‘Total insanity,’ Slater said. ‘The same guy, just six hours later. That’s what this shit does to you. The effects are irreversible, permanent. Sometimes they kick in within an hour or so. Some of the tougher ones hold out for much longer. But they all go the same way sooner or later. Raving psychosis till the day you die. You understand what I’m saying?’
Jones smiled. He paused the image on the screen, laid down the remote and folded his arms in satisfaction.
‘I understand,’ Ben said.
‘Good. Because I want you to think about that.’
‘Thinking of giving me a cocktail?’
‘Straight, no chaser,’ Slater said. ‘But not just yet. Here’s what we’re going to do.’ He looked at his watch. ‘It’s just after nine p.m. You have till ten to think about what you’d like to tell me. Then I’m going to reunite you with your friend Bradbury, and you can watch while I have this serum pumped into her. We’ll see what she has to tell us. You can listen in. It’ll be fun. And then, when I come back here in the morning, I’m going to let you see what it did to her before it’s your turn.’ Slater smiled. ‘I’ll be far away, sipping on a glass of Krug while you’re sitting in your cell downstairs enjoying your last hours of sanity. Soon afterwards, when you’re screaming in your cage like an animal, I’ll sign a paper turning you over to a state nuthouse where you’ll live out the rest of your miserable life, battering your head off a padded wall.’
‘Why waste the taxpayer’s money?’ Jones said. ‘We should just dump his raving ass in a backstreet somewhere.’
‘I like it,’ Slater said thoughtfully. ‘Now, enough talk. Jones, get your guys in here.’
Jones opened the door. The two men who had brought Ben up in the lift were standing out in the corridor. ‘Take this prick back down there and lock him up,’ he said. He pointed at the muscular one. ‘Boyter, you’re posted outside his door. McKenzie, you get back up here a.s.a.p.’
‘You have one hour,’ Slater said to Ben.
Boyter gripped Ben’s arm. ‘Let’s go, shithead.’
Ben stood up, shook off Boyter’s chubby hands, moved towards the door. He stopped, turned and fixed Slater in the eye. ‘Remember what I said earlier,’ he said softly. Then he was gone.
Jones watched with a smirk as Boyter and McKenzie herded the prisoner down the corridor towards the lift. He turned to Slater. The man looked a little less composed than he had a second ago.
‘Don’t worry about him,’ Jones said. ‘He’s history already.’
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Slater paced while Jones smoked. Five minutes passed, then ten.
‘Relax,’ Jones said.
‘I never relax.’ Slater looked at his watch. ‘Those cigarettes reek. What’s keeping your guy McKenzie? I thought you told him to get back here a.s.a.p.’
‘He’ll be right back,’ Jones said. ‘Probably went to the bathroom.’
Slater shook his head. His jaw was tight. He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Something’s wrong. I can feel it.’
‘You’re nuts. Hope’s locked up tighter than a fish’s asshole.’
‘If that’s so, I want to see for myself. I have a bad feeling.’
‘You and your feelings,’ Jones grunted. ‘OK, let’s go.’
‘I’m not going down there with just you alone. How many people have you got in the building?’
‘Including me, there are a dozen agents in the place. You’re not telling me -’
‘That’s exactly what I’m telling you. Leave two watching Bradbury. I want the rest with me.’
Jones protested loudly, but Slater insisted. Jones got on the radio. ‘Fiorante, join Jorgensen on the prisoner’s door. Everyone else, my office, right now.’
In two more minutes the seven agents were collected in the corridor outside. Slater cautiously stepped out into the corridor. Jones led the way, exasperation showing on his face.
‘Not the lift,’ Slater said. ‘We take the stairs.’
‘I think the guy got to you,’ Jones sneered. ‘You’re spooked.’
‘Cautious is what I am,’ Slater said. ‘And smart.’
They reached the bottom of the stairs, turned through the dingy lobby, trotted down another flight towards the basement kitchen.
‘Get your guns out,’ Slater whispered.
‘You’re nuts,’ Jones said again. ‘There’s no -’
He batted through the double doors leading to the kitchen. Then he stopped dead and his mouth hung open. ‘Oh shit.’
‘Told you,’ Slater muttered.
‘What the fuck happened here?’
Slater shot him a sideways look. ‘I think that’s pretty obvious, don’t you?’
The kitchen was littered with debris. In the middle of it, Boyter and McKenzie were lying dead, the neon striplights reflecting in the broad pool of blood inching slowly across the floor.
Slater peered down at Boyter and wondered for a moment what the strange circular object stuck to the side of his head was. Then it hit him. He had the snapped-off stem of a wine glass buried deep in his temple. McKenzie was lying at an angle to his colleague, his face blue, tongue hanging out, a livid weal around his throat where he’d been throttled to death with a steel chain. The handcuffs lay open on the floor, next to a small key. The men’s jackets lay open, holsters empty.
Slater and Jones stared at each other. ‘Hope’s loose in the building,’ Jones breathed.
‘No shit. And you’re going to find him.’
‘We’ll find him,’ Jones said.
‘You’d better. You lost him. He stays lost, you’re dead. Understand?’
‘We’ll find him,’ Jones said again. ‘You get back up to the office.’
‘No way. I’m getting out of here. This place isn’t safe for me.’
‘It’s not safe for anyone.’
‘You’re expendable. I’m not.’ Slater stabbed his finger at the agents. ‘You, you and you. Escort me the fuck out of here.’ He started walking away, then stopped and turned. ‘And Jones?’
‘What?’
‘You take him
‘We’ll get him,’ Jones said.
Slater almost sprinted to the lobby, three agents close behind with drawn guns. He tore open the front door, left the building with jittery haste, and ran towards the sleek Bell chopper that was sitting in the middle of the parking lot. The pilot saw him coming, put away his flask of coffee and fired up the motor. The prop slowly began to turn as Slater wrenched open the hatch and piled inside. Minutes later, he was a rapidly vanishing speck over the treetops.
With Slater out of the way, Jones gathered his agents around him. ‘OK, people, he’s only one man. With McKenzie and Boyter gone, that still leaves ten of us in the building.’ He picked up his radio. ‘Jorgensen, you still there?’
‘Right where you put me,’ said the voice in his ear.
‘Fiorante with you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Jones nodded. He jerked his pistol at the men. ‘Cash, Muntz, get up to the top floor and join them. That’s where Hope’ll be headed.’ He grinned. ‘He wants to get the girl.’ He glanced quickly around him, calculating tactics. No way Hope was going to get past four people on the door. Meanwhile, two teams of three men each could scour the place and head him off. ‘Bender, Simmons, you’re with me. Kimble, Davis, Austin, take the left side of the building. Stay in contact. You see him, take him down. He’s way too dangerous to keep alive.’
