JACK KILBORN ~ TRAPPED (80 page)

Now Sara did look up. Her husband and Lester were heading toward her, and then Martin pointed.

“
There you are!”

“
I’ll be back for you.” Her fingers briefly touched Cindy’s.

Then Sara ran. She ran to the big steel door, turned the lock, and pushed.

Nothing happened.

She pushed harder, leaning into it, and the door squealed and inched open.

“
Sara!” Cindy yelled.

Sara didn’t want to look, but she did. Martin and Lester were twenty yards away at most, both of them running. Sara only had a few seconds.

She strained against the heavy door, putting all of her weight into it, her injured leg trembling and feeling like it was about to burst.

The door opened to a foot wide, maybe an inch or two less. Sara crammed herself into the space, sandwiched between the door and the frame, fitting her head through sideways. But her body wouldn’t follow suit, her chest was too big.

I’m stuck.

Sara could hear Martin and Lester almost upon her. She strained, but the door was too heavy, squeezing her too tight.

Incredibly, her subconscious latched on to a solution, a logic problem she liked to tell her kids. A truck, fifteen feet tall, gets struck under an overpass that is only fourteen feet, ten inches high. What’s the easiest way to free the truck?

Let the air out of the tires.

Sara exhaled forcefully, blowing out her cheeks, emptying her lungs.

Someone grabbed her. But Sara had compressed her ribcage just enough, and she slipped through the door and pulled away and ran outside and into the woods and ran around trees and through shrubs and ran and ran and ran.

Eventually, her bad leg just stopped supporting her, and Sara had to lean against an elm and rub out the cramp that had formed around the fork wounds. Her jeans were soaked with blood, and she realized she was still holding on to the hammer.

While she tried to catch her breath, Sara listened to the woods, to see if she was being followed. She didn’t hear the sounds of pursuit, but she did hear another sound.

Sara glanced overhead, and watched a low-flying helicopter skirt the tree canopy, heading toward the prison.

Dr. Plincer tied off his last suture, then used his stethoscope to make sure Subject 33’s lungs were inflated. They both sounded fine. Plincer hooked up an IV filled with antibiotics, then peeled off his latex gloves. Subject 33 would be paralyzed for several more hours, so there was no need to get him locked up right away. Besides, the guests would be arriving in just a few minutes.

Plincer left the lab and strolled down the hallway, into his bedroom. He checked his facial putty in the mirror and judged the scar coverage to be adequate. There were some spatters of blood on his lab coat, but he didn’t see how that would do anything to hurt the negotiations.

In the top drawer of his dresser were a detailed account of his procedure, an ingredient list of his serum, and various notes, charts, and graphs supporting his findings. He also picked up a plastic bag filled with items Captain Prendick had acquired for him at some sex store.

Plincer’s returned to the lab, where he grabbed a sealed test tube sample of the serum used in the procedure. This was the latest version, the kind that was apparently successful with Georgia.

Then he went into the cell room, to prepare the volunteers. The three children looked suitably cowed. The white one also looked like someone had used him as the board in a game of darts.

The doctor reached into the sex bag and pulled out a ball gag. Red rubber, with a strap that wound around the head to hold it in the mouth.

“
You, young man, if you’d be so kind I need you to put your back against the bars so I can put this on you.”
“Hells no. You can stick that thing up yo ass, old dude.”

“
It’s just a simple ball gag. Surely you don’t want to annoy our special guests with your screaming.”

“
Ain’ no way you gettin’ that thing in my mouth.”

Plincer nodded. “I do admire a man with convictions. But I must mention the alternative. If you won’t allow me to gag you, I’ll have to sew your lips together.”

The black boy put his back to the bars and opened his mouth. Plincer made sure the buckle was on tight, then put the next one on the girl in the same fashion. The white boy was difficult—his injuries seemed to limit his range of motion. Plincer managed to coerce him into rolling over to the bars, and put the gag on him as he was lying down.

Doctor Plincer had something else they each needed to wear, also from the sex store, but chose to wait for Lester and Martin to assist, because they’d no doubt balk at the sight of them.

As though God was reading Plincer’s thoughts, Martin suddenly burst in through the outside door. He was pinching his nose, his shirt tie-dyed with blood. Lester strolled in behind him. a large frown creasing his face.

“
Sara got away,” Martin said by way of explanation.

“
She has no place to run. You can find her after the company leaves.” Plincer glanced up at Lester. “And why, might I ask, are you sulking?”

“
Martin told Lester that the Sara woman killed the Joe pet, not Subject 33. Lester wants to bite off the Sara woman’s fingers.”

“
I’m sure you’ll have the chance later, Lester. Martin, you’d better go get cleaned up. Also make sure Georgia is presentable, and please find a tool belt for her with all the standard equipment, if you’d be so kind. Lester, please help me put these on the children. I believe they’re going to object.”

Plincer reached into the bag once again, withdrawing three black leather dog collars.

Kong waited for the engine to cut off before he removed the protective hearing muffs from his ears. All the tension he’d worked off with the whore was back, and then some. After a particularly miserable plane flight sitting next to a hairy fat man in first class, he had to endure the half hour car trip from Sawyer to the helicopter pad. One of the men assigned to meet him—Lau Yung-ching—deemed it necessary to make small talk during the ride, an unfortunate side-effect of being in the States too long.

The chopper ride itself was as loud and bumpy as Kong guessed it would be, and Lau, who turned out to be the pilot, had apparently felt he’d lost face when Kong told him to shut up. As a result, Lau had flown with many unnecessary turns and drops, trying to rattle Kong. If they’d been in China, Kong would have had him arrested and tossed in one of the jails he supervised.

Perhaps Kong would still have a chance to, once China was the undisputed world power.

There had been many hurdles to overcome, but the director of the Jinzhong prison system believed destiny led him here, to Plincer’s Island.

It began with spies, well-placed moles in America’s military, keeping an eye out for weapons research. When the Army ended its deal with Plincer, Kong was happy to step in.

The USA was far too short-sighted, not grasping the bigger picture. These days, war was won by intelligence and technology. But throughout history, it was ruthlessness that decided the victor.

Ghengis Khan. Trajan. Napoleon. Atilla the Hun. Marius. Alexander the Great. Julius Caesar. There was no mercy on the field of battle for these great leaders.

An army with no mercy was a fearsome force.

But an army with a thirst for blood—that was an unstoppable force.

China had seven million troops. But languishing in China’s many prisons were another seven million.

Kong had plans for his incarcerated countrymen. Plans that involved the serum and procedure Dr. Plincer had developed to enhance a subject’s aggression.

If Plincer could actually turn a normal person into a bloodthirsty sadist, China would have the most powerful weapon ever created.

Imagine a thousand such psychopaths unleashed on a city. Imagine a hundred thousand let loose in Russia, or America.

Such an army would be cost-free. It would have no need for weapons or training. It wouldn’t require food or shelter. It could use the transportation already available in the country it had infiltrated. Such an army wouldn’t even need orders, having the order to kill already programmed into its collective brain.

Like that catch phrase Kong had seen on one of America’s annoying late-night infomercials.
You could just set it, and forget it.

Kong wouldn’t only have the power to keep China safe. He’d have the power to topple governments, to destabilize economies, to engineer anarchy and mass destruction.

And he could have it all for just twenty-five million dollars. A pittance.

He unbuckled his seat belt and grabbed his metal suitcase, waiting for the rotor blades to stop turning before he exited the chopper because he disliked his carefully combed hair to be blown around. The pilot, Lau, would stay with the helicopter. Lau’s partner, a burly man named Chow Kar-wang, would accompany Kong to the meeting and act as muscle if needed.

So far, Chow had kept silent. But he had been corrupted by American influence for too long, and Kong knew it was only a matter of time before the bodyguard disappointed him in some way. It shouldn’t matter. Intel reported that Plincer lived alone on the island, except for his Level 6 subjects and a few wild people who didn’t respond well to the procedure. Kong didn’t expect any trouble. Still, it was somewhat reassuring to see the bulge under Chow’s left armpit, knowing it meant a firearm.

The clearing they’d landed in was ugly. Ugly trees, Ugly ground. Ugly sky. Nothing at all like the serene forests of China. Kong would commit suicide if he were forced to live in such an ugly country.

The prison, also ugly, was less than fifty yards away. Kong walked briskly, and Chow matched his pace, scanning the treeline, watching for trouble. Perhaps he wasn’t as incompetent as Kong had surmised.

Kong didn’t need to look at his watch, but he did so anyway. Nine o’clock precisely. He allowed himself a small measure of smug satisfaction, then rapped strongly on the iron door.

Almost immediately it creaked opened, but so slowly that Kong ordered Chow to assist.

Dr. Plincer was balder, older, and uglier than in his press clippings from a decade ago.

“
Good morning, Mr. Kong. Welcome to my island.”

Kong was grateful the doctor didn’t attempt to shake hands. Who knew what germs this filthy man carried?

“
Good morning, Dr. Plincer.” He didn’t bother introducing Chow.

“
Allow me to take you around to the back of the prison. We’ve decided to stage our demonstration outside. No need to worry about cleaning up afterward.”

He led them around the side of the prison, to a small courtyard where six people were waiting.

One was an unusually tall man in overalls. He was flanked on either side by a chubby girl in jeans and a sweater, and a man in khakis and a button down shirt.

Ten yards away from them were three teenagers. They stood with their hands behind their backs, each in front of a large, wooden pole. Kong noted their necks were tethered to the poles.

“
This area was used for the firing squad, during the Civil War. You’re familiar with the war between the states?”

Kong nodded, keeping silent in his belief that any war where Americans killed Americans was a good one.

They approached to the tall man and his companions.

“
Mr. Kong, these are three of my Level 6s. High level functioning, perfectly rational.”

“
But totally psychotic,” Kong said.

“
We prefer to use the term
enhanced
. The procedure enhances the brain’s aggression centers, triggering the neurotransmitter dopamine during violent acts. In layman’s terms, killing is an addiction. Causing harm gets them high.”

Kong frowned, simply because frowning made people try harder to please him.

“
Do they follow orders?”

“
But of course. Anything you’d like for them to do to our volunteers over there, they’d be happy to do. But first, I’d like to see the item I requested from you.”

Kong gestured for Chow to hold the metal briefcase while he opened it.

“
Wonderful,” Plincer said, eyes twinkling. “The papers are in order?”

“
Yes. Complete with bill of sale. Where are the notes and the serum?”

“
Inside. I assumed you’d want to see the demonstration first.”

Kong nodded, closing the briefcase. “You may proceed, Doctor.”

“
Certainly. Pick one of the Level 6s and tell them what to do.”

“
What are they capable of doing?”

“
Whatever you’d like.”

Kong raised an eyebrow. He was getting more interested. “Torture? Mutilation? Rape? Murder?”

“
Any and all of the above, if you wish.”

“
Not to be rude, Doctor,” Kong said, knowing he was being rude, “but I could order my bodyguard here to do any of those things, and he’d also obey.”

That probably wasn’t true. Kong knew that most men had their limits, and only a special few could commit atrocities without being affected by it. Even the Chinese, the superior race on the planet, had their limits.