eyes.
'I'm sorry,' she replied, as though he could hear her. 'I was so worried.
I couldn't-' 'Silence!' hissed one of the women behind her chair. A hand fell on her shoulder, fingers dug into her flesh with a strength that made her wince.
On the screen, the man was still speaking. 'You were warned that your disobedience would have dire consequences for your son. You chose to ignore that warning. What you are about to witness is a first demonstration of the seriousness of those instructions.' He made a gesture to somebody off-camera and a figure entered from the side. It was impossible to tell whether it was male or female, for it also wore a cloth cap and surgical mask that covered all the face and head except for the narrow strip across the eyes. A full-length surgical gown fell to below the knees and was tucked into the tops of white rubber boots.
'This is a qualified doctor who will monitor all the proceedings,' he explained.
The figure carried a bundle in its arms. Only when it deposited the bundle on the table beside the glass- sided tank and a tiny bare leg kicked free of the swaddling cloth, Isabella realized that it was a child. With quick trained hands, the doctor unwrapped the infant, and the videocamera zoomed in on Nicky as he lay naked on the table-top kicking his legs in the air, and his gurgles sounded in the quiet room.
Isabella thrust the fingers of one hand into her mouth and bit down on them hard to prevent herself crying out again.
The doctor placed two small black suction cups on Nicky's bare chest. Thin wires dangled from them, and the doctor connected them to the electronic cabinet and switched it on. The digital figures in the panel lit with a green glow, and the narrator explained in a neutral voice: 'The child's breathing and heartbeat will be recorded.' The doctor looked up from his equipment and nodded. The narrator moved around behind the table and faced the camera.
'You are Red Rose,' he said with peculiar emphasis on the name. 'And in future you will obey all orders given to you by that name.' He reached down and took both of Nicky's ankles in one hand and lifted him.
Nicky let out a squawk of surprise as he hung head-down like a small pink wingless bat.
'You are about to witness the consequences of disobedience.' He swung the child and held him head-down over the glass-sided tank. Nicky arched his back and tried to lift his head, he waved his arms and clenched and unclenched his fists, making small noises of uncertainty and alarm.
Slowly the narrator lowered the child head-first into the water, and the sounds of his little voice were cut off abruptly. The video-camera zoomed in through the glass side of the tank and focused on his face below the surface of the water. The colour resolution of the film was true to life.
Isabella screamed wildly and tried to struggle out of her chair. The two women seized her from behind and forced her down again.
On the screen Nicky struggled in the narrator's grip. Underwater his face was contorted and silver bubbles streamed from his nostrils. His face seemed to swell and darken.
Isabella was still screaming and fighting when on the screen the masked doctor looked up quickly from the heart monitor and said sharply in Spanish: 'Stop! That is enough, comrade!' Immediately the man lifted the child clear of the tank. Water streamed from Nicky's nostrils and open mouth, and for long seconds he could not utter a sound, except for his tiny gasping breaths.
The narrator laid him down on the table, and the doctor clapped the oxygen-mask over his swollen face and pressed down on his chest with the palm of his hand to induce regular breathing. Within a minute the digital readout on the cabinet had settled back to normal and Nicky's movements were stronger. He howled into his mask with shock and outrage, his voice becoming louder and stronger with each cry.
The doctor removed the mask and stepped back from the table. He nodded at the narrator. Once again he seized Nicky's ankles and lifted him over the tank. Nicky seemed to realize what was con-dng. His cries of protest reached a higher terrified pitch, he kicked and writhed in the man's grip 'He's my sonv Isabella screamed. 'You can't - you mustn't do this to my baby!' The narrator lowered Nicky's head once again below the surface, and the child fought with all his strength. His frenzied exertions racked the tiny body, water splashed over the edge of the tank, and once again his face changed colour swiftly.
Isabella screamed at him. 'Stop it! I'll do anything you say, just stop torturing my baby! Please! Please!' Once again the doctor intervened with a sharp warning, and this time when Nicky was lifted clear of the water his movements were weaker. He made little choking, cawing sounds, and a mixture of water and vomit erupted from his open inverted mouth and silver strings of mucus slid down from his flared nostrils.
The doctor worked swiftly, his alarm apparent, and he said something to the other man. The narrator looked up at the camera, seeming to stare directly at Isabella.
'We almost miscalculated that time. We exceeded the limit of safety.' He and the doctor put their heads closer together and spoke so softly that Isabella could not catch the words, and then the narrator addressed her again. 'That concludes our demonstration for the time being. I sincerely hope that it will not be necessary for you to witness another like it. It would be harrowing for you to have to watch the amputation of the child's limbs without anaesthetic, or eventually his strangulation in front of the camera. Of course, it will depend on you, and the degree of co-operation that you are prepared to afford us.' The image faded, and the screen went blank. There was no sound in the darkened theatre except Isabella's sobs. These lasted for a long time. When they finally quietened the lights were raised slowly and Joseph Cicero came to stand over Isabella.
'I assure you that none of us takes any particular pleasure in this sort of. thing. We will try -to avoid any repetition.' 'How could he do itv Isabella whispered brokenly. She was huddled down in the large chair. 'How could any human being do that to a child?' 'I repeat, we do not enjoy the necessity. You must blame yourself, Red Rose. It was your disobedience that caused your son's discomfort.' 'Discomfort! Is that what you call the torture of an innocent... F 'Control yourself,' Cicero warned her sharply. 'For your child's sake, control your insolence.' 'I'm sorry.' Isabella dropped her voice. 'It won't happen again. Just don't hurt Nicky again, please.' 'If you co-operate, your son will not have to suffer further. He is in the care of a highly trained - paediatric sister. He will receive the type of professional care that even you would not be able to give him. Later he will be given the best education that any boy or young man could hope for.' Isabella stared up at him, her face twisted with misery.
'You speak as though he has been taken away from me for ever, as though I will never see my baby again.' Cicero coughed and shook his head, struggled to regain his breath and then whispered hoarsely: 'This is not the case, Red Rose. You will be allowed to earn the privilege of access to your son. To beg-in with you will receive regular reports of his progress. You will be shown video recordings of how he develops, when he first sits up unaided, when he begins to crawl, to walk.' 'Oh nov she whispered. 'You can't keep him from me that long. It will be months.' Cicero went on as though she had not spoken. 'Later you will be allowed to spend some time with him each year. It is possible that some time in the future, if your conduct is satisfactory, you will be allowed to spend holidays together - days, even weeks in your son's company.' 'No.' Her voice was a pitiful sob. 'You can't be so cruel as to keep us apart.' 'Who knows, it is not beyond the bounds of possibility that one day we may remove all restrictions and allow you free access. For that to happen you would have to earn our complete trust and gratitude.' 'Who are you?' Isabella asked in a small subdued voice. 'Who is Ramsey Machado? I thought I knew him so well and yet I did not know him at all.
Where is Ramsey? Is he part of all this monstrous. ?'Isabella's voice broke, and she could not continue.
'You must put aside all thoughts of that nature. You must not seek to find the answer to the question of who we are,' Cicero warned her. 'Ramsey Machado is under our control. Do not expect help from him. The child is his also. He is under the same constraint as you are.' 'What must I do? What do you want of me?' Isabella asked. And Cicero nodded with satisfaction. There had been a remote chance that the woman might prove headstrong and uncontrollable. The psychiatrist's report on her had mentioned that possibility, but Cicero had never placed much credence in it. The hook on which they had hung her was sharp and fiercely barbed. Even if the child died, they would find a replacement to act in the video games and keep her dangling on the hook.
No, he had expected her to be compliant, and those expectations had been vindicated.
'First, I must congratulate you, Red Rose, on your doctorate. It will make your work for us easier.' Isabella stared at him. It was difficult for her to make the mental leap from this terrifying world of torture and espionage back to the prosaic consideration of her studies and academic honours. She had to concentrate to keep up with what he was saying.
'You will return as soon as possible to Cape Town and your family, after making arrangements at the University to receive your doctorate in absentia, do you understand?' Isabella nodded, not yet trusting herself to speak.
'On your return home, you will begin to take more interest in all the family activities. You will work to make yourself indispensable to your father. You will make yourself his assistant and confidante in all things, but especially in his new position as head of the armaments corporation.
What is more, you will
