by Will Jordan
The last few minutes of the van ride had taken them down a rough, uneven road, each jolting movement rattling Alex’s bones and straining the vehicle’s suspension. An unpaved or seldom-used track with no ambient traffic sounds, suggesting a rural location.
Wherever he was, the building in which he now resided was substantial to say the least. The van had driven right inside it, and after disembarking he’d been marched a short distance across a solid concrete floor before being forced down onto the chair. Though he couldn’t see, the echoing interior and faint movement of air gave the impression of great space, as if he were in the centre of an empty warehouse or parking garage. The air was cool and damp, and smelled of oil and engine fumes.
Beyond those scraps of knowledge, however, Alex had no idea where he was. It made little difference anyway. Even if he knew the exact address, who could he tell?
He gasped at the metallic clang of a door opening behind him, rusty hinges grating, and felt his heart beat faster as boots clicked towards him across the vast echoing space. They were moving slowly, and apparently circling around from the left, though the acoustics of the room made it difficult to tell for sure.
It was at that moment that Alex caught a scent of something on the air. Something rich and strong and bitter. Coffee.
The footsteps had stopped somewhere in front of him, and no further sounds were heard. Seconds stretched out into minutes as Alex sat there, his back slowly seizing up on the uncomfortable chair, his hands throbbing, his pulse racing. Despite his best efforts to remain calm, he could feel his breath growing faster, the clammy fabric of the hood pressing against him every time he inhaled. It was a terrible sensation to feel so vulnerable, so unaware of one’s surroundings. His captor could be holding a knife inches from his face and he wouldn’t have a clue.
Finally he could take it no longer. He had to say something, had to break the tension.
‘H-hello?’ he said, afraid to raise his voice too much.
It certainly wasn’t the authoritative challenge of a man seeking to regain control of the situation, but it did get results.
Suddenly the footsteps were coming towards him. Alex tensed, bracing himself for the crushing impact of a fist driven straight into his unprotected face, stomach or any other part of his body that didn’t bear thinking about.
To his surprise, however, no such thing happened. Instead he felt a tug at his neck, and a moment later the hood was yanked off, at last permitting him to view his surroundings.
His first impression was one of intense light searing his retinas. A pair of powerful electric lamps were pointed right at him, no doubt intended to blind and disorient him. In his confused state, it took him a few seconds to realize they were headlights, probably belonging to the very van that had brought him here.
His eyes streaming, Alex blinked several times in the harsh electric light as he tried to focus on his surroundings.
The exact dimensions of the room were hard to determine, as he could see little beyond the glare of the powerful headlights. However, the floor provided a little more of a clue as to this room’s purpose. Concrete, rough-poured and cracked in places, as if there was no need to finish it properly. A warehouse or storage silo perhaps.
The only other items in view were resting on the ground a few yards away. The first was a simple steel bucket, its frame dented as if it had seen heavy use. It appeared to be filled with some kind of liquid, as he could see it shimmering in the electric lights.
And beside it, laid there as if it were a sacred artefact to be revered, was a sledge hammer. A big, serious-looking thing with a long wooden handle and a flat, uncompromisingly square head that must have weighed five or six pounds all by itself. Alex’s heart skipped a beat, and he had to forcibly swallow down the bile that threatened to rise up in his throat.
‘You want to know the secret to torturing people? I’ll give you a hint – it’s not cruelty,’ a voice remarked from somewhere close behind. American, smooth and deep, with a hint of a New England accent. Again Alex smelled coffee. ‘It’s restraint. Precision. Sure, we could break out the hacksaws and start slicing pieces off you, but what’s the point in that? It’s messy as shit. Chances are you’d pass out from the pain and blood loss before you could tell us anything useful, then we’d have to mess around with adrenaline shots and heart monitors. It’s just not worth the effort. No, you’d be amazed what a couple of good strikes with a sledge hammer can do.’
Alex shuddered in horror as he imagined the fragile bones of his hand shattering under the impact of several pounds of solid steel, no doubt wielded with expert precision. Then, suddenly, he heard perhaps the last thing he’d been expecting – laughter. Not sinister or mocking, but genuine amusement at what was apparently a funny joke.
A shadow passed in front of the electric light, and Alex looked up as an unlikely looking figure wandered into view.
He wasn’t sure if he’d been expecting a brutish thug dressed in paramilitary gear or some cold, sinister looking G-man in a pristine suit. Either way, the figure now standing before him was about as far from a professional interrogator as he could have imagined.
Dressed in a navy blue polo shirt open at the neck, beige cargo trousers and suede loafers, the man looked like he’d walked right out of some country club lunch meeting. He was even holding a takeaway cup of coffee that steamed in the cool air. His face was clean-shaven and youthful, his short dark hair neatly parted in a Harvard crew cut.
All things considered, he looked an awful lot better than Alex felt at that moment.
‘Relax, bro. I was just fucking with you,’ he said, taking a sip of coffee as he chortled in amusement. ‘Some guys like to go for the Hannibal Lecter approach, really put the shits up people. Others like to go in screaming and swinging fists right off the bat. Me? Not my style. I just tell it like it is, let people make up their own minds.’
Alex frowned, feeling more out of his depth than ever. ‘What do you mean?’
His captor wasn’t laughing any more, but he was still wearing an amused smirk as he folded his arms and surveyed Alex for several seconds.
‘My name’s Frank,’ he began. ‘Yes, I work for the CIA. And yes, that’s my real name. I’m from Hartford, Connecticut and I’ve been with the Agency for seven years. I majored in Political Science at college and my favourite football team are the New York Jets.’
Either this was some bizarre new interrogation technique or Alex was seriously misunderstanding him. ‘Why are you telling me this?’
‘Because I want us to be honest with each other, Alex. And I want us to get off on the right foot. First impressions count, you know? I don’t want you thinking of this relationship as “prisoner and interrogator”. It’s not like that. Believe it or not, I’m actually here to help you. But you have to help me out first, okay? Can you do that for me, buddy?’
Alex said nothing. He was so taken aback by the man’s unusual demeanour that he didn’t know quite how to respond. In any case, Frank clearly wasn’t one for hanging around.
‘So let me break this down. You’re deep in the shit, my friend,’ he went on. ‘Might as well be honest about that. You’ve been caught trying to use highly sensitive software belonging to the US government, stealing classified information… Hell, we’ve already got enough on you to put you in a deep dark hole for the rest of your natural life. In fact, the only reason you’re not on a flight to Guantanamo Bay right now is because I want to offer you a way out.’
Alex let out an involuntary gasp. ‘A way out?’
Frank took another sip of his drink. ‘I like you, Alex. You’re a smart motherfucker. Straight-A student, top marks at college… sorry, university. Shit, if you were working for the Agency you’d probably be my boss by now. Huh?’ He let out another laugh, amused by his own joke, then reached into his pocket and held up the memory stick that had apparently brought about this disastrous series of events. ‘Tell me, where did you get this, Alex?’
The lies came tumbling out before he
could stop them. ‘I… I don’t even know what’s on it—’
The answer was swift and brutal, a backhanded strike against the side of his head that jolted him sideways and caused him to topple right off the chair, landing with bruising force on the unyielding concrete floor. It was all Alex could do to keep from crying out in pain and fear at the sudden and unexpected assault. A second man must have approached him while his attention was on Frank.
Alex was no fighter, and was unused to physical injury. He hadn’t been properly hit by anyone since he was a child, and that single blow was far stronger than any of the punches thrown in school-yard fights.
A moment later, his world went dark as a towel was placed over his face, held down hard on either side so that his head was pinned to the floor. A knee driven into his chest with crushing force prevented any movement of his body. With his hands cuffed, he could do nothing to fight his captor off.
He heard the metallic scrape of the bucket being lifted off the floor, followed by Frank’s distinctive voice. ‘Like I said, the secret is restraint.’
The moment Frank began to empty the bucket onto his head, Alex’s heartbeat skyrocketed and panic began to set in. The heavy cloth across his face acted to soak up the water, causing it to seep into his nose and down his throat, inducing an immediate gag reflex.
In desperation he tried to thrash his head from side to side, but his captor’s grip was unrelenting and he could manage barely an inch of movement either way. The cloth was held down even harder, forcing his head back, and all the while the steady deluge continued.
Alex bucked and kicked with desperate strength, the cuffs cutting into his wrists, but still he could find no escape. Letting out a cry of panic, his lungs greedily tried to suck in more air only to be met with a renewed influx of water.
Now there was no stopping it. Coughing and screaming into the gag, he thrashed wildly as his body desperately sought oxygen that he knew wouldn’t come. His pulse thundered in his ears, adrenaline surging in his veins as the ancient instinct for self-preservation kicked in. But it was all for nothing.
Only then did the realisation hit him – he was going to die. They would just keep on pouring the water into his lungs until it finally overcame him, until his struggles eased and consciousness faded, and there was nothing he could do to stop them.
He was going to die here.
It was at this moment, as darkness began to envelop his mind, that the flow of water suddenly stopped and the cloth was withdrawn. Freed from his captors’ remorseless grip, Alex doubled over, coughing and choking violently as his lungs tried to expel the water that had started to fill them.
Looking up through blurred eyes, he saw a second man move into view. This one was far less genial looking than Frank. Shorter, heavier, older and meaner-looking. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to reveal muscular forearms liberally coated with thick dark hair, while the rest of his sizeable torso was covered by a full length leather apron. The kind of thing worn by butchers and slaughterhouse workers.
‘I forgot to introduce you to my buddy Larry,’ Frank said by way of apology. ‘Larry, meet Alex.’
‘How you doing, Alex?’ Larry replied, nodding acknowledgement. ‘I’m looking forward to working on you.’
That made two men at least that he could see. Three of them had escorted him out of the police station earlier, though he had no idea where the third man was. Perhaps he was waiting somewhere in the shadows, getting ready to spring another painful and terrifying surprise just as Larry had, or perhaps he was behind the wheel of the van, preparing to drive his companions out of here once they’d tortured him to death.
Either way, he had no desire to find out.
‘No more,’ Alex gasped, his voice rasping with the effort. ‘No more. Please.’
Frank took another sip of coffee. ‘Like I said, you’re smart, but you don’t strike me as the sort of guy who steals government secrets for fun. What I’m really interested in is the person who gave you this memory stick. So here’s my deal. Answer our questions, help us bring a dangerous terrorist to justice and maybe, just maybe, you get to walk away from this and go back to your old life. Considering the level of shit you’re in, that’s a pretty good deal right there, buddy. Or…’ He glanced down at the floor and tapped the steel bucket with his shoe. ‘We can carry on like this. Plenty of water out here, and we’ve got all night.’
The mere thought of going through that again made Alex want to gag. Unable to look at either man, he simply nodded.
He saw a hint of a smile. Compared to some of the men this pair had probably interrogated in their time, Alex must have been a complete walkover.
‘Now we’re getting somewhere. See, Larry? I told you he’d help us out. He’s a smart guy.’
Alex heard a grunt of acknowledgement from Larry, who was probably disappointed he wouldn’t get a chance to try another round of waterboarding.
‘Okay, Alex. Let’s get to it. How did you get the memory stick?’
‘It was posted to me.’
‘By who?’
Alex swallowed hard, hating what he was about to do. He’d gone to prison before rather than betray his friends, but this was different. He was fighting for his life now. And if he was right, Sinclair was no longer alive to betray.
‘Arran Sinclair. A friend of mine.’
‘Go on,’ Frank prompted, knowing there was a lot more to it than that.
‘A week ago he came to me, asked for my help. Some… project he was working on. I refused, then a few days later this letter turned up. When I did some searching, I found out he’d disappeared. I needed to know what was on the memory stick, so I took it to that internet cafe to open it.’
At this, the man in the leather apron glanced at his companion with a raised eyebrow, saying nothing. For his own part, Frank took a long, thoughtful drink before going on. ‘Tell me about the burner phone, Alex.’
‘I don’t know—’
His answer was cut short by a rock-hard fist driven into his exposed stomach. Unable to help himself, Alex doubled over, groaning and gasping for air. Both CIA operatives stood back, watching him in silence until he’d gotten his breath back.
‘I sure hope you’re not holding out on me, buddy,’ Frank warned, his voice betraying an edge of impatience for the first time. ‘Otherwise we’re all in for a long night, and I’m getting tired.’
‘I was only given it tonight,’ Alex gasped, spitting acrid-tasting phlegm on the floor. ‘Some woman. She paid someone to give it to me.’
The revelation of his mysterious contact’s gender prompted a look of interest. ‘So you didn’t see her in person?’
‘No. All I heard was her voice.’
‘What did she say to you?’
‘She… warned me the police were on their way, told me to leave the cafe if I wanted to live through the night. She said she could help me.’
Frank was getting interested now. ‘Describe her voice. Be specific.’
The memory of that conversation was still imprinted on his mind, as it would be for the rest of his life. However long that might be. ‘It was deep for a woman; she wasn’t young. And she spoke with an accent, maybe Russian. I-I’m not sure.’
Frank thought about it for a few moments. ‘Then it seems this is your lucky day, Alex. We’re going to take you back to that police station tonight, and in the morning they’ll release you without pressing any charges. Insufficient evidence. You’ll go back home, and sooner or later your new friend will contact you again. That’s when we’ll take her.’
Alex’s eyes opened wider. ‘She knew the police were on their way to arrest me. She’ll know I’ve been caught. If I try to meet her now she’ll—’
Suddenly Larry took a step forward, and Alex felt something jammed against his neck. The harsh clicking sound as the taser discharged was punctuated by Alex’s groans of agony as thousands of volts flooded his central nervous system. His body convulsed violently on the floor in a pathetic heap,
his muscles jerking and twitching of their own volition.
At last the nightmare ended and he curled into a foetal position, drawing in ragged, shuddering breaths.
‘Let me spell this out for you, bro. People like you can and have been made to disappear plenty of times without any problem at all. I could torture you to death out here and all it would take is a few signed forms delivered to my boss to make it all okay,’ Frank informed him, his former joviality gone now. ‘In fact, the only reason you’re still breathing is because you can be useful. That’s the only purpose to your life now. If you can’t help us, there’s no reason to waste any more of my valuable time on you.’
He heard a crisp metallic click, and realized with a kind of detached horror that it was the sound of a round being chambered. Looking up, he saw Larry standing over him, a black automatic gleaming in the harsh electric light.
Frank on the other hand just stood there watching the whole scene unfold with a faint smirk. Alex’s life meant nothing to him. He had watched plenty of men die before, and would no doubt see plenty more after today.
Before Alex could answer, the van’s headlights suddenly went out, plunging the room into darkness. Alex gasped, wondering what was going on.
‘What the—?’ he heard Frank say, before his voice was reduced to a strangled, gurgling groan.
‘Shit!’ the other man shouted, followed by the thundering crack of a gunshot that momentarily illuminated a blur of movement right in front of him. Alex flinched, expecting a round to tear through his flesh at any instant.
But no such thing happened. Instead he saw a shadowy figure leap towards the man in the leather apron, heard a sudden scuffle and a cry of pain. A heavy thump told Alex that a body had just landed on the ground.
A few seconds later, the lights came back on just as suddenly as they had gone out, revealing a scene so shocking that Alex had to blink and look again to believe it.
His two captors were sprawled on the dirty concrete floor, blood pooling around both of their lifeless bodies. Frank was lying on his back, his throat sliced open and his takeaway coffee steaming on the ground nearby, while Larry’s leather apron had been perforated with several well placed knife thrusts that left it glistening crimson in the harsh light.
