Page 51 of A Touch of Treachery (Section 47 #3)

DESMOND

F or a long time, I floated in a black void of unconsciousness. But things slowly began to intrude on that peace and quiet.

The murmur of voices, one high and soft, the other low and deep. Cool air wafting across my skin. A hint of dampness tickling my nose. Callused hands clamping around my arms and legs. A rock-hard surface pressing against my back . . .

I knew that I needed to wake up instead of falling back down into the darkness, but I couldn’t quite remember why it was so important.

The nagging sensation wouldn’t dissipate, so I cracked my eyes open.

A dark gray ceiling swam into view. I frowned.

This wasn’t the honeymoon suite I was sharing with Charlotte—

Charlotte.

Memories erupted in my mind. The guards aiming their guns at Charlotte. Henrika telling the other paramortals that Charlotte and I were spies. Henrika demanding that I surrender. Bryce punching me over and over. Charlotte screaming my name. And then . . . and then . . . nothing .

The last thing I remembered was staring up at Charlotte and watching her blue aura explode with worry. That same worry squeezed my chest tight right now. What had happened to Charlotte?

I rolled to the side, swung my legs down, sat up, and put my feet on the floor. My head spun at the motion, and fresh pain exploded in my face. Nausea sloshed in my stomach, and cold sweat broke out on my forehead.

I leaned forward, staring at the floor and trying not to vomit.

The nausea slowly receded, and I gently probed my injuries.

Sore, puffy bruises dotted my face, and I was willing to bet at least one of my eyes was blackened.

My nose was broken, my lips were split and crusted with dried blood, and I had some cracked ribs, given how much my chest ached with every breath.

Bryce hadn’t pulled his punches, and I was lucky the vindictive former cleaner hadn’t beaten me to death.

The last of the nausea faded away, and I raised my head.

I was sitting on a paper-thin mattress stretched out over a slab of concrete to create a crude bed.

The jacket I’d been wearing in the clearing had been stripped off my body and wadded up to form a makeshift pillow.

The wall at my back was also concrete, as was the low ceiling.

A metal toilet jutted out from the wall, along with a sink.

The other three walls were made of glass that looked at least two inches thick. A security camera was nestled in the corner of the ceiling, and the lone red light on it blinked like an all-seeing eye.

I slowly got to my feet. The aches in my skull, face, and ribs intensified, and my mouth felt like it had been stuffed with dry, bloody cotton, but I ignored the pain and staggered over to the door.

It too was glass, with a metal knob. I twisted the knob, but it didn’t move.

Locked. I bit back a curse and tried again and again, twisting and rattling the knob and the glass door in its frame, but neither one budged an inch.

Trapped, I peered through the glass. Unlike my sparse cell, the area beyond was filled with scientific equipment.

Microscopes, beakers, burners, test tubes, petri dishes, and more perched on long gray plastic tables that filled the center of the room.

Metal counters studded with sinks lined one wall, while large industrial refrigerators with clear glass doors fronted another wall.

The recycled air was unnaturally cool, and the faint lemony scent of disinfectant tickled my nose.

As a Section cleaner, I’d broken into dozens of places like this, so I knew exactly what it was: a lab.

Boots scuffed on the gray tile floor outside my cell, and Henrika strode into view. She was still wearing the same pale green sweater and pants she’d had on in the woods, but she’d traded in her winter jacket for a white lab coat. A chill slithered down my spine, but I squared my shoulders.

Henrika peered at me through the glass. “Oh, good. You’re finally awake. I was starting to worry Bryce had hit you too hard and scrambled your brains for good.”

“What are you going to do to me?”

She arched an eyebrow. “No blustering demands? No threats about how you’re going to escape? No witty quips about how much you’re going to enjoy killing me?”

“I’m not much for blustering demands.”

Henrika nodded. “Blustering demands are definitely more your father’s department. You’re just the tool Jethro uses to carry out his dirty deeds, instead of doing them himself like he used to when he was a Section cleaner.”

As much as I hated to admit it, she was right. I was a tool my father used to accomplish his objectives, whether it was thwarting a thief’s heist, taking down a criminal conglomerate, or eliminating a terrorist.

But the way Henrika talked about my father .

. . it sounded like she knew him, as though they’d had some personal interactions in the past. But how could that be?

Sure, Henrika had said that the General had bought weapons from her, but the General bought weapons from everyone , friend and foe alike.

Charlotte hadn’t found any other connections between Henrika and my father, but I still felt like the two of them were playing some game.

Only I didn’t know the rules, and they were both using me as their bloody pawn.

“What did my father do to you?” I asked, weary resignation creeping into my voice.

Henrika tilted her head to the side. “You’re not even going to try to defend him? Protest that Jethro couldn’t have possibly done anything wrong? After all, he is one of your commanding officers at Section 47. Even more important, he’s your father.”

A low, bitter laugh tumbled out of my lips. “Doing shady things is part of the job for everyone in Section 47, myself included, so we can serve the greater good and all those platitudes. And the General might be my father, but I have no illusions about what kind of man he is.”

“Then you’re a lot smarter and more perceptive than I expected. You not believing in your father’s innocence is going to make this a lot less fun.” Henrika pouted. “Oh, well. Fun doesn’t matter to me nearly as much as science does.”

I frowned. “What does that mean?”

Henrika smiled, and anticipation burned in her aura. She looked me up and down the way a scientist would view an exciting new discovery they were eager to explore—or a frog they were about to dissect.

“It means you’re an anomaly, Desmond. And I despise anomalies, especially when it comes to my creations.”

“You mean your weapons .”

Henrika shrugged off my accusation. She strode over to a table near the center of the lab and hit some buttons on a laptop, making a display pop up on a monitor bolted to a wall.

I read through the information, my stomach sinking a little more with every word. “How did you get my Section personnel file?”

Henrika gave an airy wave of her hand. “Oh, this was one of the many things Miriam Lancaster slipped me. She gave me Charlotte’s file too, although it’s not nearly as interesting as yours, Desmond.”

“Why is that?”

Henrika went over to the monitor and pointed to an area that detailed my paramortal abilities.

“Your Section file claims that you have above-average stamina, speed, strength, and pain tolerance. All the basic enduro traits. Normally, I wouldn’t think much of that, since Section is littered with enduros, and they are the most common type of paramortal. ”

“But?” I asked the obvious question.

“But Section 47 is known for meticulously documenting the powers and abilities of all its agents, right down to synth analysts like Charlotte who rarely leave their cubicles.” Henrika’s lips puckered in thought. “Your file seems rather . . . thin in comparison.”

My hands clenched into fists. My file was thin because my galvanism was a rare ability, even among paramortals.

To my knowledge, no other Section 47 agent was a galvanist, and I’d given more than one blood and tissue sample so the scientists could try to figure out how my magic worked and potentially replicate my power in other cleaners.

But they had never been successful, and my father had buried all the research.

It was one of the few things he’d ever done to protect me.

But the General had his own reasons for that kindness. If other paramortals found out about my power, they could take measures to protect themselves, not to mention the fact that they would try to capture me, just like Henrika had. A galvanist could be useful in all sorts of criminal enterprises.

“So my file is thin. So what? Like you said, Section is littered with enduros. Just like Bryce Finkley and Trevor Donnelly and a dozen others I could name.”

Henrika looked at me. “So someone with only a moderate level of enduro magic shouldn’t have been able to survive a single blast of Redburn. Much less an entire beach loaded with bombs all packed to the brim with my formula. And yet somehow you managed to do just that. Care to tell me how, Desmond?”

I pressed my hands flat against the cell wall.

Fury spiked through me, and if I could have, I would have clawed my way through the glass to get to her.

“Because my partner threw his body over mine and shoved me down into the sand. Graham took the brunt of the blasts, not me. He sacrificed himself to save me.”

I swallowed the hard knots of guilt, regret, and shame lodged in my throat. “ I should have been the one who died, not him.”

Henrika nodded. “Yes, you should have. That’s how I planned it.”

I froze, my mind struggling to process her words. “You planned it? What does that mean?”

She gave me a look that was almost pitying. “I wanted you to die on the beach, Desmond. Your friend Graham was just collateral damage.”

“What did you do?” I asked, my voice coming out as a low, harsh whisper.

Henrika clasped her hands behind her back and started pacing back and forth, eerily like my father would do.

“I was still testing Redburn. My results had been promising, but I needed data from a real-world situation. Adrian Anatoly wanted proof the explosive could kill any paramortal, no matter their powers or abilities, so he tasked me with rigging the beach in Australia to eliminate some Section cleaners who’d been authorized to kill him.

You being sent on the Blacksea mission was just a happy coincidence, Desmond. ”

Understanding flashed through me. “You wanted to kill me to hurt my father. To get back at him for whatever he did to you.”

Anger flared in Henrika’s eyes, and her aura burned a dark, dangerous green over her heart. “You’re damn right I did. But unfortunately, you survived my experiment. Then you and Charlotte escaped the trap Adrian Anatoly set for you both at the Halstead Hotel.”

The anger dimmed in her eyes, and another thoughtful look creased her face. “I had cameras recording the lawn. It was quite ingenious of Charlotte to use her synesthesia to figure out where the bombs were buried. I’m still not quite sure how she did that. Care to share?”

I remained silent. Like me, Charlotte often downplayed her magic, and I wasn’t about to reveal that Charlotte’s synesthesia whispered about all the dangers around her. The less Henrika knew about Charlotte, the better.

“Cat got your tongue? Pity.” Henrika clucked her own tongue in mock sympathy. “Maybe this will make you a bit more forthcoming.”

She went over and hit a button on the laptop.

Several loud hydraulic hisses sounded, and a chair moved away from a wall, rolled forward, and stopped in an open space near the center of the lab.

The light gray chair looked like something in a dentist’s office but with a few unwanted accessories, like thick plastic straps around the arms and the footrest.

Another chill slithered down my spine. “What is that?”

Henrika smiled. “Oh, just a little something to help me study my subjects up close.”

I shook my head. “If you think I’m getting in that thing—”

She waved her hand, cutting me off. “I know, I know. I’ll have to kill you before you get in that chair, much less tell me any Section secrets. But here’s the thing, Desmond. You don’t have to tell me anything. All the lovely data I’m about to collect will reveal everything I need to know.”

Henrika hit another button. A second, louder hiss sounded, but this time, the noise was inside the cell.

I whirled around. A metal vent was embedded about halfway up the concrete wall in the back. White gas streamed out of the vent, quickly filling up the space.

I put my forearm up against my nose and mouth and backed into the corner, but I couldn’t escape the gas.

In less than ten seconds, it flowed over me like a cool, misty fog.

The gas slithered down my throat, tasting of vanilla, strangely enough.

A sudden, intense wave of drowsiness crashed over me, my legs buckled, and I slid down to the floor.

A sharp knock sounded on the glass, drawing my attention, and I lolled my head to the side. Henrika stood right outside the cell, staring down at me with a dispassionate expression.

“Sweet dreams, Desmond,” she purred.

Another cloud of gas misted over me. The drowsiness in my body increased, and I didn’t have the strength to hold myself upright. I pitched over onto my side, and the last thing I saw before I lost consciousness was Henrika’s thin, malicious smile.