Thibodaux dropped his prisoner unceremoniously in the middle of the living-room floor, well away from Bo’s Harley. “Moon stayed behind to keep his good eye peeled in case Zafir shows up. Sorry we couldn’t call earlier, Jericho. We sort of had our hands full.”
“Moon’s okay then?” Bo asked, checking out the front window.
“He’s fine, boss.” Cujo looked around the room, still holding his Arab over a broad shoulder. “I left the sawed-off with him.”
A prodigious beer belly rolled over the top of the biker’s jeans, completely hiding his belt buckle. He wasn’t as tall as Thibodaux, but he was every bit as muscular and the extra weight around his middle didn’t seem to hold him back at all. Completely bald, each side of his polished scalp was tattooed with matching black lighting bolts. He sneered, showing a gold front tooth.
“Where you want this one?”
Jericho pointed to the wall opposite the man Thibodaux had brought in. He took a deep breath, considering his options. The real problem was not how to interrogate the captives; the problem was doing what needed to be done in front of Mahoney.
“I need someone on the rifle scope,” he said, looking at the doctor. “If Zafir shows up, we don’t want to miss him.”
Mahoney nodded, taking a seat in front of the gun. Her mouth was set in a sort of nervous half grin.
“You shouldn’t have to shoot anyone,” Jericho consoled her. “Just keep an eye on the front of the house. Sing out if you see Zafir. Remember, we still have Ugly and Mean Jim up the street.”
“I’m fine with watching out for Zafir,” Mahoney said. She stared hard at the two Arab men, studying them with the eyes of a scientist. “What are we going to do with them?”
Awake now, both men peered over the top of their duct-tape gags with dark, sullen eyes. One of the men was considerably older than the other, well into his forties. The younger of the two was barely twenty. Both were clean shaven and wore simple cotton T-shirts and blue jeans. At first glance, most Texans might believe the men were Mexican.
“Shouldn’t we ask them if they know where Zafir is?” Megan said.
“That is exactly what we have to do.” Jericho shot a quick glance at Thibodaux, then turned back to Mahoney. “There is a near hundred-percent chance he’s only a block or two away. Right now, I need you to do me a favor and keep your eyes on that scope.”
“I understand,” she said, though he knew she didn’t… not yet.
He stepped closer, directly beside her, and put a hand on her shoulder. She flinched at the suddenness of his touch.
“Listen to me,” he whispered. His body was directly between her and the younger Arab. “You’ve told us over and over how deadly this virus is. We have to do whatever it takes to find Zafir and stop him. I can’t have you making eye contact with that kid against the wall.”
“Why?”
Jericho bit at his bottom lip, choosing his words carefully. “Because you’re not like the rest of us here in this room. You’re a nice person. You have a kind heart. This guy will study you like you study germs. Once he sees that kindness in your face, he’ll cling to it with everything he’s got.” Jericho leaned in, close enough that a lock of her hair brushed against his cheek. His lips were only inches from her ear, whispering. “He’ll begin to think he has a chance.”
“Doesn’t he?” Her voice was barely audible.
“No.”
Mahoney pressed her eye to the rifle scope and didn’t look up. Jericho had no idea what she thought of him now, but he was pretty sure she wouldn’t think much of him in the next few minutes.
Without the luxury of time, Jericho snapped into action. Stooping over his black Eagle Industries duffel, he gathered the things he’d need. “Cujo,” he said, screwing a Gemtech silencer on the threaded barrel of the custom. 22-caliber Glock Miyagi had issued him. “I need you to carry the big guy into that back bedroom. Be sure and draw the blinds.” He turned and spoke several quick phrases of Arabic to the younger, more slightly built man leaning against the wall, explaining his plans. It was important the boy ponder what lay in store for his companion-and eventually himself. Both men’s eyes narrowed, brimming with pure, unabashed hatred.
Jericho checked to make sure the magazine was full, then tucked the pistol in his waistband. He bent to rummage through the duffel bag again, coming up with a small pair of pruning shears and a roll of white first-aid tape.
“Bo.” Jericho looked up at his brother, who towered like a sullen statue over the slumped younger Arab. “You mind waiting out here with him?” Jericho needed someone strong enough to keep the guy in line if he decided to make a fuss. But more than that, he didn’t want his kid brother to be a witness to what he was about to do. Killing the enemy in the heat of battle was one thing. Enhanced interrogation methods required an awfully cold heart. He wasn’t entirely sure how Thibodaux was going to handle it.
“Jacques,” he said, using the pruning shears to point at a standing lamp to the left of the front door. “Rip the power cord out of that.” He flipped the hall light switch on and off to make sure he had electricity. “Bring it with you to the back room. We’re going to need it.”
Behind the rifle, Mahoney shuddered.
CHAPTER 46
Megan ached to plug her ears, but she could feel the young Arab watching her.
The interrogations had started off quickly, with a muffled scream drifting down the dark hallway almost as soon as Jericho had shut the door behind him. She could hear Jericho’s voice speaking in gentle, clipped Arabic phrases, but she had no idea what he was saying. The seconds seemed to ooze by and Mahoney found herself pressing her eye against the rim of the rifle scope so hard she was sure she’d formed a pink ring in her skin.
The bare lightbulb in the dining room dimmed slightly, followed by another long, agonizing moan from the back room. Jericho’s voice popped down the hall again throwing out more rapid-fire questions in Arabic. Twice more the light over her head flickered, then went out altogether. A moment later Thibodaux opened the door and stepped into the hall. His face was drawn tight as a stone. He motioned Bo toward him. “Go out to the garage and flip the breaker back on.”
The sour smell of urine and fear wafted up the hallway.
“Will do,” Bo said. He looked down at the stricken younger prisoner, who was now slumped forward, staring between his own splayed feet. “Watch him for a minute.”
Thibodaux stayed at the door. “I got him. Go get the breaker.”
Bo ran for the garage.
Mahoney leaned into the rifle until her fingers turned white, struggling inside to come to terms with the situation. Her emotional brain told her the things going on down the hall were immoral. Civilized beings didn’t lower themselves just because the people they fought were uncivilized. Civilized people didn’t harm others but for the most dire of circumstances. She was a doctor and the physician’s prime directive was: First, do no harm.
But her forebrain, the part of her that let her look at things rationally, reminded her she harmed living things virtually every day. She’d always consoled herself that her particular brand of pain was absolutely necessary. She wasn’t experimenting on defenseless bunnies to invent some new brand of women’s eyeliner. She was trying to rid the world of the most deadly plagues known to man. The things transpiring in the back room were just as necessary, no matter how distasteful. They’d moved far beyond research. If an enemy had to be tortured in order to save thousands, wasn’t that okay? It was all for the greater good. It was exactly what she told herself each time she injected an innocent monkey with some horrific virus, then cut out its brain to study the effects. Cause untold suffering in a few, all for that greater good-to save humankind. No matter how awful Jericho Quinn’s actions, Mahoney couldn’t bring herself to blame him. The lab animals she tortured were completely without guile. The men Quinn worked on wanted every American dead. She slumped against the rifle as her eyes filled with tears-not for the man sobbing in the back room, but for Jericho Quinn.
“You sneaky son of a bitch!” Bo’s voice yanked Mahoney out of her moral wrestling match and back into the
