RADEK rolled off the prostitute and stared at the ceiling as she slid the used condom off his semiflaccid cock. He spared her a glance as she padded naked across the room to drop it into a twisted piece of salvaged metal serving as a trash can.
The sight of her swaying breasts and round buttocks didn’t hold his interest. His mind raced, and despite the release of sex he could feel the restless tension building in his chest, the uncertainty gnawing at him.
By now there should have been some evidence the smart-virus he’d poured into the pond was working. There hadn’t been, and because of it irritation sizzled through him.
His leaving the compound several times a day was drawing too much attention from his brother’s lapdog, Nagy. But he could hardly send men out and order them to look for signs of dead wolves or elk.
Having to handle this himself was wasting valuable time. Time better spent analyzing the recovered files and determining which of them could be turned into the wealth that was now only part of his nightly dream.
Radek closed his eyes for a moment, hoping the imagined cheering of the crowds would soothe him. It didn’t. If anything it increased his restlessness, made him feel as though he were in a race against some unseen opponent and victory was far from assured.
The bed dipped as the whore returned. She took his cock into her mouth.
Radek kept his eyes closed. He shifted his concentration to the feel of the prostitute’s lips and tongue, hoping to use physical pleasure to recapture the golden glory he experienced in his dreams. It didn’t work.
His frustration grew, taking on an ugly edge as his penis softened further and the whore released him to ask, “Should I leave now?”
Radek’s eyes snapped opened. Worthless slut! To imply with her tone that her failure to provide a distraction was somehow his fault and she’d just as soon go service the convicts and dregs of society.
He rolled off the bed and stalked to his desk, opening a drawer with a jerk. He’d intended to retrieve the bottle of brandy he kept there, to soothe himself with a glass of it, but the sight of the canister with the picture of a hyena scratched into its surface turned frustration and irritation into giddy exhilaration.
Epiphany struck, explaining his uncharacteristic desire for one of the camp whores. He turned slightly, eyes flicking to the prostitute’s tattoo, the garish black circle with a red P in its center.
He’d nearly sent her away when he saw it, not wanting to think about the terrorist-created disease that had led to prostitutes being marked during The Last War. He was glad now he hadn’t. It had given birth to divine inspiration, a call to action that replaced his worries of failure.
There were hyenas nearby. Their whooping calls and laughs made the hair rise on his arms each time he heard them.
Radek smiled as a plan took form. He could hardly ask someone to deliver the carcass of a goat or cow to a hyena’s den, but the corpse of a whore was a different matter.
He knew just the man to do what needed to be done. One who frequented the red zone brothels and had more than once been required to pay for extensive damages to the prostitutes there.
A comment to Gregor, something to the effect that this particular whore was a spy and he, Radek, wouldn’t mind paying the penalty if she disappeared while he held her contract. Another, about hyenas leaving no trace of their prey—
Delicious. Too bad he couldn’t invite Captain Orst to his quarters for a drink. Now there was a whore of a totally different kind, a true spy, though Radek doubted he’d ever be able to prove the guardsman was owned by the Iberás.
Radek suppressed a giggle as he imagined Orst meeting with an unfortunate accident and becoming a feast for hyenas, animals that would spread the smart-virus to Weres of the same form. If only—
First things first, Radek thought, interrupting his fantasy and pouring two glasses of brandy, filling one to the top and the other halfway.
If he’d truly thought ahead, he would have diluted the contents of the canister, but . . . He shrugged it off. Inspiration had struck when he was in the perfect position to act on it.
Careful to keep his back to the bed and the waiting prostitute, he matched the level of liquid in the second glass by adding the concentrated solution of smart-virus.
The whore was sitting at the edge of the bed when he closed the drawer and turned. Boredom changed to interest at the sight of the two glasses in his hand.
Radek nearly laughed when she licked her lips. “I see I don’t have to ask if you’ll share a drink with me before you leave.”
She sent him a coquettish look, repositioning herself so she was once again fully on the bed. “I won’t leave at all unless you send me away,” she said, thrusting her chest forward, her fingers playing with a pale pink nipple as she spread her thighs to give him a good look.
Radek suppressed a shudder, hoping she didn’t notice his cock had softened further at the prospect of intimate contact with a virus-ridden slut.
She took the glass he offered and tossed it back quickly, as if she hoped doing it would lead to a hasty refill.
Good. She won’t notice the taste of the concentrate if there is one.
Her hand slid down to her cunt, playing there as she held out her arm in a silent request for more.
He tipped his hand, pouring a portion of brandy into her empty glass. Why not? He could afford to be generous.
Her smile held the promise of a sexual romp he had no intention of participating in. She drew her arm back, raised the drink toward her mouth.
Liquid sloshed onto her chest as the glass touched her lips. She had time for a tiny gasp before a seizure took her and she went over backward, heels drumming, pounding the mattress violently.
Shock held Radek motionless, clearing his mind of all thought until the smell of urine and released bowels brought him back to himself.
Terror threatened to grip him. He combatted it by turning away and going to his computer, passing through the multitude of password-protected gates before reaching the information left by the scientists along with the canisters.
Rereading it calmed him. The smart-virus wasn’t keyed to a particular delivery host—that, he’d remembered when inspiration struck. What he’d failed to remember was that it was designed to weaken prey, making them natural targets for predators and scavengers like hyenas.
Properly mixed it wouldn’t have killed the prostitute outright. The whore would have met her end in a different manner, in Gregor’s hands.
Radek shrugged. It was done now.
He closed the file, having gotten what he needed from it. Already a new plan was forming, a modification of his original one. It would be distasteful to have his father’s militiaman think the two of them shared the same sick passion, but it couldn’t be helped.
Radek picked up a pair of work gloves before moving to the hook where his formal clothing hung, the dark suit and pristine white shirt his father insisted be worn in his presence. With a tug he freed the silk tie.
He snapped it between his hands, testing its strength. It will do, he thought, and the Ivanov family crest embroidered onto it would serve as a reminder to Gregor of who owned his loyalties.
Radek returned to the side of the bed. The worst of the seizure had passed.
The whore no longer drummed the mattress with her heels but she continued to flail weakly, her mouth opening and closing, her eyes rolling around, reminding him of a fish.
Foam flecked her lips. He shuddered and slipped his gloves on, not wanting any contact with her bodily fluids despite what he’d read in the file.
He looped the tie around her neck before grabbing one of her wrists and securing an end there with a knot. He did the same at the other wrist.
Deviant sex held no interest for him, though so many of those he’d grown up among seemed drawn to it, a reflection of their boredom as much as a flexing of their power. The thought of actually playing with death in the pursuit of pleasure, of risking it with erotic asphyxia, was revolting.
Radek shuddered again as he grasped the silken tie on either side of the whore’s neck. I do what I must, he told himself, grateful she’d finally stopped moving and was already well on her way to expiring.
He pulled, tightening the loop wrapped around her throat in order to leave telltale marks, the illusion of sex play gone wrong. She struggled at the very last, so weakly it was barely noticeable.
Radek used the sheet to wipe the foam from her mouth, then stepped back, gauging the position of her body. Not optimal. But acceptable. Good enough.
He turned away from the scene, shedding the gloves and dropping them on a rarely used chair. He’d deal with them, and the mattress, later. The soiled sheets and the whore’s clothing could be burned in the trash barrel at the back of his quarters.
Radek took a few minutes for a sponge bath, being sure to dampen the edges of his hair. He dressed—Gregor would hardly expect to find him standing naked and wringing his hands while waiting for help to arrive—then stepped out of his quarters long enough to flag down a worker and send for the militiaman.
Gregor arrived moments later. He took in the scene and turned sly eyes toward Radek.
Radek’s mouth soured. “There are hyenas nearby. Find where they gather and dump the body. Remain within sight of it until you see them start feeding.”
“It could take a while, especially if I stay long enough to make certain there’s nothing left for the guardsmen to find if they decide to go looking for a missing prostitute. Probably be good if someone saw her leave your quarters and slip into the one housing the convicts.”
“You’re right on both counts.”
Gregor’s smile turned as hard as his eyes. “After doing a stretch in Were-infested woods, I’d sure like to unwind by having the same kind of fun you had here. I wouldn’t have guessed you enjoyed it like this, not with your reputation, but now I can see for myself you do. Coming up with the cash to pay the penalty money has always been a stretch for me. Maybe you could help me out there, since you own all the contracts.”
Radek’s stomach churned, both at the blackmail demand and Gregor’s likening the two of them. He glanced in the direction of the bed but instead of a corpse he saw himself riding in an open-topped jeep through the wealthiest section of Oakland, his father next to him, witnessing the adulation.
“You’ll have your fun,” Radek said. “But you’ll wait until I tell you another whore can go missing.”