CHAPTER 122
David opened his eyes and looked around. He was lying on a skinny cot with a gel-like mattress that contoured perfectly to his body. He leaned forward and the gel reacted, helping him up. He smelled something, like garlic mixed with licorice. Actually, it was worse than that. David raised his hand to cover his nose, but the smell only got worse. Where was it coming fro— no — it was on him, a black paste, on his chest and shoulder, and leg. God it stank, but… his wounds felt better. The paste had eaten through his shirt, but it seemed to be repairing his wounds. He stood, then instantly collapsed back to the gel-cot. Not quite 100%.
“Take it easy.” It was the man who had incapacitated him.
David scanned the room for a weapon. The spear was gone.
“Relax, I’m not going to hurt you. I assumed they sent you to kill me, but when I saw your wounds… I figured they would have sent someone… in better health.”
David scrutinized the man — he was a man — David could see that now. He was in his late 40s, or maybe early 50s. His face was haggard, as if he hadn’t eaten or slept much for some time. But it was more than that… The man’s face was hard. A soldier, maybe a mercenary.
“Who are you?” David got another whiff of the black goo on his chest and turned his head, trying in vain to get away from it. “And what have you done to me?”
“Frankly, I’m not even sure. It’s some kind of nano-paste, like gelatinous robots. They seem to be able to heal about anything. I don’t know how it works, but it does. You’ll be right as rain soon. Maybe within a few hours.”
“Really?” David studied the wounds.
“Perhaps sooner. It’s not like you’re going anywhere. Now tell me who you are.”
“David Vale.”
“Organization?”
“Clocktower, Jakarta Station,” David said automatically.
The man stepped closer to David and drew a pistol.
David realized what he had said. “No, I was working against the Immari, I just now found out that Clocktower was their organization.”
“Bullshit. How did you find me?”
“I didn’t. I’m not looking for you. Hell, I don’t even know who you are.”
“What are you doing down here? How did you get here?”
“The tunnels under Gibraltar. I found a chamber, with the spear—”
“How?”
“A journal.” David shook his head, trying to think. The paste was like having a cold, it was hard to put his thoughts together. “Got it in Tibet, from a monk. You know about it?”
“Of course I do. I wrote it.”