“Did you get a lock on location?”
“No, she terminated the connection before it could be triangulated.”
“Well try her again! Call back, damn it!” said Harris, pacing behind his subordinate’s chair. If the kids were alive, it meant the Viperob files were still out there and potentially accessible.
“Sorry, Boss, but the line’s gone dead. Looks like she’s turned the phone off.”
Harris ground his teeth together in frustration. “Get Marco Russo in here. The two of us need to have a little chat again.”
Marco rubbed at his wrists, the bones aching where steel handcuffs had clamped until moments earlier. The police officer shoved him down onto a steel-backed chair and then left without a word, locking the door on his way out. Marco’s gut was on edge, muscles jittery as he looked about the room. He’d been in one just like this not two days past. Concrete floor, white-washed walls. And bloodstains. If I never see the inside of an interrogation room again, it’ll be too soon.
Marco dropped his gaze, eyes tracking a speckled pattern of rust-brown on the concrete. To his right was a larger patch, smudged as if someone had made a feeble attempt to mop up the mess. I wonder if it’s mine? The wound where his nipple had been clipped away began to throb with a dull ache.
He looked to the wall at his left, wondering who filled the other interrogation rooms. Praying that Gwen wasn’t in one. Worry had gnawed at his insides like a hungry rat ever since she’d failed to come home the previous day. A thousand scenarios played out in his mind about what might have happened, none of them pleasant, and yet he’d been hamstrung to act. He couldn’t approach security—they’d only alert Harris and for all Marco knew, that would make things even worse. And then the storm had struck, the tower block evacuated. He could only hope that she was somewhere in the crowds of displaced people. Hope that she was anywhere but in one of the other cells.
The door suddenly burst open, crashing into the wall and causing Marco to jump and heart race afresh. Harris stood in the door, eyes glaring, and fists clenched at his side. Marco felt his balls clench upwards. The lieutenant hadn’t looked this angry at any point during his previous interrogation, and he’d lost body parts during that meeting.
Harris struck. Hand outstretched, he gripped Marco about the neck and slammed him into the wall. “You’ve played me for a fool, Russo.”
Stars burst behind Marco’s eyes from the blow to the back of his head. Harris’s grip tightened, fingers gouging into his neck like steel bands, cutting off his air supply. Marco met the lieutenant’s eyes while his chest ached to breathe. He left his hands by his side even though every part of him screamed to fight back, knowing that for his daughter’s sake, he couldn’t afford to antagonise the man any further.
Just as his vision started to grey, Harris released his hold, dumping him back into his chair. Marco gulped in a breath, air burning through his damaged trachea as he looked up at Harris.
“I don’t understand,” said Marco, his voice hoarse. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked.”
Harris leant forward, bringing his face within centimetres of Marco. “Maybe you’re not the small-time thief I considered. Maybe you and your daughter are corporate spies.”
“What… why…” Marco floundered for any words, his brows drawn together in confusion.
“Corporate espionage; it’s a capital crime, Russo.”
“That’s a stretch,” said Marco, stumbling for words. “I sell food and medicines that are hard to get. How does that possibly equal to corporate espionage?”
“Nikolai Claymore. Does that name ring a bell?”
Marco felt his gut drop, mouth suddenly dry.
“Claymore’s stolen files that Viperob would very much like returned. He used a black-market computer to access the information, and you’re the only person capable of sourcing such a thing.” Harris took a seat on the other chair. “That leaves a bloody big target painted on your back as far as I’m concerned.”
“Ok,” Marco raised a hand in surrender. “I sold him a laptop, but that’s all. He didn’t say what he needed it for, and I sure as hell didn’t ask. I don’t know anything about any files.”
“You sure you weren’t going to help him move the files offsite? You’d be the perfect person with all the right connections. It’d be an open-and-shut case.”
Marco wanted to vomit. Breathing hard, sweat started to prickle across his forehead.
Harris leant back in his chair, looked him up and down and sighed. “I’ve had your apartment bugged for months. I let you feel in control by leaving the occasional low-tech bit of equipment to find, but your electronic bug sweeper never detected my main audio recorder. State of the art, invisible to any of the current scanners on the market.” Harris smirked. “I know everything there is about you.”
Marco’s mind raced. This is a pure set-up. Nikolai had made the order in person, inside his apartment. If Harris had the place bugged, then he already knew Nikolai hadn’t divulged why he wanted the computer. The sound of his pulse began to pound in his ears as anger bloomed at the blatant manipulation. Marco was innocent, and the lieutenant damn well knew it.
“You already know this charge is bullshit,” he grated between clenched teeth.
A slight smile kinked one corner of Harris’s mouth, but it didn’t reach his eyes. They remained unfeeling as stone.
“Who knows what I might find on the recordings from your apartment?” Harris paused to pick a bit of grit out from under a fingernail. “Maybe you’d be proven innocent. But I might also find you’d planned to run before fulfilling our previous agreement.” He returned his attention to Marco, shaking his head slightly, eyes narrowed. “And that would be very unfortunate. That might even be something I’d deem… unforgiveable.”
Marco knew what he meant by that; he and his daughter would cease to exist. He was trapped.
“You’re going somewhere with this, or I’d sitting with a bag over my head waiting for bullet,” he muttered. “How about saving me the charade and just getting to your damn point. What do you want me to do?”
“You’re not stupid, I’ll give you that, Russo.” Harris leant forward, tongue darting out to moisten his lip like a snake tasting the air. “Nikolai Claymore’s crime against the corporation makes yours look like a child stealing sweets. He stole information that is now in the possession of his boy—I need it back.”
Marco raised an eyebrow in confusion. “How the hell am I supposed to help you with that? I don’t even know the kid.”
“But your daughter does.”
Marco felt his heart stutter. Did Harris know the location of his little girl?
The lieutenant nodded. “That’s right, your darling daughter’s hooked up with the wrong crowd, Russo. Spent the night with the Claymore boy and his mate outside corporation grounds, unsupervised in the storm.” A lascivious grin split Harris’s mouth. “Hope she didn’t do anything with them she’d regret, eh, Russo?”
“I don’t give a damn who you are, mate. You watch how you speak about my girl,” growled Marco. “She knows her own mind and can damn well look after herself.”
Harris barked a laugh. “Oh, I don’t doubt it. But she’s got herself mixed up with an undeniable conspiracy against the corporation.” Harris pushed against the table and stood slowly, his face creased with mock concern. “At this point in time, her fate hangs in the balance. When I find her in the association of Ethan Claymore, I won’t have a choice but to slap the same charges on her that Nikolai and his boy face.”
Marco swallowed, and hardened his heart against the two boys. He knew what he’d be asked to do, just not the how. But it didn’t really matter. This was his daughter, the rest of the world could burn for all he cared. “And if I help you get the stolen files and the Claymore boy, what then?”
“You give your daughter a chance of a future.”
He took a slow, deep breath. “Then there’s no choice. What do you need me to do?” said Marco, feeling a coil of unease as
he saw Harris smirk with victory.
“You and your daughter already planned to escape. I think your girl will seek you at the station to make that plan a reality and help get the files off the island. If this happens, you’ll be ready at the Maglev station to entice her in and bring Ethan Claymore to me.”
Marco met the lieutenant’s gaze without wavering as he felt Harris weighing him up.
“This is the one and final chance you get, Russo. If you put a single foot out of line, you and your daughter are finished. Do we have an understanding?”
Marco wanted to scream frustration and anger until his throat was hoarse. But he didn’t. Grinding his teeth together, he bit back on the words he truly wanted to say and gave a stiff nod of acceptance. Whether he liked it or not, he had a new master.
Harris closed the door on the interrogation room, satisfied that he had Marco Russo back under control for the moment. It galled him to give the man a second chance, but while he might possibly aid the recovery of the files, he needed the man compliant. In his experience, second chances only led people to think you were weak. As far as Harris was concerned, Russo had earned a bullet from the moment he planned to run. But that could wait. Once he had the files back and his superiors satisfied, then he would silence the man for good.
His head turned as a muffled whimper came from a room farther down the hall, the sound attracting his attention like the smell of rabbit to a hound. Harris tugged on his jacket front, smoothing a crease in the grey material before starting toward his next point of call. The interrogation rooms of his unit were far below ground, thick concrete and soundproofing blocking noise from reaching the levels above. A prisoner could scream until their vocal cords bled down here, and no one aside from their torturer would ever know their life ended in abject terror.
The sound of his boots on the concrete echoed back at him, somehow magnified by the absence of other sound. Six doors opened off the hallway, into rooms that were mirror images of the one in which he’d left Marco. All were identical, except for the bloodstains. Abstract works of art that spattered the floors, and in a few of them, also the walls and ceiling. Little effort was put into cleaning them away as they proved useful in shortening the opposition to questioning. When a wide-eyed prisoner observed the rust-coloured stains and inevitably imagined their own blood dripping onto the porous concrete to mix, they didn’t need to be told twice about what would happen if they failed to cooperate.
Harris turned the handle on a door marked by the number “4”, opening it in time to see one of his officers punch a prisoner in the gut. The fist connected with a dull thump causing the victim to crumple forward at the waist, mouth gaping like a fish for air before he vomited. It didn’t matter how big you were, a solid blow to the solar plexus reduced all men to the same state of agony. Harris dispassionately noted streaks of scarlet amongst the vomit that telegraphed an internal bleed.
Upon seeing his boss, the officer stepped back into the corner of the room to give him the floor, wiping blood off his knuckles on the side of his shirt. Harris pulled up a chair and sat. Nonchalantly crossing an ankle across his knee, he reclined while observing the pair on the other side of the table. A husband and wife faced him. The woman refused to meet his eye, silent tears falling as she stared at the ground. Her husband was a different matter. Zach Tan glared at him as he cuffed a slimy string of vomit from the corner of his mouth, breathing still ragged after the punch to the guts. The left side of his face was bruised and swollen, the eye puffed up so that only a sliver of globe was visible between the eyelids. A star-shaped laceration over his cheek wept blood where the officer’s ring had sliced it open.
“I want to make a complaint,” rasped Zach. “That thug,” he said, jabbing a finger at the officer in the corner, “has assaulted me and my wife, Rebecca, for no reason. I want that bastard charged and sacked!”
Harris let out a short bark of laughter. “Not a chance in hell. Why would I fire a man who’s so good at his job?”
Zach spluttered with indignation, bloodstained saliva spraying out of his mouth. “You can’t just haul people away and beat them up for no reason!”
Harris looked down to see a grot of scarlet mucous had landed on his jacket lapel. He pulled a tissue out of his pocket and dabbed at the mess, lip curling with disgust. “Surely you’re not that naïve? I can do whatever’s necessary. The sooner you learn that lesson, the better for your family.”
Zach clamped his jaw, the muscles bunching under his cheek as his glare intensified. But he kept his mouth shut. Well that’s a start at least.
“Your son, Jaego, is a close friend of Ethan Claymore.”
“What of it?” muttered Zach.
“He’s currently with the Claymore boy, and Ethan’s in possession of Viperob property that the corporation wants returned. Immediately.”
Rebecca’s face jerked up at mention of her son. “Have you found Jaego? We haven’t seen him since before the storm. Is he safe?”
Harris ignored her, continuing to stare at Zach. “They’ve passed the night somewhere outside the compound. Is there any location on the island he may have gone to take cover?”
Zach’s jaw bunched. “Even if I did know where he was, after the way you’ve treated us, there’s not a chance in hell I’d hand over my own son to a group of sadists like you.”
Sadist? You have no idea. “Answer the question. Where is he?”
Zach folded his arms across his chest. “I’m not saying another word. I have rights!”
Harris felt a prickling up his spine as anger flared. He hooked his finger at the officer in the corner. “I don’t have time for this shit. Get him on the floor.”
A feral smile kinked the officer’s mouth as he advanced on the couple. Rebecca screamed. Zach emitted an incoherent gurgle of protest, shrinking back in his chair. The officer latched a paw onto his shoulder, wrenched him out of his chair and flung him on the ground.
Harris stood over Zach and stamped hard on the closest hand. There was a palpable snap under his heel as a finger broke. Zach’s face contorted with shock, the exact moment the pain hit home obvious as he took a sharp breath and screamed. Harris leant down, twisting his heel to grind harder.
“Where are Ethan and Jaego. Tell me!”
Zach looked up, his one remaining eye that wasn’t swollen shut fixed on the lieutenant. He hocked and spat into Harris’s face. “Screw you.”
Harris wiped the spit off his cheek and flicked it on the ground, rage surging and cutting off reason.
“Wrong answer.” The lieutenant pulled back his foot and kicked, all his strength driving the toe of his boot into the side of Zach’s face. “Wrong. Bloody. Answer!”
Chapter Nineteen
“Isn’t that your dad’s mate?” said Jaego, pointing at a grim-looking man who marched down the empty street toward them. The man’s eyes were locked onto the group of teens as they ran, the gap between closing quickly.
“Yeah, maybe he’ll know what’s happened back home,” said Ethan.
Normally a five-kilometre run would’ve barely raised a sweat, but after drinking the day before, his muscles felt heavy and tired. Jaego looked worse still—sweat beading at his forehead over a face pale and drawn. Ethan skidded to a halt before the man, breathing hard.
“Thank God I found you, Ethan,” said Kane. “Your dad sent me to find you, we need to get off the island—now.”
Ethan gave him a puzzled look, before glancing past Kane at the smoking building. “What happened?”
Kane glanced over his shoulder, following Ethan’s line of sight before turning back to the teenagers.
“The cyclone managed to punch through an exterior wall that was still awaiting repairs from the last storm. A fire took hold shortly after, probably from damaged wiring I guess…” he said, trailing off for a moment. “The cause doesn’t really matter though. What matters was that the top ten floors had been disconnected from the sprinkler system while repairs were ongoing, meaning there was
no stopping the flames once they took hold.”
The three teens stared at the smoking carcass, eyes wide in shock as they listened.
“We haven’t been able to contact our parents. Do you know if they evacuated everyone?” stammered Gwen. “Each of our families lived in that section of the building.”
“Most made it out in time.”
“But?” said Ethan.
“Not all survived. There were some legitimate fatalities in the fire, and that’s what the authorities have alleged was the cause of your parents’ death.”
Gwen sharply inhaled, tears already glistening in her eyes. “What do you mean, ‘alleged’? Is my father dead or not?”
Kane held a hand up to slow her rapid-fire questions. “Each of your parents were taken into custody by a Spec Ops security team prior to the storm hitting. Few people survive interrogation under their hands, and I’m afraid your families were all on the official list of published storm casualties, meaning…”
“You can’t be serious,” muttered Jaego. “You’re expect us to believe security detained all of our parents for no reason, then murdered them?”
“I didn’t say there was no reason for their arrest,” said Kane, flicking his gaze to Ethan. “Your father stole a set of crucial files, files that prove Viperob is facilitating a military invasion of our own country.”
“Was that what you two were arguing about the other day?” said Ethan, his mind reeling as comprehension dawned.
Kane nodded. “It was information important enough for Nikolai to risk his life over.”
“But it wasn’t just his own life, was it?” said Gwen. “If what you’re saying is true, then it’s led to the death of all our parents, and that makes no bloody sense at all. I’m done with this shit, I’ll find the truth myself.” She shoved past Kane and started up the street.
“I wouldn’t do that,” said Kane.
Gwen turned on her heel at his words, eyes furious. “Oh yeah, why’s that?”
“Because it wasn’t just your parents’ names on the casualty lists. Yours were there as well. If you go back, you won’t survive the day.”
The Viperob Files Page 12
