Extreme Danger (McClouds & Friends #5)(145)

Davy came out of the glassed-in control room, wiping his brow with his forearms. “The room’s secured,” he said. “Tam can tell us who’s coming from the outside.”

Nick peered out the door into a long, empty corridor.

He turned to the others. “You guys stand guard. I’m going in.”

“You don’t need us all to hold the guardroom,” Aaro said. “We’re with you.”

“Whatever,” Nick muttered. “Just let’s move.”

They took off down the corridor at a dead run, boots thudding.



The smell of Zhoglo’s cigarettes made Becca nauseous. Though it could be argued that she would be nauseous anyway. Considering.

At first glance, the scene looked almost convivial. A man and a woman, on lounge chairs on a huge deck perched over a cliff. The view was a vast, spectacular panorama of Seattle cityscape, moonlit water and jagged mountain ranges, still topped with snow. A fragrant breeze swept over the deck, a chorus of crickets chirped. Owls hooted.

A bottle of wine sat on the table between their chairs. The ruby liquid rolled around in the goblet of the man as he savored the aroma.

Then, an observer might notice bizarre discrepancies. For instance, the semi-automatic rifle in the hands of the man behind them. The tape over the woman’s mouth. The cuffs on her wrists, attached to a dog chain, which was wrapped around one of the four-by-fours that supported the huge deck. More duct tape was wrapped around her chest, binding her to the chair. Zhoglo had been amused by the chain, and had elected to leave it attached to her wrist.

Zhoglo ground out the butt of his cigarette. “To be honest, I was hoping he would kill you,” he said, in a chatty tone. “For betraying him. My idea was that once he knew his error, his punishment would be his own guilt. Very dramatic.” He sipped the wine, swishing it in his mouth with pursed lips. “But this scenario has its charm. I understand Solokov’s specialty is quick death. So quick the victim does not even know that he is going to die. Pah. Anticlimactic.” He leaned forward and flicked her cheek with his finger, chuckling when she flinched. “And that, my dear, is not what I have in mind for you.”

Becca was almost grateful for the duct tape, since it canceled out any necessity for a reply.

“Would you like some wine? It’s quite good. Kristoff, remove my guest’s gag. I grow weary of talking to myself.”

Kristoff picked at the tape and ripped it off. The pain jerked a squeak out of her throat. She coughed as she dragged in air.

Zhoglo leaned forward, and placed a glass of wine into her shaking hands. “Steady, my dear. Can you lift it to your mouth?”

Her hands were blocked by the length of the chain, fixed in place against her chest by the heavy tape wound around her body.

Zhoglo clucked in dismay. “Let me help.” He lifted the glass to her lips. Wine sloshed over her chin, her chest. She choked, coughing.

Zhoglo waited until the spasms died down. “Would you care to know the fate of your brother and sister?”

Becca stared at him, lungs hitching, eyes streaming. He spoke in the tone she would use to offer someone a napkin.

“My plans have readjusted,” he confided. “My natural instinct for thrift has prevailed. That disaster on the island cost me, and these funds have to be replenished. But now that I have you to play with, I can use your brother and sister to cover costs.”

“Cover…what costs? What do you mean?”

Zhoglo settled himself more comfortably in his chair, and held up a cigarette. Kristoff hustled forward to light it. He crossed his legs and began to sip the glass of wine he had poured for Becca himself. “Mathes is a transplant surgeon. The very one who gave me this heart some years ago. Would you like to see the scar?” He groped at his shirt.

Becca shook her head. “No,” she said faintly. “Please, it’s fine.”

He shrugged and rebuttoned his shirt. “That experience gave me the initial idea. Punishment is necessary in this wretched world, but waste is not. This surgeon has joined forces with me on…well, in this eco-mad world, one might even characterize it as a recycling operation.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“Your brother and sister, for instance,” he went on. “If they prove to be healthy, their combined donated organs, at the prices set by the doctor, will be worth upwards of fifty million dollars. Minus expenses, of course, which are considerable, but still. Consider the possibilities.”

“Organs?” Her heart began to race. She felt sicker. “Oh, my God.”

“In fact, the very first harvest has been scheduled for tonight,” he said cheerfully. “I am looking forward to it.”

“The little kids,” she whispered. “You’re killing those little kids.”

“Oh?” His eyebrows shot up. “So you did make progress on your investigation.” He slapped his knee. “Clever girl. You were busy, ey?”

Busy wasn’t the word for it. Busy Becca. “I tried,” she whispered.

“I put Josh and Carrie in with the rest of our repository of spare parts for now, pending tests to check their organ viability. They both certainly look healthy, but one never knows. I did watch your brother fornicate with a prostitute for thirty-six straight hours. I confess, I got exhausted just from watching. So naturally, we must test for HIV and so forth.”