His eyes were narrowed, evaluating.
“They told me they had a problem, and they needed me. They gave me a stack of files on the de la Fuentes situation and named your brother as his collaborator. They said that in three weeks Daniel would be spreading the supervirus across the American Southwest. They told me I had three days to find out where the virus was and how to stop de la Fuentes from implementing his plan.”
He was shaking his head now.
“They told you that much?” he asked in disbelief.
“Counterterrorism was always the main component of my job. I know where all the warheads and the dirty bombs are buried.”
He pursed his lips, making a decision. “Well, since you already know the details, I guess it’s not a huge breach of policy for me to tell you that I shut down the de la Fuentes situation six months ago. De la Fuentes’s death is not common knowledge. What’s left of the cartel is keeping this quiet so they don’t appear vulnerable to the competition.”
She was surprised at the relief she felt. The weight of knowing that so many people were doomed to painful execution had been heavier than she’d realized.
“Yes,” she breathed. “That makes sense.”
The department wasn’t that cold-blooded, apparently. They’d used a nightmare catastrophe to motivate her, but they weren’t messing around with civilians still in danger.
“And the Serpent?”
He looked at her blankly.
“Sorry, department nickname. The domestic terrorists?”
“My associates bagged two of the three ringleaders and took out the entire southern chapter. No survivors.”
She smiled tightly.
“You’re an interrogator,” he said in a suddenly icy voice. “A torturer.”
She lifted her chin. “Yes.”
“And you tortured my brother for information he didn’t have.”
“Yes. The very initial phases, at least.”
He backhanded her. Her head snapped to the side; the chair bobbled, and he shoved it down with one foot.
“You’re going to pay for that,” he promised.
She worked her jaw for a second to see if anything was broken. When she was satisfied that nothing was seriously compromised, she responded. “I’m not positive,” she said, “but I think that’s why they did this to him. Why they fed me this whole elaborate story.”
Through his teeth. “What reason?”
“They haven’t had the greatest success in killing me. I guess they thought you would get the job done.”
He clenched his jaw.
“What I don’t understand, though,” she continued, “is why they didn’t just ask you to do it. Or order you, I suppose. Unless… you’re no longer with the CIA?” she guessed.
The gun had been the giveaway. From her research, she was pretty certain that the HDS was the gun most commonly carried by CIA agents.
“If you didn’t know about me, how do you know where I work?” he demanded.
About halfway through his question, she saw the bright white rectangle in her peripheral vision go black. Trying to be inconspicuous, she sucked in the deepest breath through her nose she could manage.
“Answer me,” he growled, raising his hand again.
She just stared at him, not breathing.
He hesitated, brow furrowed, then his eyes went wide. He dove for the mask on the floor.
He was out before he hit the ground.
Another thump—the dog collapsed into a puddle of fur beside her chair.
Under testing circumstances, she’d once held her breath for one minute and forty-two seconds, but she’d never been able to repeat the feat. Usually she ran out of air at about one fifteen, still way above average—lung capacity had become a priority in her life. This time, of course, she hadn’t been able to hyperventilate beforehand. But she wouldn’t need a full minute.
She hopped her chair over to Batman’s inert form and pushed herself forward, bracing her knees against his back. With her hands secured in front of her, it was easy… ish. Kevin Beach had left Daniel’s gas mask on the floor; she hooked it with one finger and then tilted the chair back until all four legs were on the ground. She leaned her face as close to her hands as she could and slipped the mask over her head, pressing the rubber rim tight to her face to create a seal. She blew out her air in a big whoosh, clearing the chamber, and then took a hesitant breath.
If some of the chemical had lingered, she figured she still would have been okay. She’d built up a decent resistance and would not have been out as long as the others. But it was especially nice to have such a big head start.
She scooted to the desk and rubbed the zip tie around her wrists against the edge of the scalpel on her props tray. It popped quickly against the pressure she was generating. It was easy work to slice the rest of the ties, and then she was free.