Page 47 of Line of Sight
Mark Wilson’s last day would be glorious—and he was going to miss it.
He paused before the next vertical assault course, and I took advantage of the lull to grab the syringe from my day pack, the needle wedged in a cork.
“Oh my God.” I forced as much panic as I could into my voice. “Stay really still. I mean it. Don’t move a muscle.”
“What’s wrong?”
“There’s some kind of giant hornet on your neck. That’s one mean-looking stinger it has.”
“Fuck! Get it off me!”
Mark’s panic was for real. Thanks to Jennifer, I’d discovered he had a pathological fear of insects like bees, wasps, basically anything with wings that could sting him.
“Hold still,” I told him. “Don’t move, don’t turn around, just make like a statue.” I removed the cork from the tip of the needle and plunged it into his neck, injecting its contents in one fluid motion. “Oh God. It stung you.” I shoved the syringe into my pack.
“I’m allergic to bee stings,” he gasped, clutching his neck.
“Maybe this is different,” I suggested, watching for the first signs of the ketamine in his system.
“I… I don’t feel so good. There… there’s an EpiPen in my bag.”
And it was going to stay there.
I kept an ear out for any approaching vehicles or the sounds of people, but so far it seemed to be just us.
“What are your symptoms?” I grabbed his shoulders and turned him around so his back was to the rock face.
“I feel… weird.” His speech had already begun to slur, his eyelids to droop.
It wouldn’t be long now.
I made sure he could see my face.
“Did you think she wouldn’t find out? You think she’sthatstupid?”
Mark gave several slow blinks. “What… what’re you talkin’ about?”
I snorted. “Nice try, but we both know what you’re about to do, don’t we? Except now you’re not.”
He was dropping into unconsciousness.
Time for me to go to work.
I reached into the day pack and removed the two sets of handcuffs I needed to secure his wrists to the iron bars. It onlyrequired me to lift him up onto the flat boulder that served as a stepping stone, hook a carabiner through the bar, lock one of the cuffs through that, then snap the other end shut around Mark’s left wrist. By now he was a lead weight in my arms, so I needed to make this fast.
I hooked a second carabiner into position.
Rinse and repeat.
Finally he hung there, suspended from the cuffs, feet slipped from the boulder, head bowed, chin on his chest. I used the scalpel to slit his tee from neckline to hem so it flapped open, revealing his bare flesh.
As I hurriedly put on my raincoat, I smiled.
“You know, I should thank you. I’ve been wanting to do this ever since I saw that movie. Of course, Hannibal Lecter managed it with just a pocketknife, but I see no reason to repeat his version when I have the proper tools.” I held up the hunting knife.
“It’s okay. You won’t feel a thing.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
