Working Stiff

Bryn stepped away from the spreading pool of Freddy’s blood, avoided his still-moving fingers as they reached for her, and lowered her weapon. Without looking up from Freddy’s ruined face, she said, “Mr. Mercer. My sister needs a shot. Give it to her.”

“You know that won’t actually kill him.”

“I thought a brain injury renders you unrevivable.”

“Only in your first death. Once the nanites have the template of an uninjured brain, they can always put it back together. It just takes time. Do we have a deal?” Mercer asked. “Irene Harte and Pharmadene come crashing down. You act as my distributor. Deal?”

McCallister looked at Bryn for a silent tick of a second, and then stepped back and holstered his own gun. “Deal,” he said. “But you get to clean up Freddy.” He went into the living room, came back with a soft throw that had been lying on the arm of the sofa, and put it around Annie’s shoulders. “Give her the shot, Mercer.”

Mercer opened his jacket and took out a slim silver tube. He shook out the syringe and injected Annalie, who watched with dull, traumatized eyes. “I’ll need to give Freddy another as well. That’s a serious injury; the nanites will wear out much faster than normal.”

“Or I could cut him apart and dispose of him in landfills,” McCallister said coldly. “I’m leaning toward option two.”

“He’s a good worker.”

“He’s a sadistic, murdering son of a bitch.”

“Well, everyone has flaws. I need someone I can trust to run the lab, and Freddy’s perfect for that purpose. I can control him. Leave him to me. Your problem is Irene Harte. She’s got considerable ambition.”

“Soon.”

“Now,” Mercer said. For the first time, there was the glow of sincerity in his eyes, and real urgency in his voice. “Soon is too late. If you don’t stop Pharmadene now, there’s no stopping them, ever. Do you understand? It’s already gone too far.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the summit meeting Irene Harte is hosting tomorrow,” Mercer said. “At the Civic Theatre. Secret invitations went out last month via the State Department. Pharmadene is paying for the facilities and running the show, but the guest list includes state legislators, governors, judges, the heads of the FBI and CIA. The secretary of state is on that list as a guest speaker. Do you understand what I’m saying? It’s the beginning of the end, if they pull it off.”

McCallister had gone silent, watching Mercer. Bryn put her arms around her sister, trying to still her shaking. On the wall, a kitchen clock ticked seconds.

“She’s going to do it there,” Mercer said. “Kill as many as she can. Revive them. Addict the power players. They’ll have no choice but to buy in.”

“She can’t control this once it starts.”

“She can ride the whirlwind, and that’s all she wants. This is how it all starts, McCallister; this is how the end of the world happens for us. Tomorrow. I’m just guessing, but I’d think the most effective way would be gas pumped into the auditorium, mass deaths, mass revivals. The first generation of the new order. She’s got plenty of people to do it now; everyone at Pharmadene, from the CEO to the secretaries, is protocol-enabled, ready to die for her cause. That’s why it has to be now, before it’s too late.” Mercer checked the clock. “In two hours, they’ll be arriving at the Civic Theatre to prep it. You have until people start arriving to take out Harte and stop this.”

“God,” McCallister breathed. He didn’t seem surprised, only resigned; he’d expected this, Bryn realized. He just hadn’t expected Harte to move this fast, or this decisively. “He’s right. She deliberately left me out of this. She suspected me, or she’d have tasked me with security for the meetings.”

Mercer shrugged. “I would have killed her for you, but I believe in employing experts to do these kinds of things. And you’re an expert at this, aren’t you, Patrick? Isn’t that what you did in the bad old marine days?”

McCallister didn’t answer. He glanced at Bryn, a fast and apologetic brush of gazes, and then checked the clock. “He’s right about the meeting,” he said. “I have to go. I have to do this. Take care of Annie.”

Every instinct in her rebelled against that, against sending him out on his own … and against being left here, with the not quite dead Freddy and the not very sane Jonathan Mercer. But Annie couldn’t be on her own. She needed help, shots, and above all, she needed safety. “Take Joe,” she told McCallister. “Don’t go alone.”

He nodded, eyes locked on hers. Then he turned to Mercer and said, “If anything happens to either one of these women, I’ll find a way to keep you alive while I cut you apart. Understood?”

“Sure,” Mercer said. “Why would I kill my own employees?”

“Ask Irene Harte,” McCallister said. One last glance at Bryn, and he was gone.

Bryn pulled the blanket closer around Annalie’s shoulders. “I’m taking her out of here,” she said.

“Well, it’s time we were about our own business, too,” Mercer said. “I suppose I’ll have to clean up Freddy’s brains; I hate to leave a mess for the home owners. Hand me that plastic bag; I need to put it over his head to keep him from leaking Oh, relax, Freddy; I’ll tear an airhole for you.”

Bryn turned to get the bag.

She never saw Mercer’s blow coming, and never knew how he hit her, or what with, except that it had to be with something big and heavy. She heard a sound that might have been Annalie’s choked scream, and then she was down on the cold floor, trying to figure out what was happening, and why, why in God’s name he’d done that….

Mercer thought she was unconscious, Bryn realized. She should have been, but she guessed she had a harder head than he’d expected. Her body wasn’t quite within her control just yet, but she could hear as he pressed buttons on a phone and said, “Irene Harte, please. Yes, I’ll hold…. Ah, Irene, nice to hear your voice. Patrick McCallister will be at the Civic Theatre in about twenty minutes, thirty at the outside if he stops for coffee and doughnuts. I believe he’s going to try to take out your advance crew, and then get you for good measure. That concludes our deal, I believe. You get what you want, and you leave me strictly alone. Bye-bye, Irene.”

“You lied,” Annalie said shakily. “You’re working with her.”

“I’m a businessman, and Irene has no real use for me now; it’s just as easy for her to pay me as kill me. She can always try to kill me later. McCallister, on the other hand— he’s much harder to get, so she’s perfectly willing to trade my life for his. And frankly, Annie, my life is really all that matters to me. Now, be a good girl and hit your sister with this pan, very hard, on the back of the head, and I promise not to let Freddy put that bag over your head ever again.”

“I can’t,” Annie sobbed. “I can’t. Bryn—”

“You will if you want to live,” Mercer said. “I’ll count to ten. One, two, three, four … Oh, all right, I suppose blood really is thicker than water. Don’t cry, Annie; listen to my voice. Condition Diamond.”

Annie abruptly stopped crying. The silence, in contrast, was eerie. Get up, Bryn thought grimly. She tried, and managed to push herself over on her side. Paralyzed nerves were starting to wake up and scream.

Annalie was staring at Mercer, slowly clearing eyes vacant as a doll’s.

“Now,” he said. “Take this pan, and hit your sister in the head with it, as hard as you can, until she’s not moving anymore.”

“Annie—” Bryn whispered.

Annalie didn’t hesitate. She took the pan, braced herself, and swung the skillet with brutal force.

It took three hits to crush Bryn’s skull.

The last thing Bryn heard, a faint and echoing whisper as she fell into darkness, was Mercer saying, “That’s my good girl.”

Chapter 13

She woke up to someone screaming, and for a moment she was back in the white room, hearing that awful birth scream through the glass….