Wired - Douglas E. Richards [94]
Sam’s watch began emitting a series of high-pitched beeps, and he smiled in satisfaction. He pushed a button on his watch and the beeping stopped. “I’m afraid I have to go now, my dear,” he said to Kira. “I have a helicopter waiting for me. And it’s already 9:40. You were unconscious for quite some time. So before I leave, I need to reset the device in your skull. If I don’t—” He spread his hands helplessly. “Well, let’s just say that neither of us wants that.”
He barked an order and seconds later three plain-clothed men had joined him in the basement, each holding a tranquilizer gun. Under any other circumstances they would have been armed with automatic rifles, but Sam was taking no chances that something would go awry and result in Kira’s death.
Sam gestured at Smith’s corpse lying in a pool of blood ten feet away. “I’ll call in a clean-up crew when I’m in the air,” he informed the newcomers. He didn’t offer any other explanation for the body and the men didn’t ask for one.
Sam pointed to the tallest of the three men. “Jim here will be in charge when I’m gone,” he announced to his prisoners. “He’ll take good care of you.” He paused. “Mr. Desh, I’ll be back to interrogate you tomorrow morning. As much as I would enjoy slicing off digits and beating you to within an inch of your life, I’m afraid that truth drugs have become just too damn good to justify this sort of thing. Oh well,” he said in disappointment. “I’m sure the session will prove interesting, nonetheless.”
Sam turned to Kira. “As for you, my dear, you’ll have all the information you’ll need to confirm the activity of our sterility virus very soon.”
Sam paused in thought, and a look of mild amusement came over his face. “Jim, if the girl needs to relieve herself,” he continued, “I want one of you in the bathroom with her and one of you outside the door. And don’t turn away while she’s going either. As for Desh here, if he needs to go—” He shrugged. “Let him pee in his pants.”
With that Sam turned and walked to the wood staircase. When he reached it, he turned and faced Kira. “One last thing. Listen for three high-pitched beeps in a few minutes. This will tell you that your twelve-hour clock has been reset.” He smiled. “I thought it was considerate of me to provide an audible confirmation for you. I’m trying to minimize your stress until you’ve come to your senses.”
“Yeah, you’re a real prince,” said Kira bitterly. She paused. “Look, we’re handcuffed to a concrete wall. Do you really think you need three guards?”
Sam looked amused. “Just the fact that you asked the question tells me that I do.” With that he took a careful look at his watch and rushed up the stairs.
The three guards fanned out in the basement at equal distance from the prisoners.
Kira turned toward Desh with an alarmed look in her eye. There was no getting out of this situation. Moriarty, or Sam, or whoever he was, had won. He had an explosive charge planted in her head and a knife at the throat of the entire species. The situation was hopeless.
Desh winked. The gesture had been completed so quickly she had almost missed it, but it was unmistakable. She wrinkled her forehead in confusion. What did he know that she didn’t?
It was time. Desh instructed sweat to exit the pores in his face, and in less than a minute moisture started to bead on his forehead and cheeks. At the same time, at his command, the color drained from his face and lips. He moaned softly.
Hearing the prisoner moan, the guard nearest Desh studied him more closely. “Jesus,” he said to his companions. “This guy is sweating like a pig. He looks like death.”
“I need a doctor,” gasped Desh, the avatar personality he had set up ensuring he said the words in character and with mind-numbing slowness.
Kira struggled to make sense of what was happening. She would have been sure he had come down with the mother of all fevers if it had not been