Crooked River(93)



She felt the sting as the IV needle went into her vein, and she struggled uselessly again. The doctor secured the catheter, got blood, flushed it, depressed the sterile spike of the drip chamber, then taped the setup in place and stood back. She looked once more at Pendergast, but his face remained shut down, only his eyes glittering, like pale diamonds.

“Now for step two,” said the general.

Gladstone watched as the doctor opened the small plastic case, removed a syringe and glass vial, stuck the syringe into the vial, and filled it with a colorless liquid.

“What is that?” she heard herself ask.

“Dr. Gladstone, one more word from you and I will carry out my threat.”

Gladstone, filled with terror, shut her mouth, her heart beating wildly. She realized she was hyperventilating.

The doctor inserted the needle into the IV’s injection port.

“Hold it there.” The general now looked up at Pendergast. “As you can see, Dr. Smith is poised to inject your associate. Now I will ask you some questions and I will receive answers. If not, he will inject her. Do you understand?”

Gladstone made a huge effort not to speak or make noise. Pendergast, for his part, remained silent.

The general turned his eyes to her, then back to Pendergast. “I’m sorry it’s come to this,” he said. “We’re all on the same side, you see.” He sighed, as if used to dealing with people who didn’t understand. “It would be so much better if we could communicate like reasonable people. Unlike, I fear, your man in China. He wasn’t reasonable. Not reasonable at all.”

Finally, Pendergast spoke. “Is it reasonable to murder an innocent scientist and kidnap another at gunpoint? Torture a man in the most awful way imaginable? Dismember over a hundred people? And now, to proceed with this brutality?”

“It is all in service of a vital cause.”

“Stalin said much the same thing.”

The old general waved his hand. “Enough banter. My questions are few, but I need complete answers. Who else knows the location of this facility?”

Pendergast didn’t answer.

The man turned. “Dr. Gladstone? I give you permission to speak in order to answer the question.”

She said nothing.

“You’ve got nerves of steel,” said the general, not without a touch of admiration. “Would you remain so brave if I told you the drug Dr. Smith will inject produces a most terrifying result?” A pause. “Now, Agent Pendergast: in order to prevent this tragedy, I need to know if anyone else has discovered the location of this facility—or has traced the source of the, ah, feet. We were keeping them for later analysis, and could never have anticipated that a freak deluge would cause the river to flood, destroying our dock and outbuildings—including the frozen storage locker—and sending the feet out into the gulf. We hoped they would decay, or be eaten, or sink for one reason or another; clearly, that did not come to pass. Even so, we never imagined they could be traced back here…” Another pause. “Obviously, we can’t have others coming to the same conclusion that you did. We’ve made a huge investment in this facility; worked very hard to make sure the cost was buried in dark military budgets and appropriations bills; and the research we’re doing here is now at too advanced a stage to be moved. You will give me the answers to these questions eventually—so why not now rather than later, when your associate will have already crossed into a land of horror? Are you truly so eager for a Pyrrhic victory?”

Gladstone stared at the man. The tired, almost bored look in his eyes made his words all the more believable. She felt herself trembling all over. “Please, Agent Pendergast. Answer his question.”

The general turned to Pendergast. “You heard her plea.”

“You mentioned we were all on the same side,” said Pendergast, his voice cool. “Perhaps if you helped us understand the vital work you are doing here, we might be willing to cooperate without coercion.”

The general looked at him a long time.

Now the woman in the pearls, who had been standing in the back during this exchange, spoke up. “General, I’ve had dealings with this man before. Take care with him—and don’t answer his questions.”

Pendergast spoke again, voice still mild. “I see you were a military man—a three-star, if I’m not mistaken. And Ms. Alves-Vettoretto—” he nodded to the woman standing to one side— “also strikes me as a person who was once military. So let us observe military correctness. Before you do this, it’s only honorable to try persuading us first.”

“General, I strongly advise against conversing with this man,” said the woman named Alves-Vettoretto.

Another impatient wave. “It’s a reasonable request. We’re all patriotic Americans here, after all.”

He sat back in a nearby chair and tented his fingers. “Are you familiar with Project MK-Ultra?”





56



THE ROAD THROUGH the swamp was like a tunnel in the darkness, at the end of which Coldmoon could now see the cluster of lights of a gate and guard station. He would have to get around that.

Moving as silently as possible, trying to become his grandfather Joe’s ghost, he exited the roadway and slipped into the warm, swampy water. Mosquitoes rose up around him, whining in his ears. The air was fetid with the smell of rotting wood and swamp gas. He had seen the occasional alligator as he’d driven in, and he was all too aware there were also snakes and God only knew what else in back bayous like these. He hadn’t been especially afraid of poisonous snakes while growing up. With a little care, you could avoid rattlers. But that was before he’d been bitten by a water moccasin on his first assignment with Pendergast. Christ, had that been less than a month ago? At the time, he’d promised himself he’d never look at a swamp again, let alone go near one. There were no swamps in Colorado: that’s one of the reasons he’d requested the position. And look at him now.

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