It wasn’t truly a harsh place to be. It just wasn’t a nice place to be. It was cold at night, a little warmer in the day. There weren’t a lot of conveniences, but there were doctors to oversee the health of the prisoners and there was nutritious food. Might not necessarily be food the prisoners were used to, but they were alive and they weren’t abused.
It was better than could be said of the treatment received by the Breeds that most of the prisoners had once overseen.
But none of those was the one he had come there to talk with now.
Jonas sat silently in the interview room and stared at the defeated pose Douglas Watts now used when facing him. His face was down. Once, he’d kept his person immaculate, his hair washed, his body in shape. In less than two weeks the hair had become dank and oily and the skin sallow. He was a man who had lost the will to fight.
“Are you in pain?” Jonas asked, though he knew Douglas wasn’t.
Douglas shook his head. “I feel nothing.”
Literally. From the hips down he was once again paralyzed, this time with no hope of recovery.
“The surgeon warned you that it could happen?” Jonas asked. He’d commanded that Douglas be given the warning.
Douglas nodded. “I was warned.”
The chip implanted needed months to interact with the nerve endings. By pushing himself as he had physically, Douglas had been the cause of his own demise.
“Then we’ll proceed,” Jonas stated. “I want the names of the final four of the Deadly Dozen.”
He was surprised when Douglas gave him the names. Three of them anyway.
“The fourth died,” Douglas sighed. “I heard about his death after I escaped. Ivan never was very smart. He pissed off the wrong man in his own government and paid for it.”
Ivan Vilanov, the former Russian elite officer that had once been an attaché to the United States.
“And the child of Patrick Wallace?” Jonas asked. That was the information he needed, what he wanted more than anything else.
Douglas lifted his head. “A boy. He was sold to this couple.” He gave their names easily. “They died. The report I have is that he has an older sister that disappeared with him a few years ago. I wasn’t able to find out more.” And Jonas believed him.
Jonas nodded as he checked the voice recorder he carried to make certain it was still recording everything.
“Did you know who Patrick Wallace was?” he asked Douglas.
Once again the other man nodded. “Azrael. The angel of death. We knew. He disappeared after that hunt. I knew he was wounded. I hoped he was dead. I was wrong.”
And now he was gone.
“And Brandenmore and Engalls?” Jonas questioned him. “Tell me what you know about their part in the hunts and the Genetics Council.”
There was two hours’ worth of information. Douglas didn’t pause, he didn’t argue or hide anything. Any question Jonas had, he answered. He was broken. There was no fight left in him because there was no longer a chance of escape, no longer a chance of enjoying the brutal games he had once enjoyed.
When Douglas had finished, Jonas turned off the recorder and rose to his feet. Douglas lifted his head then, his gaze piercing.
“You promised.” His voice was rough. Raw. “You promised I’d die if I told you everything. You promised mercy, Wyatt.”
He had. And he’d lied.
Jonas stared back at him coldly. “You don’t deserve mercy, Douglas.”
“And you do?” There was no anger, no rage, just dejection. “Kill me. You swore you would.”
“I lied.”
Douglas stared back at him as his eyes filled with tears. Jonas watched as the liquid overflowed, and wondered at the small spike of regret he felt.
“They know who you are,” Douglas whispered. “They know what you are. They’ll destroy you and all of your kind, Jonas. And you’ll deserve it.”