Free The Nameless Dead by Paul Johnston Page A

sorry, should I have asked your permission?’
    There was an awkward silence.
    ‘All right, Doctor,’ Sebastian continued. ‘Two final questions. Has your treatment in any way compromised Karen Oaten’s chances of giving birth successfully?’
    Rivers sniffed. ‘Considering the state she was in when she arrived, I’d say it’s remarkable that she’s done as well as she has.’
    ‘Which is hardly an answer, but never mind. Two, is Matt Wells capable of functioning reliably outside the camp?’
    This time the scientist was taken aback. ‘I was led to understand that the therapy was open-ended.’
    ‘Nothing’s forever, Doctor,’ Sebastian said, getting to his feet. ‘This time I’ll need a clear answer.’
    Rivers pushed his glasses back onto his cranium and stared at the two men. ‘I’ll give you your answer. No, I do not think he would be reliable in the outside world and I will take every possible step to see that he remains here.’
    With that, Peter Sebastian headed for the door.

Seven
    O ne had a Mossberg shotgun and the other a Smith & Wesson Sigma pistol, but I tried to blank them out, the soldiers who were covering me. Quincy Jerome was standing behind them, carrying an M4 carbine. There was only one thing to do. I pulled down my ear protectors.
    I took aim at the target that had started to move toward me up the lane of the range. It had been nearly two months since I’d fired a shot, but I remembered the training Dave had given me. I had taken up the correct stance, feet apart and legs bent at the knee, and was holding the Glock 17 in a doublehanded grip. I took a breath and fired off nine shots, a second between each one.
    The target kept on coming, stopping a yard in front of me.
    ‘Suck on that, Quincy,’ I said, looking over my shoulder.
    The big man strode up. ‘Shee-it. You’re even better with a moving target. Everything in the inner head ring and five, no, six, nose shots.’ He clapped me on the shoulder. ‘You don’t need no refresher course, man.’
    He didn’t know about Sara. She was a better shot than I.
    ‘How about some rifle shooting?’ I asked. When he’d showed up at our place earlier on and told me that the range had been approved, he hadn’t specified which weapons I’d be able to use. I hadn’t pressed him, but had tried to find out who had given the okay. He didn’t say Sebastian’s name, but he did nod when I mentioned the Bureau. Although it hadn’t struck me at the time, I wondered about that now. Did the army take orders from the FBI? It didn’t seem likely, even though they shared the camp. Presumably Sebastian had gone to a senior officer.
    ‘All right, Mr. Wells,’ Quincy said, the formality for the benefit of the two other soldiers. ‘Let’s go see what we can find you.’
    What we found was a Colt M16A4. As it happened, I had fired an M16 after I escaped from the Rothmanns’ camp, but I wasn’t going to bring that up. I reckoned the better I performed, the more likely Peter Sebastian would be to sanction our release, though that raised another question. If I was expected to use pistols and rifles, it was unlikely we’d be sent back to the U.K. Surely we weren’t going to be cut loose in the U.S.? Sara would have a field day.
    Quincy took me and the others to the open-air range. ‘All right, Mr. Wells,’ he said, ‘you’ve got a thousand-yard lane in front of you.’ He checked with his binoculars. ‘The target is currently at 500 yards. Give me five shots there. Then we’ll go back a hundred yards each time till we hit 1000. Five shots at each stop, okay?’ He handed me a thirty-round magazine.
    As soon as I slapped it home, I felt the other soldierstense. I grinned at them and got down on the ground, resting the rifle on a sandbag. There were no telescopic sights, but I’d trained without them so I wasn’t worried. I pulled down my ear protectors again and got into the zone, breathing steadily.
    Before I knew it, the magazine was