Chapter 16
The containment lab's reinforced door was the last thing between us and Hardin.
Blood spattered my tactical gear. Shaw had fortified the Vancouver facility beyond our intel: automated defense systems, combat drones, private military contractors whose government training showed in their formations.
Four of those contractors lay dead in the corridors behind us.
Shaw was desperate to protect his stolen prize.
My leg throbbed, surgical pins grinding against bone as I positioned myself behind Reid.
The silver-tipped cane had proven useful tonight beyond mobility support.
Its reinforced core had crushed a guard's trachea during the second-floor ambush when ammunition ran low.
The wet gurgle of his last breath still echoed in my ears.
"Final security protocols bypassed." Reid's Québécois accent thickened under stress, the same way Maxime's did during a crisis. His fingers tapped a final command on the security panel. "Entering on your command."
I nodded. "Proceed."
The door slid open with a pneumatic hiss.
Dr. Hardin stood at her workstation, back turned, oblivious to the bloodshed throughout the facility.
Computer monitors displayed acoustic waveforms and stress analyses, data harvested from our stolen prototype.
Her fingers moved across a touchscreen, still trying to bypass Xavier's security protocols while death approached on silent feet.
She turned at our entry. Annoyance became raw shock as she registered my presence. The clipboard in her hands clattered to the floor. A tremor started in her fingers and raced up her arms.
"Hello, Doctor." I kept my voice soft. "I believe you have something that belongs to me."
She lunged for the red button on the console. Reid's men caught her mid-stride and pinned her arms behind her back. Her lab coat tore at the shoulder as she fought their grip.
"Shaw will come for me," she spat, thrashing. "He needs me."
Her gaze darted to the security monitors. Empty hallways. No backup. No extraction team. Her struggles slowed, then stopped as the color drained from her face.
"He left two hours ago," I said. "Took his security team. Left you with a skeleton crew and no extraction plan."
Her lips parted. Closed. Parted again. A small sound escaped, something between a whimper and a laugh. She sagged against her captors' grip.
"Secure her for questioning," I ordered, scanning the lab for the prototype. Nothing. No sign of the Banshee.
Reid nodded to his men. They dragged her to a metal chair. She found her fight again as they forced her down, kicking wildly and catching one of Reid's men under the chin. His head snapped back. Blood sprayed from his bitten tongue.
"You fucking bitch," he snarled. His fist connected with her jaw before Reid could intervene.
"Enough." Reid's voice cut through the chaos. "Secure her properly."
They bound her wrists and ankles, quick and efficient from years of practice.
"Initial security sweep indicates the prototype isn't on site," Reid reported. "Primary data storage has been wiped. Professional job."
I studied her. Blood trickled from her split lip, staining white teeth pink. Her eyes darted between us, calculating odds, running scenarios. Still a scientist even in captivity.
"Then we'll need to extract that information directly from the source," I said.
Reid nodded once. He removed his tactical gloves and set them aside, then rolled up his sleeves. The work ahead would be messy. He opened his kit and checked the contents, in the same way a mechanic might inventory tools before a repair.
"Where is the prototype now?" I asked, the cane's silver tip tracing against the floor.
Her jaw set, lips pressed tight. She stared past me, clinging to what remained of her dignity. A mistake. Defiance worked with merciful men. I hadn't been merciful since 1989.
Reid selected a scalpel from his tools. "I need you to understand something, Doctor. This isn't personal. You have information we require. The faster you provide it, the faster this ends." He examined the blade, checking the edge. "Where's the prototype?"
Her eyes widened as he approached. "I don't know anything," she whispered.
"That's unlikely." Reid pressed the scalpel against her collarbone, just above the bone. Her skin dimpled beneath the sharp point. "Let's start simple."
Blood welled around the metal. A single droplet broke free, tracing a path downward and disappearing beneath her blouse.
"That hurt?" Reid asked, his voice flat.
She whimpered, eyes frantically searching the room for an exit that didn't exist. "Yes," she gasped.
"How bad? Scale of ten."
"Three," she whispered.
"Good. Honest answers speed this along." His wrist flicked, the scalpel opening a shallow cut across her collarbone. "Now. Where's the prototype?"
"I don't know!" Her voice broke. Blood welled along the cut and ran down her chest, darkening her blouse.
Reid selected a small vial of clear liquid from his collection. "This amplifies pain signals. Military developed it. I'd rather not use it, but we're on a schedule." He removed the stopper. "Last chance. Where's the prototype?"
She said nothing.
Reid tilted the vial, clear drops falling directly into the open wound.
The effect was immediate. Her scream tore through the lab, her body convulsing against the restraints so hard her tendons creaked. The chair legs skittered against the floor.
Reid waited for the convulsions to subside, his expression unchanged. "That's about an eight on the scale. The second dose pushes it higher. Third causes permanent psychological damage." He set the vial aside. "I'm going to ask again."
Sweat poured from her now. Mascara tracked down her cheeks. "Please," she begged, voice shredded. "I'm telling the truth."
Reid selected a pair of pliers, testing the spring mechanism. "Fingernails next. I need a location, Doctor."
He grasped her index fingernail with the pliers.
"Where is the prototype now?" I pressed.
Her face drained of color. "I... I can't..."
Reid tightened his grip.
"Wait!" Panic widened her eyes. "Shaw moved it!"
The pliers yanked backward. Her fingernail tore free with a wet ripping sound. The scream that followed contained nothing human. Blood welled from the exposed nail bed.
"Location," I demanded, stepping close. "Exactly where?"
"Macau," she gasped. "He's already there. Setting up for the auction."
Reid examined the extracted nail briefly, then discarded it onto a metal tray. He positioned the pliers over her middle finger. "Macau's a big place. Where exactly?"
"Wait!" The word tore from her throat. "There's a compound below the Golden Dragon casino. Where the auction will happen."
Reid paused. He looked at me, waiting.
"Who are the buyers?" I demanded.
“I can’t…”
The pliers closed again. The second fingernail resisted before tearing free. Her scream climbed octaves. Her body arched, and a thin line of blood appeared at the corner of her mouth where she'd bitten through her own cheek.
By the third finger, blood had soaked through her lab coat and pooled beneath the chair. Her skin had taken on a waxy pallor, lips blue-tinged at the edges.
"The Russians," she surrendered, words fractured between gasping breaths. "Chinese. North Korea. Anyone with cash to burn. It’s an open auction! Please, no more."
Reid set down his tools and wiped his hands on a cloth. He stepped back from her, the job complete for now.
I studied her. She was no longer the arrogant scientist who'd stolen my technology. Just another broken thing leaking onto expensive flooring.
"And the activation protocols?" I asked. "Has Shaw managed to bypass Xavier's security measures?"
Frustration flashed across her features. "No. That's why he's kept me alive this long. The Banshee remains inactive without your biometrics and that fucking playing card."
I smiled. Despite his resources, despite stealing our technology, Shaw remained locked out of his prize.
"Shaw's furious," she gasped. "Can't make it work. Throwing money, throwing people at the problem. Nothing helps. Not that that’ll stop him from selling the damn thing."
I circled her, my cane tapping against the tile. My knee sent sharp twinges up my leg, surgical repairs holding but imperfect.
"Why did you betray us, Doctor? After everything Lucky Losers provided. The facilities, the funding, the freedom to pursue your work without government oversight."
Blood from her split lip painted her teeth pink.
"Provided? You limited my research. Refused to let me pursue the military applications I wanted.
Always with your precious ethical boundaries about civilian targets.
" Her voice rose. "Shaw offered unrestricted research.
No oversight committees. No questions about collateral damage.
And yes, money. More than Lucky Losers would ever pay me in a lifetime. "
"A lifetime that's growing shorter by the minute," I said, tracing the silver tip of my cane along her jaw. She flinched.
"He's worse than you, you know. Shaw. At least you pretend to value scientific achievement. He sees us as disposable tools. Screams at researchers who can't meet impossible deadlines. Threatens families when results fall short."
"And yet you chose him over me."
"I chose myself." Defiance sparked in her eyes. "Every researcher who's ever worked for you knows the truth, Algerone. Or should I say, Jackson?"
My fingers tightened on the cane. My pulse quickened. No one had spoken that name in decades.
"Jackson James Wheeler," she continued, a cruel smile spreading despite her split lip.
"The trailer trash from Oklahoma who reinvented himself.
Shaw knows everything about you. Your pathetic origins.
How you fabricated your entire identity.
How you crawled out of the gutter on the backs of better men. "