by Mike Gomes
Chapter Fifteen
Pulling the drawer of the desk open Claudia reached in, removed the key, and slid it across the desk to Gabriella.
"Use this key, go to the end of the hallway and unlock the women's room. Once inside, go to the last stall, and in there you'll find the uniform… put it on and look at the plan I’ve left there for you of the layout of the police station."
Gabriella leaned forward in her chair and took the key into her hand. "We're going to make the move down?"
"Yes, it's the only way," Claudia confirmed. "In the bathroom you’re going to find that the uniform is that of what the Americans call Internal Affairs for the police department. It's the branch of the police that looks in upon the other police officers to see if they're doing any crimes."
"A nice way to keep anybody from getting too close to us," Gabriella said with a smile as she inspected the key. "And what if someone comes to us and starts asking us what we're doing there?"
"That's all very simple, we tell them that it's official business. We tell them that it is none of their concern," answered Claudia with a smile. "And then we ask them the last time they spoke to the commanding officer. If that doesn't scare them off, nothing will."
Placing her hands on the arms of the chair, Gabriella looked at Claudia. "Do you need to come with me so that you can change too?"
"Oh, don't worry about that dear I'll do my changing right here." Claudia cast her eyes down to the desk. "At my age I'm not so comfortable changing in front of other people."
Gabriella was wearing a recording device in case this was some sort of ruse. Claudia had given all the right information and answers, though Gabriella still worried about what lay on the other side of the bathroom door, and hesitated before walking away.
"I know you're used to working alone," Claudia spoke before Gabriella reached the door. "I used to do that a lot too. It always screwed me up when there was someone else along on the mission. You wind up having to look out for that person as well as yourself. And now you're stuck with some old lady who can barely get out of her own way."
"Yes, I am used to working alone, it makes things a whole lot easier." Gabriella turned back to look at Claudia.
"I promise I won't blow your cover. I know a woman of my age shouldn't be one that is going out with you like this, but the internal Inspections Division of the police is where a lot of older officers go when they're rounding out their years on the force. It's a nice way to come off the street and not be dealing with junkies and people stealing, instead you just launch investigations within the police stations and they almost always find nothing. I've always thought that was intentional."
Nodding her head Gabriella opened the door and stepped out, closing it behind her. Covering the short hallway in a matter of seconds she slid the key into the door and turned the knob using her free hand. Pushing the door slightly ajar, she removed the key and dropped it into her pocket. Still with her left hand firmly grasped upon the door she opened it slightly, peering inside to see if anybody was in there. Moving the door open inch by inch, she had more of a view of the bathroom that held three stalls and two sinks. Closing the door behind her, Gabriella removed the key from her pocket again, locked the door, and then squatted down to see if she could see feet under the stalls. Each of the stall doors were open and ready for any kind of inspection there was. On the far wall there were vents, causing Gabriella to wonder if the attempt to use gas on her would be deployed in that manner.
Moving into the stall she found all the items that Claudia had described, exactly where she said they'd be. Quickly sliding into the uniform, she pulled her hair back and tucked it up under the cap, trying to make herself look more official. Pulling the plans from a small tube, the layout of the police station was very simple. For a station in Moscow she expected it to be far more complex. Though the city was decorated with many smaller stations to show a greater police presence. The entrance into the basement was from one location that was situated in an office in the back of the building.
"Come in," Claudia welcomed at the soft sound of Gabriella’s hand knocking on the door. The door swung open and Gabriella walked in, standing up smart and straight, looking every bit she could the police officer. "Don't you look very official."
"Why, thank you very much." Gabriella smiled.
“I don't know if you get the same question, but when I was a younger woman people would ask me in this kind of business why I didn't just join the police force. I never knew. It was always right there. Would have been a much more normal life too."
"Too many rules in the police force for me,” Gabriella said with a wink. "Very difficult to do our kind of work with having to follow the rules all the time."
"Okay, let's go." Claudia took a deep breath and led the way out of the office.
The two women moved down the steps going to the back of the building and exited into a back alley, away from the eyes of the officers coming and going from the police station. Walking side-by-side the two women rounded the corner onto the Main Street, and walked directly to the police station. There were glances from several of the officers standing outside, though no one attempted to make eye contact seeing the uniform with the insignia of the internal investigation’s unit. Going up the stairs the two women breached the door and stepped inside, getting their first look at the layout of the police department.
"Looks a lot different like this," Claudia whispered. "Been a lot of years since I was last in here."
"I think we're looking to go further in the back," Gabriella said in a hushed tone.
The police station held the smell of stale smoke that had driven itself into the walls and hung in the air from the officers chain-smoking their day away at their desks. They seemed to spend their day filling in forms, with ties loosened and sleeves rolled up, or busy tapping away on keyboards and entering the data for the day. Not giving the two women a second glance, the Russian police force consisted mostly of men who cared not to get involved with anybody doing an investigation.
Smatterings of laughter popped up from side to side as the two women passed by the bullpen area where most of the officers were located. Giving a hearty glance at the men Claudia pursed her lips and acted as if she were looking for someone, causing conversations to halt and men to find their way to their desks and appear like they were working.
Opening the door that led out to the main work area, Gabriella smiled. "These uniforms are as great as you said."
"These little uniforms are going to make this place to go nuts for the next month,” Claudia said with a slight jiggle in her voice. "I bet those boys back there are already starting to ask who's the snitch that we're going to talk to. Who's the one that's going to be giving up somebody in the department. There's always someone on the take and always someone to give them up."
Completing the length of the hallway the two women came to the final door on the right side, Claudia reached to the handle, turning it easily finding it was unlocked.
"The entrance is through the Commander’s office?"
"Well they wouldn't just leave it out in the main area," Claudia answered. "This is the safest location. Luckily men in these positions no longer work on the weekends. His job is strictly nine-to-five. Who knows if he even really knows that there is an entrance to the basement in here? "
Closing the door behind her Gabriella turned the knob so that the door would not slam, and then slowly released the mechanism and locked it. "So how do we get down there?" Gabriella asked, looking around the room for anything that might be out of place
"Right in here, inside the closet.” Claudia walked over to open the closet that held numerous pairs of pants and several uniform shirts for different occasions owned by the commander.
Placing her hand high on the pole that held the hangers, she pushed her hand hard to the right revealing the back wall. Pressing hard with her fingertips down the lateral seam where the corners joined, she pivoted the wall slightly, and then rocked it back and fort
h gently until she could fit her fingers underneath. With a slow and soft pull, a three by three square of the wall removed at the bottom. Just enough for a person to slip into to descend below.
"It's showtime," Claudia declared with a large smile, ready to get herself back into the action.
Chapter Sixteen
The women slipped though the darkness softly and smoothly. There were the sounds of a man that was recovering from injury. A sort of long and drawn out sound that was expelled with each movement.
Getting her feet to the ground, Gabriella could not see Claudia or even her hand in front of her face. There was no indication of how large the room was other than the soft echo off the walls from the footsteps. She knew they were in a basement and the fell of the walls was cement.
Focusing all her attention to her hearing, Gabriella stood as still as she could, pulling in all the sound around her. Her eyes closed and she settled her own breathing. Claudia was close. Just a few feet away. The slight exhale though her nostrils was easily picked up. It could have been from a raised heart rate or her age after climbing down a ladder into pitch black, but the sound was there.
Maybe they didn’t teach her about mouth breathing for silence, thought Gabriella not moving closer to Claudia.
A voice cut through the air like a hot knife though soft butter. It was gruff, hard, and confident.
“Are you waking back up, my friend?” came the voice of a man with a thick, Russian accent speaking in English. “You are strong. Not many men have made it this far with my persuasive techniques to getting information. It is the most valuable thing in the world you know. Information. It makes everything happen. If you have it, you’re strong. If others get it, you’re weak. But most of all it makes you do things you don’t want to do. Look what it is doing to us right now.”
Letting words slip though the grunts and groans, the man tied to the chair fumbled with his words. “You’re a… very talented man. Pain... pain and torture. You... must be… a blast at parties.”
Click.
Light lit up the end of the hallway, letting the two women know where they were. The twenty-foot hallway was lined with what looked like office doors. Wooden, and with a tinted glass in the center. No inscriptions or indications of who used them. Immediately, Gabriella knew she was in an area for interrogation.
Feeling the hair stand on the back of her neck, her body felt like it was yanked though time. Stiff images of walking the hallways of the underground training facility jumped to her mind. The layout was similar, but it was not the same place.
Feeling her legs tighten and hands forming a fist, the woman who was the most fierce international spy held back a tear.
No torture is worse than mind control, thought Gabriella, forcing herself to focus back on the job at hand. It had been a long time since she was under their control, but they occasionally came back to the recesses of her mind to show her she was not truly free from them.
“A sense of humor is a good thing to have at a time like this,” sneered the Russian, as Claudia and Gabriella matched their footsteps to the cadence of his voice. “The shoots under the fingernails hurt you, but did not loosen your tongue. Electricity hurt you, but still no words. Even burning you did not make you talk. This no good.”
The large Russian man walked three paces to his right, and reached into his briefcase that held the pain of Otto’s existence for the last few days. As his hand withdrew, the side of a revolver caught the light, glistening its silver coat.
“This is a snub nose .38 revolver,” growled the Russian sitting down in front of Otto. “Americans love these guns. The old gangster movies from the 1940’s would have the shoot outs with these. Then they were called the Saturday night special. I have always looked on them with some affection.”
Pulling the cylinder open, the Russian removed one bullet at a time. With widening eyes Otto watched as he placed the bullets into his chest pocket on his shirt, and then pulled his thick fingers out holding just one bullet. Holding it by the base he showed it to Otto as it pointed upward.
“We Russians needed something more from the Saturday night special. So, we made a game for it.” Opening the cylinder again he placed the bullet into its place, snapped the cylinder closed, and spun it. “People call it Russian roulette, but I prefer to call it courage or cry.”
Lifting the gun and pointing it at his own head the Russian smiled, pulling the trigger to a snapping click sound that caused Otto to close his eyes and try to look away.
“See, that was courage from me. No tricks. I could have ended up dead on the floor, but death does not scare me,” scoffed the Russian. “Now it’s your turn. Shall I spin it, or do you want to take it as is?”
Feeling the sweat building on his forehead, Otto looked at the Russian seeing no hesitation in the man’s face. “Leave it.”
“That’s what I like to do as well.” The Russian grinned as he raised the gun and pointed it at Otto’s forehead. Moving in inch by inch the cold steal of the barrel pressed against Otto’s forehead. “This is the moment you find yourself. What you truly are comes out. I have learned more about men in this moment than from years of contact.”
Closing his eyes, Otto let his body go limp and his mind go blank. Looking for peace in what could be his last moments was all he cared for.
As the Russian’s finger started to depress the trigger the hammer pulled back slowly, and with one hard motion his finger snapped back dropping the hammer down.
Click!
Letting out a small, slow breath, Otto opened his eyes to the smiling man.
“This will not work with you,” declared the Russian. “You are a stronger man than anyone thought.”
“Your boss will be mad,” Otto spoke, trying to muster up glee in his voice.
“Well I cannot have that.” The Russian pulled in close to Otto. “I fear you have left me with the worst thing I can do. Some say I should start with this and not do the other things, but I would like to give the least amount of pain as possible.”
“You’re a humanitarian.”
Reaching the corner of the hallway, Gabriella pulled herself in front of Claudia and took control of the situation. There were two doors in the opposite direction of the interrogation but there was no light on inside either of them. The light that now lit up the main room was soft where they stood. A sure sign that the light was facing away from them and in the eyes of the tortured man. It then bounced off the wall behind him and back to them, losing its power inch by inch.
But more appealing than all that was knowing that the interrogator was sitting next to the light with his back to them. If he was trained in the Russian way, then he would follow the manual to the word.
Turing to face the wall and keeping herself behind the corner, Gabriella dropped down low and took a quick look around to see a bloody and beaten man in a chair—he had a grin that looked wildly out of place—and the back of a large man dressed in a suit.
“Otto, I am going to give you one more chance to tell me the things you know. If not, I will have to do the unthinkable.”
“You can’t kill me,” mumbled Otto. “Then you don’t get your information.”
Leaning down next to the chair, the large man slid a duffel-bag out in front of his feet. “That is true, and so you know I am not a killer. I have never killed a man.”
Reaching down to her side Gabriella placed her hand on the handle of the Glock 17, and slid her finger over, carefully releasing the safety. With a glance back to Claudia, the two women locked eyes and showed one another they were ready without saying a word.
“But what I do is much worse than that. I keep people alive even when they beg for death. It is cruel and painful. If not for my two daughters at home who help me leave all this madness behind, the job would eat me alive.” The sturdy Russian reached down and unzipped the bag. Reaching in, his hand moved slightly before coming back out with a power tool that Otto recognized from his teenage days working as a laborer with carpent
ers. “This machine is called a jigsaw. One blade that fires up and down at a rapid pace.”
Placing his hand on the trigger the jigsaw came to life, moving rapidly and causing his hand to shake with the vibration. Otto watched without speaking.
“It is powerful, no? I would think a man like you would have seen one of these. Great for wood working. You can cut in different directions easily. Very versatile, and the battery lasts for over two hours. That is long enough to finish any job.” The Russian smiled. “I will start with the tip of one finger. Then I will ask you if you want to talk. If you do not, I move to the next finger and so on and so on. Once I have taken all the fingers completely off, I will start cutting off two-inch strips of your hands. I will make my way up your arm just like that. I will cauterize the wound with fire to close it. You will pass out, but I will continue the moment you wake up. This process could take up to a month if I fully remove your arms and legs.”
The big Russian pushed the trigger letting the jigsaw jump to life, rapidly pulsating in his oversized hand. “So, do you want to talk?”
“Go fuck yourself.” Otto spat at the man through broken teeth and a swollen lip.
“Okay we will start with your index finger,” the Russian spoke steadily as he rose up out of his seat.
Taking her hand off the gun Gabriella turned back to Claudia, placing one finger over her lips showing she needed complete silence.
Reaching to her front pocket she pulled out several strings connected at the top and bottom with a small two-inch handle, but the strings were not attached in the middle.
Taking the object in her hands she pulled slightly, testing its strength, and looked to Claudia. “Cover me,” she whispered, getting a quick nod in return.
Leaning around the corner, Gabriella could see the large man trying to steady the hand of Otto while revving the jigsaw in his other hand. A phycological torture to go with the physical.
Measuring the distance at twenty feet with her eyes, Gabriella weighed her options. Slow or fast, high or low. Now or wait. Seeing the Russian bend at the waist she knew if he heard her coming at a run, he would not have the time to stand up fully and turn to her. The distance was too short, and she was too fast.
