“Hm,” Andreyev said, his face expressionless.
“We won’t let you kill them,” Sophie said, stepping forward—a poorly planned move, Jim thought, since it left him swaying on his feet as the world spun; he was dangerously close to toppling over and taking Lux down with him. “The Vitros have done nothing wrong. They need help, not a gas chamber.”
“Are you going to get your pet under control,” Strauss said to Moira, not once looking at Sophie, “or shall I?” She raised her handgun threateningly.
“She’s right,” said Moira. “I won’t let you harm them.”
“This place, all of it, belongs to Corpus, not you. I make the calls.”
“And I’m telling you I won’t let you harm them.”
“If I have to forcibly remove you, I will.”
“Then you’ll have to forcibly remove me too,” said Sophie, stepping closer to her mother.
“And me,” said Dr. Hashimoto unexpectedly. She joined Sophie and Moira.
One by one, then all in a rush, the other doctors stepped forward. Even the bespectacled one who’d turned on the gas after Strauss conferred control of the project to him—what was his name? Michalski. His hands were visibly trembling, but he stood beside Moira and held his ground.
The doctors, with Sophie in their midst, formed a protective hedge in front of the Vitros. Strauss looked angrier with each one’s pronouncement of support for Moira, and her skin seemed to grow tighter and tighter over her cheekbones as her opposition swelled.
“Each and every one of you is expendable,” Strauss spat. “I have no qualms about removing you all. Once I shut this place down for good, you will all be fired. No relocation, no reassignment, no pension, nothing. In fact . . . I could have you all shot here and now. There is no law on Skin Island but what I make. You know I can do it.”
Sophie reached out and took Moira’s hand. Then Moira took Dr. Michalski’s. Down the line, the doctors grasped hands and stared silently at Strauss and her guards, daring them to fire.
All except Sophie, who looked over her shoulder at Jim.
Jim sighed deeply. The last thing he wanted to do was get tangled up in some Gandhian protest. He didn’t want to get shot for the sake of some miserable lab subjects he didn’t know. But he did know Sophie, and now Lux, he supposed. If he had to get shot over something, it might as well be for the sake of a friend.
Maybe getting involved was the stupid thing to do, but it had never stopped him in the past. And if Skin Island had showed him one thing in the brief time he had been there, it was that the world had plenty of heartless, detached bastards—and it could really use a few more idiot heroes.
So he took Sophie’s hand and stood beside her with his other arm wrapped around Lux. She was still shaking and a little wobbly on her feet, but she was proving her resilience. She looked at him with clear eyes, eyes less innocent than they had been an hour ago. The world had given Lux a cruel reception, and she was growing up fast.
Jim drew a deep breath and turned to face Strauss and the dozen rifles aimed at him. Sophie squeezed his hand; he squeezed hers back.
For a long moment, Strauss said nothing. He imagined her running a hundred different responses through her mind, trying to find a way to cow them into submission. The guards glanced uncertainly at her, waiting for an order.
Together, in silence, they waited.
Only one person stood apart from it all—well, three, if you counted Andreyev’s bodyguards. The Russian stood a short distance ahead of the line of doctors, between them and Strauss’s men. He seemed unperturbed by the amount of firearms being brandished about, and looked lost in thought, as if he were sitting in the back of a movie theater watching with halfhearted interest as they all played out their drama. His bodyguards, on the other hand, were tensed like a pair of panthers, ready to spring at the first sign of gunfire.
Jim realized Sophie was staring hard at Andreyev, her eyes pouring pressure onto the Russian’s shoulders. Why? What did she want him to do? Is this what it came down to—one man whose decision could tip the scales for or against them?
“Constantin,” Strauss said slowly, “come with me. I am afraid what I must do next will not be pleasant, and it would be best if you were not caught up in it. These employees have proven too insubordinate to be trusted, and so Corpus must act.”
“As one of Corpus’s foremost investors, Miss Strauss,” Andreyev said, his accent almost a purr, “I believe I have a say in what Corpus will and will not do, wouldn’t you say?” He slowly shifted into motion, crossing the grass to stand on the other side of Lux, completing the defensive line against Strauss.
Her eyes widened slightly when she realized he had chosen his side—and it was apparently not the side she had predicted. “I don’t understand.”
“Understand this, Miss Strauss. Young Sophie here has apprised me of some very interesting facts regarding Skin Island’s past—and its original purpose. In light of this information, I would like to double my current contributions to the Vitro project, under three circumstances. One”—he lifted a finger. “Full control of the project will go to Dr. Crue. And by full control, I mean I don’t want you to have a say in so much as the color of the wallpaper.”
“Mr. Andreyev! I—”
Two,” he continued steamrolling right over Strauss’s angry interjection, “I want every possible effort to be made in reversing the mind control you have put over these poor children, and I want my funds to be channeled not into the making of Vitros but into utilizing the neurotechnology that has imprisoned them to explore its therapeutic and curative abilities. There is a great deal of potential in that, I think, and I am curious to see what Dr. Crue can make of it.”
Strauss’s eyes bulged, but she said nothing. Down the line, Moira Crue let out a soft cry, and she turned to stare at Sophie with wide eyes. Sophie looked up at Jim and gave him a small smile. He returned it and squeezed her hand again.
“And three.” Andreyev turned to Sophie and Jim. “I want these young people to be given their freedom. They must be allowed to leave this place with no harm done to them.”
Jim resisted the urge to crawl across the ground and kiss the man’s thousand-dollar golf shoes. He wondered what the Russian words for “can I buy you a drink” might be.
Strauss cocked her head and studied him with a bemused look, as if she was wondering where the punch line was, as if she couldn’t believe he was actually serious. But the look he gave her in return was cool and smooth as Russian vodka.
“If this is your decision,” Strauss said, “to reject everything I have offered you here, why did you come in the first place?”
“I came because I was curious. And because I cannot afford to have weapons such as these”—he gestured at the sedated Vitros—“in the hands of my enemies. I will admit, at first I was intrigued when I read the dossier you sent me last month. Only a fool would not consider the advantages of the particular services your company offers, and I wanted to see these Vitros for myself, to see whether this imprinting could really be done. Still. You think that because I deal in arms, that because I fund your weapons research and your . . . special project in South America, that I am a coldhearted bastard who would sit by while children are turned into robots, made to serve with no capacity for their own choice?” He shook his head slowly. “I am a businessman, yes. But I am not a monster.”
Jim was surprised Strauss’s death grip on her handgun hadn’t already dented the metal. Everyone seemed to hold their breath as they waited for her to speak. The silence was filled by the rushing surf and windswept leaves of the palm trees. Even the moon, suspended high above them, was poised in suspense.
At last, Strauss relented. Her capitulation was evident even before she spoke; she folded visibly, like a tent robbed of its supports. “So be it, but this is entirely on your head, Constantin. I will take no responsibility when this pl
an of yours fails.”
He nodded amiably as everyone breathed out in relief. The guards behind Strauss seemed very grateful to be lowering their weapons. Andreyev crossed to Moira, took her hand in his, and kissed it. “Dr. Crue, I should be honored to invest in your technology. I think you will find I can be a very resourceful supporter.”
Moira actually blushed. “Constantin, I . . . I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me, Moira. You must thank your bold and persuasive young impostor,” he said, ignoring Strauss and shifting his gaze to Sophie. His back was now to Strauss, as if he’d dismissed her already. “Miss Crue. My regards.” He gave her a small, stiff bow—and then it was Sophie who was blushing.
Jim gave a soft, impatient grunt, and Andreyev’s eyes flickered his way.
“Not to be rude,” Jim said, “but now that we’re all sorted out, I wondered if we might discuss the issue of my plane? Now, the way I see it—and the way my insurance company might see it—someone here is responsible for it being blown up. So I was just wondering if—”
Sophie elbowed him hard in the ribs. “Jim. This isn’t the time.”
“What? All I’m saying is—”
“If you want to talk to the person responsible for your stupid plane,” said a voice behind them, “perhaps you’d like to talk to me?”
They all turned to see Nicholas leaning the doorway, absently tapping a device against his leg. In his other hand was a sleek black pistol. “Or perhaps you’d like to talk about the bomb I have planted inside.”
THIRTY-SIX
SOPHIE
“Nicholas . . . What is this?” Moira was white as a ghost, but she stepped forward and faced him.
“Good God, Moira, he doesn’t have a bomb,” Strauss said, approaching.
“If you really believe that,” said Nicholas, “why don’t you tell them to shoot me now?” He wiggled his eyebrows at the guards and gave them a Cheshire cat grin.
“Nicholas.” Moira’s tone could turn grapes into wine. He stopped taunting the guards and turned to her. “What is this about? What do you want?”
“Finally,” he said, with an exaggerated groan. “Someone who speaks reason. I want the helicopter.” He pointed at the Corpus chopper. “I want a pilot to fly it—Lux will do. And lastly, I want Sophie.”
“And what if I call your bluff?” Moira asked.
Sophie was only half listening. Her mind raced up and down the corridors of the past twenty-four hours, collecting stray bits of information like a trail of bread crumbs. I know every corner of this island, down to the forgotten rooms and the spaces inside the walls themselves, he had boasted to her. He’d said that he’d lost his bomb when he used it on Jim’s plane, as if he didn’t have any others . . . but then what was it he’d added? Well. I can always come up with something. He wanted to destroy the Vitro building, one way or another. Escaping wasn’t enough for him, oh, no—he had to have it all: Sophie, his freedom, and his revenge on Corpus.
“He’s not bluffing,” she found herself saying.
Everyone turned to stare at her as she went on. “You sabotaged the gas lines. That’s what this was all about, from the very beginning. You woke the Vitros and sent them to the cliff; you knew the Vitros would distract everyone but Moira, who would come to investigate. I was just there to distract Moira while you sabotaged the gas chamber equipment inside the walls, because you knew Strauss would shortly use it to try to kill the Vitros you’d also sabotaged. He has a bomb,” she said, turning to Moira. “The entire building is his bomb, thanks to Strauss.”
Nicholas’s smile could melt an iceberg. He gave her a mocking bow. “Brilliant, Sophie Crue. You truly are your mother’s daughter. Oh, wait . . .” He straightened and gave a sardonic frown. “No, you’re not.”
The only thing stopping her from slapping the false pity off his face was the detonator and the gun in his hands.
“I imagine the control you’re holding sets off a spark somewhere in the basement, to ignite the hydrogen cyanide,” said Moira carefully, as if the wrong word might somehow ignite the gas on its own.
“It was so easy. There are tanks of the stuff down there. It’s like you wanted to blow this place up from the beginning. You have to admit—it’s so brilliantly simple that it’s simply brilliant.” He beamed at her, as if he expected applause.
“Think about what you’re doing,” Moira said. “We are not your enemies, Nicholas. We’re your family.”
“I don’t have a family and I don’t want one.”
“We raised you, taught you.” She held out a hand, her eyes sorrowful. “Loved you.”
“Your sentiment may ensnare the likes of her,” he said, flicking a scornful look Sophie’s way, “but I’m smarter than that. You try to build cages out of a false sense of obligation and affection—flimsy materials, Doctor. If you really wanted to control me, you should have built a cage of steel. I’ve been your pet for too long. But no more.” He held the detonator above his head. “I hold the keys now.”
“Oh, good God,” said Strauss. “You little bastard. You’re nothing, do you hear me? You’re a laboratory failure, a pet I let Moira keep simply because you were too pathetic to kill. Do you want to know why I let you live all those years ago when we discovered what you were? What Moira had made of you? I let you live because you’re not a threat. Not to anyone. You’re not even half as smart as you think you are, and you’re delusional and dramatic and stupid if you think I’m going to let you just prance off into the sunset. You think you’re special? Tell him, Moira. Tell him about Isaiah.”
“I . . .” Moira shut her eyes. “Oh, Nicholas.”
His mask of triumph slipped just slightly as his gaze honed in on Moira. “Isaiah?”
“Your Control, Nicky.”
Laughing, Nicholas waved the detonator, making them all flinch. “I don’t have a Control! Sophie is the only one!”
“His name is Isaiah Cartwright,” said Strauss, “and he lives in Wyoming on a ranch with his adoptive family. He is not a psychopath, but a decorated rodeo rider. Am I right, Moira?”
“Shut up!” Nicholas swung the gun toward Strauss, who stared him down.
Opening her eyes, Moira looked sadly at Nicholas. “She’s telling you the truth, Nicky.”
“No, she’s not—she’s lying! You all are! You always have!” he screamed. Spit sprayed from his mouth. “Stop it!”
“He has two parents and a sister who love him dearly,” Strauss went on, pouring acid on the wound she’d opened. “He has friends. He goes to school. He’s normal, Nicky, and he has a real life. He’s a real boy. Not like you—you are nothing. You’re just . . . just a shade, a shadow of what he is. You’ll never know what he’s known. You’re not a threat. You’re an echo of someone else.”
If this was Strauss’s method of calming Nicholas down, then Sophie was extremely unimpressed by her approach. Nicholas howled, his face going deathly white. His cheeks turned to pockets of shadow as he sucked in a breath. “I’m not a threat? I could blow you to hell with a flick of my thumb!”
“And kill yourself in the process? Ha! Look at where you’re standing! You are much too fond of yourself to do that.”
“I would,” he said. “Even if it was the last thing I ever did, it would be worth it, the revenge. The knowledge that I’d be dragging you into hell with me!”
“You lying son of a—”
“I’ll do it!” He raised the detonator. “Say one more word, and I swear I will.”
Strauss studied him, her eyes thin slits. Then she turned to one of the guards. “Give him the chopper keys. Okay, Nicholas, you win.”
The man tossed the keys; they glinted as they arced through the air. Nicholas, caught off guard, reached to awkwardly catch the keys with his gun hand. Strauss took advantage of his momentary distraction to fire.
Nicholas sc
reamed as his other arm exploded in a spray of crimson. The detonator dropped to the ground. Strauss advanced on Nicholas, firing again, but he twisted aside, still screeching in pain and clutching his wounded arm to his stomach.
Moira spun around. “Get them out of here! Away from this building—now! The gas chamber is located beneath the atrium, and we’re practically standing on top of it. Go! A few feet of dirt won’t stop that blast, and every moment we waste makes it worse!” The doctors immediately began wheeling and carrying the Vitros down the hill toward the resort. The moment Strauss had fired, Andreyev’s bodyguards had pulled out their weapons, twin revolvers black as jet. One trained his on Strauss, the other on Nicholas, but Moira told Andreyev to help get the Vitros down the hill. He nodded and ordered his men to help him. They shot him mutinous looks, and kept their guns in hand as they helped push stretchers down the slope. Moira whipped her own gun out and directed it at Strauss. “Victoria, stop!”
Nicholas tripped and fell into a heap in the grass, whimpering and snarling like a rabid dog, swinging his gun wildly at everyone who came near him. Sophie took the chance to dart across the ground and pick up the detonator—but someone got there before she did.
The Vitro girl, Mary. She held it up in triumph, her eyes flaming.
“I got it, Nicky! Do you want me to do it?” She stood with her legs spread and her curls bouncing in the wind, her thumb leaning against the little metal switch. Sophie froze in horror.
“You’ll kill yourself, Mary!” Sophie hissed. “Do you really want that?”
Mary looked down at her.
“Just listen to me,” said Sophie. Moira and Strauss were still in a standoff, but she knew they were watching Mary—or rather, Mary’s thumb. “Nicholas was going to leave without you,” she said. “He had it all worked out. You’re his friend, right? You’re one of the ones who didn’t imprint. One of the lucky ones, I think. And yet he was going to leave you behind. Why would you die for his cause?”