The Industry (18 page)

‘Alright,' Desmond said, addressing the group. ‘That's the closest entrance to the cell.'

He pointed to a door, oddly pristine, near the corner of the street, then fished around in his pocket for a set of keys.

‘I can open it, and the cell itself, so I'll go first. Any recruits we meet on our way need to be dealt with quickly. We get to the cell, get Milo, and then get out. It shouldn't take more than a minute. Are we all clear?'

‘No, I'm not,' Anton declared, delicately placing a stick of pink chewing gum into his mouth, then tightening the elastic band holding his long dreadlocks in place. ‘You lost me back when you were going over it that other time.'

Desmond looked at him. ‘Which other time? I've gone over it dozens of times.'

‘Exactly,' said Anton.

Desmond ignored him.

Slipping out into the night air, Kirra zipped up her jacket and kept her hand near her gun. She was determined this Extraction would go perfectly and didn't want to leave anything to chance; not to mention the fact that she wanted to demonstrate her ability to be professional, especially as Desmond had been reluctant to allow her to accompany them.

‘It's never a good idea to be personally invested in an assignment,' he'd warned. ‘Perhaps it would be better for you not to be involved.'

‘Not involved?' she'd spluttered. ‘Desmond … I'm definitely coming.'

He'd shrugged. ‘Okay, but stick to the plan.'

Sucking in a deep breath, she crossed the street and proceeded to watch closely as Desmond unlocked the door. Soon, all five of them were tucked inside the gloomy, narrow corridor, weapons in hand. There was no immediate sign of Latham or any of the recruits,
so Kirra relaxed slightly. If they continued along this passageway it would bring them to the cell, to Milo.

They stole along the corridor, listening for oncoming footsteps or voices. The pack stopped abruptly, and Kirra looked up, faced all too soon with the door she knew so well. Desmond punched a security code into the number pad, and then turned the key in the lock. Kirra swallowed. In the next moment, Milo would be back by her side. Desmond pushed the door open softly.

Kirra allowed her eyes to adjust to the darkness within the cell. Milo was probably asleep, in the corner they'd shared for so many nights. The corridor light trickled into the space and Kirra felt her face fall. She couldn't see Milo anywhere.

Desmond cursed under his breath. ‘He's not here,' he whispered.

Everyone but Kirra turned back into the corridor, abiding by the plan. When Kirra stayed precisely where she was, Mai returned and took her arm.

‘Kirra, remember what we agreed!' she urged. ‘If he's not here, we leave it for another day.'

Kirra barely heard her. Where was he?

Mai started to drag her back down the corridor, and she allowed herself to be steered away until a sickening sound met her ears. A moan of pain echoed through the factory, growing steadily into a scream. Kirra stopped dead. It was Milo. They were torturing him. She gasped for breath. He'd never screamed like that before. What were they doing to him? Without thinking, she tore away from Mai's grip.

‘No, Kirra!' Desmond groaned.

She ignored him, already sprinting down the corridor, gripping her gun fiercely. She gave no thought to the open doors she passed, or the fact that any number of recruits might hear and see her. All she could think of was Milo and putting a stop to the pain being inflicted upon him.

She flew past an open door and felt her heart stop when she heard shouting. Two recruits raced from the room, weapons in hand, bellowing in a foreign language, obviously raising the alarm.

Kirra gasped and fumbled for her gun, but it hardly mattered because one of the recruits toppled to the ground as though of his own accord, blood spurting in bursts from the wound in his chest. The other recruit lurched forward with a dreadful squeal, gripping at his heart, his eyes bulging. He buckled to the ground and ceased to move.

Behind them, Desmond lowered his gun. Mai, Anton and Fadil were with him, all watching Kirra in horror.

‘Leave it, Kirra,' Anton implored, his face deadly serious. ‘Just leave it.'

More shouting erupted from the open door, followed by the appearance of several more recruits. Fortunately for Kirra, they were facing Desmond and the others, and assumed them to be the only trespassers in the building. They wasted no time in opening fire on the small group, who gave back as good as they got, taking cover in nearby rooms. By some miracle, none of the recruits noticed Kirra, and, keeping as quiet as possible, she hurried away from the firefight towards the graffiti room.

Another of Milo's spinechilling screams met her ears. Hot tears flooded her eyes. How could she save him?
Latham and Balcescu and however many recruits would be waiting for her in that room. Really, she didn't stand a chance. She needed help, a plan, something,
anything.

Panicking, she turned a corner and slumped against the wall, rubbing her eyes feverishly. Another of Milo's broken screams met her ears and she shuddered. She knew exactly where he would be, exactly how to get to him, but without the others there was nothing she could do. Bursting into the graffiti room unaccompanied like a wild hero wasn't going to help anyone. Still, she couldn't just leave him.

Another cry of pain echoed through the corridor. Casting around, Kirra's eyes fell on a door opposite her. It was bright yellow. After a moment she frowned. She had never noticed the door before, although there was a lot of the factory she hadn't had access to, so that wasn't such a surprise. Just as she was turning away, resigned to the torment of having to leave Milo, she froze. A soft glow was shining from the crack between the yellow door and the floor. She took a slow breath and, amid the strain of the Extraction gone wrong, something in her hazy mind slid into place. All in an instant, she had a new plan. Kirra pushed the yellow door open. It was a bedroom, the soft light coming from a lamp on a bedside table, left on even though the person in the bed was fast asleep. Kirra hurried over and threw back the pale blue sheets.

Simone Latham stirred, her eyes blinking heavily. She peered up into Kirra's face for a moment, confused, and then scrambled into a sitting position.

‘What do you think you're doing?' she cried. But Kirra ignored her, grabbed her arm and dragged her out of bed.

‘Let me go! Right now!' she started to scream, but Kirra clamped a hand down over her mouth, and brought her gun into the lamplight. Simone's eyes widened, and her muffled protests stopped at once.

‘Don't cry,' Kirra said, ‘or yell for help. I'll shoot you if you do.'

Simone stared into Kirra's eyes for a moment, as though trying to determine if she could be taken seriously. Kirra glared back. Another of Milo's yells found her ears, and she gave Simone a quick shake.

‘Come on,' she said, and pulled Simone out into the corridor.

 

Milo looked down at the three broken and bleeding fingers on his left hand. They were almost numb now, but when Balcescu had snapped them with a pair of pliers Milo was sure he'd never experienced pain like it before. Blood still streamed from his broken nose and trickled down his throat. His eye was throbbing, a black and blue stain rippling across his face. Two recruits stood by the door, looking on. Their guns were in their hands.

Milo watched anxiously as Balcescu drew a small scalpel from one of his instrument trolleys. He felt the blade as it was pressed beneath his eye.

‘You know, Milo, I'm beginning to think last week's escape
was
something you planned for her,' Latham said. His voice was dangerously quiet. He was standing next to Milo's chair, looking furious. ‘I think you're hiding something from me.'

‘Wyles,' Milo panted. ‘He's helping her. I've had nothing to do with it.'

Latham ignored him and nodded at Balcescu, who made to dig out Milo's eye with his scalpel. Milo tensed, clenching his teeth, readying himself for the pain.

‘Papa?'

Milo looked up, astonished, as Latham whirled around to face the open door. The two recruits reached for their guns and Balcescu released the scalpel from Milo's eye.

‘Simone!' Latham barked, his eyes wide. ‘What are you doing here?'

Simone stood at the threshold in her pastel peach nightgown, her feet bare on the smooth floor, sleep in her eyes, her long hair tousled.

‘Papa …' she whispered again, tears gathering. ‘P-please help m-me.'

Latham froze when his eyes found the gun pressed to her temple. Kirra stepped into the light, hauling Simone closer to her, her hand around her neck as she used the girl as a human shield.

 

Kirra glanced at Milo, her eyes flickering over his blood and bruises. She wanted to smile at him but found she couldn't quite manage it under the circumstances.

‘Let him go,' she said to Latham, tightening her grip on Simone, her nails digging into the girl's skin. Simone's body grew rigid and Kirra pushed away an odd sense of satisfaction in causing her pain.

She inched forward. Her determination, strong as it was, couldn't silence her conscience. What she was going to do seemed an unforgivable act. Yet as soon as she'd seen the yellow door she'd known it was her only chance of saving Milo; and with each step towards his agonising
moans she had felt bolstered by her decision. They were hurting him — but not for long, not now she had Simone.

Gazing at the dismayed expression on Latham's face, Kirra was certain her plan would work.

‘Simone …' Latham breathed. He glanced at Kirra, his lips twisting furiously. ‘Get away from her, Kirra.'

His voice was quiet, malevolent and sure, and he watched her with an irritating sort of presumption. Kirra could tell there was no doubt in his mind that she would listen to him.

She heard distant shooting down the corridor. The firefight was travelling in their direction and she felt overwhelmed with gratitude. The others were still fighting for her. They hadn't abandoned her yet. They were defending her, waiting for her!

The two recruits in the graffiti room raised their weapons, preparing for the incoming confrontation. Kirra ignored them, feeling as though she was made of steel. Latham's daughter was her hostage. She was practically invincible.

‘No,' she said to Latham, digging her gun into Simone's hair. ‘Not until you release Milo.'

Latham glanced at the silent figure slumped in the chair.

‘Let's be serious with each other, Kirra,' he said. ‘I know you aren't going to murder a child.'

Milo caught Kirra's eye and she saw that he was watching her with awe as he sat in ruins, completely exhausted.

‘I don't want to,' she whispered, her voice so soft it was almost lost in the length of the room.

Latham didn't respond, but Kirra knew he was listening …

Simone whimpered, wriggling half-heartedly in Kirra's grip. ‘Papa …' she mumbled into the thick silence, tears spilling down her cheeks and splashing onto her nightgown.

‘Don't move, Simone!' Latham commanded her, his hand jerking towards her as though it was taking all his will to stay where he was.

‘Let him go, Latham, or I will kill her,' Kirra said, clenching her gun hand to stop it from trembling. ‘I swear I will.'

Latham's gaze slid from Kirra to Milo and back again. He studied his daughter, his eyes betraying his sudden uncertainty. He needed Kirra and Milo, but it was clear that he was not prepared to lose his daughter over this. Kirra wanted to laugh at him. She wanted to ask him if perhaps he now regretted putting a gun to Lena's head and blasting her away from Kirra forever. She wanted to ask if he regretted using Milo against her for so many months, or if, at this exact moment, he regretted stealing Kirra away from Barrie Avenue in the first place.

Kirra felt a strange desire bloom inside her. An idea that rose up, twisting and sprouting like a plant in sunlight. It would be so easy to kill Latham's daughter right now. He had taken so much from Kirra; why shouldn't she take something from him? It would make them even. It would make up for everything. Perhaps even for Lena?

Simone whimpered again, and the sound made the murderous urge recede slightly. Revenge wouldn't fix
things, Kirra thought. It wouldn't resurrect Lena, or get her home.

‘Alright, alright, I'll allow Milo to go with you,' Latham said suddenly.

Kirra wondered if he'd sensed the bloodthirsty ideas dancing inside her head.

‘Balcescu, release him,' Latham ordered, gesturing towards Milo. ‘But be assured, Kirra, I'll see you again very soon.'

 

Kirra watched in astonishment as Balcescu unbuckled Milo from the chair. Milo couldn't seem to believe it himself, scrutinising Latham with wide, confused eyes. Once free, he climbed laboriously to his feet and stood gazing at Kirra.

‘Alright,' Latham said, a small measure of tension evaporating from his voice. ‘Let Simone go, Kirra.'

She shook her head quickly. ‘No, not until we're out of here. Simone will come with us. When we're far enough away, we'll stop and let her out of the car.'

‘I won't agree to those terms!' Latham snarled, stress erupting all over his plump face like a rash. He seemed to be succumbing to the pressure of the situation quite spectacularly, something Kirra found she very much enjoyed.

‘You have to,' she said smugly.

She turned to find Milo staring at her, his expression a kaleidoscope of raw emotion. They stood together, completely free for the first time, and Kirra knew that she had never felt as jubilant in all her life as she did right then.

‘Let's go,' she said quietly.

Milo walked gingerly to the door, keeping one eye on Latham, apparently convinced he was going to try something underhanded. Latham's expression was nothing short of murderous. Balcescu and the two recruits remained where they were, seemingly stunned.

Kirra began to back out of the room, shielded by the weeping Simone. She could still hear gunfire within the building. They needed to meet up with Desmond and the others as quickly as possible so Kirra could tell them they could retreat. She had Milo. It was over. They could go home — though wherever that was to be now, Kirra did not know.