Conspiracy Game (44 page)

B
riony
crouched in the tunnel leading down into the mine. Something wasn’t right, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.
How were they finding her?
If Ken was right, they would never have sent soldiers against him and Jack. How could Whitney get away with sending soldiers after members of the military? They had no one they could trust.

The tunnel was far darker than the woods, and she sat at the entrance, where she could hurriedly escape back into the mine should someone come, but there was solace in being close to the woods. She occasionally saw a flash of light in the sky and heard the sound of gunfire, but it seemed far away.
How were they finding her?

There had to be logic in what Whitney had done. He’d brought her from the orphanage where he found her, and experimented on her, but unlike some of the other girls he’d kept, he’d adopted her out to a loving family.
But that was still an experiment.
He had wanted to see how she would develop and function in comparison with someone he’d kept. What exactly did one need for an experiment? Briony sat up straighter, her heart beginning to pound, knowing she was on the verge of an important discovery. Her temples throbbed and her stomach twisted. Too many times in her life she’d felt the same stabbing pains, the terrible churning in her stomach, and she’d stopped trying to remember her past. Who did Whitney control and who was he comparing her to? Whitney needed his experiments the way others needed to breathe. There would be someone—another child he’d kept behind, raised without a family, raised in a stark, difficult environment—one he kept.

“Oh God.” Horrified at her own thoughts, she began to rock back and forth, pressing her hands over her stomach. One of the other girls? What would that show Whitney? Only that she reacted differently under duress? Under pain? No—Whitney would need more than that. Why was she chosen to be adopted out? What was special about her that he sent her out when he kept so many others?

She tried to remember, forcing her thoughts back to her childhood before her adopted family. She’d been five—old enough to have memories. Her skull pounded. Blood trickled out of her nose in warning, but shadows moved, eluded her, small wisps. A childish voice. Crying. Begging. Was that her voice? Were there two voices crying? Hard hands tearing her away when she clung… when
they
clung together.

She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, suddenly chilled to the bone. There were two voices. Pain shot through her head, stabbing deep into her brain, but she wouldn’t let go when she was so close. Blood dripped steadily from her nose and began to leak from her ear. She pressed her palms to her head. It felt like someone was squeezing a vise there, but she pushed through the barrier, the pain—and saw…

Briony choked back a scream, and covered her eyes as if that would block out the knowledge. Two little girls with the same tow heads, blond hair falling around their faces, their dark brown eyes enormous, walking and talking and holding each other until… Briony ran deeper into the mine, bent over, and threw up.

She had a twin sister.
Whitney had ripped them apart, buried her memories behind a wall of pain, and sent her out alone while he kept her sister. How could she have let him erase the knowledge she had a sister? All the years that had passed, what had he done to Mari?
Marigold.
Had he taken her memory as well? Or did her sister know Briony was out there somewhere free, while she remained locked up with a madman and his experiments? Did her sister wait for rescue? Would he be so cruel as to torment her that way? Did her sister wonder every day of her life why Briony didn’t come for her?

Tears streaked her face as Briony staggered back to the entrance of the mine. She remembered bits and pieces only, but she knew she was right, she
felt
it, the clawing emptiness, just the same as when Whitney had torn them apart all those years ago. There had to be a way to find her. Briony
would
find her, but first, she had to find out how Whitney’s men continued to track her. Before she could turn the tables on the doctor, she had to get completely away from him.

Briony’s head came up. Whitney had never really relinquished control over Briony. He had full control of her education and certainly her medical needs. She’d been available to continue with his experiments, even to being given the ability to change her skin color. So if that were the case, he had the ability to plant anything else he deemed necessary—such as a tracking device.

She swore softly under her breath. Of course there had to be a tracking device. He wouldn’t want her getting away from him when she was the future mother of his supersoldiers. When had he planted it? Not when she was a child; it was too many years ago and the technology advanced too fast. He’d want the best, the latest. When was the last time Dr. Sparks had done anything of importance on her? Two years ago she’d been hospitalized on an outpatient basis for surgery. Sparks had his own team there, not the regular hospital staff.

Briony touched her hip. She’d woken up with stitches, and Dr. Sparks had told her they’d found and removed a suspicious lump, and with her super physical abilities they couldn’t be too careful. He hadn’t specifically mentioned cancer, but he’d implied it and her mother had obsessed over every bruise and bump.

Briony ran her finger over the small scar, pressing deep to try to feel if there was anything beneath the skin. Her breath caught in her throat. If she pressed very hard, there were small ridges distinctly against the pad of her finger. Whitney had to have had the device implanted. And that meant that it wouldn’t matter if Jack and Ken held off an entire army as well as hid her in the deepest jungles—she would be found.

Her heart beating wildly, she opened the pack Jack had hastily put together. Weapons as well as a medic’s kit lay on top of her clothes. She pulled the knife from the scabbard and turned it over to inspect the blade. Jack and Ken seemed to have the best of equipment. The knife had a nice balance to it as well as a comfortable grip. She stared at the blade for a few moments, indecision warring with resolve.

Briony touched Jack’s mind, needing reassurance, hoping the danger was past and he could come for her, but his mind was totally occupied with a target. She withdrew from Jack and stared again at the knife. Very slowly she opened a packet of antiseptic and wiped the blade of the knife. She swirled some more over her bare flesh, right above her hip. It was cold and a shiver went down her spine.

She took a deep breath and pressed the tip of the knife against the corner of the small ridged disc in her hip. Her body shuddered and broke out in a sweat as the knife pierced her skin. She dug deeper, feeling her way to find the dimensions of the foreign object. She began to shake, the pain streaking through her, clawing at her stomach, but she was determined to cut the thing out. Once she knew the size, she ran the blade carefully along her skin, creating a flap. It was only about three quarters of an inch, but it seemed like half her hip was involved, with pain radiating down her leg and up her back. Even her stomach hardened. Once cut, she put down the knife and used the tweezers to extract the object, all the while whispering reassurance to the babies, afraid they might be aware.

She had to rest for a moment, breathing deep to keep from getting sick again. It was an awkward place to stitch, and blood was flowing freely, making everything slippery. The medical kit contained several needles, sutures—thankfully—already threaded. She’d practiced field stitching before, but somehow it seemed a lot more painful and difficult than she remembered.

Her hands trembled, which didn’t help, but she bit down hard on her lower lip and forced the needle through her skin. She worked at making tiny stitches as she closed the flap. By the time she was finished, Briony felt sick to her stomach and she leaned back to close her eyes briefly. The scent of her own blood was overwhelming in the small confines of the tunnel. She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on stopping the churning in her stomach.

A small sound alerted her, the snapping of a twig. Her eyes flew open, and she caught up the nearest weapon, a rock, flinging it hard, using every bit of strength she had to launch it. Her hand was still bloody and the rock slipped as she threw. Luther’s face darkened with anger as he trapped the rock against his chest where it struck him. He stepped into the entrance of the cave, looming over her.

“If it isn’t the little whore, back with her man. That’s his defective brat in your belly, isn’t it? Not the lion tamer, you lying bitch.” Luther kicked at her.

She rolled over at the last minute, as the toe of his boot drove directly at her stomach. She kept rolling until she ran out of room, trying to scramble to her feet. Luther was too fast, following her, his large body trapping her against the wall of the tunnel. She drew her knees up in an effort to protect the babies, and waited for the next attack. Luther was breathing hard, the rage in his eyes terrible.

Jack!
Forget calm. Forget being stoic.
Jack, Luther found me!

He answered at once and she could have wept. His voice was utterly calm—completely confident.
We’re on our way. Stall him if you can. If not, cooperate, baby. Don’t give him any reason to be pissed off at you.

Good thinking, but a little too late. I’m really afraid he’s going to try to hurt the babies. I don’t know what his deal is, but he seems to think I’ve betrayed him in some way. I’ve got the knife, but I don’t know if I can take him.

Has he seen your weapon? Does he know you have it?

No.

Keep it as a last resort. And, baby, keep your mind open to mine. I might be able to shield you from emotions even from this distance. And I’ll be able to find you if he takes you before I can get there.

“I’m getting really fed up with you, Briony,” Luther said, bending down to stare into her eyes. He wanted her to be afraid of him; she could see it on his face. “You lied about Jack being the father.”

Briony shrank back farther into the shadows, felt the pack behind her, and found the bloody knife still lying on top of it. She leaned against the pack, the knife blade concealed by her body. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m so confused. Nothing makes sense anymore.” She kept her tone low, submissive even.

It was the last thing he expected her to say, and he stopped in his tracks, suspicion on his face. Deliberately Briony lifted a shaking hand and wiped at the sweat from her face, smearing blood on her forehead, looking as fragile as possible.

“You found the tracking disc.” His entire demeanor changed. He even sounded proud of her. “I knew you would—and you cut it out of your body. You’re just like… ” Luther broke off abruptly, crouching beside her, removing a canteen. “Here, take a drink. It’s only water. Let me take a look at that.”

“Like my sister?” Briony took the canteen from him and drank, her gaze never leaving his, watching his reaction.

“I
knew
you’d figure it out. I chose you because you’re tough as nails and our kids are going to be incredible.” His fingers brushed her hip as he examined her handiwork.

Briony bit down hard on her lip, forcing herself to stay still and not jerk away from his touch. “Where is she?”

“You’ll see her soon enough. She’s not in very good shape at the moment. Brett has to discipline her often. She’s highly combative.”

“Who is Brett? And why is she combative?”

“She doesn’t want to cooperate with him.” He shook his head. “I don’t want to have that kind of trouble with you.”

“My sister is with someone named Brett? And he disciplines her? See why I’m so confused? I thought Whitney wanted certain pairs to have children together and he made certain they were attracted physically.” She took another drink of water, trying to slow down the inevitable—stall for time.

Luther pulled out his own medical kit and wiped the area around her hip with more antiseptic before applying a topical antibiotic. “We realized it isn’t necessary for the woman to be attracted to the man—only that the man wants her.”

Briony frowned. “That’s ridiculous. Why would she ever agree to have someone’s baby if she isn’t attracted?”

“She doesn’t have to agree.
You
don’t have to agree. We can force compliance. It isn’t easy if the woman is a fighter—but on the other hand, it’s a good thing, and we all recognize that. If the woman is willing to fight, and she’s tough enough to cut a disc out of her body, she’s definitely someone we want as the mother of our children.” He put gauze over the wound and taped it in place. “That should hold until we get you back to the lab.”

Briony bit back her opinion that he was crazy. “Will I be able to see my sister?”

“If you two want to see each other, you’ll have to do whatever is necessary.”

“You mean have sex with someone we don’t want to be with? Why doesn’t Whitney use in vitro rather than force a woman to be intimate with someone she’s doesn’t want?”

“Because when we have the soldiers we want, no one can say they were genetically engineered. They’ll be human and beyond any outcry or protest.”

“It’s rape,” Briony pointed out.

“Only if you make it rape,” Luther argued, his fingers settling around her wrist to pull her to her feet. “The woman has a choice. We always give her a choice. The easy way or the hard way. Don’t be like your sister.”

The fanaticism on his face sickened her. He believed every word he said. He didn’t think there was anything wrong with what he was proposing—forcing her to have sexual relations in order to produce a child of superhuman strength and abilities. It made no sense that they wouldn’t use in vitro to produce a child—there had to be other reasons.

She staggered against him as he pulled her from the tunnel into the night. That quick he was on her, whirling her around, slamming her up against the side of the entrance, pressing tight with one hand while he clamped down on her wrist with the other, exposing the knife. He pried it out of her fingers and sent the blade skittering along the ground.