Generation 18: The Spook Squad 2 (25 page)

Thornhill wasn’t an agent she’d met as yet. “Will he be okay?”

“According to the docs, yes.”

At least that was something. Sam glanced at Edmonds. “And you?”

The big man smiled. “By the time he got to me, security had swarmed. They sedated him and brought him straight down here.”

The cell door slid open and the doc stepped out. “The wound is fine. His temper is not, however. I’ve given him another dose of sedatives and ordered him chained up. Under no circumstances are you to undo those chains. Not if you value your life.”

“Any prospect of him breaking free?”

The doc hesitated. “Under normal circumstances, I’d say no. But that man is far from normal.”

Wasn’t
that
the truth. She glanced at Briggs. “You two keep close watch. If he does happen to achieve the impossible, fire every stun gun you’ve got.”

Briggs frowned. “But we’ll hit you.”

“I like my chances with the stun gun better.” And with that, Sam headed into the cell.

Orrin glared at her. He had the sort of face only a mother could love. One eye seemed to ride higher than the other, and his nose was bulbous and lumpy, reminding her somewhat of cauliflower. His lips were flabby, flapping loosely whenever he moved. His bald head shone in the artificial light. A few strands of hair clung just behind his ears, and these—a bright red-gold in color—stuck out like chicken feathers, thick and bristly.

Briggs was right. This was one ugly son of a bitch. She walked around him and checked the restraints. So far, they showed no stress, though Orrin was constantly flexing the muscles along his shoulders and arms, trying to work free.

She walked back to the front and stopped, hands behind her back. “What can you tell me about Rose Pierce?”

He hawked and spat. The yellow mass landed near her left boot, but she didn’t move. “We know she’s responsible for the deaths of five people. What we’re not sure of is your involvement in those murders.”

He made no response, but simply continued to glare. His eyes were a muddy brown and full of anger, full of hate. She’d seen that sort of hate before. It wasn’t aimed at her in particular; it was just a hate of anyone in a position of power. Government, police and, in particular, the military.

And that’s the angle she needed to attack from.

“We got your details from a General Frank Lloyd. Seems they’ve been watching you for quite some time.”

He jerked slightly. “They don’t know nothin’ about me. You’re lying.”

His lips were like jelly, and continued to wobble after he’d finished speaking. It was a dreadful sight. No wonder Orrin was a mass of anger—he’d probably grown up the butt of everybody’s jokes.

“On the contrary, it was the military who gave us your name and address. They know you’ve been breaking into their system. They know it was you who stole the Generation 18 records. They’ve requested we hand you over to them once we’ve finished.”

“You do that, and I’m dead!”

She raised an eyebrow. “Do you think I care?”

Orrin regarded her balefully. “Why are you doing this? You’re one of us. You should understand.”

She crossed her arms. “One of what, Orrin?”

“A reject. A castoff.”

“And that’s what you are? A military castoff?”

He nodded. “You think nature is this cruel? This face is man-made. And the bastards deserve to die.”

On that, she had to agree. “Then why attack other rejects? Why not attack the military themselves?”

“I needed help. That was the price.”

“Whose price, Orrin?”

He opened his mouth, then shut it and continued to glare at her.

She tried a slightly different tack. “You know, Orrin, if you don’t cooperate, we’ll have nothing to hold you with. I’m afraid we’ll simply have to hand you over to Hopeworth.”

He scowled. His bottom lip dropped, almost touching the end of his chin. It was not a pretty sight. “You can’t do that. You know they’ll kill me.”

“And why would they want to kill you, Orrin? You just said you were a reject.”

“A reject who knows too much about their projects. They’ve wanted to get their hands on me for some time.”

He was obviously paranoid, if not psychotic. “Orrin, Hopeworth has known all along where to find you. They could have picked you up at any time.”

“Not true.” But he licked his lips and regarded her a little fearfully.

“Very true, I’m afraid. Hopeworth bugs its rejects, you see.” She stepped forward and pressed two fingers against his side. “Feel that lump? It’s a microchip capable of transmitting voice and location.”

Orrin growled. He lunged forward, teeth bared, and Sam jumped back out of reach. The chains creaked as Orrin’s full weight fell against them. They held, but she wondered for how long.

“You lie,” he hissed, flexing his massive shoulders again. “They would have picked me up if they had known.”

She shrugged. “Maybe you rate yourself a higher threat than what they actually think you are.”

“I know things.”

“So do I.” She started pacing, more to settle her rising nerves than anything else. “I know for a fact that Hopeworth has been monitoring both the rejects and the retired scientists. I know for a fact that they’ve been aware of your involvement in the murders for quite some time. I know that each of the victims evolved from eggs taken from Emma Pierce. I know Rose Pierce is responsible for those deaths. I also know that Rose Pierce and Michael Sanders are one and the same person.”

“You know nothin’.”

She stopped and quirked an eyebrow. “I know that the military want to get their hands on you. I know that you don’t want to go. But unless you start cooperating, I have no choice but to turn you over to Hopeworth.”

He snarled, his arm muscles tensing as he flexed his shoulders. She watched warily, certain the chains wouldn’t hold much longer.

“You help me, I’ll help you,” he said, after a few minutes.

She resumed her pacing. “Is that the sort of deal Rose offered?”

“Maybe.”

“In what way do you think you can help me?”

“Rose has insurance. One of your own.”

Alarm slivered through her. That was why no one could get hold of Gabriel. Rose had him.

“The SIU does not bargain for the life of its operatives.”

“No? Then he dies.” Orrin shrugged, but the gleam in his eyes was malicious.

Sam stepped closer. “If you know what is good for you, you’ll tell us where he is—right now. The SIU is not bound by the same rules as the police. We play a whole lot rougher, believe me.”

Orrin snorted. “Like I’m really afraid.”

“Well, that’s a shame.” She glanced to the mirrored wall on her right. “Briggs, get a break team in here immediately, please.”

“Will do.” The metallic edge the speakers gave Briggs’s voice could not disguise her enthusiasm.

The big man frowned. “What’s a break team?”

She crossed her arms. “What does it sound like, Orrin? You had one chance to play fair, and you declined. Now we get nasty.”

He lunged against the chains again, his teeth snapping. His canines were sharp, she noted. Almost as sharp as a vampire’s. “You won’t get nothin’ from me.”

“We’ll see.” She glanced at the wall again. “Buzz me if he changes his mind and decides to talk, or when the break team finishes.”

“Will do,” Briggs repeated.

Sam walked from the room. Out in the corridor, she stopped and took a deep breath. Tension oozed from every muscle. There was something about the big man that made her skin crawl, and it was more than just the sense of evil. It was as if he were something that should not exist—something obscene, like the kites.

She glanced at her watch and decided to get a coffee. The coffee machines in the building produced a black substance that tasted little better than dishwater, but right now she didn’t feel like walking down the street to get something better. She wanted to be on hand when the break team started in on Orrin.

She headed up to the foyer. It being a public area, the machines there tended to offer better quality dishwater.

Only everyone else in the building seemed to have had the same thought, because by the time she got down there, the damn machine was out of coffee. She thumped it in frustration, then punched the button for hot chocolate. Better than tea, she supposed. She was watching it pour when Gabriel walked through security and headed for the elevators.

Orrin had been lying. Odd that she hadn’t detected it. She grabbed her chocolate, almost burning her fingers as the hot liquid splashed up over the sides of the plastic cup, and hurried after her partner.

“Gabriel, wait!”

He continued walking, but he looked over his shoulder. There was no recognition, no emotion, in his eyes when his gaze met hers.

Heat crawled over her skin, whispering secrets to her mind. She stopped abruptly. Hot chocolate splashed over her hand again, dripping across the pristine tiles near her feet.

This wasn’t Gabriel.

This was a shapeshifter, taking his form.

S
AM DROPPED THE CHOCOLATE IN
the nearby bin and drew her gun. “AD Stern, please stop right now.”

The shifter looked over his shoulder. Surprise flitted through the familiar hazel eyes, then he dove into the nearest elevator.

She cursed and ran for the doors, but they shut a whisper too soon. She punched the call button and watched the floor indicator. The shifter was heading to the lower levels—probably to Gabriel’s office.

A second elevator appeared. She punched the floor number and paced the confines of the cab as it began its descent.

Why would a shifter come in here imitating Gabriel? What would Gabriel have that would be important enough for someone to take such a risk? Truth was, she didn’t know. At no time in the last month had he brought her into his confidence, and the only case she’d really been involved with was the rejects.

She stopped. It wasn’t just
any
shifter; it was
Rose
. She was here to get the location list of the remaining rejects. The woman had to be stark raving mad to take such a risk.

And yet, she’d made it past security without a hassle. She might even have gotten past Sam had it not been for her weird ability to pick out certain races.

The elevator stopped and Sam squeezed through the doors before they’d fully opened, running into the foyer. The shifter was halfway down the hall, heading for Gabriel’s office.

“AD Stern, please stop right there.”

The shifter turned and fired. Sam dove to her left. Laser fire sizzled down her right leg, and she yelped. The smell of burning material mingled with the stench of crisped flesh.
Her
flesh. The bitch had the laser set on full.

Ignoring the deep-set throbbing in her leg, she rolled to her feet and squeezed off several shots. The shifter ducked into the nearby hall, firing as she moved. The shots hit the wall inches above Sam’s head.

Sam scrambled forward as a strident alarm shattered the silence. Footsteps pounded toward them. The shifter appeared, gun aimed, and Sam dove to one side. A blue-white beam sizzled half an inch from her stomach, striking the wall behind her. Metal melted, oozing downward.

She rose on one knee and fired again. Again the shot missed the fleeing shifter. She cursed. Security appeared from the hall to her left, weapons raised.

“That’s not AD Stern,” she said, pointing to the fleeing shifter. “Take her out immediately!”

“Agent Ryan, please put down the weapon.”

“For Christ’s sake, didn’t you hear what I said? That is
not
AD Stern! Stop him immediately!”

Footsteps echoed in the silence. The shifter, running away. And the morons in security uniforms were letting her go. She swore and rose.

“Put down your weapon,” the security officer repeated, “or I’ll be forced to shoot.”

There was no understanding in the officer’s dour features, no realization of the evil he was letting loose. All he saw was an agent firing at a superior officer. She had no doubt he’d shoot if she fired her gun again.

She dove for the hall anyway. As she hit the ground, she sighted on the fleeing form and fired. The shifter jerked, her squawk decidedly unmanly as she stumbled into the wall. Then a laser burned into Sam’s body and agony swept her into unconsciousness.

Gabriel paced the confines of his prison for the umpteenth time. There had to be some way out of this box. There
had
to be. He couldn’t let Rose get into the system and find the new addresses for the adoptees. She had to be stopped!

He had no doubt that she would get into his office. The SIU, for all its security, hadn’t really considered the problem of multi-shifters taking on the form of their operatives. His only real hope lay with Sam and her odd ability to sense the evil in people.

Only he’d pissed her off so severely lately that she was likely to avoid him—especially given his lack of reaction to her none-too-subtle seduction attempt.

He punched the wall in frustration and it buckled under the force of his blow. Hope stirred, and he leaned forward for a closer look. Several of the rivets were missing in the strips holding the metal sheeting in place. Daylight gleamed through the small gaps.

This section of the refrigerator must have been built on top of existing walls—walls that had once been plasterboard. Over the years of abandonment, the plaster must have disintegrated, leaving only the insulation and the metal sheeting of the refrigerator itself.

This was his escape. He stepped back a pace, then booted the wall. The pinpricks of daylight became brighter. He kicked it again. A fist-sized gap appeared along the left-hand side.

But as he raised his leg for a third try, pain hit him, flashing fire down his leg. He grunted and dropped to his knees, clutching his thigh and trying to regain his breath.

Fire hit again, this time his shoulder and side. Agony seared his brain and burned through his body. Then it was gone, leaving him shuddering and gasping for breath.

Sam had been hit. How or why he didn’t know, but she was hurt, and badly. He had to get out of this damn prison.

He climbed slowly to his feet. The wall gave way after half a dozen more kicks, peeling back like dented butter. The room beyond was small and dust-laden. The two small windows to his right were barred, though the glass had long gone. Not even his hawk form would fit between the bars.

He climbed through the wall and walked to the door. It was locked. He stepped back and kicked it. The lock broke after the fourth boot, and the door slammed open. The hallway beyond lay wrapped in dusk. Light filtered in from the strip of glass high above, and dust, stirred by the door opening, danced lazily in the sunbeams.

He couldn’t hear any movement, but the sudden prickling sensation along the back of his neck suggested he was no longer alone.

Rose was back. He had to move.

He ran to the end of the hall and cautiously opened the door. It led into the factory proper—a huge space filled with little more than dust. A roller door dominated the wall to his left. Beside it was a second door. From where he stood, it was impossible to tell whether it was locked or not.

His footsteps echoed in the cavernous space. Though he could hear no other sound, the sensation that Rose drew close burned. Keeping near the walls, hoping to be less obvious in the dust-laden shadows, he made his way around to the door.

The handle turned when he gripped it. He opened the door and looked out. The room beyond was a loading bay. A second roller door at the far end stood open. Beyond it, he could see thunderous skies.

He rubbed the back of his neck. Though he couldn’t see her, Rose was close. Watching. Waiting. It didn’t matter. He had to take the risk. He had to try to escape while he still could.

He shifted shape and flew toward the open roller door. Movement caught the corner of his eye. Rose stepped out of the shadows, weapon raised.

He pumped his wings, flying as hard and as fast as he could. He felt rather than saw the report of the laser, felt the heat of the shot burn toward him. He flicked his wings, soaring up and sideways.

The shot sizzled past him, burning a bullet-sized hole in the metal wall. He arrowed through the door and into the freedom of the storm-clad skies. Footsteps raced behind him, and then a second shot burned through the air.

Again, he dove away, this time to his left. He wasn’t fast enough. The shot tore through his wing, exploding through flesh and bone as easily as it had the metal wall. Agony fired through his brain. Then he was tumbling, careening out of control, back to the earth and Rose’s waiting arms.

Footsteps echoed through Sam’s brain, the rhythm of barely restrained anger. It was a beat accompanied by a muted throbbing in her shoulder and leg. Waking was not something she wanted to do—not if the throbbing was any indication of the pain that awaited on the return to full consciousness.

But she had little choice. Someone was shaking her good shoulder, demanding that she wake.

She forced one reluctant eye open. A woman’s face swam into view. It was a strong face, a pretty face. A face that would take no shit.

Oddly enough, it reminded her of Gabriel.

Why, she had no idea. The woman’s hair was dark brown and curly, her eyes almost catlike and mint green in color. But it was in her eyes that Sam could see the kinship, if nowhere else. Her gaze was at once sympathetic, demanding and hostile—a look Sam had seen all too often in the warm hazel depths of Gabriel’s eyes.

“Who are you?” she asked.

The woman raised a dark eyebrow. “A direct, lucid question when you should be screaming in agony. Interesting.”

“Would screaming in agony get me an answer any quicker?” Truth was, she probably
would
be screaming in agony if she didn’t have the feeling that it wouldn’t matter one jot—not to this woman, and not to the man who paced so angrily beyond her line of sight.

“Probably not.” A smile that was impossibly white flashed briefly. “My name is Jessie McMahon.”

No wonder she could see a similarity to Gabriel—the woman was his sister. No doubt the angry pacer was Stephan. “Where am I?”

“At SIU headquarters, in holding cell number nine.”

Which was probably the most secure area in the whole of the SIU. Even if Sam screamed her lungs out, no one would be the wiser. The room had more shields than Parliament, and was generally reserved for the most dangerous criminals.

What a laugh, when all
she’d
done was try to stop an enemy. They were the ones who should be locked up, since they were the ones who’d undoubtedly let the enemy go.

“Why aren’t I in the damn medical center?” Her voice came out cracked, harsh. She swallowed, but it didn’t ease the burning dryness in her throat, though a dry throat was the least of her problems. She stank of burnt flesh, and her whole body ached—even if in a lackluster way. But once the numbness from the laser burns wore off, she would be screaming in agony.

Jessie’s smile was cold. “Because, my dear, you tried to shoot my brother. You’re lucky it was security firing at you and not anyone else.”

Like Stephan,
she surmised. Anger washed over her, a wave of heat that momentarily echoed in Jessie’s cat eyes.

“God, have you two any idea what you’ve done?”

Jessie grabbed her hand, her grip like steel, her skin like ice against the heat of Sam’s flesh. “We stopped you from killing my brother.”

Sam laughed harshly. She couldn’t help it. These people supposedly dealt with the supernatural all the time, yet they were willing to believe the obvious without questioning.

“I bet you haven’t even bothered looking at the tape, have you? You dragged me down here and just can’t wait to beat the so-called truth out of me.” She tilted her head back a little, but she still couldn’t see the man who paced behind her. “Well, the truth is, I’ve had enough of you people. I fucking quit.”

“You can quit after you’ve told me why you shot at Gabriel.” Stephan’s voice was unemotional, yet it sent a chill down her spine all the same.

“You’re incredible.” She tried to wrench her hand free of Jessie’s, but couldn’t—because her arms were strapped down, as were her feet. “Go view the tape and see if you can’t guess the goddamn answer yourself.”

“We’ve both seen vid-footage. And all we’re actually sure of right now is that Gabriel has left the building and can’t be contacted, and that you shot at him. Security shot you when you ignored their order to lower your weapon.”

“And did you bother rewinding far enough to see him shooting at me first? Did you hear me tell security it wasn’t AD Stern, but a shifter? Did you bother going far enough along the tape to hear the girly scream he emitted when I actually hit him?”

Stephan finally came into her line of sight. Though his face was emotionless, his blue eyes were stormy with anger. “How do you know it was a shifter? He passed all the security checks.”

“Meaning you didn’t view the tapes properly.” She snorted softly and shook her head. “I would have thought that you, of all people, would not have let emotion cloud your judgment.”

“Just answer the damn question.”