The voiced continued, “You don’t have any options here, Andrew. We both know it. But you still hang on. That’s your problem — your weakness. You’re the ultimate sucker for a lost cause. It appeals to your rescue fantasy. Pakistani villagers, Jakartan children, you always go for it — because you sympathize, you feel like a victim — that’s your mentality. You think if you get even with the people who wronged you, you’ll be whole. But you won’t. It’s over. You know it’s true. Listen to my voice. You know who I am. I keep my promises. I’ll give the girl a quick death, I promise. That’s the best you can do here. Tell me who it was. It’s your last play.”
Standard interrogation — break down your subject, assert superiority and convince them that talking is the only option. Actually pretty convincing at this point. David knew they could simply gas him, toss a grenade in, or storm him with a few guards. He had no options. But he had figured out who the man behind the microphone was: Dorian Sloane, the Immari field commander in Afghanistan and Pakistan. He should have assumed Sloane would run the entire region for Immari Security at this point. He was ruthless, capable… And vain. Could David use that? His best option was to play for time, on the off-chance something would happen. Or that Sloane was lying and Kate was getting away.
“I gotta tell ya, Sloane, I think you missed your calling. The psychoanalysis, just amazing. You’ve really got me questioning my whole life here. Can I have a little time to contemplate the deeper issues you touched on? I mean—”
“Stop wasting time, Andrew. It won’t matter for you or her. You hear those reactors coming to life? That’s the sound of power flowing to a machine that’s killing Kate right now. It’s just you now. And Clocktower fell a few hours ago. Now tell me—”
“In that case, you’re the one wasting time. I’ve got nothing to say.” David gritted his teeth and tossed his gun on the floor. It slid all the way to the far door. “You want to try to beat it out of me, come on down here and take your best shot. I’m unarmed. You might have half a chance.” He stood in the middle of the hourglass shaped room, looking from door-to-door, wondering which one would open first… and if he could make it when it did.
The reactor screamed even louder, and David felt heat coming off of it. Was it malfunctioning? Behind him, a concrete door rumbled to life, lifting up from the two-foot indention in the floor. The gun lay at the opposite door.
David ran for the opening door. 40 feet away. 30 feet away. It was his only option: to slide under and fight hand-to-hand, then try to break out of the perimeter they set up. 20 feet.
Sloane ducked under the door and popped up, a gun in his right hand leading the way. He fired three quick shots — the first two caught David in his shoulder and upper chest, cutting him down instantly and sprawling him on the concrete floor. Blood spread out below him as he rolled back and forth, fighting to get to his feet, but Sloane was on him, kicking his legs out from under him.
“Who told you about this place?”
David could barely hear him over the reactors. His shoulder throbbed. The wound didn’t feel like a wound; it felt like a piece of him had been blown off; he couldn’t even feel his left arm.
Sloane pointed the gun at his left leg. “At least die with some dignity, Andrew. Tell me and I’ll end this.”
David couldn’t think. He would pass out soon. He was losing a ton of blood. “I don’t have a name.”
Sloane moved the gun closer to David’s leg.
“But— I do have an IP Address. It’s how I communicated with him.”
Sloane drew back, considering.
David sucked a few more breaths in. “It’s in my left pocket, you’ll have to get it.” He motioned to his arm.
Sloane leaned toward him and pulled the trigger, sending another bullet into his leg.
David writhed wildly on the ground, screaming in pain. He was going to pass out.
“Stop. Lying. To Me.” Sloane circled him now.
Above them, the reactors had changed their tone again, a different sound. Sloane looked up. A siren went off just before an explosion rocked the room, throwing shards of concrete and metal debris everywhere. Gas spewed from the pipes and walls, blanketing the room. The other door opened and people were running through.
David crawled with one arm and one leg, dragging the limp arm and dead leg. The pain almost overwhelmed him. He had to stop, swallow, and gasp for breath. He thought he would pass out, but his head cleared again, and he clawed a few more feet. He tried not to inhale the dirt and dust coating the floors; he knew it was getting in the holes in his leg and shoulder, but it didn’t matter, he had to get away. He saw Sloane swatting the smoke, charging around the room.
Another explosion. The other reactor?
The smoke was getting too thick to see anything now.
Talking, in the distance. “Sir, we have to evacuate, there’s a problem—”
“Fine. Give me your gun.”
Gunshots, everywhere. The walls, the floor. David froze. He held his head dead still against the ground as if listening, waiting for some sign. In the few inches above the floor, he saw bodies dropping here and there, Sloane’s own men falling from his last desperate attempt to put one more round in David.
“Sir, we must—”