“Not yet,” said another, crossing his arms. “Too strong of a shot in the car, I think.”
There was some more mumbling, followed by the first stranger’s voice again. “How about now?”
Another groan. Then a confused mumble that quickly turned angry.
“Get your goddamn hands off me before I order them cut off.”
“I’m afraid you no longer give the orders, sir.”
Gone was the charismatic, falsely generous façade she’d met when they first arrived in London. Eli sounded murderous with rage, like the one who could watch a family be tortured, who could order the beheading of an enemy.
Why had he been kidnapped and brought here?
“I had a sample of your shipment brought to us,” the first stranger now said. He accepted a small metal cylinder from one of his companions, then walked over to Eli and opened its top.
Sydney craned her neck as he took out the contents.
Then she held her breath. It was a small, translucent object that looked like an ice cube. Even in the darkness, she could tell that it gave off the faintest blue glow. The man held it gingerly—now she saw that he was wearing a heavy set of gloves.
A warning began to buzz in her mind. This had to be a sample of Paramecium, the chemical weapon that Eli Morrison was shipping to South Africa.
The stranger turned it in his palm. “It looks good,” he mused in approval. “Your men tell me the ship is fully loaded and ready to be on its way.”
“After tonight, I doubt you’ll be getting your shipment.” Eli’s voice had turned low, menacing in its calm.
A sigh. “I’m afraid you’re unaware of what’s happening here.”
Eli’s reply sent a chill down Sydney’s spine. “No one breaks a contract with me.”
“No, Mr. Morrison. I don’t think you understand.” There was no hint of fear in the other man’s voice. “There is nothing to negotiate, because you still owe us.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“According to our accounts, you are short in your deliveries. We’ve paid you in full for the past shipment, and yet what we received didn’t quite add up to what we ordered.”
“You’re lying or a fool. Count again and release me.”
The man ignored him. Sydney trembled at the realization that someone could feel so unthreatened by a man like Eli. “We don’t appreciate being conned—certainly not by one who thinks we wouldn’t notice years of it.”
There was no immediate answer this time.
“I have the power to kill you and everyone you love,” Eli went on. His voice was still quiet and full of menace, but this time she could hear a note of urgency in it. Of fear. “So think carefully about what you do next.”
“And what do you think I can do to your loved ones?” The other man’s voice dropped.
The first stranger nodded subtly. His two associates walked over to Eli and restrained him, one of them gripping the man’s jaw firmly. As Sydney looked on, the first stranger took the pale blue cube and forced it into Eli’s mouth. Before Eli could wrench away, the stranger sealed Eli’s mouth completely shut with a wide strip of tape.
Sydney licked her lips and trembled, forcing her breathing to stay calm and measured. They were going to kill him.
I can’t let them kill him,she thought immediately. Panacea needed Eli Morrison alive—his death would derail their entire mission, would engulf his network of people, would prevent Panacea from accessing what they needed to access in order to get a warrant for seizing his cargo.
Sydney straightened from her crouch and pulled herself up onto the pier, then stole into the shadows of the ship near the ladder against the hull.
Up on the deck, she heard two of the men arguing in Corcasian. Sydney knew enough of the language to get by, had been beefing up on it right before the mission. Now the words filtered through her ears, and she felt the vast library of languages in her head shift.
“The call’s for you,” one said.
“Not now,” the other growled.
