Suhrab ordered Mahtab and Taj to stand the gurney up and put Gregg in a vertical position. The immobilizing device had been modified to function like a two-wheeled dolly and a bed so the occupant never needed to be released from their bonds.
“Mr. Chastain,” Suhrab started to say. “What you see before you are the launch vehicles for a number of guided missile variants. Some are Persian, some are foreign. Would you be so kind as to assist us with our understanding of these pieces of hardware?”
“And why would I do that?”
“Think of it as a leveling of the playing field, Mr. Chastain,” Suhrab responded.
“Oh yeah? Who’s field are you trying to level?” Gregg retorted.
Suhrab turned away from Gregg and began heading toward the other side of the table when he said, “Aban.”
The henchman sadistically complied with the order and jolted Gregg with a collapsible stun baton hidden in his pocket. Five million volts of electricity began to tear their way through the oblique muscles as he screamed out in pain. The searing electrical jolt persisted for a few seconds before the trigger was disengaged.
Gregg was allowed to recover for a moment before Suhrab added, “Mr. Chastain, how many times must we do this? When I ask a question, I expect an answer. You know this to be true and yet you persist with sarcasm and repeatedly delay the answering of my questions.”
Gregg continued to have muscle spasms and gasp for air so it wasn’t possible to answer anything for a couple of minutes. After the pain had subsided somewhat, Gregg answered Suhrab’s question.
“It would be easier to assist you with your understanding if I weren’t strapped to a gurney twenty-four seven. I can’t tell you anything unless I can poke around inside the housing.”
“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Chastain. Perhaps you don’t recognize your own country’s missile. That horrid blue star tends to distract one from ones purpose.”
“That’s not one of ours. At least, it isn’t something I ever trained on.”
“Really?” Suhrab said in mock surprise at Gregg’s lie. “I find that hard to believe. Let me ask you this then. Have you ever wondered why the Zionist State was disgruntled about the Gaza Strip and the West Bank all those years? Forever reclaiming territories and building settlements. Always with the same tactics: Invade, evict, build. Invade, murder, and build. Quite possibly, it was because, when your Imperialist State supplied them with nuclear weapons, they built some of their missile silos in those regions of the country. That would be an odd coincidence. Wouldn’t it, Mr. Chastain?”
“Yes, it would,” Gregg answered having fully regained control of his diaphragm. “Regardless of the missiles branding,” Gregg continued, this time choosing his words more carefully than the ill-advised Tourette’s induced rampage, “I still need to have at least a hand free to poke around. I need to be able to examine the electronics.”
Suhrab pondered the explanation for the briefest of moments before asking, “Why only the one?”
“I figured you’d be more amicable to a smaller request. Come on, what can I possibly do?”
“You haven’t even asked what type of vehicle this is or where it came from. What makes you think your ferreting around is going to yield me any information?” Suhrab asked slyly.
Exhaling deeply and loudly, Gregg answered by saying, “It’s a LGM-30F Minuteman II launch vehicle provided to the State of Israel by the United States of America during the late 1960’s. It carries a W56 nuclear tip capable of delivering a 1.2 megaton yield. One of these goes off and it’ll make those 1-kiloton things that leveled a few of your cities look like firecrackers. My guess is that Hamas, Hezbollah, or the PLA found this thing and you guys dismantled it and brought it here. Where’s its warhead?”
Clearly impressed with Gregg’s knowledge of the missile and its history, Suhrab replied, “Unfortunately, only the launch vehicle was recovered.”
“So what’s the plan, hotwire one of these things and launch it with some sort of dirty bomb?” Gregg asked.
“Oh no, Mr. Chastain, we are much more sophisticated than that,” Suhrab answered in English before seamlessly switching to Farsi. He then ordered Aban to undo the strap holding his right hand.
Gregg had to make a concerted effort to contain the sheer joy at Suhrab’s pronouncement. Seeing tools and implements strewn about the work tables would provide the perfect opportunity to use any number of these items as a weapon. Another item in Gregg’s favor was the fact that neither Suhrab, nor any of his guards, carried a sidearm. The most he could expect in punishment from any attempt, he figured, was a beating or a quick zapping from the baton.
Aban hesitated while removing the strap and glanced up at Suhrab as if to question the order. Suhrab simply nodded his approval. Gregg began applying pressure to the cuff as he began to unhook the buckle. Once it was released from Gregg’s wrist, Gregg lunged forward and grabbed the eight inch flat head screw driver from the workbench.
Aban moved quickly to try and retrieve the baton from his pocket, but it got caught in the cloth. Suhrab took a sizeable step backwards and placed a man between him and Gregg. The last thing he needed was to be struck by a flying implement whipped toward him like a throwing knife.
Gregg won the quick draw contest.
With screwdriver in hand, Gregg rotated his arm and wrist and swung up with all of the force his weakened malnourished body could muster. With three appendages still bound, he wasn’t holding out any hope of escape. If he could wound his main tormentor though, it might lend him some measure of satisfaction before dying.
The instrument struck what felt like soft malleable tissue. The weight of the object on the other end quickly began to sap what little strength he had. Gregg gave the screwdriver one last thrust and buried it to the hilt before his arm was fully taxed. As he let go of the handle, Aban collapsed forward in a heap on the workshop floor with a sickening thud.
Mahtab and Taj released Gregg’s chariot and rushed to their comrade’s side. The gurney and Gregg fell backward into a prone position. Gregg lifted his head off of the thin soiled mattress in time to see Mahtab removing the previously innocuous screwdriver from Aban’s right temple.
“Thank God,” Gregg said to himself as he relaxed from the sheer exertion of the effort. Closing his eyes, Gregg took a few deep breathes before reopening them. When they opened again a few seconds later, Suhrab was standing over him holding the murder weapon.
“Your false God is not here to help you, Mr. Chastain,” Suhrab coldly stated. Switching to Farsi, he said, “Mahtab, Taj, bring him. But let him walk.”
Before un-cuffing his remaining appendages, Mahtab and Taj removed their stun weapons from their trousers pockets and pushed all of the tools on the table out of his reach. They each pointed their batons at Gregg’s midsection while they un-cuffed him with their free hand.
The four men navigated through a maze of darkened tunnels lit only intermittently by bare bulbs. As they turned corner after corner, the light from the sun shone more brightly with each turn. Gregg felt as if they had walked for miles given his weakened state. Eventually though, they were standing at the mouth of a cave with the full glare and warmth shining on his face. Suhrab stood with his arms behind his back at the edge of the cliff waiting for them. The walking was slow as most of Gregg’s muscles had begun to atrophy from his captivity and constant restraint.
“Mr. Chastain. As you can see, even if you had managed to escape the room, there is nowhere for you to go,” Suhrab said as he began pacing around the opening and gesturing off into the distance.
Gregg could see no discernable goat trail or footpath leading from the area. If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought he was in Tora Bora given the mountainous terrain. Suhrab provided all the information he would need.
“This compound is three hundred meters below the ridge of the rock face. The valley floor is another two below that. The only way to enter or exit this facility is by lift. Its operator only responds to my voice. So it was
quite fortunate that Aban was your victim, instead of me.”
“Yeah well, the thought did occur to me,” Gregg retorted.
Chuckling, Suhrab said, “I’m sure it did. He is now a martyr for the cause. Regardless, as your walk just proved to you, you’re not exactly the man you used to be.”
“Captivity tends to wear on a guy,” Gregg dead panned.
“But I’m more interested in what’s in your head. You’ve been exercising that muscle very well.”
“Spit it out, Suhrab. What do you want?” Gregg asked clearly annoyed with the word games and cat and mouse routine.
“I’ve already told you. I need your assistance in understanding the missile propulsion and guidance systems.”
“You know I’ll never willingly provide you with any useable intel. We’d all be better off if you went ahead and pitched me off this damn rock and be done with it.”
Suhrab removed a two way radio from his back pocket and spoke Farsi into the receiver, “Send him down.”
Turning to Gregg, Suhrab continued, “You are correct about one thing, Mr. Chastain. Unfortunately, you have been harder to break than your comrade in the adjoining cell. You and I both know that you would never willingly provide me with what I need to know.”
Suhrab’s inflection on ‘willingly’ told Gregg everything he needed. The man on the lift was most likely about to shoot him full of some form of truth serum.
“So what’s it to be? Scopolamine, Temazepam, or Sodium Thiopental?” Gregg asked.
“Oh, we have spared no expense,” Suhrab replied.
“Scopolamine it is then,” Gregg said, resigned to his fate.
Chapter 13
March 1st, 2022
The six week internment of Samantha’s lower leg was finally up. Once the cast was removed, she and Josh enthusiastically began using the pseudo gym in the basement. Even Layla had to admit that her father didn’t seem so sullen and resigned given the appearance of Sam.
Samantha knew that, even though by all appearances Josh had temporarily forgiven her for the trespass of having the life insurance check deposited, the girls were still in the dark about more than a few details concerning their mother. It wasn’t her place to bring it to their attention. She was still in enough trouble. The two enjoyed their workouts together and the playful banter that ensued, however. On occasion, the girls would join Sam without their father. Layla had even attempted a conversation. Just the one, but it was a start.
After the events in Athens, Josh had withdrawn the girls from the spring semester citing a family issue. In truth, Mr. Toombs’ seemingly constant presence in the Hocking Hills area due to the NTSB investigation was too much to risk for him. If he tried to tail them at school, who’s to say he wouldn’t try something more drastic. As a result, this had afforded the three women, and sometimes Basilia, even more time together.
Josh, Evan, and a number of the other employees spent a good deal of time on his makeshift range target shooting. When they weren’t shooting or working the farm and greenhouses, Josh was directing Jesus and Abelardo in the shop manufacturing all manner of contraption. Occasionally, Samantha and the girls would join them on the firing line for some spirited competition. Regardless, everyone pitched in and helped to reload the brass.
Samantha wandered into the barn where Josh and the Martinez boys were working to make a request. Upon seeing her enter the barn, Abelardo looked her up and down with a discerning eye. In Spanish, he commented to Josh, “You better not let this little ‘chicka’ out of your sight, Señor.”
Knowing that Samantha spoke passable Spanish, Josh decided it was time to set Abelardo up for a good laugh.
Josh stood and admired her gait as she approached. He hadn’t been afforded the opportunity to witness how seductively she walked due to the cast. He shook off the thoughts of temptation when she drew closer to the pair. Once she was within ear shot, he replied to Abelardo in Spanish, “Why should I never let this ‘chicka’ out of my sight?”
Unaware of Samantha’s proficiency in the foreign language, Abelardo replied, “This one’s hotter than the sun, Patrón.”
Josh silently signaled with his eyes for her to let Abelardo have it. Without skipping a beat, Samantha said in Spanish, “This chicka’s hot enough to fry your little taco, Abelardo.”
The young man stood there in stunned silence. His brother, Jesus, on the other hand, began raucously laughing from the loft above them. His contagious laughter set Josh off and then, eventually, Abelardo.
Once she was finally directly in front of the two, Sam extended her hand to the welder and said, “Hi, Abelardo, I’m ‘Chicka’.”
This set off another bout from the three men.
As Josh wiped the tears from his eyes, Samantha asked if she and Layla could go for a spin in the Rhino.
“Seriously? Did I cross over into some demented parallel universe when I wasn’t looking?” he joked.
She just looked at him with a disapproving eye.
Josh straightened up and said, “Sure, the keys are in it. Where are you headed?” he asked nonchalantly.
“Layla said she practically grew up in those greenhouses so I asked her to show me how the hydroponics worked. Is that okay?”
“I don’t see why not. Take a sidearm and one of the radios though,” Josh replied with a hint of concern in his voice.
Detecting the trepidation with the request, Samantha tried to diffuse his concerns by replying, “Yes, Dad,” in an overly sardonic tone.
Josh smiled at her attempt and finished with, “I’m serious, Sam.”
Finally. After a months of asking him to call me Sam, he has finally crossed that bridge.
Samantha stepped forward, stretched up on her tip-toes, kissed him gently on the cheek, turned, and walked away to fetch Layla.
As she exited the barn, Abelardo said in Spanish, “Patrón’s got a girlfriend,” in a taunting playground voice.
This set the three of them off laughing again.
Even though he was laughing along with the two young men, he realized that he had never looked upon her as anything other than someone needing aid and protection. No, he told himself. Don’t cloud the mission with emotion. You did that once and wound up with a daughter you knew nothing about.
Josh’s mind began to wander to thoughts of Heather’s mother, Jessica. The image of stuffing her into the locker in his quarters forever seared into his mind’s eye. I can’t repeat the same mistake.
He abruptly changed course and turned serious.
“Come on down, Jesus. I have a job for you,” he called out to the young man in Spanish.
He answered the request by immediately venturing down from the loft. His employer handed him a walkie and a set of keys to one of the vehicles and said, “Over watch.”
His employee knew exactly what was being asked of him. Jesus quickly turned on the device and saw the channel display.
“Three,” was all he said as he headed out through the back of the barn.
The eldest Martinez son was dispatched to keep an eye out while the two explored the produce production. Given their proximity to the main road, Josh wasn’t willing to take any more chances than he needed to. Being viewed as over protective was something he was extremely comfortable with. Samantha and Layla returned shortly thereafter. Neither noticed that Jesus was missing.
The pair departed and it wasn’t long before they were approaching the greenhouses. Sam had never realized just how many and how big the buildings truly were. She was taken aback at the sheer size of their commercial operation. As they entered the first building, Layla waited for the high-speed motors to kick on. The blast of intense air straight down into the little vestibule was almost too much to bear.
“What is this?” Samantha yelled over the droning of the fans and wind noise.
“They blow any dirt and debris off of you and into the grates on the floor. It’s like decontamination,” Layla replied in equal voice.
As they entered the
greenhouse through the second set of doors, the wave of heat and humidity nearly sent Samantha back the way she came. She was totally unprepared for the instant sweat that the greenhouses induced.
“Oh my,” she remarked as Layla directed her to a sink to scrub their hands and forearms. “It’s like trying to walk through a cake.”
“Dad has never lost a crop and he won’t be blaming us if one of these things fails ‘cause we were in here,” Layla said as she nodded in the direction of the hand sanitizer.
“Seriously?” Samantha replied as she withdrew a healthy amount from the bottle and began to lather.
“They may be plants, but they are hyper sensitive to a great number of things. He fired a guy once for not washing his hands after having a cigarette.”
“Just for smoking?”
“Oh yeah, if you were to touch a tomato plant, the nicotine can kill it.”
“So what do you guys grow here?” Sam asked in awe.
Layla motioned for her to follow her down one of the pathways.
“These things are huge! I’ve never seen plants this full and this tall in my entire life. They have to be ten to twelve feet tall!” she said excitedly.
Layla smiled and began giving Samantha a tour. The pair worked their way through the various structures as she explained things like hydrostatic bars, variations in the nutrient solutions, and the logic behind the different types of plant life being grown.
“How come you don’t have just one big open structure?” Sam asked.
“Each type of plant needs a specific mixture and it helps to prevent exposure to the other greenhouse if disease or pests ruin a particular crop in any one building. Basically, the segregation of crops provides redundancy, which is one of Dad’s favorite words by the way. Other than that, we only need about a third to a quarter of the acreage as a traditional soil based farmer. We use about one tenth of the water and there’s no need for pesticides or insecticides either.”
Knowing Josh’s disdain for all things GMO, Samantha asked, “So where did the plants come from? The seeds I mean.”
When Rome Stumbles Page 16
