Psion Delta (2 page)

“F—f—f—fox
. . . ” Wrobel said hoarsely, then sighed as though he’d achieved euphoria.

Dr.
Rivera stepped forward. “It’s still not working.”

Byron
continued to watch the prisoner, whose head now rolled on his shoulders.

“Fox
. . . fox . . . fox . . . ” he continued to repeat.

Byron
raised a hand to stop the doctor. “Wait, this might be something. It could be a
last name. Let me continue, please.”

Dr.
Rivera nodded and returned to his chair.

“Who
is fox, Victor?”

As
Wrobel repeated the word “fox,” his head shook back and forth and the jerking
movements began again.

“Do
you know who the fox is, Victor?”

The
head shaking became more erratic and passionate. “Nnnnnn . . . NO!”

“Relax,
Victor.” Byron changed the tone of his voice from harsh to gentle. “Do you
confess to being a lone conspirator in the Rio mission sabotaging?”

“Yeh—yes.
. . . ” He dragged out the “s” in an abnormally long slur.

“And
planning an attack on Baikonur, giving security details and locations—were you
alone on that, too?”

“Yes.”

“Keep
your questions simple, please, Commander,” Dr. Rivera advised.

“And
you instructed CAG operatives to abandon battle plans?”

“Yes.”

“Why?
Why abandon the plan?” Byron glanced at the cameras to make sure they were
still functioning properly, then he forced himself to take a deep breath to
maintain his composure. This effort became futile when the pace of the
monitors’ beeps quickened. He glanced in their direction and saw that Wrobel’s
blood pressure had jumped twenty points. He looked back to Dr. Rivera who told
him to continue with a nod.

“Why
did you instruct the CAG to abandon the attack on Baikonur?”

“It
was the only way I . . . could get your son . . . Al and Samuel . . . in the
same room.”

Byron
leaned forward. This was the part he most wanted to hear. “Why were you ordered
to kill Samuel?”

Wrobel’s
blood pressure jumped again, now to a level outside normal ranges. His sweat
fell more copiously as he mumbled incoherently. Byron noticed something strange
on the prisoner’s skin and peered closer.

“Doctor,
can you come look at this please?”

Dr.
Rivera came around the table, and Byron pointed to Wrobel’s temples. “Am I
seeing things or is his sweat darker than normal?”

The
doctor leaned in closely, a puzzled, squinting expression on his face. “Sokama,
what do you think? Sokama?”

The
female doctor had left the room. Byron hadn’t even heard the door close.

Rivera
cursed under his breath. “Where did she go?” He leaned until he was right next
to Wrobel’s face. “Maybe a little dark, but it’s hard to tell. I’ll get
something to collect a sample.” He turned and spoke into his com. “Page Doctor
Sokama and have her bring a vial for collecting a fluid sample immediately.”

“Shall
I continue or wait?” Byron asked.

Dr.
Rivera indicated he could continue.

The
commander refocused his attention on the prisoner. “Victor, why were you
ordered to kill Samuel?”

Wrobel’s
head rolled around more. His babbling grew worse. His eyes stared fixed at a
single point on the ceiling.

“Victor!”
Byron yelled. “Pay attention! Why were you ordered to kill Samuel?”

Wrobel
blinked twice and swallowed. “Samuel . . . fox. . . .”

Commander
Byron repeated his question a third time.

“Samuel
. . . fox . . . fox. . . .”

“Why
Sammy?” Byron shouted. “WHY?”

“Sammy
. . . twelve . . . twelve . . . fox. . . .”

Loud
beeps came from the monitor. Dr. Rivera swore—this time in Spanish—as he jumped
up. “His vitals are climbing again. The interrogation needs to stop until he
calms down.”

Rivera’s
fingers pounded out commands to the computer while Byron backed away. The sweat
dripping down Victor’s pallid skin grew darker, definitely an unnatural milky
gray.

“Is
something the matter, Doctor Rivera?” he asked.

“Probably
a combination of stresses from the drugs, the environment, etcetera. Bringing
someone to the mind’s breaking point isn’t exactly easy on the body or the
mind.”

“I
need to ask him if there are other CAG agents working for the NWG. Can I ask
him that?”

Wrobel
began swaying as much as he could with his arms and legs tightly bound. His
face changed to an expression of pain, and the muttering recommenced. The
perspiration dripped down his skin like a filthy, leaky gutter.

“His
vitals need to be stable before we can do that,” Dr. Rivera commented. He
scratched the bald spot on his head furiously and wiped his forehead with his
sleeve. “What is going on here? His blood pressure is plummeting?”

“Is
it safe now?”

“No,
the opposite.”

The
edge in the doctor’s voice alarmed Byron. The beeping grew louder again, and
Dr. Rivera left the monitors to examine Wrobel. He shined a light into Wrobel’s
eyes, shaking his head at what he saw. “No, that’s not—not—this is impossible.”
With his other hand, he swiped a sample of sweat from Wrobel’s skin and tasted
it, then spat it out. “What have you done?” The doctor grabbed the patient by
the shoulders and looked him squarely in the face. “Victor, focus on me. How
did you get nitroglycerin into your system?”

“Twelve.
. . . ” Wrobel moaned through a grimace that overtook his entire face. “The
woman—she put it . . . into me. . . . ”

“Who?
Who did?” Byron thought he heard a panicky edge in the doctor’s tone, which,
knowing the years of experience the doctor had doing these types of
interrogations, had him worried.

“Pupils
are dilated. Now pinpoint. Dilated again. What in the—his skin is so warm! The
nitroglycerin shouldn’t be producing these effects.” Rivera stood up suddenly.
“Unless he’s also been given a catalyst like—”

“Please
explain what is going on here, Doctor,” the commander asked.

“Oh
no. This can’t be right.” Rivera backed away from the prisoner as though he’d
caught fire. “We have to get out. We need to get away from him now!”

Commander
Byron pressed the call button to summon the guards for release.

“Twelve
. . . ” Wrobel cried out in agony from a cause unseen.

“What
is happening?” Byron asked.

“He’s
a bomb!” Dr. Rivera jammed at the emergency button on the wall. Peering through
the small window in the door, Byron could not spot the guards in the
antechamber. “Somehow he’s been turned into a bomb. He’s sweating
nitroglycerin.”

Wrobel
shrieked like an animal—not a Thirteen-like noise, but worse. He clenched his
teeth together so tightly that Byron saw them fracture and shatter in the
front. His body convulsed as if he’d been possessed by a thousand demons. His
eyes rolled back into his head until there was nothing but white, and still he
screamed.

Dr.
Rivera let out a stream of swear words as he pounded on the call button, then
on the door. “Where are the Elite? We’re not going to make it in time!”

“Get
behind me!” Byron ordered.

The
doctor stumbled across the room trying to obey, falling to the floor. Byron
threw himself in front of the doctor, hands splayed and ready for blasting.
Wrobel continued to scream a sound full of twisted, wretched suffering unlike
anything Byron had ever imagined. Steam leaked from Wrobel’s mouth, his face
turned red like a blood-filled blister, and then there was a clap like thunder.

With
an intensity so strong that it knocked Byron backward, his old friend exploded
with a powerful force that emitted sweltering heat like a crucible. Byron’s
blasts shielded himself and Dr. Rivera, protecting them from shrapnel comprised
of Wrobel’s cuffs, blown-off pieces of the monitors, and even bits of Wrobel
himself. Sprinklers burst to life, spraying water and foam in both the main
interrogation room and the antechamber, drenching Commander Byron and the
doctor.

Ignoring
the wetness and foam, Byron grabbed the doctor’s coat by the lapels. “Who could
have given him those drugs?” he asked. “Wrobel said something about a ‘she.’
Was he talking about Doctor Sokama?”

Dr.
Rivera lay motionless, his eyes wide and face frozen with a look of horror.
Byron shook him.

“Was
it someone else? Who had access to Wrobel?”

Dr.
Rivera’s lips trembled like a baby about to cry.

“Where
did Doctor Sokama go?” Byron asked.

Then
Rivera fainted. Fortunately, it was at that moment when the Elite unlocked the
interrogation room. The two Elite entering were not the same as the two who had
escorted Byron and Sokama into the room. Byron jabbed the closest in the chest
with his finger.

“Find
Doctor Sokama!” His eyes blazed as he shoved past them and headed into the
antechamber. “I want to know the name of anyone who could have given Wrobel a
drug—anyone!”

One
of the Elite dragged Dr. Rivera out of the room by his arms while the other
spoke orders into his com. The moment Byron cleared the antechamber, he called
General Wu on his com. The line clicked.

“What
information do you have?” the voice of the ancient general asked.

“The
situation here has changed, General.”

“How?”

“Commander
Wrobel . . . exploded.”

The
general’s breath hissed in the commander’s ear. “Explain.”

When
Byron finished recounting the events that had taken place, the general spoke
again. “Make sure the video is safe. Recover what you can. Report back to me by
this evening. If you can’t get any video, you had better remember a lot of
detail for memory transfer. I need to see you by 1800 sharp. We have a second
important matter to discuss.”

A
booming roar ripped the air and a tremendous shockwave shook the prison.

“What
was that?” General Wu asked.

“No
idea. I should go.”

Several
Elite rushed past Byron to start clearing the interrogation room. Dr. Rivera
lay on the floor of the hall with his feet elevated, recovering from his
collapse. From down the corridor, shouts and jeers of other prisoners echoed
through their thick doors in a discomfiting cacophony of noise.

“The
CAG was targeting Samuel,” General Wu continued. “We have no reason to believe
they plan to stop going after him.”

“I
understand.”

“1800.
Be there.”

More
Elite stormed through the hallway yelling about an escape in another sector of
the prison. The silence on the end of the com link told Byron that the general
had terminated the call. Dr. Rivera beckoned Commander Byron to him as he tried
to sit up on the floor.

“Are
you all right, Commander?”

At
any other time, Byron would have chuckled at the irony of the question. “No,
not all right. How are you?”

Dr.
Rivera waved Byron’s concern off with a shaky hand. “Never seen anything like
that before. I’d be happy never seeing it again.”

“I
agree.” The commander helped the doctor off the floor. “Something is going down
right now. Something big, it seems. I need to get you out of the prison.”

“Is
someone in danger? That Samuel person you mentioned?”

Byron
didn’t answer. He didn’t want to think about the answer nor its ramifications.
Dr. Rivera, however, seemed to glean even more knowledge from his lack of
response.

With
a soft curse in Spanish, he asked, “Is it one of those kids you work with on
the western part of the island? What are you going to do about it?”

They
reached the elevator, which as far as Byron could tell, was safe and
functional.

“Nothing.”

“Why
not put the boy into hiding? I’m sure there’s some place he could go where they
can’t find him. Won’t they protect him?”

Byron
watched several more Elite pass as the elevator doors closed. Far away from them,
he heard the sounds of guards rushing around and boom-guns firing. “Do you know
much about guns, Doctor?”

“No—no
I don’t.” He blushed for a moment. “I collect rocks, never fired a gun.”

“I
use guns—many of them. I even test some before we send them out into the field
with the Psions. In my line of work, if someone gives me the best weapon in the
world, I use it. I have no other choice.”

“What
does this have to do with that boy? Samuel?”

“He
is the best weapon in the world.”

The
elevator stopped at the ground level. Two security officers ran around the
corner as the doors reopened, panting, and stopped when they saw Byron and Dr.
Rivera. Both saluted the commander.

“Sir,
we’ve searched all over the place. Break rooms, laboratories, supply closets,
restrooms. We can’t find any sign of Doctor Sokama.”