The Atlantis Plague(18)
“We’re getting more test results.”
Kate turned quickly, but before she could see the face, the room disappeared.
CHAPTER 18
Immari Operations Base Prism
Antarctica
Dorian knew the room—it was the same interrogation room where he had detained Kate Warner before she had escaped. Someone had added an interrogation chair—what could have been a dentist’s chair with thick straps at the feet, wrists, and chest. The soldiers had strapped him in so tight he could barely breathe. He shook his head, trying to clear it. The grogginess from the gas wouldn’t seem to pass. Why had his people turned on him? Had the portal opened again? Had another Dorian Sloane walked out with another story? Or another case? Had the case Dorian carried out exploded?
Dorian didn’t have to wait long for an answer. The door swung open and a smug man strolled in, two Immari special forces soldiers at his side. Dorian knew the man. What was his name? Sanford? Anders? Sanders. That was it. He was a middle manager, in Immari Capital, Dorian thought. The look on Sanders’ face told Dorian what this was: a power struggle. The revelation sent relief through Dorian’s body. He could handle a power struggle.
Dorian inhaled a shallow breath, but his adversary spoke first. “Dorian. Long time no see. How the hell are ya?”
“We don’t have time for this—”
He nodded knowingly. “Right. Atlanteans. Waking up. Coming out. We’re on it.”
“There’s something down there that controls the ship inside. We need to destroy it from the outside.”
Sanders walked closer to Dorian, scrutinizing him, inspecting him. “What did they do to you? I mean, you look great. Almost like new. Smooth skin. You’ve really shaken off that used up, rode hard and put away wet look you wore so poorly.”
This was Sanders’ plan—to humiliate Dorian, to show whoever was watching through the glass that Sanders was in charge and that Dorian was no threat. Dorian strained against the chest strap, trying desperately to lean forward. He practically spat his words. “Listen to me very closely, Sanders. You’re going to release me, and we’ll forget all about this. If you don’t, I swear to you, I will rip you open and drink your blood while I watch you die.”
Sanders jerked his head back, raised his eyebrows, held the expression for a long moment, then laughed out loud. “My God, what did they do to you, Dorian? You’re actually crazier than you were before. Who knew that was possible?” He paced away from Dorian and turned back, his expression serious again. “Now, I want you to listen to me very closely, because this is what’s actually going to happen. You’re going to stay strapped in that chair, where you’ll wiggle and shout more crazy stuff. Then we’re going to drug you, after which you’ll tell us everything that happened down there, and when we’re done with you, we’re going to throw your limp body down that hole where you’ll freeze to death, which is a better death than my predecessor gave your crazy daddy.”
Shock spread across Dorian’s face.
“Yes, that was us. What can I say, Dorian? Management change can be brutal sometimes. Here, I’ll show you what I mean.” Sanders turned to one of the guards. “Get the drugs, let’s get started.”
A cold rage ran through Dorian, a clear, calculating kind of hate that focused his mind. His eyes scanned the straps at his hands and chest. He couldn't break either. His arms would break first. He jerked his hand back on the left strap. It didn't give. He felt the pain radiate from his hand. He had almost broken his thumb. Almost. The pain. He pulled harder against the strap and felt his thumb pop out of its joint. The pain fought a war with the rage in Dorian's mind. The rage won.
Sanders gripped the door handle. "I guess this is goodbye, D. Write if you get work."
One of the guards cocked his head and stepped toward Dorian. Had he realized what Dorian was doing?
Dorian jerked his left arm with every ounce of strength he had. The knuckles of his index and pinky fingers buckled and popped below the middle fingers, allowing his arm to slide out of the strap. But the hand was badly damaged—he could only use the middle two fingers. Would it be enough? He reached over and grasped the strap that restrained his right arm. His middle fingers barely had enough strength to pin the strap to his palm. But he had it. The pain was overtaking him. He jerked back and the strap came free. The soldier lunged for him. Dorian ripped the chest strap off and rose, shoved the heel of his right hand into the guard’s nose, and pivoted, lunging just in time to grab Sanders’ legs.
The restraints at Dorian’s feet held him to the chair, but he pulled Sanders down to the ground and then to him. Sanders cried out as Dorian bit into his neck. Blood sprayed all over Dorian’s face and the floor, drenching the white surface in seconds. Dorian pushed off of Sanders just in time to see the other guard draw his sidearm. He fired two shots into Dorian’s head.