Memory Zero (Spook Squad 1)

The voice was soft and deep and seemed to emerge from the darkness of her past. She had a sudden image of a boy, green-eyed with red-gold hair. Saw him laughing as he shouted for her to catch him …

But this was no boy. This was a man.

“Samantha, you must listen to me.”

She frowned. The man’s voice sounded vaguely familiar. Then she had another vision, this time of the hirsute stranger who’d come buzzing at her door just before the first bombing. But why would he be here? Or was her mind merely playing games to pass the time?

“No games, Samantha. Listen to me.”

He was reading her thoughts, and so had the red-haired boy of her childhood. She’d felt no fear back then, nor did she fear him now.

“You cannot die, Samantha. It would kill us both.” Better death than swimming in this sea of pain. And how would her death kill that shaggy stranger? Or the red-haired boy?

“Samantha! Listen to me. Grasp my hand.”

A hand touched hers. Warmth radiated across her fingers, through her skin. But she could barely even breathe. Her lungs were burning, her mind spinning. The simple act of clasping a hand seemed the equivalent of climbing Everest right now.

“Fight, Samantha! You’ve done it your entire life. Don’t give up now!”

Who was giving up? Wasn’t she just facing facts? Still, determination rose from God knew where at his comment. She concentrated, focusing her thoughts, her strength, on her hand. Through the haze of white-hot pain, she moved her fingers and clasped them within the stranger’s warm grip.

“We are part of the whole, Samantha. Two halves—each the same, but very different. I cannot be if you are not.”

The stranger’s words made no sense. It didn’t matter. The warmth of his grip flooded her system, washing away all the pain. It soothed the throbbing ache tearing her apart and eased the unsteady pounding of her heart. Soon there was nothing in the darkness but the need to sleep, to recoup her strength and rest.

The warmth of the stranger’s touch disappeared. “No,” she mentally whispered.

His smile was a sun, rising brightly in the darkness. “I am never far away, Samantha.” A hand caressed her forehead—it was the touch of a loved one, not a lover. “Roston will be here in a moment to take you to a cell. Rest for an hour, and then wake. Get Stern and get out of here.”

Gabriel was here? And how could they escape a cell without a key-coder? Jack had taken hers when he’d stripped off her shoes to place the sensors.

“Here.” The stranger slid something metallic gently through her sweaty hair. “Use this pin. It’s old-fashioned, but it’s still effective enough, at least on the locks round this place. Stern will know how to use it, even if you don’t.”

He said “Stern” like it was a curse. As if this hirsute man and Gabriel were old foes.

Again she felt his smile. “That we are. And I would leave him to rot in hell except for the fact you would come back to rescue him.”

She probably would. If only so he could back her story and clear the ridiculous murder charge hanging over her head.

“One other thing, Samantha.”

What?

“Kill Kazdan if you get the chance. He deserves nothing more than death for doing this to you.” The binding around her limbs and neck loosened. “Keep well, little one.”

“ ’Bye,” she whispered. Suddenly, she had a vision of the red-haired boy, tears streaming down his face as he desperately fought the grip of the two doctors holding him down, screaming as they dragged her away.

“EASE THE LASER TO THE floor, Gabriel, then kick it across to me.”

He had no choice but to obey. The cannons were renowned for their hair triggers; he’d be dead before he twitched. Slowly, carefully, he lowered the rifle to the floor. At least he still had the knife. If he got Mary talking and kept her talking, she might just relax enough for him to use it.

“Imagine meeting you here.”

Her smile was almost weary. “Move across to the chair. Twitch the wrong way, and I will shoot.”

He did as she asked, resting his arms on the table’s surface and silently studying her. She seemed to have aged almost overnight. Her full features looked haggard, her skin pallid and somewhat shiny. Even her blue eyes, usually so warm and full of life, looked haunted.

“Why?” he asked softly.