The Atlantis Plague (The Origin Mystery, #2)(18)

Sanders jerked his head back, raised his eyebrows, held the expression for a long moment, then laughed out loud. “My God, what did they do to you, Dorian? You’re actually crazier than you were before. Who knew that was possible?” He paced away from Dorian and turned back, his expression serious again. “Now, I want you to listen to me very closely, because this is what’s actually going to happen. You’re going to stay strapped in that chair, where you’ll wiggle and shout more crazy stuff. Then we’re going to drug you, after which you’ll tell us everything that happened down there, and when we’re done with you, we’re going to throw your limp body down that hole where you’ll freeze to death, which is a better death than my predecessor gave your crazy daddy.”

Shock spread across Dorian’s face.

“Yes, that was us. What can I say, Dorian? Management change can be brutal sometimes. Here, I’ll show you what I mean.” Sanders turned to one of the guards. “Get the drugs, let’s get started.”

A cold rage ran through Dorian, a clear, calculating kind of hate that focused his mind. His eyes scanned the straps at his hands and chest. He couldn't break either. His arms would break first. He jerked his hand back on the left strap. It didn't give. He felt the pain radiate from his hand. He had almost broken his thumb. Almost. The pain. He pulled harder against the strap and felt his thumb pop out of its joint. The pain fought a war with the rage in Dorian's mind. The rage won.

Sanders gripped the door handle. "I guess this is goodbye, D. Write if you get work."

One of the guards cocked his head and stepped toward Dorian. Had he realized what Dorian was doing?

Dorian jerked his left arm with every ounce of strength he had. The knuckles of his index and pinky fingers buckled and popped below the middle fingers, allowing his arm to slide out of the strap. But the hand was badly damaged—he could only use the middle two fingers. Would it be enough? He reached over and grasped the strap that restrained his right arm. His middle fingers barely had enough strength to pin the strap to his palm. But he had it. The pain was overtaking him. He jerked back and the strap came free. The soldier lunged for him. Dorian ripped the chest strap off and rose, shoved the heel of his right hand into the guard’s nose, and pivoted, lunging just in time to grab Sanders’ legs.

The restraints at Dorian’s feet held him to the chair, but he pulled Sanders down to the ground and then to him. Sanders cried out as Dorian bit into his neck. Blood sprayed all over Dorian’s face and the floor, drenching the white surface in seconds. Dorian pushed off of Sanders just in time to see the other guard draw his sidearm. He fired two shots into Dorian’s head.





CHAPTER 19


The Church of St. Mary of Incarnation

Marbella, Spain


Kate awoke to the clack-clack-clack sound of someone typing feverishly. She brought a hand up to wipe the sleep from her eyes and instantly realized how sore she was. The frantic escape from the Orchid District and sleeping on the hard wooden pew had taken a toll on her. For the first time since Martin had brought her to Marbella, she missed the tiny bed in the spa building and the quiet life of isolation she had lived there.

She sat up and looked around. The church was dark except for two candles burning in the center aisle and the glow of a laptop screen illuminating Martin’s face. Upon seeing her, he quickly closed the laptop, grabbed something out of the backpack, and edged over to her. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

Kate shook her head. She searched the dim cathedral for the boys. They were curled up beside each other on the next pew, wrapped in several layers of the white sheets the helicopters had dropped. They looked so peaceful. Martin must have gone back out to get the sheets after she had passed out. She focused on him. “I want to finish our conversation.”

Dread filled Martin’s face, and he turned away from Kate and drew two more items out of the backpack. “Fine, but I need something first. Two things, actually.” He held up a blood draw kit. “I need a blood sample from you.”

“You think I’m connected to the plague somehow?”

Martin nodded. “Yes. If I’m right, you’re a significant piece of the puzzle.”

Kate wanted to ask how, but another question nagged at her. “What’s the second thing?”

Martin extended a round plastic bottle filled with brown liquid. “I need you to dye your hair.”

Kate stared at Martin’s outstretched hands—the plastic-wrapped blood draw kit in one, the salon product in the other. How much weirder could her life get? “Fine,” she said. “But I want to know who’s looking for me.” She took the blood draw kit, and Martin helped her with it.

“Everybody.”

“Everybody?”

Martin glanced away from her. “Yes. The Orchid Alliance, the Immari, and all the dying governments in between.”

“What? Why?”

“After the explosions at the facility in China, Immari International released a statement saying you carried out the attack and unleashed the plague, a weaponized flu strain—the product of your research. They had video footage—which was real of course. And it was consistent with the previous statement from the Indonesian government naming you for your involvement in the attacks in Jakarta and in performing unauthorized research on autistic children.”