Stomach writhing in horror, Bill took Sullivan’s good arm, helping him get back up the corridor. He called for Redgrave to give them cover. Sullivan was bleeding heavily from the shoulder wound, and they had to get him to the infirmary.
His feet slipped in Sullivan’s blood; men screamed and begged not to be left behind. Guns cracked and flames roared. On and on they went… and somehow found that they’d made it to the Metro. They’d gotten out safely.
But as they went, Sullivan grunting with pain, Bill thought:
17
“Turns out that report about the Little Sisters Orphanage was—” Sullivan paused, shaking his head sadly. “Well—it was all true.”
They stood outside the “nursery,” looking through the window in the door. A little bare-footed, dark-haired girl in a tattered frock was huddled on a bed, in a corner, staring into space and sucking her thumb.
Ryan let out a long, slow breath. “She’s got a sea slug in her—and she’s producing ADAM?”
“Yep. Apparently, the slugs didn’t produce the stuff fast enough. And using the girls worked to increase the production.” The disgust dripped from Sullivan’s voice.
“Indeed. You’ve confirmed this with Suchong?”
“Yes sir. You want to ask him, we’ve got him under house arrest, just down the hall.” He gave out a sickly grin. “Poetic justice. They’re locked up together, him and Tenenbaum, in one of the rooms they had the kids in.”
“I’ll have a word with them.” Ryan turned away from the door.
“Mr. Ryan?”
Ryan looked at him, frowning. “Yes?”
“What about the kids locked up in there? Do we let ’em out?”
“They are, I believe, actually orphans, yes?”
“Uh—yeah. One way or another.”
“Orphans will need somewhere to stay. Perhaps when we find another way to… to produce ADAM efficiently, we’ll arrange for them to be… adopted. Until then…” He shrugged. “They’re better off here.”
Ryan could see that Sullivan was disappointed by that response. “What do you want from me, Sullivan? These kids will be of use. In time… Well, we’ll see. Do you think we could proceed with our inspection now— Chief?”
“Sure.” Sullivan avoided his eyes. His voice was hoarse. “This way, Mr. Ryan. They’re down the hall…”
Just two doors down, Sullivan unlocked a nearly identical cell. When Sullivan opened the door, Ryan had to step back from the reek of an overflowing chamber pot in the corner of the nursery. Toys were scattered on the floor along with tin plates of half-eaten food.
Brigid Tenenbaum was huddled on the cot in the corner, just like the little girl in the previous cell, but with a buttoned lab coat instead of a frock. She was gnawing a knuckle and the expression on her face was the same as the child’s.
Suchong stood with his back to the door, writing on the wall with crayon in Korean ideograms. He had covered several square yards with the enigmatic writing.
“Suchong!” Ryan barked.
Dr. Yi Suchong turned to Ryan—and he saw that one of the lenses of Suchong’s glasses had been knocked out. There was a purplish mark across that side of his face, and his lip was split.
“Doctor Suchong tried to escape when we raided the place,” Sullivan explained blandly. “Had to crack him one with a truncheon.”
Suchong bowed. “Suchong sorry about writing on walls. A little dissertation. No paper to write on.”
“And what’s the dissertation on?” Ryan asked, nostrils quivering from the stench of the chamber pot.
“Accumulation of harvestable ADAM in splicers,” Suchong said. “Possible methods of extraction.”
“I see. Would you two like to be released from these… quarters?”
Tenenbaum sat up, still gnawing her knuckle, looking at him attentively. Suchong only bowed.
“Then,” Ryan went on, “I’m going to need a loyalty oath. And the understanding that breaking that oath is agreeing to execution. We are in extreme times. Extreme measures are necessary.”
“And…” Tenenbaum’s voice came in a croak. “The Little Sisters?”
Suchong frowned and shot her a warning look.
Ryan shrugged. “They will continue here—we need the… the commodity. In time we’ll find some other way. But it seems you and Fontaine left us with this one for now… And, after all, the children have nowhere to go.”
Sullivan muttered something inaudible. Ryan looked at him. “Something to say, Chief?”
“Oh—no, Mr. Ryan.”
“Very good. Set a guard on this place—but let these two go to their previous quarters and clean up. And see that Suchong gets new glasses.”
Stepping out into Poseidon Plaza, Diane McClintock realized she felt no thrill—felt nothing at all—about winning so much money in the Sir Prize Games of Chance Casino.
She fished in her purse for cigarettes, and it took some looking because her purse was stuffed with the Rapture dollars she’d won, quite improbably, on the higher-priced slot machines. She’d had an amazing run of luck, and it meant nothing to her. It felt like mockery somehow. She couldn’t spend the money on Park Avenue, in New York, where she longed to be.
She lit a cigarette, lingering outside the casino, reluctant to go home. The whirring slots and the agitated people wandering from one game to the next—they were better than no companions. She knew she could spend time with one of Andrew’s friends. But they were hard to bear, after all that’d happened…
“Miss?” It was a woman in a blue dress, a blue velvet cap; she had mousy brown hair, large dark eyes. She clutched a handbag to her. “Miss, my name’s Margie. I was wondering… if you could spare us a donation?”
“Who’s
“No, I… no. I’m with Atlas’s people…”
“Atlas! I’ve heard about him. Also heard about Robin Hood. I don’t believe in him either.”
“Oh Atlas is real, ma’am…
“Yeah? What’s he like? A good man?”
“Oh yes. I trust him, even more than Doctor…” She broke off, glancing around.
Diane smiled. “More than Doctor Lamb? If that’s who you were going to mention, I don’t blame you for clamming up, Margie. Got traded from one radical ball team to another, huh?”
