Free Scarecrow by Matthew Reilly

complexion.
    â€˜Gentlemen . . .’ he said slowly.
    The bounty hunters froze.
    The Swiss banker paused, as if he was offended by the indiscretion. ‘Gentlemen, this head is a forgery. This is not the head of Yousef Nazzar.’
    â€˜Now wait a minute—’ Big Drabyak began.
    â€˜Please be quiet, Mister Drabyak,’ Delacroix said. ‘The cosmetic surgery was quite convincing; you employed a good plastic surgeon, that much is certain. The burning of the head to remove visual identification, well, that is clever but old. And the restructured teeth were very well faked. But you didn’t know there was a DNA record, did you?’
    â€˜No,’ Big Drabyak growled.
    â€˜The Rosenthal head was also a fake, then?’
    â€˜It was obtained by an associate of ours,’ Big Drabyak lied, ‘and he assured us that it was—’
    â€˜But you have presented it to me, Monsieur Drabyak, therefore it is your responsibility. Let me be clear. Honesty, in this moment, may help you. Is the Rosenthal head also a fake?’
    â€˜Yes,’ Drabyak grimaced.
    â€˜This is a grave offence against the rules of the hunt, Mister Drabyak. My clients will not tolerate attempts to deceive them, you do understand that?’
    Big Drabyak said nothing.
    â€˜Fortunately, I have instructions on this,’ Delacroix said. ‘Monsieur Drabyak the Elder. The passageway in which you are standing, do you know what it is?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜Oh, yes. How silly of me to forget, you are American. You know nothing of world history except the name of every US President and the capital of every US state. A knowledge of medieval European warfare would be somewhat beyond you, no?’
    Big Drabyak’s face was blank.
    Delacroix sighed. ‘Monsieur Drabyak, the tunnel in which you now stand was once used as a trap to ensnare those who would attack this castle. When enemy soldiers came through that passageway, boiling oil would be flushed into it through the gutters in its walls, killing the intruders in a most painful way.’
    Big Drabyak snapped to look at the walls of the stone passageway around him. They were indeed pockmarked with a series of basketball-sized holes high up near the ceiling.
    â€˜This castle, however, has been modified slightly,’ Delacroix said, ‘in keeping with modern technology. If you would observe your brother.’
    Big Drabyak spun, and stared wide-eyed through the perspex window in the steel door that separated him from his younger brother.
    â€˜Now. Say goodbye to your brother,’ Monsieur Delacroix’s voice said over the speakers.
    In the office, Delacroix lifted his handheld remote again and pressed another button on it.
    Immediately, an ominous mechanical humming noise emanated from the stone walls of Little Drabyak’s circular ante-room.
    The humming noise gathered intensity, getting faster and faster and faster.
    At first Little Drabyak seemed unaffected.
    Then with frightening suddenness, he convulsed violently, snapping a hand to his chest, to his heart. Then he clutched his ears—a moment before they spurted hideously with blood.
    He screamed.
    Then, as Big Drabyak watched, the most horrifying thing of all happened.
    As the humming noise hit fever-pitch, his little brother’s chest just burst open, his whole rib cage blurting outward in a disgusting spray of blood and gore.
    Little Drabyak dropped to the floor of the anteroom, his eyes vacant, his rib cage blasted apart. Dead.
    Delacroix’s voice: ‘A microwave defence system, Monsieur Drabyak. Très effective, no?’
    Big Drabyak was thunderstruck.
    He spun where he stood, powerless to escape.
    â€˜You little fuck! I thought you said honesty would help!’ he yelled.
    Delacroix laughed. ‘Americans. You think you can plea-bargain your way out of anything. I said it might help. But on this occasion, I have decided that it will