“Why?”
Jericho bit at his bottom lip, choosing his words carefully. “Because you’re not like the rest of us here in this room. You’re a nice person. You have a kind heart. This guy will study you like you study germs. Once he sees that kindness in your face, he’ll cling to it with everything he’s got.” Jericho leaned in, close enough that a lock of her hair brushed against his cheek. His lips were only inches from her ear, whispering. “He’ll begin to think he has a chance.”
“Doesn’t he?” Her voice was barely audible.
“No.”
Mahoney pressed her eye to the rifle scope and didn’t look up. Jericho had no idea what she thought of him now, but he was pretty sure she wouldn’t think much of him in the next few minutes.
Without the luxury of time, Jericho snapped into action. Stooping over his black Eagle Industries duffel, he gathered the things he’d need. “Cujo,” he said, screwing a Gemtech silencer on the threaded barrel of the custom .22-caliber Glock Miyagi had issued him. “I need you to carry the big guy into that back bedroom. Be sure and draw the blinds.” He turned and spoke several quick phrases of Arabic to the younger, more slightly built man leaning against the wall, explaining his plans. It was important the boy ponder what lay in store for his companion — and eventually himself. Both men’s eyes narrowed, brimming with pure, unabashed hatred.
Jericho checked to make sure the magazine was full, then tucked the pistol in his waistband. He bent to rummage through the duffel bag again, coming up with a small pair of pruning shears and a roll of white first-aid tape.
“Bo.” Jericho looked up at his brother, who towered like a sullen statue over the slumped younger Arab. “You mind waiting out here with him?” Jericho needed someone strong enough to keep the guy in line if he decided to make a fuss. But more than that, he didn’t want his kid brother to be a witness to what he was about to do. Killing the enemy in the heat of battle was one thing. Enhanced interrogation methods required an awfully cold heart. He wasn’t entirely sure how Thibodaux was going to handle it.
“Jacques,” he said, using the pruning shears to point at a standing lamp to the left of the front door. “Rip the power cord out of that.” He flipped the hall light switch on and off to make sure he had electricity. “Bring it with you to the back room. We’re going to need it.”
Behind the rifle, Mahoney shuddered.
CHAPTER 46
Megan ached to plug her ears, but she could feel the young Arab watching her.
The interrogations had started off quickly, with a muffled scream drifting down the dark hallway almost as soon as Jericho had shut the door behind him. She could hear Jericho’s voice speaking in gentle, clipped Arabic phrases, but she had no idea what he was saying. The seconds seemed to ooze by and Mahoney found herself pressing her eye against the rim of the rifle scope so hard she was sure she’d formed a pink ring in her skin.
The bare lightbulb in the dining room dimmed slightly, followed by another long, agonizing moan from the back room. Jericho’s voice popped down the hall again throwing out more rapid-fire questions in Arabic. Twice more the light over her head flickered, then went out altogether. A moment later Thibodaux opened the door and stepped into the hall. His face was drawn tight as a stone. He motioned Bo toward him. “Go out to the garage and flip the breaker back on.”
The sour smell of urine and fear wafted up the hallway.
“Will do,” Bo said. He looked down at the stricken younger prisoner, who was now slumped forward, staring between his own splayed feet. “Watch him for a minute.”
Thibodaux stayed at the door. “I got him. Go get the breaker.”
Bo ran for the garage.
Mahoney leaned into the rifle until her fingers turned white, struggling inside to come to terms with the situation. Her emotional brain told her the things going on down the hall were immoral. Civilized beings didn’t lower themselves just because the people they fought were uncivilized. Civilized people didn’t harm others but for the most dire of circumstances. She was a doctor and the physician’s prime directive was: First, do no harm.
But her forebrain, the part of her that let her look at things rationally, reminded her she harmed living things virtually every day. She’d always consoled herself that her particular brand of pain was absolutely necessary. She wasn’t experimenting on defenseless bunnies to invent some new brand of women’s eyeliner. She was trying to rid the world of the most deadly plagues known to man. The things transpiring in the back room were just as necessary, no matter how distasteful. They’d moved far beyond research. If an enemy had to be tortured in order to save thousands, wasn’t that okay? It was all for the greater good. It was exactly what she told herself each time she injected an innocent monkey with some horrific virus, then cut out its brain to study the effects. Cause untold suffering in a few, all for that greater good — to save humankind. No matter how awful Jericho Quinn’s actions, Mahoney couldn’t bring herself to blame him. The lab animals she tortured were completely without guile. The men Quinn worked on wanted every American dead. She slumped against the rifle as her eyes filled with tears — not for the man sobbing in the back room, but for Jericho Quinn.
“You sneaky son of a bitch!” Bo’s voice yanked Mahoney out of her moral wrestling match and back into the real world.
Somehow, the young Arab had freed his hands and came up with a thin box cutter Cujo must have missed in his sock. He’d lashed out at Bo, catching him with the razor blade just below the knee.
Bo kicked out, connecting with the Arab’s ribs. His legs still taped, the man rolled away, but came up again with the blade. Blood pouring from a long gash in his jeans, Bo whipped the pistol from his waistband at the same instant Megan realized she had a rifle in her hands. She spun in her chair, bringing the weapon around in a flash. Her finger tightened on the trigger.
“Holy hell,” Thibodaux’s voice boomed down the hall. “Y’all don’t shoot him!”
Mahoney froze. At this distance, she had to look over the top of the scope to make out her target. Seeing the growing swatch of fresh blood on Bo’s pant leg filled her with the overwhelming urge to blow the Arab’s head off. If he happened to look at her face now, she was pretty sure he wouldn’t be seeing any mercy.
The Cajun was large enough he took up most of the hallway, but he moved with incredible speed. Snapping out with a left foot, he kicked the box cutter from the startled Arab’s hand. He grabbed the man by the back of his belt and the scruff of the neck and hoisted him to chest level before slamming him facedown against the carpet. Any remaining fight the young Arab had left him along with the blood that gushed from his nose.
Mahoney felt her hands begin to shake and eased her finger away from the trigger.
Thibodaux squatted to wind fresh tape around the groaning prisoner’s hands. “We can’t talk to him if you blow him to pieces, you know.” His jaw muscles tensed as he worked.
Jericho suddenly appeared from the bedroom door, making his way solemnly down the hallway toward the stunned prisoner. His eyes shifted to Thibodaux and he shook his head. Over his forehead, running in a dripping arc from his hairline to his right eyebrow was a line of fresh blood. At first Mahoney thought he must have cut himself; then she realized it wasn’t his blood.
Jericho nodded toward the prisoner, asked him something in Arabic. He slouched against the wall without moving. He ignored the question completely and muttered a sullen prayer to himself. Jericho shrugged, and then breathed the sigh of a truly exhausted man. He squatted beside the prisoner, thumping him in the forehead to make certain he had his attention. The Arab’s face stayed pointed toward the floor, but his eyes rolled slowly upward, staring in an unspoken challenge. Jericho stayed where he was, less than a foot from the man who had just tried to kill his brother. He fired off another line in Arabic, softer this time and more deliberate. The younger man’s eyes fell again. His entire body began to shake as if suddenly stricken with a fever.