walk.”
Sweating profusely, he dabbed at his forehead with a white handkerchief and nodded but held his silence. Why these guards had to stand out in the sun in the middle of the day in suits, Amanda had no idea. It wasn’t only impractical, it was vicious, and it surprised her that none of them had collapsed from heat exhaustion.
No doubt Thomas Kunz insisted on the suits to prove he was the ultimate authority and in total control. He seemed to have a penchant for little reminders to his staff, as well as his captives. Though, on second thought, the formal attire seemed more like something Paul Reese would insist on rather than Thomas Kunz. The fallen white knight with now-scarred face was very much into image.
Joan motioned, and Amanda moved down the sidewalk. She didn’t dare to hope that the guard wouldn’t follow them, and she’d been right. He paced himself to stay about twenty steps behind them. “Jeremy is a cute boy,” Amanda told Joan.
“He’s a good child.” She spoke softly, gazed off down the street then whispered, “I hate him being raised in this place.” At the corner, she left the sidewalk and walked through a patch of grass that led to what appeared to be a golf course. How bizarre. Kunz must be into golf. A clump of trees stood on the right.
Joan didn’t walk up to them, but paused about fifty feet out, where the trees were at a perfect right angle to them and to a sign that they were at the seventh hole. She deliberately stared down at her feet.
Amanda saw a red tee stuck in the dirt, and nodded to Joan.
“This is a safe zone. Move one foot in either direction and you’re back on camera, with audio. There’s video everywhere out here. That’s why the guards never get too close.” The wind blew her hair loose from its clip at her nape and across her face. She smoothed it back. “Because of what you did for Jeremy today, I’m going to trust you, Amanda. For God’s sake, don’t make me sorry I have.”
Amanda gave her a solemn look. “Because of what you did for me today,” she said, referencing the note, “I’m going to trust you. Please don’t make me sorry, either.”
Joan looked deeply into Amanda’s eyes. “Mutually assured destruction.”
“Yes.” Amanda acknowledged what she believed to be true.
For the guard’s benefit, Joan smiled and pointed across the course, as if she was telling Amanda about the place. “Mark is alive. I’m doing what I can for him. Don’t expect anyone to come for you until tomorrow. They always tell you someone is coming and then make you wait so you have a lot of time to dread it, and to show you that things here happen at their convenience, not at yours. The whole place is one long succession of mind games.”
“I’ve more or less gathered that.” Amanda faked a smile, glanced at the guard, who had stopped out of earshot, as Joan had said he would, and stood watching them. After her foray into the tomb and seeing her double in her kitchen, nothing about the level of psychological warfare GRID practiced here could stun her. Mark was alive. That was good news. Provided he wasn’t being tortured. “Is Mark safe?”
“He’ll survive it, Amanda.” Joan’s eyes held pity. “I’m sorry. I’m doing what I can.”
Not the reassurance she had hoped for, but at least Joan was honest and helping Mark as much as possible. “I’m not surprised, but it’s unfortunate that it can’t be stopped.”
“You have no idea how unfortunate matters can get for people around here.” Joan shuddered.
“Tell me.”
Again she pasted on a smile, but this one barely curled her lips and never came close to touching her eyes. “My husband, Simon, is being held hostage in the cabins farther down the course. His living conditions are not nearly so nice as ours.” Her expression changed, puzzled. “You do know that this is a GRID compound, and what GRID is, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Amanda admitted without hesitating. True, the
Sweating profusely, he dabbed at his forehead with a white handkerchief and nodded but held his silence. Why these guards had to stand out in the sun in the middle of the day in suits, Amanda had no idea. It wasn’t only impractical, it was vicious, and it surprised her that none of them had collapsed from heat exhaustion.
No doubt Thomas Kunz insisted on the suits to prove he was the ultimate authority and in total control. He seemed to have a penchant for little reminders to his staff, as well as his captives. Though, on second thought, the formal attire seemed more like something Paul Reese would insist on rather than Thomas Kunz. The fallen white knight with now-scarred face was very much into image.
Joan motioned, and Amanda moved down the sidewalk. She didn’t dare to hope that the guard wouldn’t follow them, and she’d been right. He paced himself to stay about twenty steps behind them. “Jeremy is a cute boy,” Amanda told Joan.
“He’s a good child.” She spoke softly, gazed off down the street then whispered, “I hate him being raised in this place.” At the corner, she left the sidewalk and walked through a patch of grass that led to what appeared to be a golf course. How bizarre. Kunz must be into golf. A clump of trees stood on the right.
Joan didn’t walk up to them, but paused about fifty feet out, where the trees were at a perfect right angle to them and to a sign that they were at the seventh hole. She deliberately stared down at her feet.
Amanda saw a red tee stuck in the dirt, and nodded to Joan.
“This is a safe zone. Move one foot in either direction and you’re back on camera, with audio. There’s video everywhere out here. That’s why the guards never get too close.” The wind blew her hair loose from its clip at her nape and across her face. She smoothed it back. “Because of what you did for Jeremy today, I’m going to trust you, Amanda. For God’s sake, don’t make me sorry I have.”
Amanda gave her a solemn look. “Because of what you did for me today,” she said, referencing the note, “I’m going to trust you. Please don’t make me sorry, either.”
Joan looked deeply into Amanda’s eyes. “Mutually assured destruction.”
“Yes.” Amanda acknowledged what she believed to be true.
For the guard’s benefit, Joan smiled and pointed across the course, as if she was telling Amanda about the place. “Mark is alive. I’m doing what I can for him. Don’t expect anyone to come for you until tomorrow. They always tell you someone is coming and then make you wait so you have a lot of time to dread it, and to show you that things here happen at their convenience, not at yours. The whole place is one long succession of mind games.”
“I’ve more or less gathered that.” Amanda faked a smile, glanced at the guard, who had stopped out of earshot, as Joan had said he would, and stood watching them. After her foray into the tomb and seeing her double in her kitchen, nothing about the level of psychological warfare GRID practiced here could stun her. Mark was alive. That was good news. Provided he wasn’t being tortured. “Is Mark safe?”
“He’ll survive it, Amanda.” Joan’s eyes held pity. “I’m sorry. I’m doing what I can.”
Not the reassurance she had hoped for, but at least Joan was honest and helping Mark as much as possible. “I’m not surprised, but it’s unfortunate that it can’t be stopped.”
“You have no idea how unfortunate matters can get for people around here.” Joan shuddered.
“Tell me.”
Again she pasted on a smile, but this one barely curled her lips and never came close to touching her eyes. “My husband, Simon, is being held hostage in the cabins farther down the course. His living conditions are not nearly so nice as ours.” Her expression changed, puzzled. “You do know that this is a GRID compound, and what GRID is, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Amanda admitted without hesitating. True, the
Similar Books
