.m.ned if her lips didn't curl into the faintest trace of a smile. A smile? Now?

"That's what they want you to think," she whispered. "When I give you a cue-take it."

There was no time for more words between us, not even a good-bye. The Elite commandos were all over the catwalk above us, starting to rappel down.

I still could have killed Lucy, and then myself, but I didn't do it.

I was clinging to her words. When I give you a cue-take it! When I give you a cue-take it!

Whatever that was supposed to mean.

Chapter 87 87.

MCGILL DIDN'T WASTE any time getting right in my face. My old buddy and partner was a distant memory, and an illusory one at that. This two-faced b.a.s.t.a.r.d was no friend of mine.

"That first shot was sloppy, Hays," he said. "Not like you. Are you losing it?"

"Hanging by one hand, with a second to aim and shoot?" I snapped back. "Next time, you take the shot, good buddy. I'll be the critic on the sidelines!"

Suddenly, his mask of camaraderie flashed. "Hey, take it easy," he said. "I'm just saying-maybe you're not as steady as you thought you were."

I nodded. "You're probably right, partner." Then I turned away quickly, before he could see my sneer. No, make that my hatred of him.

I began to walk to my car, gripped by the fact that I was abandoning Lucy to slow death. The torture was a perversion of regeneration therapy. The victim's body was permeated by an electromagnetic field that sent impulses to specific areas, thousands of them per minute. But instead of healing, the impulses attacked nerve cl.u.s.ters with violent shocks. It was like having a white-hot probe moving inside the body, with the victim never knowing where it would stab and wound next-only that it would.

The agony could go on for weeks, and with someone as strong and determined as Lucy, it probably would. What made it even worse-Lizbeth had managed the team that perfected the torture machine. My sweet little Jinx.

Chapter 88 88.

MCGILL WAS FIRST up with Lucy in the interrogation room, which worried me. Usually I was first. What was going on? What did it mean for Lucy?

"I'm sure you aren't very bright, but you must understand that you're going to talk anyway. Why not spare yourself the hours of unnecessary torture?" he asked her, for starters.

Lucy glanced at McGill like she was looking at a slug eating garbage. She still hadn't said word one to him. In fact, she barely looked at him.

Which was amazing considering that she'd been hanging hanging in the interrogation room for half an hour now, with the vicious slow death probe searing her flesh. So far, she hadn't made a sound. No moans or screams, and no answer to any of McGill's questions. in the interrogation room for half an hour now, with the vicious slow death probe searing her flesh. So far, she hadn't made a sound. No moans or screams, and no answer to any of McGill's questions.

I had never seen anyone, male or female, handle the torture like this. Usually, the subject was screaming within seconds, often begging for death.

McGill looked over at Moore, who was standing behind Lucy, where she couldn't see him. Moore eventually raised a thumb, signaling McGill to up the dosage.

"OK," McGill said to her with a shrug. "You leave me no choice."

He stalked to the control panel and adjusted a setting. The next shock racked Lucy's body and contorted her face, yanking her lips back from her teeth.

Moore stepped in front of her then-and he gently touched her cheek.

"You're the toughest subject I've ever seen, Lucy," he said soothingly. "I admire that, I do. But you will end up telling us everything, and you know it. Just be reasonable. I'll make it easy on you. If you talk, we will kill you instantly."

Finally, she broke her silence, forcing out the next few words in a hoa.r.s.e whisper. "I'll talk... to you... but alone. but alone. Get those other pigs... out of here." Her glare turned to McGill and then to me. "I'll talk to Jax Moore. Not to either of you morons." Get those other pigs... out of here." Her glare turned to McGill and then to me. "I'll talk to Jax Moore. Not to either of you morons."

My scalp p.r.i.c.kled. Was this the cue? Was this the cue? It had to be. But what did it mean? What did Lucy want me to do now? Stay? Fight? Go away? It had to be. But what did it mean? What did Lucy want me to do now? Stay? Fight? Go away?

I had no idea.

I was back on the edge of doubt again, and it was pure h.e.l.l. Did she want me me to kill her now? to kill her now?

"Of course," Moore said. "I absolutely understand why you would feel that way." He motioned us toward the door. "Both of you-go."

"Get out of here, pigs!" Lucy screamed.

As McGill and I walked out, I scanned her face, desperate for any sign that I was reading her right. Maybe I only imagined it-but I thought I saw the trace of a smile.

Chapter 89 89.

MCGILL WAS WAITING for me at the end of the hallway. His round pie face held a satisfied smile. "He'll close on her-Moore's the master at it. He'll be lighting up one of his victory cigars any minute. That human b.i.t.c.h doesn't stand a chance."

"No, I'm sure she doesn't," I said. I was almost shaking with tension. More and more I was feeling that I couldn't leave Lucy in there with Jax. He had all the tools of torture ever devised, and- My head whipped as a shrill screeching noise came from the interrogation room. It didn't sound human.

Or Elite.

"What the h.e.l.l was that?" McGill turned to me.

"I have no no idea." idea."

Then I saw a flash of light-Moore's victory cigar?

And then we both heard a terrible explosion.

By the time McGill and I got back to the room, the walls and door-all made of superstrong alloy-were s.h.i.+mmering with heat and spewing smoke. A thermal bomb had exploded inside-had to be. But how had it gotten in there? Certainly Lucy had been searched. Had Moore's cigar set it off?

Security guards were racing down the hall, a half dozen of them, blasters at the ready. Within seconds, they had blown open the door. Smoke and steam escaped in a searing hot fog that drove all of us back down the hallway.

"Jax Moore is dead," McGill proclaimed. "They both are. Blown to cinders."

When the smoke cleared, I stared at the disaster inside. My heart sank. The heat had been so intense that the floor, walls, and ceiling had melted half away. Everything inside had been incinerated to blackish dust and spatters of liquefied metal. Everything. Everything.

Including Jax Moore.

Worst of all was the empty s.p.a.ce where Lucy had been hanging. Not a trace of her was left. She must have had the bomb inside her body-sacrificed herself. That had been her plan from the start, hadn't it?

To kill Jax Moore right here at Agency Headquarters; to send a warning to all Elites.

And I had been Lucy's unwitting accomplice. I'd done this, hadn't I?

I had captured and brought her here to die.

Chapter 90 90.

PRESIDENT HUGHES JACKLIN glared at us with obvious High Elite rage via hologram from his penthouse-which, right now, was floating somewhere above New Lake City. The luxurious six-room penthouse was actually an aircraft that took off from the roof of the presidential mansion on ceremonial occasions. It cruised the skies as a dazzling and, frankly, obnoxious reminder of Elite power and arrogance and control.

"Moore was killed by a human terrorist?" Jacklin said angrily. "Right there inside Agency Headquarters?" Standing behind the president was-as usual-the huge bodyguard Devlin, who looked nearly as p.i.s.sed as his boss.

"I'm afraid so, sir," McGill said, hunching his burly shoulders like a schoolboy getting a scolding from the headmaster. What a toad he was; what a dangerous toad though.

I waited tensely, expecting Jacklin to demand a full account-from me-and raise the legitimate question of why Lucy had let me escape. It certainly wasn't lost on Lizbeth and McGill. I had already been interrogated on the matter-twice.

But right now the president seemed more annoyed at being interrupted than upset by the news of the Agency head's death. He had a much more important subject on his mind-7-4 Day.

"It was Moore's job to keep those despicable b.a.s.t.a.r.ds down," he growled. "If he wasn't dead, I'd fire him. This attack shows unthinkable weakness and vulnerability, at the worst possible time."

He glanced over his shoulder into a large reception room, where a 7-4 Day meeting was in progress. His chief advisers were present. I recognized guests who were among the world's most influential Elites, dignitaries and military leaders I had rubbed elbows with in the past.

Whatever was going on at the high-level meeting, President Jacklin obviously wanted to get back to it. The other leaders were busily placing differently colored markers on a large table that held a map of the world.

"All right, keep the Agency bombing quiet for now," he said. "These next few days are going to be insane enough without that kind of news leaking out. We'll sort out the details later. You haven't heard the last about this from me."

"Sir, I'm afraid the Agency of Change is going to need an acting chief," Lizbeth interjected smoothly. "If I might make a recommendation-I don't believe you could do better than Senior Agent McGill. He wasn't responsible for the bombing, but he's held everything together since then."

McGill? I almost choked! He was definitely mean enough, but he had nowhere near the level of sophistication to supervise the organization. Even though I would have been a stronger choice, Lizbeth acted like I wasn't even there. So what did that tell me about my wife? I almost choked! He was definitely mean enough, but he had nowhere near the level of sophistication to supervise the organization. Even though I would have been a stronger choice, Lizbeth acted like I wasn't even there. So what did that tell me about my wife?

The president nodded impatiently-he had other things on his mind. Like the imminent extermination of every human on the earth. Like the imminent extermination of every human on the earth.

"Recommendation accepted," he said. "On a temporary basis. Just make d.a.m.ned sure you do a better job than your predecessor. Now do your job!"

"Yes, sir!" McGill said, saluting. The gesture in itself made me gag.

The hologram faded with the president striding away to rejoin his scary conspirators. By now, I'd realized what the subject must be. The top Elites were dividing up the human world, country by country. Those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds were getting ready to take over the vast sections of the earth that would soon be deserted.

Lizbeth turned to me. Was that a tear I saw in her eye? G.o.d, she was good! "You do understand why I couldn't recommend you, you, don't you, Hays?" she said. "You're my husband. It wouldn't have been right." don't you, Hays?" she said. "You're my husband. It wouldn't have been right."

"Besides, you're too valuable in the field," McGill added. "You know that, Hays. And you've been injured recently. You understand?"

I understood, all right, but I had to keep pus.h.i.+ng on with the charade.

"Don't worry, the Agency job's the last thing in the world I'd want," I said. Then I started toward the door. "I'm going home to get some rest. I need to recharge. The big day is almost here. I'm sure it will be worth the wait."

I could feel the two of them hesitate-they wanted to keep tabs on me. But they were also wrapped up in their newfound power, and what it would mean for them once the humans were eliminated. Every high-ranking Elite would become more powerful, and probably wealthy beyond imagining.

"You've earned it, darling," Lizbeth finally said. "Wait home for me, OK? I won't be long."

Once outside the Agency building, I jumped in my car and sped straight across the city-to the human slums.

Go home, like h.e.l.l.

Chapter 91 91.

AN HOUR LATER, no more than that, McGill strode in a quiet rage along a dark, littered alley that led into a crosshatching of even more dark, littered alleyways. He was headed toward a gutted old warehouse at the far end. It was home to a collection of humans, the kind of sc.u.m who'd never had much luck to begin with. Well, now their luck was all gone. Well, now their luck was all gone.

"Don't come any closer-this is a warning!" a sentry, a boy, called from the shadows. The human guard was apparently used to dealing with the slum's sneaky thieves and manic Ghools-not a huge policeman suddenly charging at him like 270 pounds of battering ram.

McGill stopped short of a collision-and then shot the human dead. He picked up the worthless boy and hurled him tumbling into the gloomy mist beyond the warehouse.

"This is the Agency of Change!" McGill roared. "Get out here now! Line yourselves up against the wall! This is the Agency of Change. You will obey me or die! I'm Owen McGill. Heard of me, skunks?"

As the frightened residents began to appear, McGill fingered the trigger of his laser pistol. G.o.d, how he hated these humans. An hour ago, he'd been on top of the world-the temporary chief of the Agency, with Lizbeth almost in his arms. Then it all blew up-because of that sonofab.i.t.c.h Hays Baker! That b.l.o.o.d.y traitor! That human! human!

McGill had watched Hays leave headquarters, just in case he did anything criminal or suspicious. And he sure as h.e.l.l did.

Instead of going home like he'd said he would, he sped off toward these very slums. He'd lied, and no doubt that meant he'd been lying all along. He had made a fool of McGill, even as he stood by silently, allowing McGill to take Jax Moore's job as head of the Agency.

There was only one way to solve the problem, and this was it, a job only he could do: find Hays Baker, and kill him.

"You stupid people sheltered an escaped convict-that's punishable by death, and I'm the delivery man," McGill snapped at the cowering humans. "But I'm going to give you one last chance at survival. I happen to know he's around here now. His name is Hays Baker. Heard of him? Well, where the h.e.l.l is he? Anybody?"

McGill turned his most baleful glare on a young woman in rags, holding a baby tight to her breast. She seemed the weakest and most vulnerable of this pitiful lot.