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"There's gratitude for you," I said. I leaned into Ryman's face. "Remember me?"
His face went white. I grinned, baring my teeth.
"These are the two I told you about," I said to Clay.
His eyes sparked, and he returned my grin. "Good."
Ryman made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a whimper. I flashed him one last smile, then stepped away, leaving him to Clay. As Adam disconnected the communication equipment, I snapped the lock on Tucker's office, leaned inside, looked, and sniffed.
"Seems our luck stops here," I said. "No sign of the colonel."
"That's why we have this one." Clay slammed Ryman's head and upper torso onto the desktop, knocking over a bottle of mineral water. "Let's keep this brief. Where do we find Tucker?"
Blood trickled from Ryman's nose. He blinked, orienting himself, then cleared his throat and lifted his head.
"Paul Michael Ryman," he said, voice clipped, robotic. "Former corporal with the United States Army. Currently serving under Special Operations Colonel R. J. Tucker."
"What the hell is that?" Clay said.
Paige muffled a laugh. "I--uh--think it's his version of name, rank, and serial number. Sorry, Paul, but that's really not going to help us."
Clay leaned over, stretched Ryman's hand flat against the desktop, then smashed it with his fist. There was a sickening crunch, like the snapping of bird bones. Ryman shrieked, cut off in mid-note b
y Clay's hand over his mouth.
"Doctors will have a hell of a time fixing that," Clay said. "I'd call it a write-off. That was the left hand. Next I do the right. Where is Tucker?"
"Paul Michael Ryman," Ryman gasped when Clay uncovered his mouth. "Former corporal with the United States Army. Currently serving under Special Operations Colonel R. J. Tucker."
"Oh, for pity's sake," Paige said. "Come on, Paul. We all appreciate your loyalty, but trust me, no one else is going to give a damn. Just tell the man what he wants to know and get it over with."
"Paul Michael Ryman. Former corporal with the United States Army. Currently serving under Special Operations Colonel R. J. Tucker."
"Men," Paige muttered, shaking her head.
Clay spread Ryman's right hand on the desktop. A spurt of static from one set of speakers made me jump. Clay only glanced at Adam.
"Sorry," Adam said. "I'm almost done."
He jacked down the volume on the static-spewing speaker, then bent to look at the wiring on the other one.
"Okay," Clay said. "One last chance. Wh--"
The still-functional speaker broke into an ear splitting whine. As Adam reached to flick it off, a voice sounded.
"Jackson to base. Base, do you read? Repeat, security has been breached. Over."
"Hold on," Clay whispered before Adam turned it off. He motioned for me to hold Ryman still and quiet, then snatched the mike from Adam. "How do you work this thing?"
"Push the button to talk. Release to listen. They can't hear anything unless the button's down."
Clay cranked up the volume on the disconnected speaker. Static filled the room. He pushed the talk button.
"Base to Jackson," Clay said, swallowing his accent. "Ryman here. We're having equipment problems. Repeat. Over."
"Shit, Paul," the voice came back. "I can barely hear you. I said we have a breach. The fucking door's been blown off. I'm guessing explosives, but shit, you should see this. Nothing left but ash. One helluva bomb."
"No," Adam said, grinning. "One helluva half-demon."
