“Who?”
She blinked her eyes slowly, her face very bored.
“Hold on,” he said, staring up like an explanation might be posted on the ceiling. “I know that name. It was on the news a while ago… with those DEA officers that went missing. He’s a drug dealer, right?”
She held up the picture of de la Fuentes again.
“That’s him?”
She nodded.
“Why do you think I know him?”
She answered slowly. “Because I also have pictures of you together. And because he’s given you ten million dollars in the past three years.”
His mouth dropped open and the word came out as a gasp. “Wha… ut?”
“Ten million dollars, in your name, scattered around the Cayman Islands and Swiss banks.”
He stared at her for another second, and then anger suddenly twisted his face, and his voice turned harsh. “If I’ve got ten million dollars, then why do I live in a roach-infested walk-up studio in Columbia Heights? Why are we using the same patched volleyball uniforms that the school’s had since 1973? Why do I ride the Metro while my ex-wife’s new husband drives around town in a Mercedes? And why am I getting rickets from eating a steady diet of ramen?”
She let him vent. The desire to talk was a small step in the right direction. Unfortunately, this angry Daniel was still the schoolteacher version, just not a very happy schoolteacher.
“Wait a minute—what do you mean you have pictures of me with the drug guy?”
She walked to her desk and pulled the appropriate photo.
“In El Minya, Egypt, with de la Fuentes,” she announced as she held the photo in front of his face.
Finally, a reaction.
His head jerked back; his eyes narrowed, then opened wide. She could almost watch his thoughts move as they ran through his brain and settled in his face. He was analyzing what he was looking at and making a plan.
Still no sign of the other Daniel, but at least he seemed to recognize that other part of himself.
“Do you want to tell me about Egypt now, Daniel?”
Tight lips. “I’ve never been there. That’s not me.”
“I don’t believe you.” She sighed. “Which is really too bad, because we’ve got to move this party along.”
The fear came back, fast and hard.
“Alex, please, I swear that isn’t me. Please don’t.”
“This is my job, Daniel. I have to find out how to save those people.”
All the reticence disappeared. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. I want you to save them, too.”
It was harder not to believe his sincerity now.
“That picture meant something to you.”
He shook his head once, expression closing up. “It wasn’t me.”
She had to admit, she was more than a little fascinated. This was really something new. How she wished she had Barnaby to consult! Oh well, she was on the clock. She didn’t have time for wishing. She stacked the syringes one by one onto her left palm. Eight this time.
He stared at her with terror and… sadness. He started to say something, but no sound came out. She paused with the first needle ready in her right hand.
“Daniel, if you want to say something, do it quick.”
Dejected. “It won’t help.”
She waited another second, and he looked straight at her.
“It’s just your face,” he said. “It’s the same as before… exactly the same.”
She flinched, then pivoted and moved up the table to stand beside his head. He tried to strain away from her, but that just better exposed his sternocleidomastoid. Usually she’d save this particular muscle for later in the interrogation; it was one of the very most painful things she could do to a subject under her current limitations. But she wanted to leave quickly, so she stabbed the needle into the side of his neck and pushed the plunger down. Without really looking at him, she replaced the gag as soon as his mouth opened. Then, dropping the other syringes, she escaped the room.
CHAPTER 7
She was rusty, that was all. It had been three years. That’s why she was feeling things. That’s why this subject was affecting her. It was nothing except her having been out of the game so long. She could still get her groove back.
She entered the room once during this session to keep the computer alive but didn’t stay to watch. She came back only after the dose was waning, about fifteen minutes later.
He lay there gasping again, but this time he didn’t cry, though she knew the pain had been much worse than before. Blood from his chafed skin now stained all the restraints and dripped onto the table. She might need to paralyze him for the next round so his injuries didn’t get any worse. That was a frightening feeling, too; it might help.
He started to shiver. She actually turned toward the exit one millisecond before she realized that she was heading out to get him a blanket. What was wrong with her?
Focus.