The X5 did not move, eyes shut, as if opening them had just been a twitch, a flutter in his sleep. A hand settled on his face, thumb under his chin, fingers and palm on his cheek, a chill snake-belly touch. The fingers began to tighten — White had the strength to crush a man’s skull, even a transgenic like Alec.
“Open your eyes, 494,” White said. “Or would you rather I close them forever?”
Alec opened his eyes and stared into the face of the cold-eyed NSA agent, who removed his hand from the X5’s cheek, though the man still hovered over the right side of the bed like a vampire caught in the act. The agent — in his typical dark suit — had the sick pale look of a bloodsucker at that, his skin an unnatural white brought on by the fluorescent lighting.
Alec’s head was swimming. “Is this... prison?”
“Don’t be silly,” White said, a small smile playing on thin, cruel lips. “It’s a hospital. You’re getting the best of care — your furry friend, too.”
His head was settling down. “How did I get here?”
“The police. A friend of mine on the department whispered in my ear — something about your friend’s dog snout that made some people think you two might be transgenic.”
Restrained though he was, Alec was able to survey the small hospital room — it was empty but for himself and White. “I don’t see a police guard. Is there one in the hall?”
“Maybe you’d like a map of the building? How else can I be of service?... The guard is federal, 494. Transgenics are the NSa’s jurisdiction — but surely you know that?”
Alec smirked back at the man. “And you haven’t killed us yet, because...?”
“Why, I’m hurt, 494 — you transgenics are citizens like any American.”
“That’s funny — I seem to remember you telling Congress we’re a bunch of homicidal freaks.”
“Aren’t you? You stumbled in on the road show of Silence of the Lambs, didn’t you? Courtesy of one of your own?”
“What the hell do you want? Why am I alive?”
The jokey mask fell and the emotionless, dead soulless son of a bitch Alec knew White to be was revealed in all his antiglory. “Because, 494 — we’re going to have a little talk, you and I.”
Alec shook his head. “Could you have a nurse turn me over? So you can kiss my transgenic ass?”
A little half smirk colored the dead-eyed face. “Your choice — this is America, after all. You can die fast, or you can die slow, or — here’s another option — you can die very fucking slow.”
“How about none of the above?”
“No — not on the docket. Bottom line is, 494... you and I are going to talk... and when we’ve explored our various areas of discussion, you’ll be dead. Quick and painless, or slow and drawn-out — one from column A, or one from column B.”
Alec spit in White’s face.
Slowly, White wiped the saliva glob away with a middle finger, and flung it back in Alec’s face.
“And while your body begins its inexorable journey to putrefication, I’m going next door and have the same chat with Dogboy. He should be easier — a chew toy, a little Alpo, and he’ll be howling at the moon.”
Alec managed a smile. “If Joshua ever gets his paws on you, White, you’ll learn a whole new meaning for ‘chew toy.’ ”
“I don’t think so. I think he’ll spill his canine guts and then we’ll take him over to the pound — afraid we’ll have to put the pooch down. Pity, isn’t it?”
Taking a quick inventory, Alec decided that other than aching all over, he seemed to be pretty much all here; the conversation with White had given him time to gather his wits, and his mind felt clear.
He seemed to be wearing only a flimsy, sleeveless hospital gown, and he could sense the bandage from his bullet wound still covering his left shoulder. Straining against them, Alec realized he was cuffed to the bed, the metal bracelets jangling a little when he relaxed.
The X5 had a vague recollection of seeing a stun rod swing toward him, but that was his last memory.
Standing over him, making sure Alec saw every movement he made, White slowly opened a straight razor and seemed to savor the way the light caught the blade and winked.
“One of the many ways my people are superior to transgenics,” White said conversationally, “is that we don’t feel pain — simply don’t experience it. Transgenics, on the other hand... when you prick them, they bleed.”
“You’re the prick who’s gonna bleed,” Alec snarled, fighting against the cuffs holding him down; but they wouldn’t give. The metal dug into his wrists, the pain somehow calming, giving him strength.
“Where shall we start?... How about with your friend 452?”
Pulling against the cuffs with everything he had, Alec said nothing.
White slowly moved the blade back and forth, watching the light dance on steel. Against his will, Alec found himself watching the blade as well, as if it was a hypnotist’s watch, trying to lull him into a terrible trance. The restraints continued to dig into his flesh, but he kept up the fight...
“I want you to tell me how I can get to her.”
“Climb the fence at Terminal City and whistle, dickweed.”
“You and Lassie ‘climbed the fence,’ 494 — and yet no one saw you do it. That compound is under close surveillance, but there must be a way out — and in — that no one knows about.”
“Click your heels together and say, ‘There’s no place like home.’ That should do it.”
“A sense of humor. I like that, 494. I have one too... watch...”
White leaned down close, his face only inches away from Alec, their eyes locked, then the agent made a narrow two-inch slice in Alec’s right shoulder. Gritting his teeth against the pain, the young transgenic said nothing.
“I’m so pleased you’re not cooperating, right away,” White said. “You see, for all my strengths, I have one weakness... I do hate transgenics...”
He opened the slice another inch.
Alec strained harder against the cuffs, his gaze still on White, the blood warm as it seeped from the wound and ran off his arm, the pain only spurring him on.
“I’ll ask again, 494. How can I get to 452?”
“Go to hell and take a left.”
White walked around the bed, his eyes never leaving Alec’s. “I certainly hope you’re enjoying this as much as I am.”
“How could I enjoy it as much as a sick sadistic shit like you?”
The razor carved into his other arm, below the bandage covering his bullet wound. White made this cut about the same length as the first but a little deeper, the wound weeping tears of blood.
“There’s a back way into Terminal City,” White said. “I need to know what it is — you see, I want 452 in my own personal custody, before the Army swings through having their fun.”
Alec, blinking away tears of pain, had to wonder: “Why?”
“Maybe I want her head to put over my fireplace — what concern is that to a dead man? Now, why don’t you tell me the truth and I’ll speed this up for you.”
The door creaked open, and White spun. Alec, like White, threw his attention to the doorway, where a young, pretty African-American nurse stood, her mouth agape, hands flying up to cover it.
“What in God’s name!” she cried.
Razor in hand, dripping rubies, White lurched forward and barked at her, “Get out! This is federal government business!”
The nurse — who apparently did not find this typical behavior from a federal law enforcement officer — shrieked bloody murder, and — with White momentarily distracted — Alec summoned all of his remaining strength to pull against the cuff around his wrist. With a shrill whine, the metal tube of the bed frame snapped and Alec’s hand burst free.
As White spun back toward him, the razor rising in a wide arc, Alec swung his fist with everything he had behind it, catching White in the sternum, sending the agent sprawling, tumbling backward across the room and smacking hard into a wall, the razor flying out of his hand.