would ask, I suppose. But I expect this job falls beyond what you consider acceptable. Why bother with the opportunity for you to say no? That would only make me angry.”
Munroe kept quiet while thought unspooled in an attempt to apply logic to madness. Her inner danger reading snapped like a Geiger counter to radiation, warning her not to press, prompting her to play his game. She leaned forward, matching him posture for posture. Folded her hands on the desk and said, “What can I do for you?”
The Doll Man shifted back and smiled as if he were breathing the victory of the moment, making a memory of a battle won before it had started, even though he’d known he would. His smile told of power and control in a world where he ruled supreme, a sadistic smile Munroe had seen before, that declared he owned her, and what lay beneath that smile ticked up the tempo of her heartbeat.
Motionless, expressionless, she waited until he finally leaned forward and spoke again. “You will deliver a package,” he said. “Transport from point A to point Z, so to speak.”
The words were no surprise—not given the underground from which she’d just come. “Is the package alive?”
“Yes, very much alive,” he replied, eyes lit and dancing as if he’d finally found a worthy playmate.
Munroe leaned back, slow, casual, deliberate. She studied his face, waited for cues, then continued on. “Transport a live package,”she said. “I could probably do that, although it would depend on the package and the location. I assume that since no isn’t an acceptable answer, I’m also not getting paid?”
The man’s expression clouded. The brilliant playmate had turned into an idiot after all. “You repay the debt,” he said. “That should be more than enough.”
“What if I disagree? And what if, after all your trouble, I still say no?”
“I have ways to insist.”
“I have ways to decline.”
“You’ll pay one way or the other,” he said.
“In euros? Dollars? How much do I owe you?”
If he registered the sarcasm, he didn’t react to it. “You pay in the only currency that holds value to you,” he said. “You pay in innocent life.”
The words stung like a hard smack across the face and her eyes smarted as if she’d been physically struck. He should not know these things.
Casual indifference remained plastered on her face while deep below, in that hollow crevice where madness had lain dormant these last nine months, the slow, steady percussion of war tapped out, faint but perceptible.
“Which innocents?” she said.
He waved his hand with that dismissive gesture. “Innocents are innocents,” he said. “Is one life really valued higher than another?”
From the fear bubbling to the surface, she instinctively knew. Knew that the only way a man in his position could gloat as if he owned her was if he held what she deemed most priceless. She said, “Millions of innocents die every year, nobody can save them all.”
“Then allow me to show you.”
He reached for the phone and pressed the intercom button, and when the speaker came alive with a voice, he spoke in a language he assumed she didn’t understand summoning the person who’d answered. In the resulting wait, the Doll Man leaned back, hands folded in his lap, observing her with his sly smile.
Munroe studied her nails while the inner anvil pounded plowshares back into swords, and with deep and measured breaths she braced for what was to come.
When the office door opened, Munroe didn’t turn. Her focus remained on the Doll Man, whose expression shifted with a fleeting glimpse of pleasure that passed as quickly as it had arrived.
“You’ve met Valon,” the Doll Man said, though he wasn’t looking at Munroe. The newcomer was the English speaker from the dungeon, the one important enough that he’d needed bodyguards, the one still more boy than man. Valon Lumani greeted his elder with reverence, then turned to glance at Munroe, studied her
Munroe kept quiet while thought unspooled in an attempt to apply logic to madness. Her inner danger reading snapped like a Geiger counter to radiation, warning her not to press, prompting her to play his game. She leaned forward, matching him posture for posture. Folded her hands on the desk and said, “What can I do for you?”
The Doll Man shifted back and smiled as if he were breathing the victory of the moment, making a memory of a battle won before it had started, even though he’d known he would. His smile told of power and control in a world where he ruled supreme, a sadistic smile Munroe had seen before, that declared he owned her, and what lay beneath that smile ticked up the tempo of her heartbeat.
Motionless, expressionless, she waited until he finally leaned forward and spoke again. “You will deliver a package,” he said. “Transport from point A to point Z, so to speak.”
The words were no surprise—not given the underground from which she’d just come. “Is the package alive?”
“Yes, very much alive,” he replied, eyes lit and dancing as if he’d finally found a worthy playmate.
Munroe leaned back, slow, casual, deliberate. She studied his face, waited for cues, then continued on. “Transport a live package,”she said. “I could probably do that, although it would depend on the package and the location. I assume that since no isn’t an acceptable answer, I’m also not getting paid?”
The man’s expression clouded. The brilliant playmate had turned into an idiot after all. “You repay the debt,” he said. “That should be more than enough.”
“What if I disagree? And what if, after all your trouble, I still say no?”
“I have ways to insist.”
“I have ways to decline.”
“You’ll pay one way or the other,” he said.
“In euros? Dollars? How much do I owe you?”
If he registered the sarcasm, he didn’t react to it. “You pay in the only currency that holds value to you,” he said. “You pay in innocent life.”
The words stung like a hard smack across the face and her eyes smarted as if she’d been physically struck. He should not know these things.
Casual indifference remained plastered on her face while deep below, in that hollow crevice where madness had lain dormant these last nine months, the slow, steady percussion of war tapped out, faint but perceptible.
“Which innocents?” she said.
He waved his hand with that dismissive gesture. “Innocents are innocents,” he said. “Is one life really valued higher than another?”
From the fear bubbling to the surface, she instinctively knew. Knew that the only way a man in his position could gloat as if he owned her was if he held what she deemed most priceless. She said, “Millions of innocents die every year, nobody can save them all.”
“Then allow me to show you.”
He reached for the phone and pressed the intercom button, and when the speaker came alive with a voice, he spoke in a language he assumed she didn’t understand summoning the person who’d answered. In the resulting wait, the Doll Man leaned back, hands folded in his lap, observing her with his sly smile.
Munroe studied her nails while the inner anvil pounded plowshares back into swords, and with deep and measured breaths she braced for what was to come.
When the office door opened, Munroe didn’t turn. Her focus remained on the Doll Man, whose expression shifted with a fleeting glimpse of pleasure that passed as quickly as it had arrived.
“You’ve met Valon,” the Doll Man said, though he wasn’t looking at Munroe. The newcomer was the English speaker from the dungeon, the one important enough that he’d needed bodyguards, the one still more boy than man. Valon Lumani greeted his elder with reverence, then turned to glance at Munroe, studied her
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