Toys - James Patterson [65]
I drew my laser pistol and took a very deep breath. I had to kill her!
“Stop.” Her mouth hardly moved and her voice was as faint as a sigh. But there was no mistaking the tone of command in her next few words. “Ruthless. Remember, Hays?”
I needed her to understand something. “They’re going to kill you by inches! It’s called a slow death. It’s excruciating.”
Damned 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!
Whatever that was supposed to mean.
Chapter 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 bastard 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 clusters 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
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 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 hoarse whisper. “I’ll talk… to you… but alone. Get those other pigs… out of here.” Her glare turned to McGill and then to me. “I’ll talk to Jax