The only thing that matters now is getting out and looking for Ellis. The war… us and them… taking sides-all of that has to take second place from now on. I’ll play along with Mallon and his hippie/pacifist/conscientious objector bullshit for as long as it takes until I get out of here. Unless, of course, they don’t intend to let me out. Then I’ll resort to my backup plan-my Plan B, which used to be Plan A: start fighting and don’t stop until every last one of the fuckers is lying dead at my feet.
The door finally opens, and Mallon strides in. About time. There’s no tray of food and no small talk or niceties either this morning. It’s like he’s just got a job to do. Is he abandoning me and moving on to a new pet? Or is he just unable to look me in the eye because he knows what’s coming next? I want to attack him, but I don’t, forcing myself to swallow the Hate back down like poisonous bile.
“What’s going to happen?” I ask, instantly regretting having spoken. Christ, how far I’ve fallen. It’s bad enough that I’m being held captive by the Unchanged; now I’m begging them for information, too. Pathetic.
“I told you last night. You’re going to see Sahota.”
“Yes, but-”
Mallon stands up straight and looks at me, still on guard but allowing himself to relax slightly. He puts a hand on my shoulder, and I resist the temptation to shrug it off.
“Have faith, Danny. Sahota is a good man. The kind of man who could bring an end to this war.”
That doesn’t make me feel any better.
“But who is he? What does he want to see me for?”
My questions obviously sound as desperate as I suddenly feel. Mallon manages half a smile.
“You’ll find out.”
He bends down and takes the shackles off my feet. Now the only chains left are those that bind my hands together. I could kill him now, but that would be a mistake. If I’m going to kill anyone this morning, it should be the main man, not one of his minions.
Mallon leads me out into a wide corridor. There’s no security this time, no bag over my head, and I get my first proper look at the building I’m being held in. It’s an odd-looking place, nothing like the prison I’d imagined. The walls are bare, their light yellow paint faded and peeling, and the air is cold. There are traces of religious paraphernalia lying around like the crucifix in my room-a painting of some serene-looking woman at the top of a staircase, some unfathomable ancient slogan scrawled across another wall, enough crucifixes to ward off a whole army of vampires.
We reach a T-intersection at the end of the long corridor, walking under an unrepaired hole in the roof where rainwater has poured in and soaked the carpet. To my left the corridor continues toward another long staircase. To my right there’s a short, narrow landing, then three steps leading up to an ominous-looking door. Is this my Room 101? Is this the very end of my journey? All the fears and uncertainties I’d managed to dismiss suddenly manifest themselves again. My pulse is racing and my throat’s dry. My body tenses. I stop and turn toward Mallon. The urge to kill him is strong, almost too strong…
“Don’t, Danny,” he pleads pathetically, my intent obviously clear, “please don’t. You’re so close now…”
He moves past me quickly, climbs the steps, and opens the door. He pushes it wide open, and I edge a little closer to try to look past him and see inside. It looks bizarrely like a doctor’s waiting room, more like another short corridor than a room-clean, a door at either end, light flooding in through a skylight, a low table and a row of three chairs against one wall. I take a step closer, my curiosity and nerves getting the better of me. Mallon stands there, blocking my way, and it’s like he’s somehow taunting me. Can’t stand this. This bullshit has gone on for too long. I don’t think there’s anyone else in this damn building. I’ll kill him, then fight my way out of here.
I run at the fucker, but he sidesteps, then pushes me into the other room. I spin around as he slams the door in my face.
“Don’t blow it,” he shouts as it shuts. I hear a bolt slide across, then hear his muffled voice still talking to me. “Keep the faith, Danny, you’re almost there. Remember everything you’ve learned.”
I hammer on the door, but it’s no use-it’s locked, and he’s gone. How could I have been so fucking dumb, to walk into a simple trap like this?
I’ll wait for Sahota to show his face now.
I’m ready to fight. Bastard won’t know what’s hit him.
27
SILENCE. ABSOLUTE, TOTAL FUCKING silence. I stand and watch the other door, waiting for it to open, ready to attack. No one’s coming. Is this another setup? More stupid games? Making me wait and trying to get me to panic and crack? Too late for that now.
Both doors are locked, but the skylight above is open slightly. I climb up onto one of the chairs, my hands still bound together, and try to haul myself up. The rattling chains are heavy around my wrists, and the frame of the skylight doesn’t feel strong enough to support my weight. I’ll pull it down before I-
“Going somewhere?”
I drop, spin around, and throw myself at the figure standing in the other door. I swing my chain-wrapped hands at his head, hard enough to decapitate him. He manages to somehow duck out of the way, then shoves me in the gut. I trip over the chair I was just standing on, falling back and cracking my head hard against the floor. I roll over and try to get up, but this bastard’s fast. He pushes me back down and plants a boot right between my shoulder blades, stopping me from moving. I brace myself for his next strike, but it doesn’t come, and he lifts his foot off. I look back and watch him walk away. Confused, I drag myself up, using another chair for support, suck in a deep breath of air, and turn around to face him.
What? How can he…?
“You must be Danny McCoyne,” he says, but I can’t answer. “I’m Sahota.”
Standing in front of me, wearing a smart, if a little crumpled, pin-striped suit and a remarkably clean white shirt, is one of our people. He’s not Unchanged. I do a double take, but I know I’m right. This man is a friend and an ally, and I immediately know we’re on the same side. He’s short and his build is slight, but he stands tall with confidence and composure. The surprise and confusion he obviously sees on my face are clearly not unexpected.
“Apologies for all the subterfuge and bullshit over the last few days,” he says, gesturing for me to follow him through into the next room. He stops just inside the room as if he’s remembered something important. He checks his trouser pockets, then pulls out a key and undoes the chains around my wrists. He throws them out into the waiting area and closes the door behind us.
All I can do is stand and stare at Sahota. I don’t know what I was expecting, but he isn’t it in any way, shape, or form. He’s a good foot and a half shorter than me, dark-skinned, with close-cropped dark hair, graying at the temples. He has a neatly trimmed mustache and wears a pair of wire-framed glasses. For the first time in months I’m suddenly conscious of my shabby appearance-dead man’s trousers and shirt, no shoes, hair long and shaggy, face covered in stubble and bristle.
“Come in and sit down,” he says, ushering me farther into the room. It’s a wide, spacious, and relatively clean and uncluttered office-cum-living-area. In one corner is a metal-framed bed, similar to the one in my cell but with clean bedding folded back with military precision. Along one wall are several huge, mostly intact windows (only one pane of glass has been boarded up), and in front of me is a large wooden desk with a single chair on either side. Sahota locks the door, then sits down at the desk with his back to the window. He beckons for me to sit opposite.
“Where do you want to start?” he asks in a clipped, well-educated accent as he pours me a drink and slides it across the table.
“Don’t know,” I mumble pathetically between thirsty gulps of water. Truth is, I’ve got so many questions to ask I’m struggling to make sense of any of them.
“Don’t worry.” He grins. “It’s not unusual. You’ve been through a lot.”
“I don’t know what I’ve been through.”
He grins again. “We wouldn’t have done it this way if there’d been any alternative.”
“So what exactly have you done?”
