Extreme Danger (McClouds & Friends #5)(146)

“Oh, no,” she forced out. “Not Joshie. You can’t do that.”

“I can, and have. Actually, it’s the oldest girl who’s scheduled for harvest today,” he went on. “Twelve? Thirteen? I don’t remember. Hardly a child at all. Her father offended me some months ago, you see. I put her aside to settle his debt when this plan ripened. A debt that will be paid in full tonight.”

She shook her head helplessly. “No,” she whispered. “No.”

“Three surgical teams stand ready to utilize everything she has to give,” Zhoglo went on. “Heart, liver, kidneys, lungs, eyes, nothing wasted.”

Tears flashed down Becca’s face. “Sveti?”

Zhoglo’s eyes widened. “Oh, so you know about her? Was that why he was infiltrating?” He began to laugh. “How excellent that I am having the event taped. He can watch her being butchered.”

He leaned forward, patted her knee. “I will tell you a guilty secret.” His hand lingered there, horribly moist. “My original fantasy was to punish the fools who opposed me by immobilizing them with drugs, and conducting their harvest while they were fully conscious. Feeling every slash, every tug. It is a traditional technique that I often employ. But the doctor explained to me that organs obtained in this way would not be viable for transplant. They would be polluted with the hormones provoked by pain and terror. I was forced to abandon my fantasy in favor of practical reality.”

His hand began to move up, over her thigh. “Therefore, you will be happy to know that Joshua and Carolyn’s deaths will be pain free. Conducted under general anesthesia.” He looked expectant, as if he were actually waiting for her to express her gratitude for his mercy.

He grunted with irritation when she failed to do so, and continued. “But not with you, Rebecca. I intend to enjoy every minute of yours, from your first scream to your last dying rasp. While Solokov watches, helpless. You, my dear, are pure, sinful indulgence. My little treat.”

She tried to jerk her leg away, but his hand tightened. “And speaking of watching.” He glanced at his watch. “Mikhail? Would you set up the large monitor out here for myself and my guest? I have arranged for direct video feed of the operating theater.” He slapped her thigh. “We will watch the harvest together, my dear. In real time.”

“No,” she kept whispering. It was useless, but she couldn’t stop.

“Oh, yes. Pavel, bring some snacks for myself and my guest. What would you like, my dear? Cheese? Crackers? Sliced meats? Perhaps some fresh fruit? There are apples and some grapes, I believe.”

Her eyes were streaming. “Please. Don’t do this. Don’t.”

He patted her knee again, and his fingers slid up between her thighs. Big mistake to weep and plead. It excited him.

A picture flickered onto the large screen. An overhead view, of a slender, dark-haired, incredibly pale girl who lay still on the table. Her eyelashes were so dark, brushstrokes against her white, sunken cheeks.

Falling deeper—and deeper still. Becca closed her eyes, and wished she could will her heart to stop beating.

But it would not obey her. It just kept thumping, painfully, stubbornly, stupidly on.

Chapter

32

T he corridors were endless and they echoed. Doors opened onto empty rooms that weren’t even finished—no floors, walls, no wiring, just the smell of paint and plasterboard and cement dust.

They got lucky at the fourth stairwell. Nick strained with all his senses as he leaned down to listen, and heard the vibration of voices, like someone had opened the door to a room where people were talking and then promptly closed it again.

They crept noiselessly one flight down, peered out. No guards, no guns. No apparent obstacles. Nick darted down the corridor, tried all the doors. Empty. No sound, no movement.

The next floor down, he heard that muffled hum of voices again. He waved Seth and Aaro behind him, and edged along the wall. Ahead was one of those big automatic doors, with a huge metal wall button. Right before it was the room from which the voices were coming.

He burst in. Seth and Aaro came behind him. Gasps, shrieks, shouts, terrified babbling in several languages. People scrambled for cover as three cloaked apparitions exploded into the room, bristling with guns. They scurried under tables, crouched behind couches.

It was a doctor’s waiting room. Windowless, but luxurious and comfortable. Full of couches, walls painted in mellow tones of peach and beige, forgettable art, muted table lamps. There were even individual TVs, mounted on the end of each couch, with earphones provided. A large bookcase. A serve-yourself snack bar. A coffee maker.

One couple remained seated, squarely in the middle of one of the couches. Hands entwined. A tall, balding man with an anxious face, and a younger, ash blond woman, thin and pale. Expensively dressed.

“Henry?” whispered the woman. “What’s going on?”

The man stood up, frowning. “Who are you people? What are you doing here? This is a private clinic!”

“Where is Dr. Richard Mathes?” Nick demanded.

The woman’s eyes got huge with alarm. “Oh, God. Henry, no. I will not allow it.” Her voice rose. “This is not happening! We’re so close!”

“Where is Mathes?” Nick repeated, louder.

The woman leaped up and ran at him, shoving at his chest with her hands. “Get out of here!” she shrieked. “We’ve paid a fortune for that heart! You are not going to stop us! Get the hell out! Out!”