Silent Treatment Read Free

try again another day. And third, and most
important, that as long as you are alive, there’s a chance you’ll be rescued.”
    “We want those names,” Orsino said.
    “I swear, I don’t know any of them. You’ve got to believe me.”
    “There are three stages you should go through in responding to hostile interrogation. Each stage should be dragged out as long as humanly possible. First, deny knowing anything. And keep denying it. Next, admit that you know some things, but give them misinformation—especially if they’ll have to spend time verifying what you say. The longer it takes them to determine you’re lying, the better the chance that you’ll be rescued—take it from one who was. The third stage is telling them what they want to know. Whether you are forced to that stage or not depends a little on what you’re made of and a lot on how good your interrogators are.”
    Orsino reached out a meaty hand and squeezed Ray’s cheeks so tightly their insides touched.
    “I’m glad you didn’t tell us,” he rasped.
    He stepped back. Immediately, Ray was transfixed by the ice blue eyes.
    “Do you know any chemistry at all, Mr. Santana?” Perchek asked. “No matter. You may be interested to know the chemical name for the contents of that syringe. It is four-chloryl, four-hydroxy, trimethyl, six-fluorodimethyl carbamate. Actually, there are two chemical side chains as well, so the name is even longer.”
    “I’m impressed,” Ray said.
    “The short chemical name is hyconidol hydrochloride. A chemist friend did the synthesis, but my own research produced the concept.”
    “Bravo.”
    “You see, Mr. Santana, at the end of every pain nerve in the human body is a chemical transmitter that connects it with the next nerve and fires it off. The impulse shoots up that nerve, and another jet of transmitter connects it with the next. Et cetera, et cetera. Eventually—quite rapidly, actually—the message is transmitted from the point of injury to the pain center of the brain and … ouch!”
    “Nicely put.”
    Santana already knew where Perchek was heading. He was sure his understanding showed in his eyes.
    “Hyconidol almost matches, atom for atom, the pain fiber neurotransmitter chemical. That means I can fire those nerves off all at once and at will. Every single one of them. Think of it, Mr. Santana. No injury … no mess … no blood. Just pain. Pure pain. Except in the work I do, hyconidol has absolutely no clinical value. But if we ever do market it, I thought an appropriate name for it might be Agonyl. It’s incredible stuff, if I do say so myself. A small injection? A little tingle. A larger one? Well, I’m sure you get the picture.”
    Ray’s mouth had become desert dry. The pounding within his chest was so forceful that he felt certain The Doctor could see it.
    Please don’t do this, he screamed silently. Please
 …
    Perchek’s thumb tightened on the plunger.
    “I think we’ll start with something modest,” he said. “Equivalent, perhaps, to nothing more than a little cool breeze over the cavities in your teeth.”
    The last voice Ray heard before the injection was Joe Dash’s.
    There are three ways a man can choose to handle dying
.…

6 YEARS LATER

ii
    For twelve years, the Jade Dragon on the Upper West Side of Manhattan had prided itself on exceptional food at very reasonable prices. As a result, on an average weekday its 175-seat capacity turned over twice, and on weekends as many as five times. Tonight, a warm Friday in June, the wait for a table was half an hour.
    Seated in his customary spot, Ron Farrell was commenting to his wife Susan and their friends Jack and Anita Harmon on how the place had grown since he and Susan had first eaten there almost a decade ago. Now, although they had moved three times, they made a point of coming to the Jade Dragon alone or with friends every other Friday, almost like clockwork.
    They were nearly done with a meal that the Harmons had