Sebastian raised a hand. ‘You used the word we, Doctor. Let me bring in Dr. Brown at this point.’ He turned to the female scientist. ‘What’s your feeling about releasing Wells?’
Alexandra Brown kept her eyes off Rivers. ‘Extrapolation from trials suggests that my process has been highly effective. I consider the Rothmann conditioning no longer operational.’
This time Rivers did bring his hand down hard on the table. ‘Extrapolation from trials? Wells was the first human subject you treated. You can’t extrapolate from rats and monkeys or computer simulations. Besides, you were brought in here over my head.’
‘Yes. By me,’ Sebastian said firmly. ‘Dr. Brown’s work has been well received by other scientists.’
‘But its long-term effects are unknown,’ Rivers countered. ‘What if there are triggers at a deeper level of Wells’s subconscious? He might turn into an even more deadly killer.’ He glared at the FBI man. ‘And recently you’ve allowed him to sharpen his combat and firearms skills, again without my approval.’
Peter Sebastian stood up and closed his laptop. ‘Your approval was not necessary, Doctor. I am responsible for Wells.’ He turned to go.
‘I don’t suppose you’re at all concerned about his state of mind after the death of Karen Oaten and the baby. Grief and the associated emotions can have a major effect on rationality.’
‘On the other hand,’ Dr. Brown put in, ‘it can increase empathy and certain forms of acuity, which may actually enhance the subject’s efficacy.’
‘Will you listen to yourself, woman?’ Rivers scoffed. ‘This is a distressed human being we’re talking about, not some automaton.’
Spots of red appeared on Alexandra Brown’s cheeks. She looked to Sebastian for support.
‘Please calm yourself, Dr. Rivers,’ the FBI man said. ‘That kind of language is inappropriate.’
‘Is it?’ the scientist shouted. ‘Well, try this for size. I’m going to send a formal complaint about your handling of Matt Wells to the Office of Professional Responsibility.’
Peter Sebastian sighed and walked back to the table. He opened his laptop and tapped on the keys. ‘Please come here,’ he said, eyeing each of the scientists. When they stood on either side of him, he hit the keys again. ‘This is a confidential authorization. You are at liberty to check its authenticity by calling headquarters and quoting the reference number at the top.’ He gave a tight smile. ‘You understand there may be disciplinary consequences if you do so?’
Doctors Rivers and Brown read the document in silence, the document that authorized Sebastian to determine the status of Matthew Wells as he saw fit, signed by the Director of the FBI.
I was lying on the sofa in the apartment, my face buried in the cushions. Karen’s scent was still on them. I breathed it in over and over again. Then I caught a glimpse of her. She had her back to me and was wearing a white surgical gown. She was in a narrow passage and she started to move downward, the lower part of her body disappearing.
I heard myself call her name and she stopped. When she turned, I could see that she was carrying a bundle in both arms. It, too, was shrouded in white. Our son. Karen looked at me sadly but she didn’t speak-she had lost that ability, it seemed. Then she continued walking and was gone.
Great sobs tore from my chest. I tried to stifle them with a cushion, wishing that I could find my way back to them, the ones who had been taken from me. Then I saw another face-the imperious features of the Nazi, Heinz Rothmann. The implication was clear. I had to kill him to get Karen and Magnus back.
‘Hey, my friend.’ The soft voice took me by surprise and I raised myself from the sofa.
‘Quincy.’ I wiped my eyes with my arm. ‘I’m sorry…’
‘Don’t be, man,’ he said, coming up to me and putting his arm round my shoulders. ‘Jesus, you must be suffering.’
I felt the need to sit on the sofa again to maintain that last link with Karen. I couldn’t speak for a while.
‘What’s this I’m hearing? They’re letting you out?’
I nodded.
‘You’re gonna work?’
‘There isn’t anything to keep me…keep me here.’
Quincy Jerome squatted in front of me. ‘You need to take it easy, my friend. Let it sink in. Come to terms.’
I appreciated his words, but they were meaningless. I had a mission. Peter Sebastian might have thought he was going to use me, but he had that wrong. I was going to take him for all he was worth.
‘Listen, Quincy, I don’t know how much you’ve been told about-’
‘Jack shit,’ he interrupted. ‘All I know is you want me to watch your back. Which is fine by me, even if my CO’s ass is on fire about it. Your man Sebastian has friends in high places.’
‘I don’t think he’s got friends anywhere, but he gets the job done.’ I filled him in on Rothmann and his probable link to the Hitler’s Hitman killings. He’d picked up a fair amount about the latter from the media coverage. ‘I’ve got to do this, Quincy,’ I ended. ‘For…for Karen and our son.’
‘Count me in, my friend.’
‘It’ll probably be bloody.’
‘Sounds like that Nazi asshole deserves to lose every drop of his blood.’
He was right about that. I got up and started to collect clothes and other stuff. I took the laptop, too. It had a wireless connection, which would be useful. Now all I needed was weapons. I mentioned that to Quincy.
‘I was told to go to the armory,’ he said, unzipping one of his bags.
‘Hey,’ I said, belatedly realizing what was different about him. ‘You’re not in uniform.’
‘That’s what I was told,’ he said, running his large hands over the black clothes he was wearing.
‘You look like a special forces operative.’
‘Don’t complain. I’ve got more of the same in your size.’
It seemed Sebastian had thought of everything. Quincy started laying out weapons on the table. There was a Glock 19 semiautomatic pistol, a combat knife in a sheath, a pair of vicious-looking brass knuckles and a length of plastic-covered wire with a loop at each end.
‘I’ve never used a garrote,’ I said, picking it up.
‘It’s simple,’ the sergeant said, taking it out of my hands and whipping it round my neck before I could move. ‘See what I mean?’
I could have buried my elbow in his belly, but I wasn’t up to brawling. My legs were still unsteady from the sedatives.
When he’d removed the garrote, I went back to the table and picked up the Glock. ‘Where are the clips?’
‘I’ve got them. They told me not to hand them over to you till we’re out of the camp.’
‘Come on, Quincy. I’m not going to shoot anyone.’
He studied me thoughtfully. ‘I reckon they’re worried about suicide.’
‘After what I told you about Rothmann? I’m going to kill that fucker. What happens after that, I don’t know.’
Quincy took a clip from his pocket. ‘All right, man. Just don’t get me busted.’
I checked that it was full and slapped it in.
There was a knock on the door. It opened before I could say anything.
Peter Sebastian walked in and immediately focused on the Glock. ‘I hope that isn’t loaded, Sergeant.’
‘No, sir,’ Quincy replied.
Sebastian accepted that. I put the pistol in my belt and started gathering up the other weapons.
‘Thanks for having the tracking cuff taken off my ankle,’ I said.
‘No problem.’
‘You haven’t planted a bug under my skin, have you?’ Rothmann’s people had done that in the Maine camp.
Sebastian shook his head. ‘Listen, Jerome, we need to stop using ranks when we address each other. I don’t want us to stick out like cocks in a Hamburg nightclub.’
Quincy and I exchanged glances.
‘My friends call me Quincy,’ the soldier said.
‘Do they?’ Sebastian’s tone made it clear he didn’t see himself as one of them. ‘Those fatigues won’t exactly do for undercover work.’
Quincy shrugged. ‘I figured you’d be taking us to the mall.’
Sebastian ignored that. ‘Are you ready to go, Matt?’