Russell Blake - Betrayal

She moved to the dining room and lifted a shopping bag from behind a chest, then brought it to the living room and set it near the coffee table before putting on a pair of gloves.

“You have no idea what you’ve gotten into. You’ll be dead by morning,” Arthur snapped.

“Oh, you mean the drug ring? Is that what you’re talking about? Guess what. I know it all. I know about the heroin you’ve been importing from the Golden Triangle. I know about the heroin from Afghanistan you’re shipping using military transports as well. I know about the cocaine and meth from the Mexican cartels. The ecstasy. I know everything.”

Arthur’s eyes took on a veneer of worry for the first time.

“How…”

“Seems like Hawker had the goods on all of you. Briggs. You. Everyone in the ring. Documented.”

“You’ll never prove it. You can’t prove anything.”

“You mean nobody will believe that the Central Intelligence Agency is the biggest drug trafficking organization in the world? You sure about that? Sure a paper or TV station or three wouldn’t be interested? Maybe Congress?”

“You have no idea how high this goes.”

“Right. Higher than the associate director? And the director?”

“It’s bigger than you can imagine.”

“Arthur. Look at me. I know everything,” she said quietly.

“Then you know you don’t have a chance.”

“I know that if you get between a female lion and her cub, you can expect no mercy. Which brings me to the part of the show where I start peeling your skin off and feed it to Mitzi. That’s gotta hurt.”

The timid little dog gazed up at her from where it was hiding behind an armoire, alert at the mention of her name. Jet withdrew a cattle prod from the bag.

“I modified this so it’s capable of delivering a continuous current. I hear you use them for torture. Nice.” She placed it on the table and then held up a syringe. “This will completely incapacitate you so you’re incapable of movement, but can feel everything. Curare — crude yet effective, wouldn’t you agree?” She placed it on the table next to the prod and produced another hypodermic. “And this is a little favorite that heightens the synaptic response so sensations are magnified exponentially. I’ve been told that it can make a paper cut feel like you’re being disemboweled. My thinking is I start on your eyes. You won’t need them any longer. Then I move to your genitals. Not that you probably get much use out of those, either. Then, when you think it can’t get any worse, I’ll use this.” She extracted a bottle and placed it carefully next to the syringes. “Acid.” She fished the final item from the bag and held it up — a soldering iron. “I watched David cook a Mossad traitor with one of these. Just the smell is enough to make you gag. I can’t even imagine how it will feel after the injection and acid wash.”

She picked up the cattle prod and walked towards him.

“This is your last chance, and then I zap you till you’re twitching, inject you, and start on your eyes. Think very, very hard about your answer. Because once I start, there’s no going back. You know my history. Make your choice. Honor our agreement or become hamburger.”

“You’ll never do it. You’ll never kill me,” he spat. “You won’t get your daughter back if you do.”

“Why, Arthur. Perhaps I need to work on my communication skills. I have no intention of killing you. I’m going to leave you paralyzed, with no tongue or eyes, in permanent agony for the rest of your hopefully-long life. Nothing — no amount of money, no specialized treatments — will ease the suffering. Think about it. Blind. Pooping yourself. Every nerve amplifying your pain tenfold. The injection is irreversible. The best you can hope for is that I’ll take pity and kill you once you’ve told me where she is. Because you will, Arthur. You will. Nobody ever holds out once this gets underway. You’re no different. You of all people should know that. Again, I really, really hope you decide not to cooperate.”

Arthur looked panicked, her message finally having hit home.

She waited, but he didn’t say anything, preferring to glare at her with raw hatred. Jet shrugged and moved towards him with the cattle prod and pressed it against his face, then engaged the current.

Arthur bucked and jerked for ten seconds, foaming from his nose and mouth, and then she cut the power, his limbs twitching spasmodically from the lingering effects.

“You should start regaining the ability to move in twenty seconds or so. By then I’ll have injected you with the nerve agent. Imagine what you’re feeling right now, the agony, amplified immeasurably. Have I got your attention?”

She picked up the smaller syringe and pulled the orange cap off, then squirted a little into the air for effect.

“You’ll get nothing,” he growled, laying his last card on the table.

Jet shrugged and knelt next to him, then drove the needle into his leg, depressing the plunger before pulling it out and tossing it aside.

It took half a minute for the full effect to hit.

“Argghhh,”Arthur screamed, writhing in agony as the full force of pain arrived.

“That’s what I thought. Now I’m going to cut your eyes out. You ready?” She flipped out a combat knife and opened it, waving the shiny blade at him.

Arthur croaked, a rasping sound with a wet bubbling at the end.

“What’s that?”

“I’ll tell you,” he rasped, the fight gone out of him, waves of pain racking mercilessly through his body.

“What? You said left eye first?” she asked, her face a blank.

“Please. I’ll tell you.” He spat out a slug of bloody saliva from where he’d bitten his cheek then convulsed again.

She reached behind her and pulled a pair of handcuffs free, then tossed them on the floor.

“As soon as you can move, put those on. And start talking. Where is she?”

“God. The pain. Help me…”

“I told you. Once you’re injected, it’s out of my hands. Now where is she? Or the eye goes.”

He struggled for breath. “A…private hospital we use. They have a pediatric ward. She’s a patient.”

“Where?”

“Alexandria. Virginia,” he hissed, his face twitching.

“The name.”

“Anderson…Medical.”

“Security?”

“Only one guard. In the lobby. They were told…she has a virus. One of our doctors is caring for her.”

“Where is she? Which floor?”

“I…I think the third.”

“Cuff yourself. You’re coming with me.”

“What are you going to do with me…ungh…once you have her?” Arthur gasped as he bent over double, every neuron in his being on fire.

“I’m thinking about it. Considering the option you gave me when you pulled the trigger, I’m not feeling generous.”

“I…never mind.”

“No, there’s not much to mitigate a bullet to the brain that failed to fire, huh? ‘My bad’ doesn’t really cut it. Now move.”

As they reached the entry foyer, she stepped back into the living room and scooped up the briefcase and the Beretta.

“Open the door. Slowly. Then we’ll walk to my car. It’s down the block, to the right,” she instructed. Arthur fumbled with the lever and twisted it, the cuffs making it difficult.

They walked down the front steps and were on the sidewalk when she spotted movement on her right — a man with the distinctive shape of a silenced pistol in his hand. She dropped to one knee as she raised her weapon and fired two shots at the running gunman, the second shot whipping his head back as it tore through his face.

The window of the car next to her exploded in a shower of glass, and she pulled Arthur to her and twisted, firing at another shooter down the sidewalk. She could hear the thwacks as her slugs slammed into his chest, but he was still shooting even as he dropped. A bullet ricocheted off the sidewalk and then a round caught Arthur in the chest. She adjusted her aim and squeezed off four shots at another man in an overcoat crossing the street. He went down hard, his weapon clattering by his side as he tumbled onto the asphalt.