Page 89 of Protecting his Secrets

“What do they say?” Malachi dared to ask.

Jacobs gave him that cold, flat stare again. “That we are vessels to provide the truth.”

“What truth?”

“That only the strong survive. And only the Army can make you strong.”

Malachi raised his eyebrows. Despite their current predicament, he found himself intrigued. “Even though they deemed you unfit?”

“They had no choice. I was no longer the strongest. But I worked hard and fought for my place. And I’m back where I should be.”

“Which is where?” Nick asked, and Jacobs looked at him. Malachi used the opportunity to open another window and send an email, brief but to the point.

“The Army. They can’t acknowledge me in the same format as before, but my superiors are happy with my ethics.” He glanced back at Malachi. “I want people to understand that they need to work hard and work smart. It’s the only way to survive in this world.”

“And where do we come into that?” Nick asked, and Malachi wished he hadn’t brought attention back to them.

“You haven’t had the required training. You refuse to follow the rules. You’re weak but pretend to be strong. It doesn’t work that way.”

“What about those people who haven’t been trained by the Army but are just as strong as those who have?” Nick continued.

Jacobs shook his head before he’d finished his question. “It doesn’t work that way,” he repeated. “Only the Army can train you how you need to be to live in this treacherous world. You need to know how to look after yourself and others, how to locate and identify those of a weaker standing, and how to dispose of them. How else can we survive? We also need to show others how close we can get without anyone knowing. Which is what we did to you and your grandmother.”

Malachi’s throat dried up at the fanatical words, despite the outwardly calm demeanour of their kidnapper. He had no idea of how they could make him change his mind, or how to subdue him. They needed help, and fast. Hopefully, Felix had got his message quickly enough that they were on their way.

“Do you have sniper training?”

Jacobs tilted his head, staring at him in that almost unseeing way. “We all need it.”

“Is there anything else you want to add?” Malachi asked.

“Only that the trap is set, and all the flies will soon meet their match.”

Malachi typed those final words, asked a couple more questions about the article itself, to bide more time, and then added a few things before hovering over the publish button.

“Ready?”

Jacobs tilted his head. “I will admit to enjoying the back-and-forth we’ve had. You’re smart. Both of you. But you’d need the proper training before you’d survive.”

“Is that something we could get?” Nick asked. “Could we be rehabilitated?”

Jacobs shook his head. “Maybe before the kill order, but not after. It’s too late.”

“I am weak,” Malachi said suddenly. He lifted his gaze to Jacobs. “Will you make it quick?”

Jacobs nodded. “We do not prolong the agony of those who need rebirth. Every execution is quick and painless.”

“How many executions have you done?” Nick said.

“Too many people didn’t have the strength.”

“It weighs heavily, doesn’t it?” Nick said. “Too much blood on your hands that it’s hard to tell when they’re clean.”

Jacobs tilted his head again. “You shouldn’t understand,” he muttered. “If you didn’t have the strength, how would you know that?”

Malachi’s attention veered to the cupboard behind Jacobs. A red light wavered against the wood, and he breathed a relieved sigh. The red dot split into five, then one disappeared, then another, and Malachi realised it was a countdown. He glanced over at Nick quickly, who dipped his head once in acknowledgement of seeing them, and Malachi refocused again. Two dots merged into one, and when that disappeared, he threw himself to the floor and covered his head. He expected a shattering of glass, a thump as Jacobs fell to the floor, anything but the silence that reigned.

Then his hearing kicked back in, and Nick was shouting his name. “Malachi? Kai! Kai, answer me! Are you okay?”

---