Chapter 261: Chapter 260 - Torture
MALCOLM’S POV
Malcolm dragged the chair into the back room and shut the door with his heel.
Smith twisted against the ropes, but Malcolm pulled him to the center of the room before he could brace his boots against anything. One hand was still free. Malcolm had left it that way because a man with one free hand kept trying to protect himself, and that made every choice show on his face.
Smith breathed through his mouth. Blood from his nose had run down his vest. His eyes moved to the knife at Malcolm’s belt, then to the door, then back to Malcolm.
"I told you about the tracker," Smith said. "That’s all I know."
Malcolm took out the knife.
Smith stopped pulling.
"I haven’t practiced what I learned in Langley in years," Malcolm said. "You’re going to help me remember."
Smith swallowed. "Go to hell."
Malcolm set his revolver on the desk. Then he set Iyisha’s pistol beside it. His hand stayed on her gun for one second too long. The sight of it made something hard move behind his ribs, and he crossed the room before Smith could breathe again.
He hit him in the mouth.
Smith’s head snapped sideways. The chair rocked back, but Malcolm caught it and slammed it down hard enough for the legs to scrape across the floor.
"Name."
Smith spat blood onto the floor. "I won’t tell you shit."
Malcolm’s jaw tightened. His hand closed around the knife until his knuckles hurt. Iyisha was inside that lab, and Frankenstein was near her. Smith sat in front of him breathing, lying, wasting seconds she did not have.
He leaned down and brought the knife tip close to Smith’s eye.
Smith stopped breathing.
"Surviving out here is hard," Malcolm said. "Harder without your eyes."
Smith stared at the blade. His throat moved.
"Langley," Smith said. "CIA. You’re government too. Stop this."
Malcolm moved the knife closer.
Smith pressed his head back as far as the chair allowed. His free hand pulled against Malcolm’s grip, but Malcolm held him there and watched sweat gather near his temple.
"I told you," Malcolm said. "I haven’t practiced this in years. Tell me before I get bored with you."
Smith held for another second. His lips trembled before the word came out.
"Smith."
"Full name."
"Daniel Smith."
"Rank."
"Corporal."
"Badge clearance."
"Two."
Malcolm straightened and lowered the knife. Smith’s shoulders loosened for half a breath.
Then Malcolm hit him again.
Smith’s face snapped to the side. His front teeth cracked in his mouth. Blood spilled over his lower lip and ran down his chin. He spat red onto the floor, and his eyes flickered.
Fear had reached him.
"Badge clearance," Malcolm said.
Smith dragged air through his nose. "Two."
"You lie one more time," Malcolm said, "and you see what happens."
Smith glared at him through the blood. "I’m not helping you get inside. The laboratory will be finding the cure! It’s the hope of humanity."
Malcolm caught Smith’s free hand and pinned it to the armrest. Smith pulled hard, but Malcolm leaned his weight into the wrist and took one finger.
Smith clenched his teeth as Malcolm bent it sideways. His boots scraped against the floor. His arm shook under Malcolm’s hand, and his face tightened until the veins stood out at his neck. He held the sound in for longer than Malcolm expected.
Malcolm kept the pressure steady.
The finger broke.
Smith screamed and jerked against the ropes. His knees pulled against the bindings around his ankles. His free arm shook under Malcolm’s grip, but Malcolm kept the wrist pinned.
"Badge clearance."
Smith breathed hard. Tears cut through the blood on his face, but he kept his eyes on Malcolm.
"I’m not saying shit."
Malcolm bent the broken finger again.
Smith screamed louder. His back hit the chair. His boots kicked once against the floor, and the sound broke into a choking sob before he forced his mouth shut.
"Badge clearance."
"Four," Smith gasped. "Level four."
Malcolm released him.
Smith pulled his hand against his chest and folded over it. His body shook, but he still looked up.
"She’s important," Smith said. "We need her. Humanity needs her."
Malcolm wiped blood from his knuckles onto his pants. "Is that what they tell you?"
Smith said nothing.
"How many people have you killed for them?"
Smith’s mouth stayed shut.
Malcolm stared at him for one second, then grabbed the chair and drove one metal foot down over Smith’s injured hand.
Smith screamed through his teeth and tried to pull away, but the ropes held him there. His whole body twisted around the pain. His forehead dropped forward, and his breath turned wet and fast.
"Let me give you a taste," Malcolm said, "of what you did to the people you claim to save."
He drove his fist into Smith’s stomach.
Smith folded forward. No sound came out at first. His mouth opened, and his body locked around the hit. Malcolm grabbed his hair and pulled his head up.
"What are they going to do with her?"
Smith blinked through tears. "I don’t know."
Malcolm hit him in the stomach again.
Smith gagged and sagged against the ropes. His face had gone pale under the blood.
"Frankenstein gave the order?"
Smith froze.
Malcolm shoved his face into the chair back.
Smith cried out. Fresh blood ran from his nose and into his mouth. He coughed it over his vest and tried to turn his head away, but Malcolm held him against the wood.
"Frankenstein gave the order?"
Smith swallowed blood. "He ordered recovery of the asset."
Malcolm went still.
Smith saw it and forced a bloody smile. It trembled on his mouth, but he still forced it. "That’s what she is. An asset to humanity."
Malcolm pressed the knife under Smith’s chin and lifted his face.
"Her name is Iyisha."
Smith swallowed against the blade. "Names don’t matter."
Malcolm lowered the knife.
Smith’s eyes dropped to his injured hand.
"No."
Malcolm caught the hand again.
Smith fought harder this time. He twisted his wrist, kicked against the floor, and tried to throw his weight sideways. Malcolm pinned him down and took another finger.
"Where is she?"
Smith shook his head. "They brought her to Washington."
Malcolm bent the finger back.
Smith held for one breath.
Then the finger snapped.
His scream hit the door. He thrashed against the chair until the ropes cut deeper into his ankles. Malcolm held the hand down and waited until the scream broke into hard breathing.
"Where?"
Smith’s voice cracked. "She’s on the way to Washington."
Malcolm looked at him for a long second.
Then he walked to the desk and picked up the knife again.
Smith watched him come back. His breathing turned shallow. His eyes followed Malcolm’s hand, then the knife, then the blood on the floor.
"Tell me where she is."
Smith swallowed hard. "Underground."
"How many levels?"
"Three."
Malcolm paused.
Too clean.
He stepped behind the chair and cut the rope around Smith’s tied wrist. Smith tried to twist away, but Malcolm dragged both arms behind the backrest and tied them tighter. His injured hand pressed against the wood, and Smith groaned through his teeth.
"I know when you lie," Malcolm said.
Smith’s breathing hitched.
Malcolm kicked the chair over.
Smith hit the floor shoulder first. The chair trapped him on his side. His boots scraped against the boards as he tried to push himself upright. Malcolm crouched in front of him and drove the knife into the floor near his face.
"How many levels?"
Smith blinked up at him. "One."
Malcolm waited.
"One underground level. Wide."
"Iyisha."
Smith shut his eye.
Malcolm pulled the knife free and set the tip against his injured hand.
"Observation ward," Smith said fast.
"Where?"
"First ward. Main corridor."
"Exact room."
Smith shook his head. "I don’t know."
Malcolm pressed the knife lower.
Smith’s breath caught. "I don’t know. They’ll moved her after intake. She’ll be in the first observation ward. That’s all I know."
Malcolm hauled the chair upright in one pull.
Smith sagged forward. Blood dripped from his mouth onto his lap. He shook so hard the chair creaked under him.
"Frankenstein."
Smith lifted his head slowly. "He’ll be near her."
"Where?"
"Near her," Smith said. "That’s all I know."
"Control room."
Smith’s mouth shut.
Malcolm waited.
Smith shook his head. "No."
Malcolm reached for the injured hand.
Smith jerked back against the chair. Panic flashed across his face before he buried it under what was left of his training. "No. Kill me if you want. I won’t give you more."
Malcolm stopped.
For a few seconds, only Smith’s breathing filled the room.
Then Malcolm reached for Iyisha’s pistol on the desk and held it where Smith could see it.
Smith’s eyes followed the gun.
"She had this when they took her," Malcolm said.
Smith said nothing.
Malcolm set Iyisha’s pistol down and picked up his revolver. He opened the cylinder.
Two rounds.
Smith stared at them.
His mouth moved once, but nothing came out.
Malcolm snapped the cylinder shut and spun it.
Smith went still. The barrel touched the side of his head, and the last hard piece in his face cracked. His jaw trembled. His chest started moving too fast. The ropes creaked as his shoulders pulled back from the gun, but the chair held him in place.
"You die here," Malcolm said. "No one comes for you. No one even knows where you are."
Smith shook his head.
"They sent you out," Malcolm said. "They left you here to die alone."
Smith closed his eyes.
Malcolm pulled the trigger.
Click.
Smith jerked so hard the chair scraped across the floor. His breath came out in broken pieces. His injured hand twitched behind the chair, and the broken fingers dragged against the wood. He tried to pull air in through his nose, failed, and made a wet choking sound through his mouth.
Malcolm spun the cylinder again.
The sound broke something in him.
"No," Smith whispered.
Malcolm pressed the barrel back against his head.
Smith’s lips moved without words. Tears ran through the blood on his face. His boots scraped the floor as his legs started jerking under him. He tried to turn his head away from the barrel, but Malcolm held him there with one hand in his hair.
Click.
Empty.
Smith sobbed.
He tried to swallow it. He could not. His head dropped forward until the barrel held him in place, and his shoulders shook against the ropes. His breathing went thin and fast, then broke again into a sound he seemed ashamed to make.
Malcolm spun the cylinder again.
Smith’s eyes opened.
"No. No, please." His voice cracked. "Please. I’ll tell you what gets you in. Just stop. Stop."
Malcolm did not lower the revolver.
"Other entrance."
Smith shook his head at first, still crying, still trying to hold the last piece back.
Malcolm cocked the hammer.
Smith flinched so hard the chair scraped.
"If you lie," Malcolm said, "I put this down and use the knife."
Smith’s eyes moved to the blade on the desk.
Malcolm leaned closer, the barrel still pressed to his head. "I’ve never peeled skin off a living man."
Smith’s breathing broke again.
Malcolm’s jaw tightened. "I’m angry enough to learn."
Smith folded as much as the ropes allowed. His mouth opened, but only a wet sound came out first. He swallowed hard, shaking through his whole body.
"Generator intake," he gasped.
"Where?"
"Where?"
"East side of the fort."
"Door?"
"No. Hatch." Smith swallowed hard, and his teeth clicked once. "Maintenance hatch. Air system."
"Can a man fit?"
"Barely."
"Where does it open?"
Smith’s eyes lost focus for a second. He was trying to picture it while panic kept pulling him apart. "Service crawlspace. Beside the generator room."
"Guards."
"Three now. Maybe more." His words rushed now. "They tightened everything after the raid."
"Camera."
"Bad angle. It watches the panel and the corridor door. It misses the crawlspace. You stay low, it misses you."
"Sealed?"
"No."
Malcolm lowered the revolver.
Smith sagged against the ropes. His head dropped forward, and his shoulders kept shaking even after the gun left his skin. Blood and spit ran from his mouth and dropped onto his vest.
Malcolm shoved the pencil and paper toward him.
"Draw."
Smith stared at the paper like he did not understand what it was.
Malcolm leaned close. "Way in. Ward. Control. Nothing else."
Smith reached for the pencil with his left hand. His fingers would not close around it at first. He tried again, sobbing under his breath, and dragged the point across the page.
He drew the floor plan of the lab with a shaking hand, rough and crooked and nearly useless to anyone who did not already know what to look for.
When Smith finished, Malcolm took the paper.
It was not a full map but it gave him an entrance, a direction, the ward, and the control point.
Enough.
He folded it and put it inside his jacket.
Then he leaned close to Smith’s face.
"You’re going to walk back out there. You’re going to repeat every answer. If one thing changes, I bring you back in."
Smith looked at him through one swollen eye.
"You’re going to ruin everything for one woman."
Malcolm opened the door.
"No," he said. "I’m taking her back."
