Old-fashioned, but highly effective. Two small rods of metal, held together with a long screw in the center. Put a finger or toe on each side of the center screw and then tighten. Mason had seen the simple thumbscrew break a man’s spirit in seconds.
“Let’s assume you haven’t lost your sanity,” Rankin said, his voice huskier. Mason always listened for the huskiness. Fear. Mason lusted for that huskiness even more than the sound of a woman’s rising excitement. “You do have a reason for this?”
Mason grinned. “First, let me give you the daily report, sir. We captured one of the fugitives, the man, just after dark last evening. Hounds took him down. He’s here in Cumberland Gap. The agent is guarding him. A doctor’s been called.”
What Mason withheld reporting was an unregistered vidpod he found in the man’s pocket. That said something in itself. Probably came from the Clan. And on it, the vidpod had enough information to justify threatening, and hopefully torturing, an Elder of Bar Elohim’s inner circle.
“The girl?” Rankin asked.
Mason was impressed that in these conditions Rankin was able to focus on his original purpose for this meeting. The daily report. But he believed that his position gave him protection from all dangers.
“I’ll find the girl today. I had the valley that holds her sealed. No one escapes me.”
“That’s all I need to know,” Rankin said. “Release me, and I’ll erase our conversation.”
Mason twitched his knife hand. The man was afraid. Or why attempt to negotiate?
“But it’s not all that I need to know.” Mason leaned in again. “I have a few questions I want answered.”
“Good Christians, like good soldiers, don’t ask questions.”
How many times and in how many sermons had Mason heard that preached to Appalachians, like it was the Almighty Word of God? He didn’t intend to be a good soldier for much longer.
“You’ll find the bucket interesting,” Mason told Rankin. He still whispered, as if having an intimate conversation. Which, in a way, it was. Shared suffering truly brought two people close. “What I’ll do, if the Heretic’s Fork and the thumbscrew aren’t enough, is put you on your back on the plastic sheet, with the bucket overturned on your exposed belly. I’ll slip those rats from the sack beneath the bucket and trap them there, tape ’em in. When I heat up the bucket with the blowtorch, those rats will be frantic to escape. They’ll chew through your innards and come out your side. Oftentimes, I’ve noticed, the person’s not dead yet and gets the thrill of seeing the animals bursting out. Mostly, I save this for the wives of men too stubborn to answer my questions. I’ll make an exception for you though.”
Rankin’s entire posture shifted into rigidness.
“The other sack holds a copperhead. I notice that suit of yours is tailored—not much room for a copperhead to get out once I slip it down the back of your shirt. Snake like that bites more than once, you know. I’ll flip a coin to see if you get the rats or the snake.”
Mason was lying. All he’d been able to find today was a garter snake, but it didn’t matter. Their own imaginations scared people more than anything else.
“I’ve heard enough.” Rankin’s voice shook. He’d assigned Mason to enough of these situations that he knew Mason enjoyed his work. “What do you want?”
That was the big question, wasn’t it?
More than anything, Mason wanted to get Outside. He was tired of Appalachia. The playground was too small. Even with his own special privileges, Mason knew that like Rankin, his power was only granted by the whim of Bar Elohim. From outlawed media materials, the ones confiscated, Mason glimpsed Outside. He hoarded these items in his cabin. Outside, with enough money, Mason could indulge himself without fear or restraint in a much bigger playground. He wanted freedom.
This wasn’t the time, however, to tell Rankin to pass on this request to Bar Elohim. That was for later, when Mason had leverage to divulge the information on the fugitive’s vidpod.
“Tell me why Bar Elohim needs the girl so badly,” Mason said. All these years of following orders, but never once an explanation. He was just hired help to them. Good Christians, like good soldiers, don’t ask questions.
“Bar Elohim wants the girl because she is a blasphemer.”
“I’ll confess something. The Heretic’s Fork was just a bluff. No sense marking you up. Bar Elohim would have questions then. You can take it as a good sign that I want you leaving the room without much hinting at what happened, but that’s only if you tell the truth. And I know you’re lying. An agent from Outside wouldn’t have any interest in a blasphemer. And Bar Elohim wouldn’t let an agent into Appalachia for just a common blasphemer.”
Mason eased off the bed, moved around the chair, and knelt in front of Rankin. Maybe Jesus washed feet, but Mason preferred power to servanthood. “And a blasphemer doesn’t require a fancy silver canister to hold her innards.”
Mason pulled off Rankin’s left shoe and left sock. The man’s toenails were buffed. Mason put Rankin’s two smallest toes into the thumbscrew. He tightened the screw to make a snug fit.
“Bar Elohim has made an agreement with Outside.” Rankin’s foot trembled and he drew in a breath. “The girl, in exchange for satellite thermal imaging. That’s the truth.”
Mason stood and, leisurely deliberate, retrieved the roll of duct tape. He ripped off a piece of tape and put it across Rankin’s mouth and nose. Rankin’s eyeballs bulged immediately as he vainly panicked for air.
Mason watched, smiling, until Rankin passed out. He pulled the tape off and slapped Rankin’s face. The man’s chest heaved as he gulped air.
“Forgot to mention the tape,” Mason said. “Just so you know, I can do it again and again. Usually I hold your wrist and check your pulse. Don’t want you dead. You’d be surprised how often a person can suffocate to the point of death and never quite make it to the other side.”
“Thermal imaging,” Rankin gasped. “It’s the truth. I promise. Appalachia doesn’t have access to satellites. Outside does, of course. They’ve monitored the Valley of the Clan for the last two months, tracking people by heat images. There’s enough data to pinpoint all their movements. We want that information.”
“Still not convinced you’re in the mood to tell me the truth.” This time Mason only taped Rankin’s mouth. Mason tightened the thumbscrew, and Rankin’s nostrils flared with an intake of air. Rankin tried to scream against the duct tape, but the noise died in his mouth.
Mason kept tightening the thumbscrew until he heard the bones break. Then he released the thumbscrew and took off Rankin’s other shoe and sock. The broken toes on the left foot immediately began to swell with blood.
“If you scream, I’ll put the tape back over your nose. And I’ll bring out the snake.”
Mason slowly pulled the duct tape off Rankin’s mouth. The lamp didn’t give much light, but enough glowed for Mason to see the glint of tears on Rankin’s cheeks. Rankin panted with the effort to hold back sound.
Mason stroked Rankin’s undamaged right foot.
“You can beg,” Mason said. “That’s allowed. As long as you beg quietly, without screaming.”
“Please don’t hurt me anymore.” Although in his fifties and at the top of Appalachia’s power structure, Rankin had quickly become a lost, bewildered little boy. He was suddenly aware of an evil that had been invisible to him all his life. “Please, please.”
“First, you’re going to tell me how to bypass the software on your vidpod. Of course, we need to erase all of this.”
Rankin closed his eyes, nodded as if defeated.
Mason patted Rankin’s chest and found the vidpod. Rankin talked him through it, step by step.
“Just so you know,” Mason said when he was satisfied the previous minutes of conversation were erased. He secured the thumbscrew on the little toes of Rankin’s right foot. “If our conversation does get back to Bar Elohim, I’ll hunt you down. Understand?”
“Yes, yes,” Ra
nkin said.
It’s a cold, harsh world out from under Bar Elohim’s wings, isn’t it? Mason thought.
“We’re not finished. Confirm this for me. Bar Elohim intends to use the thermal imaging to get rid of the Clan.”
“They’re like rats. We don’t know how many there are. They scurry back into hiding at the slightest sign of danger. Thermal imaging will give Bar Elohim an accurate idea of the count. And where they disappear to. Once they are gone, Appalachians will stop hoping there’s a way Outside.”
Mason nodded, knowing it made sense. The Valley of the Clan was riddled with ancient coal mines. Only the Clan knew the secret entrances and the labyrinth of passageways between Appalachia and Outside.
“This girl,” Mason said, “the fugitive’s daughter. Why is she so important that Outside will stop the Clan?”
All these years, Outside had allowed the Clan to help Appalachians escape. It was almost official Outside policy. Now they were prepared to assist Bar Elohim?
“You’ve got the canister.” A trace of Rankin’s former arrogance resurfaced. “And you’ve been given instructions. Surely you’ve been able to guess.”
Mason blinked, his bad eye stinging. Rankin had essentially called him stupid. A mistake.
Mason put the tape across Rankin’s mouth and tightened the thumbscrew until he heard bones break again. He left the thumbscrew in place and walked to the small bathroom. He relieved himself, then enjoyed a glass of water. He refilled his glass and took it back into the room.
On his return to the chair, Mason saw Rankin arched in agony against the duct tape that held him in place. Mason smiled and sipped the water, watching Rankin watch him.
Finally, Mason released the pressure of the thumbscrew. He knew from experience that if he pulled the duct tape now, Rankin would scream, no matter what threats Mason applied. So Mason let Rankin’s chest rise and fall until it seemed the man had control over himself.
Mason removed the tape to resume their conversation.
“I have been given a canister,” Mason said. It was the size of a quart jar. He’d been told that it had an inner sleeve, and that once it was opened, an ongoing chemical reaction would trigger a refrigeration effect between the outer sleeve and inner sleeve, with such perfect insulation that once the lid was tightened, the contents of the canister would be kept at a constant cold temperature for months. “I know what I’m supposed to do with it. But tell me why. And tell me why it’s so important to Outside.”
Rankin continuously wept as he explained, and from his answers, Mason began to understand something very profound. That capturing the girl would give him everything he wanted. And that now wasn’t the time to reveal what he’d learned on the fugitive’s unregistered vidpod.
“We’re finished.” Mason stood after Rankin’s explanation. “You may go. I wouldn’t see a doctor about your toes. There’s nothing they can do anyway. Tell people you dropped something on them and that will explain why you limp. If I hear that Bar Elohim has any questions about our meeting this morning…”
As Mason peeled away the duct tape, Rankin sobbed harder. With gratitude, Mason supposed. As Rankin stood, he briefly draped his arms over Mason’s shoulders for support.
Mason felt an unusual swell of affection for the man. After all, Mason owned him.
THREE
It was just after dawn, and her father’s written words echoed in her head, words spoken from the letter.
She was thirsty. Frustrated. Afraid.
She was exhausted too, only able to hobble as she leaned heavily on a walking stick she’d made from a broken branch. The previous night, after leaving the cave, she had stumbled down an embankment and twisted her ankle badly, forcing her to rest every few minutes. She estimated she’d only traveled about a mile over the rugged terrain. Soon enough, she would be found.
She’d have to go down to the stream for water. But not until she found the strength to move ahead. Resting, she leaned one hand against the sun-warmed granite of a large boulder. A tiny brown spider crept onto her wrist, but she didn’t brush it away. The spider continued down one of her long fingers before moving back onto the rock and disappearing into a crevice.
Freak, she thought. Not that she needed a glance at her fingers to remind her of it. Every furtive step along the path in the shadows of the trees told her that she was a freak. A monster, and hunted because of it.
It was as if the forest around her conspired to prove it to her. A half hour earlier, she’d walked around a fallen log, almost into the jaws of a bear caught in leg traps, dead long enough to be a rotting corpse, swarmed by flies.
She’d never felt more alone. Before, she’d relied on the safety and comfort of her papa. No matter how difficult day-to-day living was, his love and the small, small world the two of them had created had been enough to cushion the apartness she felt.
But now she was without him, and the physical separateness alone she could have endured. Had she been simply lost, it would only have been a matter of finding a way back to him.
No, it wasn’t the physical separation that put her into her black loneliness.
Papa had betrayed her. On the mountaintop, he’d slipped a letter inside the microfabric. Its words had burned into her memory.
“We had agreed—the woman I loved and I—that as soon as you were born, we would perform an act of mercy and decency and wrap you in a towel to drown you in a nearby sink of water…”
She was a freak, and Papa had known it from the beginning. He’d wanted to put her down like an animal because of it. His letter said he’d been overwhelmed by protective love. More like overwhelming pity. Because she’d been born a monster.
There was more than her freakish body that spoke of his betrayal.
In the cave behind the waterfall, she’d found supplies in a backpack as he promised and a note directing her where to go next. Follow the stream downward into the valley that led to the town of Cumberland Gap, and there she was to wait at a certain place until the stroke of midnight.
The letter proved he’d known that he would bring her to a mountaintop and send her away; the equipment left in a hidden place behind the waterfall proved his intentions twofold. Yet Papa had not said a word to her about it. He’d found a way to abandon her. He dropped her into the abyss.
What did her future hold? Nothing a normal human hoped for, she knew. No home. No family. No love.
Maybe if she wandered long enough, her thoughts and loneliness and anger would drive her insane. She’d become what Papa had believed she was from the beginning.
An animal.
FOUR
Summer heat and humidity gave the small town of Cumberland Gap a drowsy, peaceful feel, with clear blue sky above the thickly leaved branches of the tall oaks. Tall, steep hills towered over the town, covering much of it in shadow.
In a small apartment suite above a store, near the window that overlooked the corner of the town square, Carson Pierce sat in a worn stuffed chair, watching a physician, sitting on a bed in the center of the room, tend to Jordan’s wounds.
Pierce wore jeans and a loose black T-shirt that did a moderate job of hiding how muscular he was. Forty, he could pass for thirty. Any traces of advanced age could be found in his world-weary eyes, a blue so pale they verged on gray. He’d started his career outside the law, so talented that he’d been recruited by the government. Now inside the law, Washington-trained for covert missions, he operated no differently than he had at the top of one of the most ruthless gangs in New York. The only thing that had changed was his objectives.
This was just another assignment to him, and as badly as he wanted to return to the freedom of Outside, he couldn’t until it was finished.
Three days of chase, and the objective was in front of him. A fugitive on a makeshift bed, dying. Jordan Brown. Pierce had no sympathy for the injured man, who had slipped into Appalachia years ago to avoid warrants for murder, arson, and intelligence crimes.
The physician leaning
over the man clucked an indiscriminate sound of judgment and stood.
“I can’t guess how long it might be until this man is conscious again,” Dr. Ross said. Ten years younger than Pierce, he looked twenty years older. Pudgy, soft hands. “What exactly happened to him?”
“Fell.” Pierce was still furious about that. When they’d finally trapped the man, despite clear orders, Mason Lee had signaled one of the bounty hunters to release his dogs, driving the man backward over the cliff. The fugitive had dropped to a ledge in the dark; it had taken an hour to pull him back up, then hours of night travel back down the mountain to where he’d found the local sheriff and demanded a place to keep the man.
“Hard to believe all this was just from a fall,” Dr. Ross said. “He’s ripped up, like an animal got hold of him.”
The dogs had been savage, and the bounty hunters slow to pull them off. Last night, when Pierce and one of the Appalachian bounty hunters carried Jordan in, he had been conscious, occasionally screaming in pain. If the man was going to die, Pierce wanted information first. Pierce didn’t like using torture; he’d hoped pharmaceuticals would do it, but Jordan had fallen unconscious too soon after Pierce had gotten him into the apartment.
“I doubt you’re a stupid man,” Pierce said to the physician. “Does this really seem like the kind of situation you want to ask questions about?”
“From a medical viewpoint, I need—”
“You need to set his bones, stop the bleeding, and find a way to get him to open his eyes again. Nothing more.”
“I will not be intimidated,” Dr. Ross said.
It surprised Pierce. The physician looked softer than that.
“Sheriff Carney tells me you have a seven-year-old daughter and a three-year-old son.” Pierce walked to the window. “The less you know, the better for them. Your silence buys them a lot of protection.”
The threat was a bluff. While other Outside agents had no compunction about abusing their training and authority, Pierce would not hurt the innocent, especially children. He remembered how his parents had died, futilely trying to protect his sister. He saw his memories in black and white, his parents’ spilled blood like dark oil.
Broken Angel Page 3
