Operation: Midnight Tango
Linda Castillo
Prologue
The scream echoed off the concrete walls, giving the prison the aura of a medieval castle where unspeakable acts of torture were routine. The prisoner lay on the narrow gurney, struggling against the nylon straps securing his arms and legs, drops of blood staining the sheet covering him from the hips down.
Pain and terror contorted his features. “No more,” he whimpered. “Please…”
The doctor in the white lab coat looked down at his charge and reminded himself that the man was a murderer who didn’t deserve compassion. But the knowledge didn’t make what he was about to do any easier.
Steeling himself against the prisoner’s agonized shrieks, he reached for the tiny vial marked RZ-902. “It’s almost over,” he said. “Just try to relax.”
His hand froze on the vial when the door swung open. Tension knotted his stomach when the man in the custom-made suit walked into the examination room.
“For God’s sake, I could hear him all the way to the infirmary.” The man scowled at the prisoner. “Shut him up or you’re going to have people asking questions we don’t want to answer.”
“I was just about to sedate him before putting him into the testing chamber.”
“Do whatever it takes. Just shut him up. I don’t want questions from some do-good corrections officer.” Spotting the clipboard on the counter, the man in the suit picked it up and began to read. “How did the patient respond to the RZ-902 treatment?”
Both men knew the words patient and treatment were euphemisms for something far more sinister. Pushing that thought away, the doctor concentrated on answering the question. “Better than expected.”
“The mortality rate?”
“Ninety-eight percent.”
“Time frame?”
“Less than five minutes.”
“Excellent,” the man said, smiling with satisfaction. “I want a full report on my desk within the hour.” He glanced at his watch. “I’m meeting with our client at noon. I want all phases of product development detailed.”
“I’ll get right on it.” The doctor nodded as he lifted the syringe to sedate the prisoner.
“No. Please.” The prisoner struggled against the straps. “Don’t hurt me any more.”
The doctor and the man in the suit exchanged looks. The doctor couldn’t meet his patient’s eyes as he administered the powerful sedative. “Just a little something for the pain,” he said as he slid the needle into the man’s arm.
“Can’t…murder…” The prisoner’s voice trailed as the drug seeped into his system.
The man stared coldly at the sedated prisoner. “You made sure he has no ties?”
The doctor nodded. “Just like the others. No family. No friends. He’s a lifer and hasn’t had a visitor in two years.”
“The Bitterroot Super Max has been fertile ground for patients. Make sure it stays that way.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m having another prisoner delivered to you. He should be here within the hour.”
“Another patient? Tonight? But it wasn’t—”
“I want him given the treatment. Full dose. Make sure the outcome is fatal,” he said icily. “Nobody will care if he passes away unexpectedly.”
The doctor felt as if a noose were slowly tightening around his neck. “Yes, sir.”
“Once you’re finished here I want you to take the data you need for the report and destroy everything else. I don’t want anything left behind.”
Understanding all too well what the man meant, the doctor nodded. “I’ll notify the crematorium right away.”
“I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of the sensitive nature of this project.”
“I don’t need to be reminded.” A man didn’t forget about something that tormented him day and night.
When the man left, the doctor wheeled the prisoner into the testing chamber and tried hard not to brood about what he’d done. He tried even harder not to consider what he had to do next.
Chapter One
Zack Devlin jolted awake to the clanging of steel against steel. He was on his feet in an instant, his every sense honed on the two corrections officers standing outside his cell.
“Stand down, convict.”
Stand down was the term officers used when they were about to enter a cell. It was a safety procedure that called for a convict to lace his fingers, then put his hands behind his head. What were two corrections officers doing in his cell in the wee hours of morning?
Zack assumed the position, his heart racing. “Isn’t it a little early for tea and scones?” he asked.
The first corrections officer was Mitchell. He treated the convicts with a firm hand but never unfairly. The other officer was about as pleasant as a bad case of the flu. He liked to tear down a man’s dignity. Maybe even hurt a man if he got the chance.