by Tom Hunter
“Speak for yourself.” Basile good-naturedly punched his friend in the shoulder as they went to see what types of vehicles were available.
Ten
Pin lovingly placed St. Augustine’s hat on a table in the antechamber leading to the interrogation room. Opening a cupboard mounted on the wall, he pulled out a fresh set of scrubs and an apron. There was something almost ritualistic about the way he put them over his clothes in preparation for the questioning ahead. He moved carefully, deliberately, like a priest preparing for a sermon, instead of what he truly was–a fiend about to torture a woman.
Finally, he took out a pair of gloves from his pocket, tugging them onto his hands. He clenched and unclenched his fists, looking at the front and back of his hands to ensure that they were completely protected by the latex. When he was finally satisfied with his preparations, he picked up the papal cap, tucking it under his arm once more.
“It is time for us to visit our guest again,” Pin announced to his henchman.
Gord, wearing his regular clothes without any protective layers, nodded, and opened the door to the interrogation room. He stood aside to let Pin enter first, his employer marching purposefully in to greet Fatima.
Fatima was still bound to the chair, her head hanging down. It was impossible to tell from looking at her whether she was still conscious. The doctor was crouched over her, checking her vital signs. She didn’t react to his movements as he placed an electronic thermometer in her ear to determine her temperature. Hearing the door open, he started, his face paling at the sight of Pin coming towards him. Hurriedly, he took the thermometer away, not bothering to wait for the reading to come through.
“Do what you must,” he muttered, bowing low. “I know it’s for the best.”
He scurried out of the room, leaving his medical supplies behind in his haste to get away.
“What did he mean by that?” frowned Gord, but Pin ignored him.
Crossing over to Fatima, he grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head up. She glared balefully at him with one eye, the other swollen tightly shut with bruising.
“Good. You’re awake. I would have hated to have to add to your collection of bruises to get your attention,” he told her. “I thought we could start with a pleasant little conversation to see if I could persuade you to stop this foolishness. Just look at what you’ve forced me to do so far. Do you really want to make me go further?”
Fatima said nothing, glowering as he turned and walked over to the table where the torture instruments were neatly laid out. Roughly shoving them to one side, he placed St. Augustine’s cap in the middle, making sure that it was in direct view of Fatima.
“Now, I suppose I could start by apologizing for your treatment thus far, but pretending that I regret any of my actions would be a lie,” he began. “I pride myself on being an honest man, a man of integrity, so I will not insult your intelligence like that. Instead, I shall simply point out that you’ve already had a taste of what I am willing to do in my quest to understand the full capabilities of this remarkable tool. I have cleared my diary for the next few days and I’m willing to devote all my energies to ensure your exquisite suffering. Why don’t you save us both the time and trouble and tell me everything you know about it.”
“Why don’t you save your breath and get on with whatever it is you want to do to me?” Fatima attempted to spit in his direction, but she didn’t have the strength. Instead, the drool dribbled down her chin.
“You pathetic creature,” sneered Pin. “You think you’re superior to me, but look at where your superiority has taken you.” He spread his arms wide. “Go on, take it in. The last four walls you’ll ever see if you don’t start cooperating. Your magnificent kingdom. Your entire life has been for nothing. You will die here all alone. No one will ever know of your passing to mourn it.”
“Do you think I care?” wheezed Fatima. “I am empowered by the highest authority there is. I follow the will of God. I serve Him and only Him. I will never betray my sacred duty for one such as you.” She tried to laugh, but it quickly devolved into a vicious cough.
“I pity you,” she whispered, when she eventually got her coughing under control.
“How dare you speak to the great Pin Nam-Gi like that?” snarled Gord, backhanding the psychic. He grabbed a scalpel from the table and held it close to her one good eye. “Maybe you should be asking yourself whether you want a matching scar today or not? I hear rumors that you have second sight, but it’ll be the only sight you have left if I cut the eyeballs from your skull. Are you that good a psychic that you can survive without your vision?”
He tilted his head to one side, deciding on the best place to make the first incision.
“Wait,” Pin ordered.
“I’m sorry.” Gord bowed his head in respect. “Did you want to be first today?”
He handed the scalpel to Pin, standing aside so that he could start cutting up Fatima. Instead, Pin put the blade back on the table.
“Actually, I think it might be time to try a different approach,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back as he paced up and down. “You see, Fatima, I was talking with your doctor only recently and an idea came to me. I must say that you are causing that poor man a great deal of stress and alarm. He is most concerned for your health. He made a very strong case for allowing you to recuperate a little before recommencing questioning or, if that wasn’t possible, trying an alternative method. He gave me a number of suggestions of potential techniques, but I came up with one of my very own. I think you’ll like it.”
He turned and picked up the hat, frowning slightly when it seemed to feel significantly heavier than usual. He fumbled a little as he adjusted to the increased weight, before placing it on his head.
As soon as he was wearing it, Pin closed his eyes, a beatific smile spreading across his face as he felt the now-familiar rush of power when his mind connected with the hat’s powers. “You see, I’ve always been a rebel at heart. I don’t like the notion that I can’t do anything–like try on a hat for size. So I decided to carry out a little experiment, given your reticence to tell me how to use St. Augustine’s creation. I wondered just how much instruction I really would need to do something that should be instinctual. After all, what could be more natural than allowing your thoughts to roam free?
“When I wore the cap in the presence of your physician, I knew exactly how the good doctor was feeling. His emotions became as one with mine. Somehow, I simply knew that I could manipulate his feelings to get the doctor to see things from my point of view. Once he saw how reasonable my approach was, he was more than happy to step aside and give me free reign to do as I will to you. Given my success with him, I have to ask myself, can I repeat the feat with you?”
Fatima’s good eye twitched as Pin held her gaze, his smile losing its fake warmth. He was a venomous viper staring down his prey, knowing it was only a matter of time before he had satisfaction.
“I ask you again, dear Fatima,” he said. “Tell me everything you know about how to use this device? Neither you nor I want to see you suffer any more. Let me release you. You hold the key to freedom in your hands. Giving me what I want will set you free.”
“I… won’t… tell… you… anything…” Fatima struggled to escape her bonds, but she couldn’t seem to bring herself to close her eye or look away. Pin’s gaze had her trapped as securely as the ropes tying her down.
“That is, of course, entirely your choice,” Pin agreed. “But I feel it only fair to warn you of the consequences should you remain so determined to resist my reasonable request.”
“Do… your… worst…” Fatima didn’t appear as confident in her conviction as Pin meandered towards her.
“Oh, I will,” he assured her. “Believe me, I will. But the doctor did have one thing right–it would be unwise of me to persist in damaging your frail body. No, I’m not going to let you take the easy way out by dying on me. Instead, I think we’ll start with firebombing that prec
ious hospital of yours.”
Fatima shook her head slowly, still staring directly at Pin.
“Picture the scene,” Pin invited. “Should we aim our explosives at the geriatric ward? All those elderly people, bedbound, or with limited mobility. They wouldn’t be able to get away when the hospital catches fire. All they’ll be able to do is sit and wait for the flames to reach them, hoping that the smoke renders them unconscious first, sparing them the agonies of being burned alive. Hardly the end they would have wished for when they entered the peace of your walls.
“Or perhaps we should start with the post-natal ward. How many mothers would be willing to abandon their new-born babies to save their own skin do you think? Or will the screams of the innocent be amplified by the cries of their mothers, helpless to save their beloved child?”
Tears trickled down Fatima’s cheeks as she strained against the ropes binding her to the chair, St. Augustine’s hat amplifying her feelings of guilt and inadequacy. She struggled so hard that blood began to well up through the rope as it cut through her skin. She ignored the pain, fighting with all her remaining strength to get away.
She shook her head one more time, the movement unsure and subtle.
“Very well,” sighed Pin. “I suppose I shall have to demonstrate that I truly am a man of my word for you to believe in my resolve. Gord, set a bomb to clear the hospital in Annaba. As soon as there are news reports, bring them in to show our friend here. It shouldn’t take long. She can reflect on how she could have saved all those lives while we wait.”
“Yes, sir.” Gord nodded and turned to leave.
“Stop!” cried Fatima. “You don’t have to do that! I’ll tell you everything you need to know. Please, don’t hurt my patients.”
Pin smirked, as he removed the hat from his head. “Excellent. That’s exactly what I was hoping to hear. I must admit to a little curiosity as to whether my threat would have been equally effective without St. Augustine’s help. I suspect that you are just zealot enough to have sacrificed your patients in the name of your supposedly sacred duty, trusting to God to forgive your murderous ways. Instead, you have given me another hint at the full potential of this magnificent relic.”
He leaned in close, so close that his nose almost touched Fatima’s.
“Now, woman,” he said. “Let’s try this again. How can I unlock everything this artifact has to offer? And have you sent Samuel McCarthy on a quest to try and stop me?”
Eleven
Akhenaton and Waleed pushed through the crowds of people swarming through the streets of Atbara. Although it was early evening, there were still plenty of shoppers out and about. Street traders called out to the two adventurers, beckoning them to check out their wares. The men ignored them as they hurried past a number of tents set up alongside ramshackle buildings, providing shelter for everything from food supplies and clothing to vehicles and tacky souvenirs.
Dust from the nearby desert pervaded the air, giving the setting sun’s rays an otherworldly glow, and forcing most of the residents to wear scarves and face masks to protect themselves. The temperature was still uncomfortably high, and Waleed fanned himself ineffectively in an attempt to cool himself down.
On regular intervals, the sound of trains rushing through the town split the air, their wheels and whistles adding to the cacophony. As the latest train came screeching into the station, Akhenaton started, tightly clutching the bag with Shafira’s cash.
“Relax, my friend,” Waleed murmured out of the corner of his mouth. “The more you look afraid, the bigger a target you make of yourself. You, my friend, are a thief’s dream come true. The way you walk telegraphs that you have something of value to offer. Tone it down. See that alley over there? We’re going to walk down it with an attitude that tells everyone they’d be fools to mess with us.”
He strode confidently towards the alleyway, Akhenaton hot on his heels.
“How do you know where to go?” Akhenaton asked, as they left the market street behind for the darkness of the narrow alleyway.
Waleed shrugged. “Every city has a dark underbelly. Everyone knows it’s there, but they all ignore it, deluding themselves that it’s safer to pretend it doesn’t exist. For those with eyes to see, it’s easy to find. You look out for closed windows, possibly with bars, the blind down because neighbors don’t want to see anything they shouldn’t witness. Nobody wants to risk being shot for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Watch for windows like those and those.” He nodded with his head to indicate a few examples as they made their way down the alley. “Then you watch out for any friendly police officers. If you can’t find one, it’ll be because even they are afraid to come here. And then the final sign that we’re in the right place is the fact that we’ve been tailed for some twenty minutes now.”
He smiled smugly as Akhenaton whirled round just in time to see three men step out from the shadows to approach them.
“Well, well, well. What have we here?” One of the men ran his thumb down the scar across his cheek as he sized up Waleed and Akhenaton. “We don’t take kindly to strangers in this part of town. Mind telling us what brings you to our territory?”
He reached down to casually flick the bottom of his jacket back, revealing a holstered pistol. He patted the gun, as he waited for Waleed’s answer.
Twelve
The team had managed to secure themselves a small apartment in the hotel complex Shafira had found online. Although the furniture was shabby and the air conditioning temperamental, after everything they’d been through, it seemed like the absolute height of luxury. Most importantly, it was large enough for them all to have somewhere to sleep, although there would be a watch posted around the clock. Gord would find it difficult to sneak up on them here.
Shafira was curled up on a mattress in one corner of the lounge. Every now and then, she twitched in her sleep, acting out whatever it was she was dreaming about. The sounds of running water filtered through from the bathroom, accentuated by the sound of Basile loudly singing his way through his entire repertoire of Beatles’ songs.
Josh and Samuel were seated on either side of a small round table. They’d found a deck of cards in a dresser drawer and were engrossed in a game of gin rummy.
Samuel clicked his tongue against his teeth as he debated his next move. Finally, he selected the eight of diamonds from his hand and threw it on the discard pile, nodding to Josh that it was his turn.
Josh picked up the eight of diamonds, slotting it into position in his hand as he decided which card to get rid of.
“Remind me again why we haven’t just killed Waleed the weasel?” he asked Samuel. “At the very least, we could have left him behind with the Knights, let him become their problem. It would be one less thing to worry about when we should be focused completely on the mission at hand.”
He tossed down a Jack of Hearts. Samuel reached out, tapping one finger against the card as he wondered whether to take it or not.
“You’re becoming remarkably violent these days,” he observed, deciding against taking the Jack and selecting a card from the other pile. “It’s not like you. You were always the one to go on about how you were a lover, not a fighter. Any particular reason why things have changed?”
Josh’s cheeks flushed a little, as he ran a hand through this hair. “I guess it’s all the stress we’ve been through recently,” he finally replied. “Being so close to death all the time makes me twitchy, especially after we lost Fatima to those thugs. I don’t like to think about what she must be going through, but given how easily they snatched her away from under our noses, I do feel that we need to be practical if we’re going to have any chance of success. While he might be our best chance of sourcing firearms, Waleed strikes me as too self-centered and unreliable to trust. We’re expending precious energy and resources on keeping him under control. If we didn’t have to worry about keeping an eye on him, we’d move so much faster.”
“Waleed’s a loose cannon, all right,” Sa
muel agreed. “But that doesn’t mean that we can’t rely on him. There’ve been plenty of occasions when he could have abandoned us. At the oasis, back at the dig site, when we reached Cairo… The list goes on and yet Waleed’s still here. Sure, he’s a con artist, and a good one at that. But he’s always discussed his dubious plans with us instead of going rogue. Time and again, he’s given us a chance to tell him no.”
“There is that,” conceded Josh, as Samuel finally made his move. Josh took a new card and immediately threw it away again.
“As our quest has progressed, it’s become more and more dangerous,” Samuel observed. “When we were in Annaba, none of us had the energy to keep watch on Waleed. We were all too focused on the mission at hand. How many times was he on his own or with someone he could have easily overpowered and abandoned? Too many to count, but he never once tried to escape. No, I believe that Waleed desperately wants us to trust him and is doing his best to prove his worth. His problem is that he’s so used to working cons and looking for nefarious opportunities that it’s hard for him to adjust to a life on the right side of the law. I think that’s why he sometimes comes out with things that none of the rest of us would even consider. He’s looking at things from a completely different perspective. His experiences have shaped who he is, just as much as you or I.”
“And when did you get your PhD in psychology?” snarked Josh. “Not that you don’t have a point.”
