There was another, much longer, pause.
Right. And if we don’t talk then you don’t find him. You don’t find him, he dies.
Salgado swore loudly. O’Neill did it quietly.
‘And he’s still dicking you around,’ she told him. ‘Still not telling us what he wants. Trouble is, I think whatever he wants . . . I’m not sure I want to hear it.’
‘You think it’s something worse than this guy dying?’
‘Yeah. That’s what scares me.’
Salgado nodded soberly. ‘Well, let’s find out.’
Okay, Matthew. I believe you. But I need something to work with. Who’s going to die if we don’t talk?
Oh, he’s probably going to die even if we do talk. You see, I don’t know who he is or where he is. Only my friend Ethan knew those things. But if we don’t talk? It’s definite.
The man’s words caused the room to slip into silence. Both Salgado and O’Neill felt the walls close in on them as the air disappeared from the room.
Get to the point you piece of shit. What do you want?
That’s easy, you arse. I want to watch him die.
CHAPTER 11
Salgado had got out of the chair and kicked violently at it with the sole of his shoe, causing it to slide across the room until it hit the far wall.
‘What the hell is this, Cally?’ he shouted.
She was calmer. Angry and shocked, but in control. She stood at the desk, taking Salgado’s place and typing.
How can you watch him? You need to tell me more.
Seems I need to tell you everything, Detective.
This is why you came back to talk. Because there’s something in the hard drive in this computer that you need to let you see whatever it is you’ve orchestrated with Garland. Right?
Right. Gold star. Top of the class. A cop with half a brain. Whatever next?
So how do we do it, Matthew? How do we let you see whatever it is?
There is a mechanism hidden on the computer that it seems you haven’t found yet. It’s inside a couple of other things for security and it’s disguised as something else. You won’t find it unless you’re looking for it. I can tell you where it is, and you just have to flick the switch.
Salgado nodded at her. ‘So, we do it, right?’
O’Neill turned to Geisler, eyebrows raised in question.
‘This could be a bomb,’ he cautioned. ‘Not literally, but a self-destruct that could delete anything we might find in the computer.’
‘You think?’
‘I don’t know, and it’s up to you whether we take the chance.’
‘Shit.’
She typed. Okay, Matthew. Talk us through it.
The instructions might as well have been in Swahili for all that they made sense to either of the cops, but Geisler did as he was told and in moments, a small box popped up in the top right-hand corner of the screen. Its buttons were all self-explanatory. Power. Play. Stop. Share.
‘It’s a video feed. It’s controlled from this computer. We can give him access to view it, but we retain control. We can let him see it, but we can turn it off any time we want.’
‘And will he know that?’
‘I’d say probably, yes. But if not, you can demonstrate.’
Salgado smiled tightly. ‘That I like.’
Geisler typed.
Share will make it available to how many people?
Just me.
‘Is he telling the truth?’
‘I can’t be sure. Most probably yes, though.’
‘And this won’t fuck over the whole computer?’
‘No. Probably.’
‘Shit. Okay, do it.’
Geisler clicked ‘Power’ then ‘Play’. A box appeared that filled half the screen with an option to fill it all. As they watched anxiously, it wavered, buffered and came to life, a sharp black and white image forming in front of them. They struggled to take it all in at once.
The camera was pointed directly at a young man, sitting slumped and tied against a metal radiator. His jaw was slack, his mouth catching flies. One arm was hand-cuffed to the radiator, the other was free but lay still at his side. There were a few days of growth on his chin but that in itself told them little. There was little sign of life.
‘Oh Jesus . . .’
‘Fuck. Fuck. Fuck . . .’
Was he dead? Was it even live film or a photograph? The clock in the bottom corner ticked over in real time, suggesting the former, but the man was as still as any corpse. O’Neill looked to his chest in the vain hope of seeing it beat.
Just within reach was a glass. She had to look twice to see if there was water in the bottom of it. There wasn’t.
None of them said anything more. They just burned with anger at what they saw, at what they were being forced to watch. O’Neill saw Salgado’s fists bunch and the vein on his neck tighten.
Abruptly, the imprisoned man’s head moved, jerking from left to right then falling back into place. A tremor followed through his right leg as it kicked limply then fell still again. Either he was dreaming, or his body was rebelling against whatever agonies it was going through.
He was alive. Barely.
CHAPTER 12
‘We need a doctor to see this,’ O’Neill announced. ‘Someone that can give us an idea of his condition. We need a clock on him so we know how long we’ve got.’
They both searched the visuals of the room for clues. The radiator was old school, thick and heavy, suggesting an older property. The wall behind the radiator was papered in an odd design, a mottled background that could have been mosaic or leopard skin, overlaid with geometric shapes that formed what looked like hanging lanterns. The carpet was thick and brown, hiding all sorts of crumbs and bugs and secrets.
The man was maybe early twenties. Maybe late twenties. His hair was thick and dark but lay tousled and oily across his forehead, stuck by sweat or fever. He looked at first glance like a messy drunk, slumped eight beers down on a sidewalk. They’d both seen enough of those to know this was different though.
There was a wildness about his eyes when they briefly slipped open, unfocused but searching. His mouth jammering without words or energy. Once they’d looked long enough, they could see his stomach contracting, convulsing, agonising. His body was reaching out, whether he was aware of it or not.
They’d both seen dead bodies and they’d both seen dying. This was the latter.
Salgado tapped Geisler on the shoulder and motioned him out of the seat. He slid into his place and typed.
This is what you wanted to see?
Yes.
Tell me why.
I don’t have to explain myself to you.
No? Oh I think you do.
Salgado nodded and Geisler leaned in past him and cut the video feed. Marr’s response was immediate and frenzied.
What the fuck have you done? Put that back on! Put it on now!
Salgado breathed. Waited.
You’re condemning him to death unless you put it back on.
No, you’re the one who’s doing that. You and your friend Garland. You want to see it that badly then you talk to me and you answer my questions.
A long delay then an answer.