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Zhoglo leaned forward, and placed a glass of wine into her shaking hands. “Steady, my dear. Can you lift it to your mouth?”
Her hands were blocked by the length of the chain, fixed in place against her chest by the heavy tape wound around her body.
Zhoglo clucked in dismay. “Let me help.” He lifted the glass to her lips. Wine sloshed over her chin, her chest. She choked, coughing.
Zhoglo waited until the spasms died down. “Would you care to know the fate of your brother and sister?”
Becca stared at him, lungs hitching, eyes streaming. He spoke in the tone she would use to offer someone a napkin.
“My plans have readjusted,” he confided. “My natural instinct for thrift has prevailed. That disaster on the island cost me, and these funds have to be replenished. But now that I have you to play with, I can use your brother and sister to cover costs.”
“Cover…what costs? What do you mean?”
Zhoglo settled himself more comfortably in his chair, and held up a cigarette. Kristoff hustled forward to light it. He crossed his legs and began to sip the glass of wine he had poured for Becca himself. “Mathes is a transplant surgeon. The very one who gave me this heart some years ago. Would you like to see the scar?” He groped at his shirt.
Becca shook her head. “No,” she said faintly. “Please, it’s fine.”
He shrugged and rebuttoned his shirt. “That experience gave me the initial idea. Punishment is necessary in this wretched world, but waste is not. This surgeon has joined forces with me on…well, in this eco-mad world, one might even characterize it as a recycling operation.”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“Your brother and sister, for instance,” he went on. “If they prove to be healthy, their combined donated organs, at the prices set by the doctor, will be worth upwards of fifty million dollars. Minus expenses, of course, which are considerable, but still. Consider the possibilities.”
“Organs?” Her heart began to race. She felt sicker. “Oh, my God.”
“In fact, the very first harvest has been scheduled for tonight,” he said cheerfully. “I am looking forward to it.”
“The little kids,” she whispered. “You’re killing those little kids.”
“Oh?” His eyebrows shot up. “So you did make progress on your investigation.” He slapped his knee. “Clever girl. You were busy, ey?”
Busy wasn’t the word for it. Busy Becca. “I tried,” she whispered.
“I put Josh and Carrie in with the rest of our repository of spare parts for now, pending tests to check their organ viability. They both certainly look healthy, but one never knows. I did watch your brother fornicate with a prostitute for thirty-six straight hours. I confess, I got exhausted just from watching. So naturally, we must test for HIV and so forth.”
“Oh, no,” she forced out. “Not Joshie. You can’t do that.”
“I can, and have. Actually, it’s the oldest girl who’s scheduled for harvest today,” he went on. “Twelve? Thirteen? I don’t remember. Hardly a child at all. Her father offended me some months ago, you see. I put her aside to settle his debt when this plan ripened. A debt that will be paid in full tonight.”
She shook her head helplessly. “No,” she whispered. “No.”
“Three surgical teams stand ready to utilize everything she has to give,” Zhoglo went on. “Heart, liver, kidneys, lungs, eyes, nothing wasted.”
Tears flashed down Becca’s face. “Sveti?”
Zhoglo’s eyes widened. “Oh, so you know about her? Was that why he was infiltrating?” He began to laugh. “How excellent that I am having the event taped. He can watch her being butchered.”
He leaned forward, patted her knee. “I will tell you a guilty secret.” His hand lingered there, horribly moist. “My original fantasy was to punish the fools who opposed me by immobilizing them with drugs, and conducting their harvest while they were fully conscious. Feeling every slash, every tug. It is a traditional technique that I often employ. But the doctor explained to me that organs obtained in this way would not be viable for transplant. They would be polluted with the hormones provoked by pain and terror. I was forced to abandon my fantasy in favor of practical reality.”
His hand began to move up, over her thigh. “Therefore, you will be happy to know that Joshua and Carolyn’s deaths will be pain-free. Conducted under general anesthesia.” He looked expectant, as if he were actually waiting for her to express her gratitude for his mercy.
He grunted with irritation when she failed to do so, and continued. “But not with you, Rebecca. I intend to enjoy every minute of yours, from your first scream to your last dying rasp. While Solokov watches, helpless. You, my dear, are pure, sinful indulgence. My little treat.”
She tried to jerk her leg away, but his hand tightened. “And speaking of watching.” He glanced at his watch. “Mikhail? Would you set up the large monitor out here for myself and my guest? I have arranged for direct video feed of the operating theater.” He slapped her thigh. “We will watch the harvest together, my dear. In real time.”
“No,” she kept whispering. It was useless, but she couldn’t stop.
“Oh, yes. Pavel, bring some snacks for myself and my guest. What would you like, my dear? Cheese? Crackers? Sliced meats? Perhaps some fresh fruit? There are apples and some grapes, I believe.”
