"Mike told him my code name; the demon drops and his own imagination did the rest." Cortin's mouth quirked. "I would've preferred a more conventional interrogation, but I have to admit he had good reason to be afraid of drugs. And I'll keep 'Azrael's' promise; he'll die as quickly and easily as I can manage, even though by rights he ought to suffer as much as his victims did."
"I think you can safely trust God to take care of that," Bradford said drily. "I can't tell you what he confessed, of course, but I can tell you I'm positive he'll be spending a long time in Purgatory."
Cortin grinned. "I'm sure he deserves every year of it." All that was left was killing him, so she got out of her coveralls, put her tunic back on, settled her gunbelt into place, and re-entered the third-stage room. Bradford had freed the prisoner; he was kneeling facing away from her, toward the room's crucifix, his attitude making it obvious he was praying. Cortin frowned, then nodded to herself, silently drawing her pistol. There were far worse ways to die than quickly, while speaking to God, and while he deserved one of those, she had promised otherwise. She took careful aim and shot him in the back of the head.
That, she thought immediately, had been far kinder to him than it had to her! She'd forgotten just how loud a heavy-caliber handgun could be in a confined area, and her ears were ringing painfully. It also made quite a mess at this close a range; blood and brains splattered most of the wall he'd been facing, including the crucifix. The clean-up crew could handle the wall and body, but she felt like taking care of the crucifix herself; careful to avoid getting the mess on her uniform, she took it into the bathroom to clean it.
As she did, she found herself thinking about the man the crucifix represented. Jeshua had become incarnate and sacrificed Himself to protect humanity from the results of sin, though protection from sin itself would have to wait for the promised Protector. In the meantime, Jeshua's sacrifice was on behalf of anyone willing to take advantage of it—and Ivan had told her often enough it was as much an Inquisitor's job to correct as to punish. Maybe, she thought, she was starting to get that through her thick head, because despite her personal distaste for the idea of a Brother's repenting, there was a sense of accomplishment at this one's. It also helped, of course, that Brad had complimented her on being able to manage both information and repentance!
She grinned at herself as she dried the crucifix and put it on the desk in the suite's office. If Shannon was Shayan, which since her vision looked more likely than not, turning Brothers from him to God would be an even better revenge on him than the traditional version would be on them … even though she still intended to take that kind on the ones who'd helped rape and maim her.
There was a message on her ground-floor office desk: His Majesty wanted to see her at her earliest convenience between interrogations. It didn't specify dress uniform, and this close to the Palace she didn't need bodyguards, so less than fifteen minutes later she found herself sitting—sitting!—beside His Majesty's desk, sipping a cup of the best ginger tea she could remember tasting and still shocked by the warmth of His Majesty's welcome. It was awesome enough meeting him, though really it was no odder than paying a routine courtesy call on one's new commanding officer; it just felt that way, having the High King himself as your direct superior. His Majesty was clearly familiar with such a reaction, because he was carrying the burden of the conversation until she had a chance to recover. When she began to settle down, he smiled. "Reports of your ability weren't exaggerated, Colonel. I'm quite pleased with the results you've gotten so far."
"Thank you, Your Majesty. I'll keep doing my best."
"I'm certain you will. Is Harmony Lodge to your liking and adequately equipped?"