Covert Game Page 8

  "Please tell me what's going on. I don't understand what you think I could have done. I was with you the entire time," she protested, trying to hold back, trying to reach one spark of humanity in him when he was completely unreachable.

  "Come with me willingly or you will regret it," he said.

  It was his tone, a soft whisper that was issued in a firm, unyielding manner, that told her he wasn't playing around. She went immediately, terrified he was going to torture her again. He took her down the hall to the elevator without saying another word. She couldn't control the tremors running through her body, and she didn't try to stop her wild heart. They would expect her to be scared. A professor of a university accused of wiping out an entire building full of data would be scared.

  As soon as she entered the room on the second floor, she knew what they were going to do. There was an MRI machine. They were going to look for signs of treachery on and in her body.

  "Strip." Zhu stepped away from her. "Everything."

  Zara looked to him and then around the room, feeling helpless. She'd been helpless her entire life. She considered forcing him to kill her right there, just as a final show of defiance against Whitney, Cheng and Zhu. All three. She hated feeling weak, at the mercy of men who used her for their purposes. She wasn't real to any of them. She was a tool, nothing more. She didn't because she was a GhostWalker and if they had her body and took it apart, which they would, she would be endangering every other GhostWalker and her country.

  She stepped away from Zhu, looking at the floor. Strangely, there were spots on it. Small, round, rust-colored spots. Tears? Blood? Bloody tears? She unbuttoned the small flat abalone-shell buttons and let her blouse slip from her shoulders. She didn't try to seduce Zhu by making it a striptease. He'd already seen her body. He'd taken the clothes from her once before. Had he forced her to dress just so the guards wouldn't see her? A small concession. She wanted to think that. She needed to think Zhu was trying to look out for her, but she knew he wasn't. He was the one torturing her, causing her untold pain. She simply undressed, folding her clothing neatly and placing each item on the little table just to the right of the door. Her bra and panties were last. She hesitated before she unhooked her bra and then shimmied out of her lacy panties.

  Zara refused to cover up with her hands. She'd done that the day before and it hadn't done her a bit of good. She stood, shivering, completely naked in front of Zhu, her gaze on those strange spots dotting the floor. Waiting.

  Zhu handed her a thin hospital gown. She put it on without looking at him.

  "Miss Hightower." He spoke her name low. Compelling. When she didn't look at him he switched tactics. "Zara, look at me."

  She took a breath and raised her eyes to his.

  "If you're hiding anything, you need to let me know now."

  "What would I be hiding? And where?" She sounded bitter. She felt bitter. There was no getting out of this. She was terrified because no one was coming for her and after subjecting her to all of this, wouldn't they have to prevent her from talking even if they determined she was innocent? She was going to die. She had to decide how she wanted to die. She couldn't rile Zhu, he was too disciplined, and he clearly dissociated himself from his victim. The guards were more susceptible. She could taunt one until he shot her. But what about her body? How could she die and not leave evidence behind of the GhostWalker program? She was intelligent, she had to find a way, but right now, she was so scared it was all she could to stay standing.

  Zhu shook his head and stepped to the door to call in the tech. Her heart pounded even more as they strapped her down. This was the moment of truth. They had done a full body scan twice now, using the CAT scan machine before they'd administered the chemicals. She'd been wanded repeatedly. Now they were going to scan her brain. This would be the telling moment.

  She was put inside the machine and she closed her eyes, trying not to feel claustrophobic. The solid-state drive implanted in her brain had no movable mechanical parts. The SSD was far more resistant to physical movement and shock than a metal hard drive would be. Without the spinning disk, there was no whirring in her head to drive her insane.

  The SSD was made of a newer material called PEEK-carbon that was radiolucent to X-ray, CT and MRI scans--at least Whitney told her it was. So far, she'd passed the X-ray and CT scans. She had, of course, done research on it and knew it was 30 percent carbon fiber reinforced polyetheretherketone.

  Whitney had built a nanotube from PEEK-carbon. Using the nanotube, he created a SSD that he claimed was invisible to X-ray, CT and MRI scans. To power it, he used the same idea as used in pacemakers--the body's movements. The generator was made of the same PEEK-carbon material and sat on a flat sheet of the same right beside the SSD. Although it was tiny, she knew it was a lot to miss with a scan. She had to rely on Whitney's assurances that the SSD wouldn't show up, no matter how they tried to search for it.

  She allowed her breathing and heart to swing out of control because it would be unnatural not to. She'd shown she was terrified. She'd made it appear as if she were close to going into shock, and maybe she was. She could be cool and calm in most situations, but not when torture was looming. Not after the chemicals Zhu had given her. She still felt the burn through her body and tasted the agony in her mouth.

  To get through the brain scan, she concentrated on trying to figure out what drug Zhu had used on the teacup and why she was no longer feeling the effects but he was. Whitney had developed some secret pheromone formula that was unique to two people in the program. His desire had been to pair them so when they were sent into the field together, their distinctive psychic gifts and the physical enhancements he chose for them complemented each other and made them a much more lethal combination.

  Zhu wasn't a GhostWalker, so how had he managed to get ahold of Whitney's secret project when no amount of hacking had found the program used by him? And why was it working against Zhu? He was clearly attracted to her. Could it be natural and not part of whatever truth serum Cheng had devised? She didn't want to think Zhu capable of something so mundane as to be generally attracted to a woman.

  Could she use his attraction to her against him? She didn't think so. He was too disciplined and she didn't doubt for a minute that he would put a bullet in her head if Cheng demanded it. Better a bullet than more torture. He hadn't hesitated to inject her with nasty drugs and sit by all day while she screamed, cried, begged and pleaded.

  She knew it wasn't good when they took her out of the machine. She heard more gunshots just outside the door, the bullets fired in rapid succession, and this time the body that fell hit against the wall to the room with the MRI machine. Zhu, impassive as always, handed her clothes to her and told her to get dressed. She did so in silence, watching blood seep under the door.

  Zara felt a little faint, but better a quick death than being tortured again. She didn't think she could go through it again. She didn't believe for one moment she would get lucky enough to be let go. She was fairly certain the tech was murdered because he'd given Cheng results the man didn't want to hear. She stole a glance at Zhu. He looked unconcerned, and that was even more terrifying than knowing Cheng just indiscriminately killed a tech because he didn't like the results the man had given him.

  Zhu placed his lips against her ear. "You keep quiet, do you understand me? Unless I tell you otherwise, keep your mouth shut."

  She nodded her understanding, although she didn't understand at all. She kept dressing as quickly as she could. The moment she was finished, Zhu took her arm and opened the door. The body of the young tech lay slumped over beside the wall and directly in front of the door. He lay in a pool of blood. She let out a single sound of despair and closed her eyes, turning her face away.

  Cheng paced the hallway, a gun in his fist. He talked fast, an angry staccato, lashing out at his hired soldiers, berating them over and over. He halted abruptly when Zhu pulled her out of the room and around the dead body. She kept her eyes on the floor, visibly sha
king. What had made Cheng so angry? The fact that they found something, or they didn't?

  Cheng stalked over to her, his face contorted like a madman's. He regarded her silently for a long moment. She didn't dare look up. She tried to look as cowed as she felt. He raised his gun hand and everything in her stilled, braced for the impact of the bullet. Instead of a bullet, he slammed the gun into her face, hitting her temple on one side and then across her cheek on the other, pistol-whipping her. She tried to get away from him, but Zhu caught both arms and held her immobile in front of him. Blood ran down her face. She felt light-headed when he stopped.

  "Take her to the interrogation room. I want you to beat the truth out of her. Make it hurt, Zhu. Beat her within an inch of her life, but keep her alive. If that isn't successful, use the cane and then the whip. You wield it with such proficiency. I want to know how this was done." Cheng spoke in English, wanting her to know what was coming.

  Zhu didn't respond, but pushed her toward the elevators. They had to skirt around a pool of blood. Halfway to the elevator, another of the soldiers lay on the floor, dead. She stumbled. Zhu wrapped his arm around her waist, holding her up as they entered the elevator. She tensed, wondering if she could kill him and get out. She knew the place was on lockdown, and soldiers guarded every point of entry.

  "Don't."

  She must have tensed up, ready to fight. Her head exploded with pain with every movement, but she had to try. She couldn't just let him torture her. This was going to be bad, worse than the chemicals, and she'd never done bad well. She wasn't stoic. She was loud and cried like a baby. She was the last person that should ever guard secrets when torture was involved. She had to try. She had to protect the GhostWalkers.

  Before Zara could make a move, Zhu punched her hard in the stomach. Very hard. She doubled over and heaved. He didn't let her fall to the ground, not even when her legs turned to rubber. Nothing like taking the fight out of her fast. She knew that move and why he'd done it.

  She tried to bring her head up fast, hoping to hit him under his chin, but she was disoriented from the pistol whipping and Zhu easily avoided her attempt and hit her a second time. Pain exploded everywhere, refusing to stay confined to her head. She'd had training, years of it, but then Whitney told her to forget her training in situations like this one and react like a terrified woman. He'd made her practice that for the last few years. Training warred with survival instincts. She forced herself to bite, to hit feebly, to carry out the stupid, stupid cover that wasn't really a cover, but was really her.

  She lost track of how many times he hit her. It was methodical and done coolly, completely impersonal. So much for attraction and how much good will it would buy her. When they reached the upper floor where her room was, he dragged her out of the elevator by her hair, taking her right past her room, to another, three doors down where he shoved her inside.

  She landed hard on the floor. There were bloodstains there. A fingernail. Clearly no one believed in cleaning up after themselves. She knew she was a little hysterical, but she tried to get to her feet and face him because really, damn him. He could go to hell. She didn't realize she was shouting it at him until he hit her again, right across the face, right where Cheng's gun had cut her cheek open.

  Zara heard her breath hiss out of her lungs. Then he hit her breast and all air was gone. The pain was excruciating. She tried not to let him see, knowing she would be giving him more ammunition, but it was impossible not to scream. Tears mingled with blood on her face. She lost count of how many times he hit her breasts, then moved lower, attacking her ribs, back up to her breasts and then her face.

  There was no way to stand, but she realized they weren't alone. Someone held her in place for Zhu. He didn't look as if he'd even broken out in a sweat when he finally stopped. She was dragged to the wall, her hands jerked above her head so high she was on her toes, wrists bound tightly.

  She heard Zhu's voice asking questions, but she couldn't make out the words. It wouldn't matter anyway. She didn't have anything to tell him. Her eyes were swelling shut in spite of the fact that her body had taken far more punishment than her face. He'd slapped her more than punched her in the face, but her body hurt so badly she didn't think she could breathe through the pain. How did spies do this?

  His voice stayed a soft, almost gentle tone. He pushed back her hair, his fingers stroking her swollen cheekbone. A bottle of water was held to her lips and she was forced to drink. It was cold and wet and tasted faintly like blood. He kept stroking back her hair, murmuring soothingly to her. Then he held the bottle to her lips again. She drank because he gave her no choice.

  The questions started again. Her name. Where she was from. Her education. She wanted to scream at him. She was written up in the all the journals for her work. What was wrong with him? He already had that information. Her head wouldn't stop its vicious pounding. The pain made her so nauseated she couldn't keep from dry heaving. She'd already been sick all over the floor.

  Zhu wiped her face gently with a wet cloth. "Pay attention, Zara," he said. "Answer the questions."

  She shook her head. "I don't know what you want me to say."

  "The truth."

  That horrible pounding in her head increased, and this time, there was that strange ripping sensation in her mind, as if Zhu was there, trying to tear the truth from her. "I'm a professor at Rutgers," she blurted. "I don't understand any of this. Cheng invited me to give a talk on the program my team and I developed, the VALUE system. I was doing that when the alarms went off and something happened that I still don't really know or understand."

  He hit her. Hard--so hard everything became even more blurred. There was no place on her body that wasn't sacred. She lost track of time. She must have lost consciousness because he threw a bucket of water over her and yanked her head back by her hair. "Stay with me, Zara, this is important."

  Once again, he held water to her lips. It hurt to drink. Her lips stung and her throat felt raw and damaged from screaming. She didn't even know what she screamed, only that she did. He soothed and petted her. He whispered to her. He let her lean into him. Then the questions started again and that ripping sensation in her head increased. Whatever new drug Cheng developed to force truth from his victims added to the jackhammers piercing her skull. It had to be in the water he gave her. She began reciting mathematical problems in her head over and over to combat the effects of the drugs. For all she knew she recited them out loud. She was beyond caring if she did.

  He viciously stripped the clothes from her body, ripping them into long rags and that made her cry harder because she knew she didn't have any other clothes. They couldn't send her back to her hotel naked. They were never sending her back.

  He spun her around. She heard a whistle like something moving fast in the air. It hit her across the back of her thighs and pain exploded. The cane. He was caning her. She'd heard of it, of course. It was common practice on prisoners. Never in a million years had she ever considered she would have to endure it. He hit her so many times she lost count. There wasn't a place on her back, buttocks or thighs that he spared. Sometimes he hit in the same place several times until she couldn't even scream because the pain was so excruciating.

  Then he repeated the gentle handling, pushing back the damp hair from her forehead, whispering to her, holding the water to her mouth. Again, the questions began. She was so disoriented, she couldn't think to answer him. She just wanted to lie down and go to sleep and never wake up.

  He dragged her legs back, so that her feet were propped up on something she couldn't see, the tops of each foot resting in a notch so the soles of her feet were exposed. When the first strike hit the arch of her foot, pain exploded, so excruciating she knew she might black out. She wanted to let go and faint. Nothing could ever hurt that bad again. She was wrong. He spent a great deal of time caning her feet, arches, heels, the balls of her feet, sides, toes, finally the tops. She was sweating profusely, sobbing, her breath wheezing out of her by the
time he put down the cane and offered her more water. She choked on it, tried to turn her head away, refusing to drink, but he caught her hair, tipping her head back and forcing the water down her throat.

  He let go of her and she tensed, waiting, hanging by her wrists, facing the door. She couldn't stand any weight on her feet, so she had to take her full weight on her wrists. She couldn't see and that made him scarier than ever. It was terrifying to wait for what he would do next, and she knew it was something terrible when he spun her around to face him. He stood for a long moment, letting her see what looked like a long bullwhip. Then he swung. The lash hit her across both breasts, cutting into her soft flesh. She jerked hard against her wrists, nearly tearing her arms out of the sockets, screaming again, her voice so hoarse she didn't recognize it. She'd thought the cane was agony, but the whip slicing into her skin, cutting her open was far worse.

  She had no idea how long he kept at it. She lost consciousness twice and both times there were buckets of ice-cold water thrown over her to revive her. He started up again immediately until there wasn't a place on her body that wasn't bleeding, bruised, swollen or throbbing with agonizing pain. She quit screaming. She couldn't think beyond the pain. When he stopped to ask her questions, Zara tried to answer. She pleaded with Zhu to believe her.

  Then he was hitting her for the fourth session with the whip, and her mind shut down completely. She hung there limply, unresponsive, almost in a catatonic state, but she was aware of Zhu cursing as he cut her down. From a great distance in her mind, she was surprised that Zhu didn't get one of his subordinates to take her body down and drag her to her room. Instead he let her fall into his arms. He opened the door to find Cheng pacing back and forth in the hallway.