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Then the line clicked open, and Antonio’s calmly teasing voice came on. “I thought you wanted to kill me when I called earlier.”
“I did,” Numair bit off. “I still do.”
“I interrupted something major, huh?”
“You interrupted the major something. And you weren’t even dying.”
“So this is a courtesy call for our history’s sake, before you come make sure I rectify my oversight?”
Any man would have been worried if he’d inadvertently cost Numair what Antonio had tonight. But having faced death on an almost daily basis together, and defended each other with their lives for over fifteen years, Antonio had reason not to fear Numair’s retaliation. Not that he feared anything. Antonio was the most imperturbable being who’d ever lived. Even more than any of them. Numair wouldn’t be surprised if his nerves were made of actual steel.
He finally asked, “Why the hell did you call, Bones?”
“I told you why, Phantom.”
&n
bsp; They always reverted to those code names, what they’d known each other by in The Organization. Those who remembered their names had been forbidden to use them. Numair hadn’t remembered his, Phantom being the one name he’d known most of his life.
He’d been among hundreds of boys who’d been plucked from all over the world and taken to that isolated installation in the Balkans and turned into mercenaries. He’d been too young when he’d been taken but had still been “broken in,” punished if he mentioned anything from his previous life. He’d first been conditioned to respond to a number. The name Phantom had come much later. He’d forgotten everything about his past. All that had remained of his memories before he’d come to what he’d later called Black Castle had been the name of his panther toy, Numair, and what he’d much later realized were the names of desert kingdoms, Saraya and Zafrana. And the memory of drowning.
He’d spent over twenty-five years of his forty in Black Castle before he’d orchestrated his and his brothers’ escape ten years ago. He’d spent most of those in frustration, unable to build an investigation into his origins on the sparse memories he had. Not knowing who he was had remained a gaping hole in his being.
Then Antonio had finally developed a method of aggressive hypnosis tailored to Numair’s condition and character. He’d thought it would be effective, but warned it could be dangerous. But Numair would have risked anything to find out the truth. He’d been certain someone had been responsible for his decades-long ordeal, and he wouldn’t rest until he’d found them and made them pay.
Antonio’s efforts had seemed to be another dead end, but he’d already expected that initial failure, since Numair was resistant to hypnosis. He’d never expected it to be anything but a long-term therapy as they’d been excavating memories Numair had before he’d been four.
But long-term was what Numair was all about. He’d started planning his escape from The Organization when he hadn’t even been ten. He’d put it into action twenty years later.
In captivity, Numair had grown up fast, toughening into steel and developing an undetectable cunning that had enabled him to navigate his ruthless environment and manipulate his monstrous jailors. By ten he’d already carved a place for himself as the establishment’s most valuable acquisition and future asset. Based on his uncanny abilities in every skill it took to make the best spy, they’d changed his name from a four-digit number to Phantom, beginning a trend of calling boys by names that symbolized them.
But he’d known he wouldn’t be able to escape alone. He had to have help. And in turn, help others escape. Recognizing six boys, all younger than himself, as kindred spirits who had superior abilities complementing his own, he’d manipulated their captors into making them his team. He’d made each swear a blood oath to live for their brotherhood and for one goal—to one day escape and destroy The Organization, saving other children from their fate.
They had implemented his convoluted plan, and after they’d escaped, they’d built new identities and created Black Castle Enterprises, using their unique skills. That was, all but Cypher. He’d left their brotherhood after an explosive falling out. He’d pledged they’d never see him again. They hadn’t.
Though Cypher’s loss remained an open wound in their brotherhood, they’d compensated by focusing on their original pact, dismantling The Organization from the outside in, methodically and undetectably.
Meanwhile, each also pursued his personal quest, for the family he’d been taken from, the heritage he’d been stripped of or for a new purpose and direction. Their bigger quest was sometimes forced to the background until more pressing personal issues were resolved, as it had during Rafael’s quest for vengeance and Raiden’s quest to reclaim his heritage. Both men had achieved their purposes, and unexpectedly found wives, too. Now it was his turn.
Four months ago, Antonio’s hypnosis had borne fruit, and he’d remembered enough to finally piece together his history. He’d found out how he’d ended up in The Organization’s grasp. And who he really was.
So what had the damned Antonio been thinking when he’d called earlier?
He again flayed Antonio with his exasperation. “Why in hell did you suddenly think I need more sessions? Their objective has already been achieved.”
Antonio switched to doctor mode, this frustrating, all-knowing attitude. “That’s what you decided, not me. Your memories were so deeply buried and so partially formed in the first place, then so fractured by trauma and suppression, I was forced to pull back constantly. I had to spread out the sessions, dig over a longer period or risk damaging your psyche and sanity.”
That was news to Numair. “You mean you could have forced memories to the surface faster? You took all those years intentionally?”
“Didn’t you hear the part where I said or risk damaging your psyche and sanity?”
“You actually think I have anything inside my head that could be damaged?”
“As my mentor and slave driver, I would have said your head is made of solid steel. But as your doctor, I’ve touched a few deeply hidden and relatively softer spots. The consistency of rock, granted, but under enough pressure even steel can snap and rock can be pulverized.”
“Where is this leading exactly?”
“You remember—no pun intended—the key memory that was the basis of your investigations into your origins?”
