they were physically. Time for a little psych out tactic.
"How about you give me your names so I can call your parents to pick you up?"
They stared up at him with identically blank expressions.
"Who's in charge?"
It was subtle and quick, but Jameson caught the glances between the three. Rigid, stoic, it was a look of agreed resignation. A look he'd seen on the faces of terrorists prepared to take a secret to the grave. But these guys were most likely from an order of supernatural healers. What the hell was going on?
"Fine. We'll do it the hard way." He made a show of changing out the stinger clip for the clip of rubber bullets, certain these three wouldn't know one type of ammo from another.
"You fought off that stinger effect pretty well. Let's try something different."
He aimed his pistol at the gut of the target he'd pegged as the leader. "Name?"
Jameson counted to five, noticed a trickle of sweat at the leader's temple and gave him two more seconds. Nothing.
Jameson fired.
The guy fell to his side and curled into the fetal position. Rubber bullets hurt like hell at close range and particularly when aimed at the diaphragm. Jameson hoped the bastard got a bad case of the hiccups to magnify the pain.
Raising the gun, he turned to the next man in line. "Name?"
Again with that implacable expression. Jameson realized he could do anything to them physically and get nothing helpful to their mission. Whoever trained this crew had put some significant fear into them.
Annoyed, he raised his gun and pumped two rubber bullets at the guy's thigh. Letting them know it was non-lethal didn't matter. Neither psychology nor intimidation would crack this team. Jameson holstered his weapon, prepared to tell them they'd be hauled away, when he caught an odd look passing between them.
Before he could say anything or separate them, the two wounded men fell over.
"What the hell?" Jameson turned to the third man who only shook his head. He checked pulse points and came up empty.
"What's the trick? When will they revive?"
Still the third man said nothing.
It had to be a trick. Jameson tugged the limp bodies to opposite corners where he could watch them and hope the distance made it tougher for them to keep up the act.
He checked his watch. A minute thirty. They'd have to wake up soon. How long could a brain go without oxygen?
He waited, trying to ignore the tick of every second, the compromising of the mission's fragile timing. Mira could get in trouble fast if she made choices in the lab on the assumption that he'd be right behind her.
He crouched in front of the conscious enforcer. "What were you looking for?"
The guy only shook his head.
Two minutes came and went and still no movement from either corner. More than a little unnerved, Jameson proceeded with his own search, refusing to let Callahan down.
"For an abandoned office, this place is suddenly getting plenty of visitors. You should just tell me what you're looking for."
"The right opportunity."
Jameson jumped, immediately ashamed by the reaction. "So you're not mute."
"Nope."
"Are they planning to stay dead?"
"They are dead."
"Not a trick?"
"Depends on your definition. It's not easy to die on command."
"Is that why you're still breathing?"
"One reason."
"Don't have time for riddles," Jameson muttered, going back to the search. Callahan wanted hard copies of everything Dr. Luther had worked on just before the office shut down. For Jameson it was a sign of serious paranoia, or extreme caution, to look for hard copies when a tech team could come in and skim the hard drives.
If the two pulling the dead stunt were still out after five minutes, Jameson would pat them down and call Callahan for a clean up team.
"Stay put," Jameson ordered, striding toward the diagnostic area. "Should've left this to Mira," he muttered.
"Mira? Wait! You know Mira? You've got to take me to her," the guy demanded.
"What you've got super hearing?"
"If you're with Mira, I'm on
"How about you give me your names so I can call your parents to pick you up?"
They stared up at him with identically blank expressions.
"Who's in charge?"
It was subtle and quick, but Jameson caught the glances between the three. Rigid, stoic, it was a look of agreed resignation. A look he'd seen on the faces of terrorists prepared to take a secret to the grave. But these guys were most likely from an order of supernatural healers. What the hell was going on?
"Fine. We'll do it the hard way." He made a show of changing out the stinger clip for the clip of rubber bullets, certain these three wouldn't know one type of ammo from another.
"You fought off that stinger effect pretty well. Let's try something different."
He aimed his pistol at the gut of the target he'd pegged as the leader. "Name?"
Jameson counted to five, noticed a trickle of sweat at the leader's temple and gave him two more seconds. Nothing.
Jameson fired.
The guy fell to his side and curled into the fetal position. Rubber bullets hurt like hell at close range and particularly when aimed at the diaphragm. Jameson hoped the bastard got a bad case of the hiccups to magnify the pain.
Raising the gun, he turned to the next man in line. "Name?"
Again with that implacable expression. Jameson realized he could do anything to them physically and get nothing helpful to their mission. Whoever trained this crew had put some significant fear into them.
Annoyed, he raised his gun and pumped two rubber bullets at the guy's thigh. Letting them know it was non-lethal didn't matter. Neither psychology nor intimidation would crack this team. Jameson holstered his weapon, prepared to tell them they'd be hauled away, when he caught an odd look passing between them.
Before he could say anything or separate them, the two wounded men fell over.
"What the hell?" Jameson turned to the third man who only shook his head. He checked pulse points and came up empty.
"What's the trick? When will they revive?"
Still the third man said nothing.
It had to be a trick. Jameson tugged the limp bodies to opposite corners where he could watch them and hope the distance made it tougher for them to keep up the act.
He checked his watch. A minute thirty. They'd have to wake up soon. How long could a brain go without oxygen?
He waited, trying to ignore the tick of every second, the compromising of the mission's fragile timing. Mira could get in trouble fast if she made choices in the lab on the assumption that he'd be right behind her.
He crouched in front of the conscious enforcer. "What were you looking for?"
The guy only shook his head.
Two minutes came and went and still no movement from either corner. More than a little unnerved, Jameson proceeded with his own search, refusing to let Callahan down.
"For an abandoned office, this place is suddenly getting plenty of visitors. You should just tell me what you're looking for."
"The right opportunity."
Jameson jumped, immediately ashamed by the reaction. "So you're not mute."
"Nope."
"Are they planning to stay dead?"
"They are dead."
"Not a trick?"
"Depends on your definition. It's not easy to die on command."
"Is that why you're still breathing?"
"One reason."
"Don't have time for riddles," Jameson muttered, going back to the search. Callahan wanted hard copies of everything Dr. Luther had worked on just before the office shut down. For Jameson it was a sign of serious paranoia, or extreme caution, to look for hard copies when a tech team could come in and skim the hard drives.
If the two pulling the dead stunt were still out after five minutes, Jameson would pat them down and call Callahan for a clean up team.
"Stay put," Jameson ordered, striding toward the diagnostic area. "Should've left this to Mira," he muttered.
"Mira? Wait! You know Mira? You've got to take me to her," the guy demanded.
"What you've got super hearing?"
"If you're with Mira, I'm on
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