Behind Monk bare feet slapped the decking as the last of the army drained down from the sodden net.
Monk turned to Ryder and Jessie. “Ready?” he asked.
“As we’ll ever be,” Ryder answered.
Monk glanced over at the raiding party, armed with bone axes and AK-47s. Lightning flashed, limning the army with fire. Eyes glinted from ash-painted faces.
In that momentary flash Monk felt a twinge of misgiving, a moment of unease. He shook it away. It was just the storm feeding his fears.
“Let’s go find my partner, and get the hell out of here.”
Lisa lay strapped to a steel surgical table, tilted at a forty-five-degree angle. She hung from her arms, wrists snugged in plastic ties over her head. Her legs were loose, unable to touch the floor. She wore only her hospital gown. Cold sweat plastered the thin cotton to her skin, while the steel of the table chilled her back.
She had been tied here for over an hour.
Alone.
Hopefully, forgotten.
To one side a stainless-steel tray held a line of tools used for forensic autopsies: cartilage saws, dissecting hooks, snipping scissors, postmortem needles, spinal cord chisels.
Dr. Devesh Patanjali had removed the tools from a black leather satchel, held open by Surina. He had precisely lined each instrument atop a stretch of green surgical drape. A steel bucket hung from the foot of the inclined table, ready to catch the flow of blood.
While he laid out his tools Lisa had attempted everything to dissuade him from the torture to come. She had tried appealing to his reason, explaining that she could still be useful. That once Susan was recaptured, Lisa would lend her full support to derive a cure from the woman’s blood and lymph. Hadn’t Lisa already proven her ingenuity?
Despite her best arguments, Devesh had ignored her. He simply lined up each tool, one after the other, on the tray.
Eventually, her arguments turned to tears. “Please…” she had begged.
With Devesh’s back turned, Lisa’s attention had turned to Surina. But there was no hope to be found there, only a deadened disinterest, her face carved in cold marble. The only bit of color was the ruby
Then Devesh had received a call. He answered it and grew plainly excited, pleased with what he was hearing. He spoke rapidly in Arabic. All Lisa understood was the word
So Lisa hung here, not knowing what was happening.
But she knew her fate.
The polished surgical instruments glistened. If she shifted, the blood pail rattled at the foot of the table. She teetered between exhaustion and a keening edge of terror. She almost welcomed the return of Devesh. The waiting, the anticipation, threatened to unhinge her.
Still, when the door finally did open, she cringed, gasping out slightly. She couldn’t see who entered, but she heard the
A gurney appeared into view, pushed from behind.
A small figure was draped atop it, tied down, spread-eagled.
Devesh spoke, shoving the gurney so it came to rest directly in front of Lisa. “Sorry for the delay, Dr. Cummings. My call took longer than I anticipated. And it took me some time to track down our subject here.”
“Dr. Patanjali,” Lisa begged, staring at the gurney. “Please, no…”
Devesh stepped over to his tools. He wore a white apron over his clothes, having shed his jacket. “Now where were we?”
Off to the side, Surina glided into view, hands folded, demure. But her eyes held a rare flicker of fire. Angry.
Devesh continued to speak. “Dr. Cummings, you were quite correct earlier. Your expertise may prove of value as we finalize our study. Yet still, it seems some punishment is in order. Someone will have to settle the debt of blood that I can’t collect from you.”
Lisa stared down at the gurney, at the gagged and wide-eyed figure.
It was the girl, the same child whom Devesh had threatened earlier — then let go and murdered Dr. Lindholm instead. But there would be no scapegoat this time. Devesh intended to slaughter this little lamb, while making Lisa watch.
Devesh pulled on a pair of latex surgical gloves and picked up the cartilage knife. “The first cut is always the worst.”
As Devesh turned, gunfire chattered, sounding distant but still loud.
He paused.
Another blast of a rifle erupted, echoing up from the floor below. “Not again,” he sighed out in irritation. “Can’t they keep these patients restrained?”
More blasts.
Devesh slammed his knife to the tabletop, rattling the other tools. He nicked himself and lifted a bloody finger to his lips. With a deep scowl, he headed again to the door.
“Surina, watch over our guests. I’ll be right back.”
The door slammed closed.
As if caught in the wind from the swing of the door, Surina flew to the table. She collected the cartilage knife and returned to the strapped child.
“Don’t hurt her,” Lisa warned, a threat in her voice, impotent though it might be.
Surina’s eyes flicked with disinterest at Lisa. She swung her attention to the child, raised the knife, and slashed out in strokes of flashing steel — the child’s bonds fell away. The strange woman scooped the child in her arms, to her shoulder, then glided to the door.
Lisa heard the quiet clicks as the door opened and closed, leaving her alone again.
Lisa frowned. She remembered Surina offering a candy to the same child earlier, a rare compassion. Lisa recalled Surina’s eyes when she first came in here, feral and wild, like a lioness. Angry. It seemed this lioness retained some compassion for the most innocent. Perhaps this rescue was some bit of grace to compensate for her other cruelties.
Either way, she was gone.
Lisa imagined Devesh’s rage when he returned, already inflamed by another breakout. There would remain only one person here upon whom he could vent his frustrations. Lisa struggled against her wrist ties. The pail bumped and clanked.
Gunfire continued, some blasts louder than others, coming from different directions. Lisa realized more than one firefight was under way. She searched around. What was happening?
Automatic fire exploded accompanied by crashes of glass, sounding just yards away. More gunshots followed, accompanied by shouts and a strange ululating war cry. The fighting went on for a long minute.
Behind her the door burst open.
Lisa froze.
A half-naked figure leaped into view, streaked in black, nose pierced by a sharpened tusk, crowned by a shock of emerald feathers. He hefted a sharpened blade, bloody to the elbow.
Lisa pressed back against the table, frozen in fear.
“In here!” a familiar voice yelled.
It was Henri.
Boots pounded behind her. A cold blade slipped between her wrists. Plastic ties snapped and popped away. Lisa slumped off the inclined table, scrabbling not to fall. A figure caught her.
He spoke in her ear. “So if you’re done just hanging around, how about we kiss this Love Boat good- bye.”
She sank into the man’s arms, shaking and weak with relief. “Monk…”
