Stephenie Meyer - The Chemist

It worked; she felt an increase in both.

The elevator came to an abrupt halt, and the doors opened on a brightly lit anteroom. It looked like an airport security post, only much less crowded and more colorless. There were two more men, these in dark blue army uniforms, and a standard metal detector with a short counter and even the little plastic trays for belt buckles and car keys. The uniforms made Alex think these must be Pace’s men.

The surveillance cameras were very obvious in this room.

Carston moved forward, impatient and sure of himself. He put his phone in the tray, and a handful of change. Then he stalked through the square frame. Daniel moved quickly behind him, putting the car keys in another tray, then retrieving Carston’s belongings and handing them back to him before reclaiming the keys for himself.

Alex wheeled the steel toolbox to the side of the detector.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to search that by hand,” she said as she walked through the frame. “I have a lot of metal tools. Please be careful, some of my things are breakable, and some are pressurized.”

The two soldiers looked at each other, obviously uncertain. They looked at her damaged face, then at her toolbox. The taller one knelt down to open the top compartment while the shorter one stared at her face again.

“Please be careful,” she repeated. “Those syringes are delicate.”

The short soldier watched now as the tall soldier lifted the top tray of syringes, only to find an identical tray below it. He carefully replaced it, not checking the two trays beneath. He opened the second compartment, then looked up quickly at his companion. Then at Carston.

“Sir, we aren’t supposed to let weapons past this point.”

“Of course I’ll need my scalpels,” Alex said, letting some irritation bleed into her tone. “I’m not here to play Scrabble.”

The soldiers looked at her again, understanding beginning to dawn in their eyes.

Yes, she wanted to say, I’m that kind of guest.

They might have read the words in her expression. The tall one straightened up.

“We’re going to have to get authorization for this.” He turned on his heel and strode through the metal double doors behind them.

Carston huffed out a big, exasperated breath and folded his arms across his chest. Alex schooled her expression into one of impatience. Daniel stood very still by Carston’s right shoulder, his face blank. He was doing well. No one had paid him any attention at all. To the soldiers, he was just one of those anonymous briefcase holders, which was exactly what she’d hoped for. Val was right thus far – they would have paid much more attention to her.

It was only a few minutes before the doors opened again. The tall soldier was back with two other men.

It was easy to tell which was Deavers. He was smaller and more gaunt than the voice had suggested, but he moved with an obvious authority. He didn’t watch to see where the other men walked; he expected them to move around him. He wore a well-cut black suit, several pay grades in price and style above what Daniel and the door guard were wearing. His hair was steel gray, but still thick.

From his lack of formality, Alex guessed the man behind Deavers was the interrogator. He was dressed in a rumpled T-shirt and black pants that looked like scrubs. His lank brown hair was greasy and disheveled; there were substantial bags under his bloodshot eyes. Though he’d obviously had a long day, there was fire in those eyes as he focused on her lab coat, then her toolbox, the scalpel tray still exposed.

“What is this, Carston?” he blustered.

Neither Carston nor Deavers looked at him. Their eyes were focused on each other.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Deavers asked in an even voice.

“I’m not going to let that hack kill the subject when I have a better option.”

Deavers looked at her for the first time. She tried to project calm, but she felt her heart racing as he examined her, his eyes lingering on the damage to her face.

He turned back to Carston. “And where did you suddenly get this better option?”

At least he hadn’t recognized her immediately. And he hadn’t so much as looked at Daniel. The two men were focused on each other again, antagonism running between them like an electric current.

“I’ve been developing alternatives to save the program. This alternative has already proven herself more than capable.”

“Proven how?”

Carston’s chin moved up an inch. “Uludere.”

The current seemed to break on that word. Deavers took an unconscious step back and blew out an annoyed breath. He looked at Alex’s bandaged face again, then at his adversary.

“I should have known there was more going on in Turkey. Carston, this is beyond your authority.”

“I’m currently being underutilized. Just trying to make myself more valuable.”

Deavers pursed his lips and glanced back at her again. “She’s good?”

“You’ll see,” Carston promised.

“But I’m at a critical point,” the interrogator protested. “You can’t pull me off the case now.”

Carston gave him a withering glance. “Shut up, Lindauer. You’re out of your league.”

“All right,” Deavers said sourly. “Let’s see if your better option can get us what we need.”

The room was as Carston had described. Plain concrete walls, plain concrete floor. One door, a large one-way mirror between this and the observation room, a round overhead light flush with the ceiling.

At one time, there would have been a desk in this room, two chairs, and a very bright desk lamp. Subjects would have been questioned, harangued, threatened, and pressured, but that would have been the extent of it.

Now a surgical table took the place of the desk. It was like something from a World War I movie, one solid piece of unpadded stainless steel with the kind of wheels a gurney had. There was a folding chair in the corner. This facility was nowhere near as functional as the state-of-the-art suites back at the department, but clearly, this interrogation was off even the most covert section’s records.

She kept her inspection clinical and prayed that Daniel would have the restraint necessary for this.

Daniel had accompanied Carston and the others into the observation room, and he was invisible to her behind the glass. Before the group divided, neither Deavers nor any of the others had looked at his face. She desperately hoped he would do nothing now to change their indifference to suspicion.

Kevin lay on the table under the one light, handcuffed and shackled in place. He was naked, his body gleaming wet with sweat and blood. Long burns blistered a multitude of uneven parallel lines down his chest. Thin slices ran up his ribs, ragged skin blanched at the edges – probably with acid. The soles of his feet were covered in blisters and bleached white as well. Lindauer had poured acid into those burns. Kevin was missing another toe on his left foot, the one next to the first stump.

Lindauer’s tools littered the floor, messy with blood and his dirty handprints. She knew there was a toe down there, too, but she couldn’t find it at first glance.

She’d expected a clean, clinical setup; that was what she was used to. This was savagery. Her nose wrinkled in disgust.

Kevin was alert. He watched her as she walked in behind the interrogator, his face tightly controlled.

With a precision meant to mock Lindauer’s unprofessional work habits, she bent to her toolbox and carefully laid out a few of her syringe trays.

“What’s this?” Kevin asked hoarsely. She glanced up automatically to see that he was addressing the mirror, not her. “You think a little girl can break me? I thought this flunky was the low. Honestly, you guys never cease to disappoint.”