Dark Angel: Skin Game (24 page)

"Can't we go somewhere?"

"No—this place is empty and not bugged, unless you've bugged it. Tell me here or not at all."

After mulling that for a few seconds, Gottlieb kept his voice low and asked, "The name I mentioned earlier... the man I work for. You know him?"

Logan nodded.

"I think he may have gone rogue."

Laughing out loud, Logan said, "No wonder the NSA snapped you up—you don't miss anything. Anything else hot off the presses? Any word in yet about whether Nixon's a crook?"

Gottlieb's eyes fell, his face turning crimson, as he said, "I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. We're supposed to be on the same team, after all, he and I."

"Ames White is on a team, all right," Logan said. "But not the one you're playing on, or any team that's trying to help this country."

"I figured that out."

"Good for you, Agent Gottlieb! Now, why don't you go

talk to your superiors about it?" Logan rose, tossed a bill on the bar, and took a step.

Gottlieb grabbed onto Logan's arm. "I can't talk to my superiors, or to anyone else in the government. White's got ties everywhere-^-I couldn't trust anyone. My friends in the government may be his friends. There's no way to know."

Logan let the hand rest on his arm as he nodded. "You're right about that much. But why Eyes Only?"

"If you can't trust your friends," Gottlieb said meaningfully, "who's left but your enemies?"

That was a good point.

"All right, follow me out," Logan said.

Then he climbed the stairs and headed outside. The sun had grown warm and felt good on his face. With Gottlieb stepping up next to him, Logan heard the cock of a gun and wondered if he'd been suckered ...

... until he turned to find Asha standing behind them, her pistol aimed at Gottlieb's skull.

"Maybe we should find somewhere more private," Logan said as he lifted Gottlieb's pistol from its holster.

The three of them turned down an alley, trooping far away from the street and into the shadows, Gottlieb leading the way, but Asha prodding. The alley smelled of decaying food and urine; somewhere, a cat cried out. Slipping behind a Dumpster, the three of them stood out of sight of the traffic on the street, though Gottlieb still peered around nervously, looking for prying eyes and eavesdroppers.

"Tell us what you know," Logan ordered.

Otto Gottlieb gave them his story—all of it.

Logan had suspected much of what Gottlieb had to report, and had actually seen the assassins outside Jam Pony; but he knew they needed more.

"Do you have proof of any of this, Otto?"

Gottlieb shook his head. "There never is any—White calls it 'plausible deniability.'"

The phrase had an all-too-familiar ring to Logan. "Where can we get proof?"

"If I knew that, I wouldn't have come looking for Eyes Only."

Logan decided to change course. "Where's Sage Thompson?"

Looking as though he'd just been punched, Gottlieb asked, "How the hell do you know about him?"

"Because Eyes Only found out about Calvin Hankins."

"I can't believe it...."

"Otto, do you know where Thompson is?"

"No! But if I did, he might be able to corroborate some of what I've told you."

The smell in the alley was as unpleasant as it was thick; Logan—ready to find a new office—said, "If you're on the level, Otto, you'll have to do exactly what I tell you."

Gottlieb sighed. "I'm good at that."

"You got a car?"

"Sure—just around the corner."

The three of them marched to the vehicle. Asha got behind the wheel, Otto sat on the passenger side, and Logan got in the back.

"Hand me your cuffs, will you, Agent Gottlieb?"

"Make it 'Otto.' " He fumbled around behind himself and got them out, then held the cuffs up over his shoulder.

"Right hand," Logan ordered.

Gottlieb frowned. "What?"

Asha stuck the gun in his ribs, and the agent's right hand went behind the seat.

Locking the bracelet over that hand, Logan said, "Now the left."

Gottlieb obeyed, awkwardly extending his other arm around the seat, and Logan cuffed him with his arms pulled behind him.

"What's this about?"

Logan got out and Asha rolled down the passenger side window for him to lean in.

"Show of good faith or not, I can't trust you, Otto. So, you're going to have to trust me.

Asha will watch you—she'll take you to a safe place. I'll join you as soon as I can. If I find Agent Thompson, we may be able to help you. If you're lying ... well, I think you can fill in that blank, yourself. Do we have an understanding, Otto?"

Looking very scared, Gottlieb nodded.

Logan shook his head slowly. "I hope you're telling the truth, Otto. A lot of people are depending on you ... and if we don't find Agent Thompson, they might all be in serious trouble."

And right now Otto Gottlieb looked like he knew all about what it was like being in serious trouble.

COUNTY GENERAL HOSPITAL. 1:42PM

WEDNESDAY. MAY 12. 2021

Alec opened his eyes to terrible, harsh brightness, and immediately shut them again.

He tried to move his arm up to shield his face, but found the limb restrained, the other one too. Keeping his eyes closed, the light warm on his face, he tried to move his feet; they too were tethered.

"You're not going anywhere, 494," a familiar caustic voice said.

Alec's gut tensed: Ames White.

The X5 did not move, eyes shut, as if opening them had just been a twitch, a flutter in his sleep. A hand settled on his face, thumb under his chin, fingers and palm on his cheek, a chill snake-belly touch. The fingers began to tighten—White had the strength to crush a man's skull, even a transgenic like Alec.

"Open your eyes, 494," White said. "Or would you rather I close them forever?"

Alec opened his eyes and stared into the face of the cold-eyed NSA agent, who removed his hand from the X5's cheek, though the man still hovered over the right side of the bed like a vampire caught in the act. The agent—in his typical dark suit—had the sick pale look of a bloodsucker at

that, his skin an unnatural white brought on by the fluorescent lighting.

Alec's head was swimming. "Is this ... prison?"

"Don't be silly," White said, a small smile playing on thin, cruel lips. "It's a hospital.

You're getting the best of care— your furry friend, too."

His head was settling down. "How did I get here?"

"The police. A friend of mine on the department whispered in my ear—something about your friend's dog snout that made some people think you two might be transgenic."

Restrained though he was, Alec was able to survey the small hospital room—it was empty but for himself and White. "I don't see a police guard. Is there one in the hall?"

"Maybe you'd like a map of the building? How else can I be of service? ... The guard is federal, 494. Transgenics are the NSA's jurisdiction—but surely you know that?"

Alec smirked back at the man. "And you haven't killed us yet, because ... ?"

"Why, I'm hurt, 494—you transgenics are citizens like any American."

"That's funny—I seem to remember you telling Congress we're a bunch of homicidal freaks."

"Aren't you? You stumbled in on the road show of Silence of the Lambs, didn't you?

Courtesy of one of your own?"

"What the hell do you want? Why am I alive?"

The jokey mask fell and the emotionless, dead soulless son of a bitch Alec knew White to be was revealed in all his antiglory. "Because, 494—we're going to have a little talk, you and I."

Alec shook his head. "Could you have a nurse turn me over? So you can kiss my transgenic ass?"

A little half smirk colored the dead-eyed face. "Your choice—this is America, after all.

You can die fast, or you can die slow, or—here's another option—you can die very fucking slow."

"How about none of the above?"

"No—not on the docket. Bottom line is, 494 ... you and I are going to talk... and when we've explored our various areas of discussion, you'll be dead. Quick and painless, or slow and drawn-out—one from column A, or one from column B."

Alec spit in White's face.

Slowly, White wiped the saliva glob away with a middle finger, and flung it back in Alec's face.

"And while your body begins its inexorable journey to pu-trefication, I'm going next door and have the same chat with Dogboy. He should be easier—a chew toy, a little Alpo, and he'll be howling at the moon."

Alec managed a smile. "If Joshua ever gets his paws on you, White, you'll learn a whole new meaning for 'chew toy' "

"I don't think so. I think he'll spill his canine guts and then we'll take him over to the pound—afraid we'll have to put the pooch down. Pity, isn't it?"

Taking a quick inventory, Alec decided that other than aching all over, he seemed to be pretty much all here; the conversation with White had given him time to gather his wits, and his mind felt clear.

He seemed to be wearing only a flimsy, sleeveless hospital gown, and he could sense the bandage from his bullet wound still covering his left shoulder. Straining against them, Alec realized he was cuffed to the bed, the metal bracelets jangling a little when he relaxed.

The X5 had a vague recollection of seeing a stun rod swing toward him, but that was his last memory.

Standing over him, making sure Alec saw every movement he made, White slowly opened a straight razor and seemed to savor the way the light caught the blade and winked.

"One of the many ways my people are superior to trans-genics," White said conversationally, "is that we don't feel pain—simply don't experience it. Transgenics, on the other hand... when you prick them, they bleed."

"You're the prick who's gonna bleed," Alec snarled, fighting against the cuffs holding him down; but they wouldn't give. The metal dug into his wrists, the pain somehow calming, giving him strength.

"Where shall we start? ... How about with your friend 452?"

Pulling against the cuffs with everything he had, Alec said nothing.

White slowly moved the blade back and forth, watching the light dance on steel.

Against his will, Alec found himself watching the blade as well, as if it was a hypnotist's watch, trying to lull him into a terrible trance. The restraints continued to dig into his flesh, but he kept up the fight....

"I want you to tell me how I can get to her."

"Climb the fence at Terminal City and whistle, dickweed."

"You and Lassie 'climbed the fence,' 494—and yet no one saw you do it. That compound is under close surveillance, but there must be a way out—and in—that no one knows about."

"Click your heels together and say, 'There's no place like home.' That should do it."

"A sense of humor. I like that, 494. I have one too... watch...."

White leaned down close, his face only inches away from Alec, their eyes locked, then the agent made a narrow two-inch slice in Alec's right shoulder. Gritting his teeth against the pain, the young transgenic said nothing.

"I'm so pleased you're not cooperating, right away," White said. "You see, for all my strengths, I have one weakness... I do hate transgenics...."

He opened the slice another inch.

Alec strained harder against the cuffs, his gaze still on White, the blood warm as it seeped from the wound and ran off his arm, the pain only spurring him on.

"I'll ask again, 494. How can I get to 452?"

"Go to hell and take a left."

White walked around the bed, his eyes never leaving Alec's. "I certainly hope you're enjoying this as much as I am."

"How could I enjoy it as much as a sick sadistic shit like you?"

The razor carved into his other arm, below the bandage covering his bullet wound.

White made this cut about the same length as the first but a little deeper, the wound weeping tears of blood.

"There's a back way into Terminal City," White said. "I need to know what it is—you see, I want 452 in my own personal custody, before the Army swings through having their fun."

Alec, blinking away tears of pain, had to wonder: "Why?"

"Maybe I want her head to put over my fireplace—what concern is that to a dead man?

Now, why don't you tell me the truth and I'll speed this up for you."

The door creaked open, and White spun. Alec, like White, threw his attention to the doorway, where a young, pretty African-American nurse stood, her mouth agape, hands flying up to cover it.

"What in God's name!" she cried.

Razor in hand, dripping rubies, White lurched forward and barked at her, "Get out!

This is federal government business!"

The nurse—who apparently did not find this typical behavior from a federal law enforcement officer—shrieked bloody murder, and—with White momentarily distracted— Alec summoned all of his remaining strength to pull against the cuff around his wrist. With a shrill whine, the metal tube of the bed frame snapped and Alec's hand burst free.

As White spun back toward him, the razor rising in a wide arc, Alec swung his fist with everything he had behind it, catching White in the sternum, sending the agent sprawling,

tumbling backward across the room and smacking hard into a wall, the razor flying out of his hand.

The nurse screamed again, turned and fled.

Alec knew he only had seconds now.

Jerking the bed frame on the left side, he broke that and slipped his left hand free.

White had slid down the wall, and sat there in a rude pile, his eyes bleary, his mouth sagging open, sucking air in and out like a leaky bellows. The man might not feel pain, but physical damage nonetheless slowed him down.

From out in the hall, Alec could hear approaching footsteps. Sitting up, ignoring the blood running down his arms in narrow scarlet ribbons, he yanked off the bottom rail of the bed and slid it out, freeing his feet.

White used the wall to prop himself up and get back to his feet, his free hand disappearing inside his jacket, toward his pistol.

Alec leapt from the bed and ran over, blurringly fast, to pummel White with a right, then a left.