“I know you don’t feel like cooperating. But the sooner you do, the sooner you’ll be out of here.”
Somehow, Ben didn’t believe that. Devereaux seemed to be in his late forties and wearing a badly tailored black suit that was too small for his big frame. His voice sounded gentle but strangely accented.
“Sure,” Ben said. “And the sooner you cooperate with me, the sooner I cooperate with you. That’s how this works.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Gellie, but that’s not how this works.”
“Why am I being held prisoner here against my will?”
“We’ll get to that.”
“No. I’d like to know now.”
Devereaux grunted. “Mr. Gellie, your eyes are an unusual color. You know what color they are?”
Ben spat out a string of curses. The guy could see what color his eyes were. They weren’t shut. It wasn’t like he was trying to hide the fact.
“I’m afraid that’s not a color,” Devereaux said when Ben had finished cursing at him.
“You tell me.”
“They’re violet,” Devereaux said. “Mighty unusual.”
“Give the man a prize,” Ben said.
“Do you wear contact lenses?”
“No, why would I? I have perfect vision, and I’m not some kind of vain jerk who needs to turn their eyes different colors for every day of the week.”
“So, violet’s your real eye color?”
“What did I just say?” Ben asked. What, was the guy a moron or something?
“I need you to answer the question verbally. Is violet your real eye color?”
Ben sighed and rolled his eyes. “Yes. Okay? Happy? What were you going to do if I didn’t answer, torture it out of me?”
Devereaux ignored his smart-ass comment and said, “Have you ever been sick?”
“Sure, whatever,” Ben said. “Whatever you want to hear, that’s what my answer is. Hurray! Now let me go.”
“Sorry, we can’t play it that way. Have you ever been sick?”
“Everyone gets sick once in a while, don’t they?”
Devereaux’s eyes narrowed. “Have you?”
Ben sighed. “Not really. Not ever seriously. I get a little hay fever in spring, that’s all.”
Devereaux cocked his dark eyebrows. “That seems a little unusual to you?”
“No. Lots of people don’t get sick a lot.”
His voice hardened. “You don’t think it’s strange that you’ve never been unwell?”
“It’s like the question, ‘How did a nice girl like you end up in a place like this?’” Ben asked. “Let me give you the classic answer. ‘Just lucky, I guess.’”
“Why is that?”
“Why is what?” Ben asked.
Devereaux persisted, “Why the good luck?”
“I don’t know. Genetics, that’s all. Whatever it is you’re after, I don’t have a clue about.”
Devereaux’s eyebrows rose. “I find it hard to believe that a man has gone through his life without enough curiosity to ask things like, ‘Why don’t I ever get sick?’ or ‘How come I’m the only one with violet colored eyes around here?’ Considering the way kids are, I’d think you’d have a chip on the shoulder about your eyes at least. Just about anything is enough to get a kid picked on. Even if he is strong and tough enough to take it.”
With his unattractive, broad face, and built the way he was, Devereaux obviously knew how that worked – both standing out and standing up to the attention it brought. For a moment Ben almost felt a shred of sympathy for the guy.
Ben smiled. “I was always the biggest, strongest, and fastest kid at school. No one ever picked on me.”
Devereaux laughed. “That’s probably the first true thing you’ve said all day.”
Ben remained silent.
“Despite that,” Devereaux persisted. “Did you ever ask the question?”
He grinned and dodged the question. “Some of us aren’t that inquisitive.”
“Mr. Gellie, you’d better start talking, or some very important people are going to start getting impatient. I don’t like to harass people to get them to speed up, but it’s either that or start dealing with a panic. Things could get a little messy, uh?”
What was Devereaux trying to say – that they were going to torture him?
“What’s the matter, do I have Ebola or something?” Ben asked. “Cancer? AIDS? What? What the hell is going on here? Am I some kind of carrier or something? If it’s that big of a deal, why aren’t you guys wearing HAZMAT suits?”
Devereaux said, “You’re a special case, Mr. Gellie.”
“Tell that to a judge,” Ben said. “What you’re doing isn’t legal, and I don’t have to be here. I don’t know if your clever report on me mentions this, but I have a law degree from Harvard and right now work for the State Department. Once I get out, you’re going to be in a world of trouble.”
“Oh, is that right?”
“Yeah. I have rights.”
“Let me tell you sometime about how the U.S. Government feels about the rights of its citizens,” Devereaux said. “I’ll try to explain why I don’t have a lot of sympathy for you using that as an excuse.”
“An excuse?” Ben screamed. “What the hell do you think I’ve done? I just donated blood for Christ’s sake! And now I’m being investigated like some sort of terrorist!”
“That’s right.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re a suspected terrorist.”
Ben started laughing. It felt like he was in an episode of the Twilight Zone. “I’m not a terrorist, and you can’t treat me like one in my own damned country! I want to make a phone call and talk to my lawyer.”
The man gave him a long look of assessment. “How old are you?”
“Thirty,” Ben said.
“Nah, you’re just about to turn forty. We already checked.”
Ben shrugged. He had always looked young – he was still getting carded in bars. He usually split the difference and told everyone he was thirty. The guy obviously had a copy of his medical records. “So what?”
“You look pretty good for a guy about to turn forty.”
“Aw, thanks, but I’m not looking for a date. And how does that make me a terrorist?”
“Well, it doesn’t make you a guy with a real firm grip on the truth. How are we supposed to believe anything you say? We’re seeing a lot of signs that you’re not who you say you are. You don’t belong.”
This one got to him.
His entire life, he’d felt like... he didn’t know how to describe it – like an observer to the human race. He was healthier, stronger, more coordinated, and smarter than everyone he’d ever met. He didn’t even seem to grow older. And his damned eyes…they made him stand out. He’d refused to wear contacts out of pride, but now he was starting to see that was a mistake. Standing out wasn’t something he could afford to do. He excelled at everything he put his hand to, and it made the people around him hold him at arm’s distance and treat him as a kind of freak.
He might even have a little bit of a chip on his shoulder about it. But that didn’t mean this guy had the right to push his buttons.
Gritting his teeth, he said, “I was born at George Washington University Hospital. I went to Wilson High School and Harvard University. I’m not just American – I’m a local. You’d know that if you took five minutes to pull my records. My grandparents were born in America, my parents were born in America, I was made in America…in the back seat of a Dodge, no less. You don’t get any more American than that.”
Devereaux chuckled. “Oh, I don’t know about that.” Then, looking more serious, he said, “We have pulled your records, Mr. Gellie. And there are several holes that can’t be explained.”
Ben felt fear rise in his throat. It was hard to believe they knew the truth. Even after all these years, he hadn’t been able to find it, so how had they? “For example?”
“Where are these parents and grandparents
that you mentioned? We can’t find their records. Anywhere.”
Ben balled up his fists. This guy was on his last nerve. “My grandparents died years ago. And my parents died in a car crash. I was three years old. Or do you think I was forging papers at that age?”
“Mr. Gellie –”
“They spun into a telephone pole at sixty-five miles per hour, and it split their old Dodge in half. When the cops found me, I was in the back half of the car, sixty feet away from the front half and on the opposite side of the road, screaming for my blankie. My parents had been smashed like pancakes.” He glared at the guy in the suit. “Go on. Tell me I’m lying.”
“That’s really a very sad story. Horrible in fact if it were true. But you know as well as I, that’s just a lie, isn’t it?” The condescension dripped from his lips with every word like thick maple syrup.
“Bullshit!”
Ben lunged forward against his restraints, fists balled and arms straining.
One of the restraints snapped.
It didn’t seem to faze Devereaux, although Ben could see the medical staff getting agitated in the background. “I understand your foster parents, the Fulchers, showed you pictures of the accident.”
“Yes.”
They hadn’t wanted to, Ben remembered, but like an idiot, he had insisted. His foster father, Mark Fulcher, had bribed someone on the police force to obtain the photos; he’d wanted to sue the Chrysler Company for not meeting safety standards on that old car. He’d known Ben’s parents before they’d died – Mark and Ben’s father, John, had gone to Georgetown together.
“Those pictures were faked,” Devereaux said. “It was before the digital era, so they had to do it on a lightbox with an X-Acto knife, then retake the photo. I took a magnifying glass to it. You can see the places that were touched up.”
That gave him pause.
Had everything he knew about his life been a lie?
Even as he considered it, Ben knew it didn’t matter. Fact was, he grew up with loving parents. It didn’t matter who they were or where they’d come from. That level of love and kindness can’t be faked.
“What are you talking about?” he asked ruefully.
“That accident originally happened in Missouri, Mr. Gellie. Not just outside Washington, D.C. In a couple of photos, you can see the license plates on the Dodge. They had to replace ’em. I did my homework and found the real photos of the accident in Missouri. With Missouri plates.”
“You’re lying!”
Ben didn’t know what else to say. His head was spinning. His parents were his parents. His foster parents were his real foster parents. He’d been to visit their graves. Hell, his foster parents had taken him to his grandparents’ grave site. They even made a real big show of it. Family history is important, blood lines, all that kind of stuff. There were no “holes” in his life story. None of this was real. It was all some kind of sick mistake. He started twisting his other wrist, not to escape so much as just to have something physical to resist. Otherwise, this guy’s lies were going to start working their way into his head.
Devereaux said, “Your parents weren’t born here. In fact, no one knows where your parents came from.”
“Then what makes you so certain they were doing something illegal?”
“They weren’t. Not yet, anyway. They were what we call now, sleeper cells. You know what that means?”
Ben didn’t want to answer, but he found himself answering anyway. “Yeah, they’re terrorists or spies who have been inserted into a specific location, where they have been integrated into the environment, normally taking on local mundane or routine jobs, until a trigger switches them to active duty. Sometimes that call might not happen for years; sometimes it might never come.”
“That’s right.”
“So, what? You’re trying to tell me my parents were part of a sleeper cell?”
Devereaux raised an eyebrow questioningly. “They could be. What do you think?”
“I think my parents died in a crash and you’re lying about everything.”
Devereaux shook his head. “That’s one thing that definitely didn’t happen.”
“So where did they go?”
“You’re not thinking this through, are you?”
Ben thought about it for a moment. His position. The interrogation. Everything. “You know where my parents went, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
Ben had to know the truth. “Where?”
“They were called up into active duty. As a result, a lot of people died.”
“Where?”
“Bolshoi Zayatsky.”
“Bolshoi Zayatsky?” Ben repeated the words. They meant nothing to him, yet they sounded familiar. “Where the hell’s that?”
Devereaux smiled, lowered his mouth so that it was close to Ben’s ear, and whispered, “Russia.”
Ben grinned. “What would my parents possibly be doing in Russia?”
“They were called upon.”
“To do what?”
“Something horrible. Something intended to kill a lot of people.”
Ben said, “I don’t believe you.”
“That doesn’t change the fact it happened.”
“Where’s the proof?”
“I’ll get to that.”
“Even if they were terrorists, you have no right to hold me like this. I can’t be a terrorist by association.”
Devereaux’s mouth dropped open. His eyes widened. His smile was replaced by something close-mouthed, and almost reptilian. “Do you really believe that, Mr. Gellie?”
Ben crossed his arms defiantly. “I’m a lawyer – I know my rights.”
“All bets are off, and rights go out the window in cases of national security.”
“You think I’m a terrorist and a threat to national security. That’s crazy.”
Devereaux leveled his penetrating gaze to meet him. “That’s not very convincing, especially after some of the things that your foster parents have said in the last few hours.”
The second restraint popped. Now both arms were free.
“What did you do to them?” Ben asked.
Devereaux leaned forward. “I didn’t do anything. But I advise you to cooperate. As I said, there are some important people involved. And when important people panic… Bad. Things. Happen.”
Ben couldn’t take it.
His control snapped like one of the plastic Tuff-Ties. Ben’s discipline was strong, but the strain had come from an unexpected direction.
Pop.
Ben grabbed Devereaux’s tie and used it to yank himself over the side of the recliner. Devereaux was pulled off-balance and landed face-first in the seat. Ben turned, placing the heel of his foot on the man’s back and kicking hard. Already off balance, it knocked Devereaux onto the ground.
A pair of orderlies and a pair of doctors in long white coats waited for him, including the petite blonde. He wasn’t falling for that again. He grabbed a chair from along the wall and tossed it in their direction.
The doctors both dodged, but one of the orderlies caught the metal stacking chair and turned it around, so the feet were pointing out. He looked like an amateur lion-tamer. “I don’t think so.”
Ben grinned. He had always had lightning-fast reflexes.
Before the orderly could attack with the chair to subdue the wild beast, Ben had pulled the chair forward by the legs, then aimed the back up toward the man’s jaw, ramming the chair into it. The orderly’s head slammed against the closed door, and his eyes rolled back in their sockets.
He slumped down. Ben yanked the chair away from his limp hands, and tossed it at the other orderly, who tried to block the chair with his shoulder and got in the way of the petite blonde doctor, who was taking out another syringe.
Not again!
Ben grabbed the other doctor and swung him around, stumbling, toward the petite blonde. While they were tangled up, he yanked the door open, shoving the orderly out of the way.
; He almost made it.
Just as he was about to head out the door, he felt hands ball up on his shirt from behind. Devereaux. He knew it without even having to look.
Devereaux unclipped his Glock and leveled it at him. “Stop.”
Ben turned his palms face upward in a placating gesture. “All right, all right.”
“Good. No more games.” The lines creased heavily across Devereaux’s shaved head. “Next time, I swear I’m going to shoot you in both kneecaps just so I don’t have to deal with this shit again.”
Ben watched him lower the weapon, just a fraction.
It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. He doubted he’d be given any other opportunities to escape.
He started to lower his arms slowly. Halfway down, he lunged forward with outstretched hands. Devereaux reacted fast, shifting the position of the handgun a fraction to the left. It was quick, but Ben was naturally quicker, and he’d acted first.
Devereaux squeezed the trigger as Ben’s hand connected with the Glock. The shot went wide, and the weapon dropped to the floor. Devereaux’s face turned to a mixture of terror and disbelief. His hooded eyes darted between the weapon and Ben, and like a computer his mind was trying to calculate the angles and positions needed to reach the handgun.
They both arrived at the same conclusion. Ben would reach the gun first.
That left a violent hand-to-hand confrontation as the only solution for Devereaux, who was much bigger and definitely more trained for such a fight. Devereaux launched a thick, heavy, fist at his face.
But Ben reacted first, as the doctors and orderlies cowered against the wall.
He twisted and ducked, then came up underneath Devereaux’s hold, shoving his shoulder upward into Devereaux’s chest and knocking him backward. Devereaux was big. If he hadn’t been off-balance, Ben might have been in real trouble.
But already unbalanced, it was enough to send Devereaux to the floor.
Devereaux hit the ground hard, his easily 230-pound frame absorbing the injuries like a pro fighter. On the ground, his head snapped around to the side, spotting the Glock. He dived for it, expecting Ben to join the race.
Ben didn’t.
Instead, he altered his position and kicked Devereaux hard in the side of his head. He was wearing a pair of heavy Zappos Wilderness boots. The heel connected with Devereaux's head with a sickening crunch.
The Holy Grail (Sam Reilly Book 13) Page 2
