He was lying on a gurney. He was not bound, but he couldn’t move. He licked his

dry lips. “What did you do to me?” he asked quietly. “Nothing too remarkable.

Anesthetic gas. How are you feeling?” “I can’t move my limbs.” “Nerve blockers.

Brachial plexus and femoral nerve, among others. We used those before on you.”

“And why did you do that?” he said, his teeth gritted. “Well, there aren’t many

restraints that can hold you. I thought this best. It’s not painful. And it does

wear off.” He looked around. “What is this place?” “This place is safe,

Dimitri.” “My name is Paul.” “That’s right. Paul Rogers.” She pulled up a chair

and sat down next to him. “How did Quentin tip you off?” he asked. “He didn’t.

He followed your instructions to the letter.” “How did you know I’d be there,

then?” “Josh Quentin never summons me,” she said simply. “But I was already on

my guard.” “Why?” She slipped a small notebook from her jacket pocket and opened

it to the first page. “You were convicted of second-degree murder.

 

You served ten years of a fifteen-year sentence and then were paroled.

Unfortunately, you were paroled a day early because of a clerical error.” “How

did you know? They couldn’t take my prints.” “DNA,” she interjected. “They took

DNA from you. And when that DNA sample was eventually picked up by us four years

ago we knew where you were.” “If you knew four years ago why didn’t you come for

me then?” “We couldn’t very well do that. You had killed someone. But we kept

watch and we are very glad to have you back.” “Why?” “For testing, of course.

When we designed the system we had no real idea of its longevity. But with you

here now, we can run precise tests that will tell us exactly the durability of

what we placed inside you.” Rogers said, “I’ve been back to Building Q. Nothing

has changed.” “If only that were true, Paul. What we’re doing now is mundane and