Page 89 of The Team

Yin hummed, as if thinking... “No. No mention of kneecaps.”

Frankston shook his head, eyes wide.

Rhett pointed his gun to Frankston’s crotch. “Any mention of testicles? Would a traitor need his testiclesintact for whatever the Chinese government is going to do to him?”

Yin smiled at that, then took two long strides over, and with an FA Cup goal-winning kick, he swung his right boot directly into Frankston’s balls.

Rhett winced—because that had to fucking hurt—Sid groaned, Jay hissed, and Azrael laughed. Coyote mumbled, “Goddamn.”

Frankston fell heavily onto his side, clutching his crotch. The sounds he made were more animal than human. His eyes were wide, he frothed at the mouth and drooled onto the floor.

Rhett grabbed him by his hair and pulled him back up to his knees. “Now, we’re gonna ask you again. Yin Jun-mei. Where is she?”

Frankston still couldn’t speak, apparently, so Rhett pulled his head back by his hair and glowered down at him. “If you think that hurt, we haven’t even got to the part where we make you pay for Kowalski and Myles yet.”

Sid had a knife out, stomped over, and pressed it to the corner of Frankston’s eye. “He won’t need both eyes, will he?”

“When you pop it out, don’t damage the retina,” Azrael said. “We might need it to open security doors or something.”

Frankston still wasn’t motivated enough to speak, so Sid pressed the knife edge to draw a little blood. “Why did you betray us? Why did you betray Kowalski and Myles?”

“If he won’t talk,” Yin said, “spread his knees and I’ll kick him again.”

Frankston drew his knees together, shaking his head. “They weren’t supposed to be there,” he blurted out. “They found out where Gordian and Askarov were meeting. Not through me. They overheard them talking. It wasn’t my fault.”

“You sold us all out, you fucking piece of shit,” Coyote hollered at him. “You tried to have us all killed in Tehran.”

He floundered like the piece of shit he was. “I didn’t... It wasn’t supposed to... it all got out of hand?—”

Rhett put the muzzle of his gun at Frankston’s head. “You wanted us here. Why?”

“Not all of you. Just...” His eyes went to Yin.

Rhett pushed the gun harder against Frankston’s temple. “Last chance. Why him? Why Yin, and where the fuck is Jun-mei?”

“Because he’s the cure!” he cried.

Rhett stopped.

He’s the cure.

Yin stepped over, picked Frankston up by his shirt collar, and pinned him against the bookcase. “What do you mean, I’m the cure? What does that mean?”

Rhett had a horrible, sinking feeling . . .

“To the pathogen,” he said. “To the biochemical pathogen they made.”

Still holding Frankston to the bookcase, Yin glanced at Rhett, confused, then back to Frankston, and shoved him harder.

“When you were in South Sudan,” Frankston said. “You were exposed to it. They were running trials?—”

“The sickness . . .” Yin whispered.

“The reason the factory people were sick?” Chen said, voice booming.

“There was a contamination leak. Yin was exposed because he couldn’t fucking help himself. Had to help them. If you’d just minded your fucking business?—”

Yin pressed his forearm against Frankston’s neck. “You made them sick on purpose, you piece of fucking shit.”