Part 16 (1/2)

I missed you. Her voice, soft and vulnerable, the feel of her hair under his fingers, and the weight of her head on his shoulder.

It didn't f.u.c.king matter if it was impossible to get her out of there. Nothing mattered except finding her and freeing her.

He opened his eyes, faintly surprised to find himself still crouched in the bushes. The second black van idled with its side door open. They were coordinating in there. It was against procedure to have the side door open, but being in there with a dead body probably meant they wanted a little ventilation. It was a picture-perfect opportunity. He slid the cell back into his pocket and eased out of the shadows, sliding the knives free of their sheaths.

Hold on, angel, he thought. I'm coming to get you.

There was really no other choice.

The push left him in a scalding wave of fire, slamming over the top of the driver's mental defenses. There were three in the van: driver, handler, and Zed-wiped psion. Blood dripped down Delgado's face. He ignored it in the cresting agony of his talent as he rammed through walls and false trails, breaking the driver's mind and taking what he needed. His hands shook as he held the garrote, a simple thin piece of wire with wooden handles. No other Society op carried this. It was his own little secret. He yanked back, keeping the pressure on and hearing the crackles as the small, deep bones in the throat snapped.

The driver was like Andrews, a complacent psion, a military man used to unquestioning obedience.

Del kept the pressure on, and the man's hands flailed wildly. One hit the window with a hollow sound.

I am not a very nice man, he thought, with a kind of dark hilarity. The push rang inside his head. Behind him, the Zed-wiped psion moaned.

The driver's mind broke in a shower of psychic sparks. Del coughed, his injured shoulder throbbing.

He'd made sure Andrews was dead by sinking another knife into the man's throat and wrenching back and forth. Andrews's body laid half-in, half-out of the van, his head dangling out toward the pavement.

Have to pull him in and get that door closed.

His fingers ached as he released the garrote. Rowan. She wouldn't like this at all. No, she would be horrified. Suppose it's a good thing she can't see, right?

He pulled Andrews back in and closed the side door. Then he settled back against the side of the van,his head resting against a small console. This van, like any other Sigma workhorse vehicle, was stuffed with electronic equipment, screens glowing green, strings of code flas.h.i.+ng across two monitors. The small s.p.a.ce available for humans was taken up with bodies. In the very back, the psion moaned again. He was handcuffed to a console to keep him out of the way. Del scrubbed at his face with his hands. He needed a plan. Deep, even breaths, he reminded himself, as if he was talking to a trainee. If you can't breathe, you can't think.

Breathe, Delgado. Just keep breathing.

It took a while to get the limp body out of the driver's seat. Thank G.o.d, the van was still in ”park.” The last thing he needed was to be in an uncontrolled vehicle with three dead bodies and a moaning, handcuffed idiot. Del slid into the seat and spent a few seconds looking at the steering wheel, trying to remember how to drive. G.o.ddammit. Stop it. You're not in shock. Rowan needs you. Get your a.s.s in there.

”Section 511, report in,” a voice crackled from the radio on the dash. He almost jumped. The smell of death was thick and rank in the close confines. He thought briefly, longingly, of opening the window.

”Section 511, report. Zero clear?”

He reached for the radio, the information he'd wrenched from the driver's mind sliding fresh and b.l.o.o.d.y into place. ”511 reporting,” he said into the handset, in what he hoped was a normal voice. ”511 is zero clear. Proceeding as planned, over.”

”Ten-four. Over and out.” Apparently satisfied, the voice retreated.

Del closed his eyes. I need a plan.

Trouble was, he didn't have one. He buckled the seat belt, slipped the van into gear, and coughed rackingly. First he had to get rid of the bodies.

Then he was going to call Henderson.

Chapter Twenty-Five.

Darkness. Soft, forgiving darkness. Burn of a needle in her arm.

”It's not Zed,” the voice said. Male, slightly whistling, familiar. ”Calm down. It's not Zed. It's just a little c.o.c.ktail to keep you calm while we discuss things.”

Rowan's eyelids fluttered. Light slowly, slowly flooded into her aching head. The drugs took effect quickly, wrapping her in a warm blanket. She could not move, but she was upright somehow.

Justin. Where's Justin?

Her head pounded dully. Her eyelids were heavy, so heavy, and she was strapped against something hard. Her head lolled to the side. ”Whaaaa...” It was a long, slurred word. Her mouth wouldn't obey her.

”Just be calm,” the familiar voice said, and uttered a high whistling giggle of glee. ”Nice and calm. I've waited a very long time for this. Shame we couldn't have done it earlier, before the testing was complete.”

I know that voice. I know that voice. Where am I?

But she knew. Sigma had her.

With that revelation came a flood of memory and the strength to lift her head, even through the blurring disorientation of the drugs.

What greeted her was obviously a lab-long bare counters, different apparatus set at intervals, and two monitors at the far end blinking with screens of data. She was strapped to a chair, leather restraints around her wrists and ankles, as well as her knees, elbows, torso, and throat. The effect was almost total immobility, though she could wriggle a little and loll drunkenly from one side to another. Wires dropped from her forehead, probably attached to electrodes. She could see an IV pole, some kind of drip.

Sedation? Maybe.

The lighting was clear and low, obviously turned down, and she blinked as a familiar face swam into view. Moist, dark eyes behind horn-rimmed gla.s.ses, thin cheeks and sawlike cheekbones, liver-spotted hands trembling as he raised one and shoved his gla.s.ses higher on his nose. He wore a rumpled white lab coat, and recognition slammed into her.

”Jilssen,” she breathed. The traitor who had shut down the security grids and let Sigma into the old Headquarters was standing right in front of her. Justin had mentioned seeing him again and confirmed that he was the one responsible for the carnage. It was small consolation that Rowan's instincts had been right about the good doctor all along. If only she'd known what her instinctive response to him had meant, she might have been able to avert the ma.s.sacre. But even Justin hadn't been able to find anything at the old Headquarters. Jilssen had covered his tracks too well.

”h.e.l.lo, Rowan!” He beamed at her, as if she was a prized specimen. His yellowed, strong, crooked teeth almost glowed. ”It's so good to see you again, without any interference.”

”Traitor.” Her mouth wouldn't work quite right, and her head seemed too heavy for her neck to hold up.

She sagged against the restraints. ”Traitor.”

He shook his head, his smile dimming a little. ”You'll soon see things in a different light, my dear. There's important work for you to do. You'll be serving your country, and that's very important. You should feel proud.”She could see a rack of test tubes, and wires leading off to something. The air smelled like chemicals and burned insulation. There was another faint pervasive stench-human pain and desperation. Wherever this place was, several people had suffered here. Suffered terribly. ”What ... What are...”

”When the Colonel gets here, we'll begin. You see, Rowan, Sigma is just the first step. We've been trying to create something very important, a physical bulwark, as it were. Several years ago...” He muttered something, scooped up a clipboard and checked it. ”He's late. Dammit, it's not like him to be late.”

The Colonel. Adrenaline flooded her, fighting the sedation. It became a little easier to think. Anton?

Maybe. Where have they taken me? How long have I been out? If the Colonel's here, I can...

The dream of revenge faded, replaced by a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

The blind man had buried something in her head, something deep and foul, pus.h.i.+ng her through the maze until Sigma could scoop her up. He'd distracted both Justin and her with pain and slipped the fishhook in, neat as you please. Rowan hadn't recognized or felt it because she'd been too busy worrying. Useless, frantic worry. She should have listened to Justin. She should have...

Well, too late for that now. Her head was clearing rapidly. Her freakish talents did that, burned up pain medication and tranquilizers much faster than normal. She tested the straps, taking care not to make any sudden moves.

They were tight and hard. She couldn't get free even if she tried. Now was a fine time to wish she was telekinetic like Cath.

What's going on? Come on, Ro, keep him talking. She let her head drop to the side, as if she was still drugged. ”Whaaat?” she moaned, deliberately trying to make her voice loud and drunk.