Jenny Plague-Bringer: (Jenny Pox #4) (38 page)

Esmeralda shuddered as the dark, fearful feeling washed over her again, more strongly
ever before.  Goosebumps rose all over her.  Every shadow and shape in her concrete
cell suddenly seemed threatening, as if it were all stage dressing concealing a dark,
dangerous evil.

She tried to push back the tide of dark feelings, but they overwhelmed her, drowning
her.  She felt a flood of memories of another life, like when she touched a person
who had died, but somehow these were her
own
memories. 

She stood in the lab again, looking at a different body, a middle-aged man with a
long beard.  There were scientists in white coats again, as well as uniformed men
with red patches and swastikas on their sleeves.  She knew that she was terrified
of them, especially their leader, a man with dark red and gray hair and evil green
eyes. 
Kranzler
.

“Go ahead, Evelina,” said a balding, fat man with neck beard. 
Dr. Wichtmann.
“Tell us what you see.”

She took a breath and reached out, touching the dead man’s cold, stiff shoulder. 
She told Wichtmann about the last months of the man’s life—he was a rabbi who’d spoken
against the National Socialists, and even published pamphlets against them.  This
was the reason he was dead.

“He was involved in a plot against the state,” one of the men in black uniforms said.
“We want to know details—time, place, the kind of bombs they will use.  All you can
tell us.”

Evelina concentrated for several minutes, trying to find what they wanted.  Then,
slowly, she shook her head.

“There is nothing,” she told them, in her hesitant German. “Writing and speaking,
yes, bombs, no.”

One of the uniformed men exploded, shouting at Kranzler, speaking too fast for Evelina
to follow.  Though she did catch the words “filthy Slav,” clearly referring to her.

“Evelina,” Kranzler growled as he approached her. “You must tell us about any conspiracies. 
You cannot protect anyone.”

“I am protecting no one, only telling the truth.  If there was terrorism, he was not
involved.”

“We are talking about plots for the future!” shouted the S.S. officer who’d called
her a filthy Slav.  He must have been the one who’d captured the man. “Not events
that have already passed.”

Evelina shrugged. “This man was involved in no such plots.”

“What about the larger Jewish conspiracy?” the officer asked. “The banks?  The gold?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she replied.

“Look again!”

She sighed and touched the dead man for another minute. “I don’t see what you’re talking
about.  Gold?  Banks?” She shook her head.

“You lying dirty whore!” the officer shouted. “Kranzler, she is a fraud.  She is of
no use to us.”

“Evelina, this is your last chance,” Kranzler said. “No more lying to protect the
Jews.”

“I am not lying!” This was the first time Evelina had raised her voice, or done anything
but whisper, nod, and cooperate.

“She is a dirty animal and should be tied up!” the S.S. man yelled. “She speaks nothing
but lies.”

“Evelina, tell us about the Jewish plots!” Kranzler said.

“There are no plots!  Why are you all too stupid to understand that?” Evelina shouted
back at them. She immediately regretted her words—they were sure to get her in trouble—but
it was too late to take them back.

“Guards,” Kranzler snarled, “Let her spend a night in the cellblock.  Perhaps that
will convince her to stop protecting Jewish conspirators.”

S.S. men seized her and carried her out of the lab.  She didn’t struggle as they brought
her down to the floor beneath the dormitory hall, to a guard station with two armed
guards.  One of them opened the steel door to the cellblock, and they escorted her
to a concrete cell and locked her inside.

She didn’t mind being in the cellblock—this was where the Germans had housed her first,
after she’d refused to come with them and they’d responded by forcibly taking her. 
After cooperating for a time, she’d been allowed to move up to the residential dorm
with other test subjects, provided she kept quiet and complained about nothing.  She’d
kept almost perfectly silent the entire time. 

While it was better to be upstairs with the others, a night or two alone in a cell
would at least give her a respite from Alise’s cold, gray eyes boring into her, filled
with suspicion each time they saw each other.  In her own way, Evelina thought, Alise
seemed almost as sinister as Kranzler himself, even if everybody else seemed to love
her.

Ward remained seated as Mariella entered his office, but he smiled at her.  He nodded
at the Hale Security guard who’d escorted her, and the guard closed the door to wait
outside.

“Miss Visconti,” Ward said. “Thank you for coming to see me.”

“Of course, sir.  Is this about...” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “...spy work?”

“It is.  Have a seat.  Coffee?”  He reached for the button on his telephone.

“No, thank you.” Mariella kept her posture perfectly straight as she sat. “What can
I do for you?”

Ward found Mariella to be a typical rich ditz, underneath her air of education and
culture.  She’d already ordered thousands of dollars in clothing, since she had almost
none with her, as well as furnishings for her dormitory room, but that was a small
price to pay keep her happy, considering the hellstorm her politically connected family
could raise on her behalf.  He was relieved to have her on his side, even enthusiastic
to follow orders, but he still needed to test her loyalty and dedication.

“I think you can help us streamline our operation,” Ward told her. “We now have five
paranormals at this facility, and three are cooperating with us—you and the boy Tommy
most of all.  The Mexican girl, the one who can speak to the dead, she does what we
say, though she clearly doesn’t share your enthusiasm or your understanding of the
importance of our work.”

“But Jenny and Seth are not cooperating, sir?” She looked puzzled, as if this news
made no sense to her.

“Exactly.”

“Jenny is pregnant, sir, so she may not be entirely rational.” Mariella gave him a
big smile. “You know how we women are—erratic, emotional, impulsive.  When a woman’s
pregnant, multiply that by a hundred.  Let me speak to her, and I’ll help her understand
what she needs to do.”

“I want your help with the boy.”

“Seth?”

“He won’t listen to me, but I think he’ll be more willing to listen to a pretty little
thing like you,” Ward said.  He didn’t see how any red-blooded American male could
ignore her, with her high cheekbones, dark red hair, and dancer’s body. 

“I could talk with Seth, too, if you like,” she said.

“Don’t just talk to him, convince him.  I want you to redirect his affections.”

“I don’t think I understand, General Kilpatrick.”

“You understand.  Stroke his ego, stroke his cock if you have to, do whatever it takes
to change his mind.  Make him switch his allegiance from the plague girl over to you.”

Mariella gasped and even blushed a little.  He just watched her coolly.

“Are you serious?” she whispered.

“You said you wanted to be a spy.  It’s not the movies, it’s not ninja fights and
poison darts hidden in your wristwatch.  It’s about gaining people’s trust.  And this
is the way you’re going to do it.  Female spies use every asset they have, including
their feminine wiles.”

“My feminine wiles?” Mariella giggled.

“I assume you have some.  This is your first assignment.  The first test of your ability
to act as an intelligence operative.”

“I like the sound of that.” She beamed. “I do know boys, sir, and how to use their
feelings.”

“Then you think you can handle that?”

“Please, he’s not a challenge.  He’s very immature, even for an American boy.”

“Good.  Go to his cell tonight.  The guards will let you in.”

“I’m excited!” The girl was practically bouncing in her chair before she recovered
herself and tried to look proper. “I mean, I’ll do it, sir!  But I could still talk
to Jenny for you, too.”

“Not just now,” he said. “I have special plans for Jenny.”

Mariella sat in her chair, smiling at him, her eyes practically glowing—her eyes,
the same green hue as his own, as if they were mirrors reflecting his own gaze.  She
might be useful, but her presence made Ward uncomfortable, stirring up the prickly-flesh
feeling that had turned into a strange hallucination last time.  He probably needed
psych meds, but he wasn’t about to tell anyone that his brain might be slipping. 
Once something like that got added to a file, Ward’s enemies in the Pentagon could
use it against him.  As a man who’d primarily gotten ahead in life through blackmail,
he knew there were a number of top brass who wouldn’t mind seeing him retired, one
way or another.

“You can go now,” Ward told Mariella, and she hopped out of her chair with another
“Yes, sir!” and bounced to the door.  As she left, he watched her shapely ass, framed
in the two-hundred-dollar Armani jeans he’d paid for out of his agency’s budget. 
He felt a powerful urge to grab the spoiled rich girl, throw her across his desk,
and rip off that tight denim...

He didn’t know where the thought had come from.  It wasn’t attraction, it was a need
to dominate.  He wanted to knock her down, put her beneath him.  He couldn’t stop
thinking about it, until it became like a painful throbbing in the right side of his
head.  He closed his eyes, but all he could see was the same scene...but in his imagination,
it wasn’t Mariella he was fucking on his desk, but the gray-eyed blond temptress in
the black S.S. uniform, Alise.

He was wearing the same kind of black uniform, though highly decorated with medals. 
He was taking her in his preferred way, from behind while she leaned across his desk. 
Sometimes he would slap her until she was sore, or bang her head against his metal
desktop, once leaving her with a bloody lip.  She kept coming back for more, determined
to have a supernormal child for the Reich.  Kranzler himself  liked the idea, and
looked forward to each of their trysts, dazzled by her beauty, her willingness, and
her tolerance for pain.  He knew it was only because her paranormal touch enhanced
the experience for him, but he enjoyed it. 

Today, he didn’t have much time to spare, so he was trying to finish fast.

“Dr. Wichtmann wants to breed your cousin with the Italian girl who sees the future,”
he was telling her.

“Niklaus?” Alise looked back at him, clearly offended. “You want to breed my cousin
with a Sicilian peasant?”

“A supernormal.” He wiped sweat from his face and kept sliding in and out of her.

“It would be a corruption of our noble German blood!  He should be crossed with someone...”
She gritted her teeth as he mounted her harder and faster.  She was just barely tolerating
it. “Vilja and Roza are clearly more Aryan.  You could cross him with those two.”

“Those two are not showing useful abilities in our tests,” he told her. “Mia has a
gift.  The Party leaderships wants results, supernormal babies.  I agree we should
cross Niklaus with her.”

“Save Niklaus for someone worthy of my family,” Alise said. “Breed the American boy
with the dirty Sicilian.”

He grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her head back toward him, and she shrieked.
“Are you giving me orders?” he asked.

“I’m being insubordinate, sir.  I should be punished.”

“You should.” He covered her mouth and nose with one hand, without warning, making
her struggle for air while he came inside her.  He didn’t release her until he was
finished.  She lay on his desk, looking up at him.

He loved her, and he hated her for it.  He could imagine keeping her prisoner in his
own house, making her suffer every kind of pain imaginable.  He couldn’t get enough
of the sweetly evil girl.

“Sebastian and Mia,” he said. “I can get Dr. Wichtmann to agree to that.”

“Good.” She watched him pull his pants on.  She dressed herself, now wearing the drab
regulation cotton underwear he’d insisted she wear.  She smoothed down her skirt,
and they walked out the door to go back to work.

Jenny sat in her clear cell and watched the steel door to the outer lab open.  Two
guards in clear biohazard masks and black body armor entered, followed by two people
in hazardous material suits with white crosses inside red circles to show they were
medical.  These two wheeled a large equipment cart between them.  Another pair of
guards followed.  The four guards had their yellow and black TASER guns drawn, and
they all watched Jenny.

One of the medical people in the hazmat suits approached the airlock doors into Jenny’s
cell and spoke into the console by the outer door.  She was a female, middle-aged.

“Jennifer?” the woman asked.