Better off Dead

Chapter 49

I paused in front of the double doors. Took a couple of deep breaths. Then went through, raced to the far end of the glass corridor, and burst into the dining hall. There was a breeze blowing over the roof now. It was helping to suck the gas out through the gap left by the vent. But Dendoncker’s formula was potent. My eyes were stinging and raw even after such a tiny exposure. I resisted the urge to rub them. Made myself stay still and wait until my view of the world was less blurred. Then I started to search.

I didn’t bother with the kitchen or the offices. I figured Dendoncker wouldn’t want to hide. He would want to get out of the place. There were two ways to do that. The tunnel. Or the SUVs. I crossed the assembly hall and looked through the window. The parking lot was empty. There was no sign of the Cadillacs. And no sign of Dendoncker or Mansour. I went outside and crossed to the gates. Both were still and closed and solid. But on the rough road beyond them, I could make out four red pinpricks. Two pairs. The same configuration. The Cadillacs’ taillights. The lead vehicle looked like it was riding lower on its suspension. Like it was carrying something heavy. But that was just an impression. I couldn’t be sure. Not at that distance. Not with the way they were bouncing through the gloom. It didn’t matter anyway. They were heading for the horizon. And there was nothing I could do to stop them.

Fenton was in the corridor when I got back to the far side of the building. She was moving gingerly as if her refitted foot was causing her pain. She had already passed the door to the next room and she stopped when she heard me catching up to her.

“Someone else is here.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Another prisoner. I don’t think he’s in good shape.”

I said, “How do you know?”

“When you called me the guy who brought the phone always stood in the doorway while we talked. With the door open. One time when we were done I was taking the phone back to him and I saw two people in the corridor. Walking together. Coming from the right. One was Dendoncker’s sidekick. The enormous guy. The other was a stranger. He was carrying a bag. A black leather one, all beat-up, like doctors use. He was speaking. In Spanish. He said something like, ‘You have to dial it down. He can’t take much more. Leave him alone for a while. Forty-eight hours. At least.’ ”

“Who was he talking about?”

“I don’t know.”

“How did Dendoncker’s guy react?”

“He sounded annoyed. Said Dendoncker would never go for a delay. That he needed to know where it was, and there wasn’t much time.”

“It?”

Fenton shook her head. “I don’t know what they meant.”

“So where are they holding this other guy?”

“I thought he would be in the room next to mine. But I just looked. No one’s there. Just a bed and a bunch of security monitors. Nowhere to keep a prisoner. So there must be somewhere else.”

Fenton started moving again. With some difficulty. I followed, keeping to her pace. It seemed futile. The corridor must be a dead end. Like beyond Dendoncker’s office. The exit was boarded up tight. I’d seen it when I was searching for an alternative way in. But as we went farther I realized there was a difference. The final classroom’s wall didn’t run straight. Not all the way to the perpendicular wall. The was a recess at the very end. A setback of about a foot. To draw attention away from another door. A solid wooden one. With a sign attached. It said El Conserje. The Janitor.

The door was locked. But not in any serious way. It only took one kick to open it. Inside a set of stairs led down to another basement. They were wooden. Painted white, but less worn than the ones running from the kitchen down to the tunnel. I turned on the light and started to descend. Fenton followed. The space at the bottom was divided into two areas. One-third was for cleaning equipment and supplies. Two-thirds were for maintenance and repair. Or they had been. Now the tool benches and equipment lockers had been pushed to one end. Another army cot had been set up in the space that had been created. There was an intravenous drip stand next to it. A tube ran down from a bag of clear fluid. It was hooked up to the arm of a guy on the bed. His body was covered by a sheet. So were his legs and his other arm. But his head was visible. His face was swollen and cut and covered with scabs and bruises and burns. There was a huge lump on his forehead. Big chunks of his hair were missing. Fenton screamed. She pushed past me. Rushed to the bed. She looked like she was going to pull the guy into her arms. But she stopped herself. Took hold of his hand. And said one word. Softly. With a voice full of guilt and pain.

“Michael.”