He finally asked, “Why the hell did you call, Bones?”
“I told you why, Phantom.”
They always reverted to those code names, what they’d known each other by in The Organization. Those who remembered their names had been forbidden to use them. Numair hadn’t remembered his, Phantom being the one name he’d known most of his life.
He’d been among hundreds of boys who’d been plucked from all over the world and taken to that isolated installation in the Balkans and turned into mercenaries. He’d been too young when he’d been taken but had still been “broken in,” punished if he mentioned anything from his previous life. He’d first been conditioned to respond to a number. The name Phantom had come much later. He’d forgotten everything about his past. All that had remained of his memories before he’d come to what he’d later called Black Castle had been the name of his panther toy, Numair, and what he’d much later realized were the names of desert kingdoms, Saraya and Zafrana. And the memory of drowning.
He’d spent over twenty-five years of his forty in Black Castle before he’d orchestrated his and his brothers’ escape ten years ago. He’d spent most of those in frustration, unable to build an investigation into his origins on the sparse memories he had. Not knowing who he was had remained a gaping hole in his being.
Then Antonio had finally developed a method of aggressive hypnosis tailored to Numair’s condition and character. He’d thought it would be effective, but warned it could be dangerous. But Numair would have risked anything to find out the truth. He’d been certain someone had been responsible for his decades-long ordeal, and he wouldn’t rest until he’d found them and made them pay.
Antonio’s efforts had seemed to be another dead end, but he’d already expected that initial failure, since Numair was resistant to hypnosis. He’d never expected it to be anything but a long-term therapy as they’d been excavating memories Numair had before he’d been four.
But long-term was what Numair was all about. He’d started planning his escape from The Organization when he hadn’t even been ten. He’d put it into action twenty years later.
In captivity, Numair had grown up fast, toughening into steel and developing an undetectable cunning that had enabled him to navigate his ruthless environment and manipulate his monstrous jailors. By ten he’d already carved a place for himself as the establishment’s most valuable acquisition and future asset. Based on his uncanny abilities in every skill it took to make the best spy, they’d changed his name from a four-digit number to Phantom, beginning a trend of calling boys by names that symbolized them.
But he’d known he wouldn’t be able to escape alone. He had to have help. And in turn, help others escape. Recognizing six boys, all younger than himself, as kindred spirits who had superior abilities complementing his own, he’d manipulated their captors into making them his team. He’d made each swear a blood oath to live for their brotherhood and for one goal—to one day escape and destroy The Organization, saving other children from their fate.
They had implemented his convoluted plan, and after they’d escaped, they’d built new identities and created Black Castle Enterprises, using their unique skills. That was, all but Cypher. He’d left their brotherhood after an explosive falling out. He’d pledged they’d never see him again. They hadn’t.
Though Cypher’s loss remained an open wound in their brotherhood, they’d compensated by focusing on their original pact, dismantling The Organization from the outside in, methodically and undetectably.
Meanwhile, each also pursued his personal quest, for the family he’d been taken from, the heritage he’d been stripped of or for a new purpose and direction. Their bigger quest was sometimes forced to the background until more pressing personal issues were resolved, as it had during Rafael’s quest for vengeance and Raiden’s quest to reclaim his heritage. Both men had achieved their purposes, and unexpectedly found wives, too. Now it was his turn.
Four months ago, Antonio’s hypnosis had borne fruit, and he’d remembered enough to finally piece together his history. He’d found out how he’d ended up in The Organization’s grasp. And who he really was.
So what had the damned Antonio been thinking when he’d called earlier?
He again flayed Antonio with his exasperation. “Why in hell did you suddenly think I need more sessions? Their objective has already been achieved.”
Antonio switched to doctor mode, this frustrating, all-knowing attitude. “That’s what you decided, not me. Your memories were so deeply buried and so partially formed in the first place, then so fractured by trauma and suppression, I was forced to pull back constantly. I had to spread out the sessions, dig over a longer period or risk damaging your psyche and sanity.”