Sentinel

by Matthew Dunn

  With a boot on the MI6 Head of Moscow Station.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  It was either this place or a local school.” Roger rubbed his fatigued face.

  Will looked around. They were in a small Russian Orthodox church, near woods and a tiny village that was fifty miles west of the outskirts of Moscow. Roger had chosen the venue because, like schools, most churches were empty at night, were easy to break into, and usually did not contain valuables deemed worthy of protection by alarm systems. The church had wooden pews to the left and right of the center aisle Will was standing in. The place was in total darkness, save for the light emitted by the flashlights that Will, Roger, and Laith carried. Their beams produced snapshot images of religious icons, prayer books, free-standing lamps, chandeliers, unlit candles, three-barred metal crosses, alcoves, wall-mounted paintings of various apostles and Jesus Christ, and an altar table that had marble pillars on either side of it. In front of the altar was a large chair. Seated within it was their prisoner. His arms and legs had been expertly tied to the chair with rope by Laith, who was standing close to the man.

  Will glanced at Roger and quietly asked, “Are you sure we weren’t followed here?”

  Roger shrugged. “There were only a few cars on the road leading to this place. They all looked normal.”

  Will smiled, although his mood was cold. “Good.” He swung his flashlight back toward the prisoner. The man’s head was slumped down, though he was awake and unharmed. “Let’s begin.”

  Will walked to the front of the pews and sat down on them so that he was directly opposite the prisoner, fifteen feet distant. He positioned his flashlight on the pew so that it shone directly into the man’s face, stretched out his legs, and leaned back to rest his head in his interlocked hands. Laith sat down on the far right-hand side of the front pew; Roger perched on the far left-hand side of the front pew. Both men pointed their lights at the prisoner. Everything in the church was now in total darkness, save the altar and the trussed man before it.

  When Will spoke, his voice was calm, of medium volume, and very controlled. “Lift up your head, please.”

  The prisoner did not move.

  “Lift up your head.”

  The man remained motionless.

  Will let out a long sigh. “Would you like me to lift up your head for you? I could do so in a way that would make you never want to lower your head again.”

  Nothing happened at first. Then the prisoner gradually lifted his head, squinting as the flashlights’ beams struck his face. The man was clean-shaven, had hair that was now ruffled but would normally have been carefully held in place by creams, was wearing an expensive suit, shirt, and tie and had a slender build. He was fifty-one years old.

  Will nodded, even though he knew that the prisoner could not see him and his men. “That’s better.” He placed one foot over the other. “We need to make our introductions. Your name is Guy Louis Harcourt-DeVerre. You are a British national, come from a family of nobility, and hold the aristocratic title of baron. But, more important than that, you are the MI6 Head of Moscow Station.”

  The prisoner’s eyes seemed to adjust to the light. His eyes widened; his expression was one of anger. “A full introduction requires me to know your names.” Guy’s accent was polished, very well spoken.

  Will glanced in the direction of Roger and Laith before returning his attention to the MI6 officer. “We’re very dangerous men. That’s all you need to know.”

  Guy smiled, but the anger was still evident. “Judging by the accents I heard in the car coming here, you are clearly very dangerous English and American men.”

  “Maybe. Or perhaps we’re SVR or FSB officers posing as Westerners.”

  Guy slowly looked around, then back at Will’s flashlight. “Is this an inquisition or an execution?”

  “That depends on how you answer my next question.”

  Guy kept staring at the light; he showed no signs of fear. Will had expected as much from a senior MI6 officer of Guy’s stature.

  Will unclasped his hands and adjusted his position so that he was leaning forward. “Where is Taras Khmelnytsky, the man who has the MI6 code name Razin?”

  Guy chuckled. “I’ve never heard of him.”

  Will kept his voice calm and neutral. “Yes, you have. You know about Razin because you work for him.”

  Guy smiled. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Will stared at the officer for a moment before saying, “Your response does not help your situation.”

  This time Guy laughed loudly, his voice echoing around the empty church. “My situation?” His laugh suddenly stopped. “My situation will in all probability lead to my death. You’ll do what you want to me. But whatever you do, I can’t give you an answer that I don’t have.”

  Will leaned farther forward. “Listen to me very carefully. I’ve sat where you are now sitting a hundred times. I know all about the games that can be deployed to resist interrogation. I know what is going through your brain right now. Your primary objective will be to draw out our discussion for as long as possible, with the hope that you’ll be rescued by British or Russian forces. At the same time, you will be making rapid and evolving assessments of your captors: trying to ascertain what our objectives are, what kind of men we are, and how far we are willing to go to get what we need. When you realize that we are men who will stop at nothing, you will start feeding us half-truths and lies to keep our attention and to make you appear cooperative. Then, when that doesn’t work, you’ll feign shock, fear, and maybe illness to try to bring the interrogation to a temporary halt. And ultimately, when that tactic fails, you will ask us for things: water, food, for your ropes to be loosened, anything to make us think you’ve moved to a new level of resignation to your plight and are about to give us what we want. Time is the only weapon you have, and I concede it’s a powerful weapon. But I regret to say that time is my enemy and you’ll have no chance to play out your games.”

  Guy stared in the direction of Will; his face still showed no fear. “Then we are in a bit of a bind, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I’d say we’re in a terrible bind. But I think I have a solution to our predicament. Do you know what that is?”

  Guy nodded. “Of course. You need to torture me. Though I must forewarn you that pain doesn’t scare me and in any case I’ll just tell you what you want to hear, but it won’t be the truth.”

  “We’ll see.” Will looked toward Laith and said, “Get the box.”

  A few seconds later, Laith appeared next to Guy, carrying a five-sided metal box and some rope. He placed the items on the floor, pulled open Guy’s jacket, and ripped apart his shirt so that his naked torso was visible. Lifting up the box, he carefully positioned its open side flush against the MI6 officer’s belly and began wrapping the rope over the box and around the man’s body so that it was tightly fixed into position. Laith looked toward Will, nodded, and disappeared back to his seat on the pew.

  Will smiled. “Do you know what that is?”

  Guy remained calm. “I’ve no idea.”

  Will placed his hands together as if he was in prayer. “It’s my means to accelerate matters.” He narrowed his eyes. “I need to know the precise location of Razin. You’re going to tell me. The box will make you do so.”

  The Head of Moscow Station shook his head before angling it to one side, frowning and then smiling. “I see. You’ve an explosive device inside the container. It’ll detonate after a period of time unless I give you what you want. The bomb will be small enough to destroy my organs but not large enough to hurt you.” He grinned. “I regret to tell you that I don’t have the secret you want. And even if I did, my life has been devoted to protecting secrets. I’d rather lose my life in an instant than give you what you want and live out the rest of my life feeling that I had betrayed not only my employers and my work but also myself.” His face turned to one of anger; his voice deepened. “Let your bomb go off. I don’t care.”
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  Will stretched his fingers. “I thought you’d say that, and for that reason I’ll tell you that there’s no bomb inside the metal box. An explosive would give you far too quick a death. Instead, there’s something inside the container that ordinarily you wouldn’t fear. But today you’re going to be terrified of it.” Will stilled his hands. “Inside the box is a rat. It’s sedated. But I estimate that in fifteen minutes it will awaken. Upon doing so it will feel disoriented and scared and will draw upon its survival instincts to do everything it can to get out of its prison. It will scratch and use its powerful teeth to try to force a route through the metal sides of the box but will quickly realize that it stands no chance of doing so. Then it will feel that one side of its prison is softer than the others. It will decide to bite and claw its way through that surface.”

  A bead of sweat ran down one side of Guy’s face. “A rat?”

  “We didn’t have time to come up with a more refined solution to our bind. For that I’m sorry, because when the rat awakens you’re going to suffer the most agonizing death. It will burrow through your abdominal muscles, tear through your stomach lining, and gnaw through your intestines and liver and kidneys. You won’t die straightaway, because the rat will have a hard task. I think it will take at least thirty minutes for the rat to tunnel its way through your torso until it has emerged out of your back. And at every stage of the rat’s journey, you’ll feel it inside you, scrabbling and ripping through your body.”

  Another bead of sweat fell over Guy’s face before dropping to the floor. “I’ll immediately lose consciousness and will be of no use to you.”

  Will shook his head, smiling. “We’ll pump your body with adrenaline and saline solutions to keep you awake.”

  Guy was silent for a few moments. When he spoke, his words were slow and angry. “Then I’m in the company of demons.”

  Will shrugged. “I’ve not told you anything to suggest otherwise.”

  Guy looked quickly at the box on his belly before glancing away, clearly deep in thought.

  Will kept his attention firmly on his prisoner, studying the officer, wondering whether the man would fall for his ruse. Because there was no rat in the box.

  Guy looked toward Will. “I’ll embrace the pain . . . let it shut down”—his voice was hesitant—“shut down my mind and body.”

  “I wish you luck because I’ve no idea if you’ll be able to do that. I’ve been tortured before, but I’ve never experienced what’s going to happen to you. This is a new experience for both of us.” He moved his arm in front of his flashlight’s beam. “I’d say the rat could awaken in ten minutes, maybe less.”

  Guy shook his head; he was now clearly agitated. “Who are you? Who sent you?”

  Will leaned back. “I’m a man who must capture and kill Razin. I sent myself.”

  “You’d let this happen to me? You’d just sit there and watch me die in agony?”

  Will chuckled. “No, not just watch it happen. As the rat goes through you, I’ll keep asking you about the whereabouts of Razin. And if you refuse to answer, I’ll personally strap a metal plate onto your back so that the rat has no chance of escape there and will have to turn around and find another route out of your body.”

  “Questions and answers won’t matter at that stage.” Guy’s face was now covered in sweat. “I’ll be dead or dying by then.”

  “You’ll most certainly want to be dead by then. You’ll beg me to end your life with a bullet in your brain. I’ll be willing to do that if you tell me the truth.” Will leaned forward again, and spoke in a near whisper. “But does it need to come to that? There’s still time for me to remove the box.”

  Guy lowered his head; his breathing was fast. When he looked up, his face seemed terrified, confused, but it still displayed some strength and defiance. “I’m an MI6 officer. Men like me don’t betray secrets.”

  “And yet you’ve betrayed secrets in the past.” Will raised his voice. “In any case, we shall have to see if others agree with you. Perhaps some of your colleagues may also have an idea about Razin’s location. And I wonder if they will be as resolute when confronted by unimaginable horror. If we don’t get what we want from you, we’ll follow every other member of Moscow Station to their homes, torture them in the same way, and slaughter their families until we get our answer.” He moved his face into the light, knowing that Guy could now see him. “You can end this here, or you can allow me to escalate matters by murdering your entire station. Either way, I won’t stop until I get the secret.”

  Anger was once again on Guy’s face. “How could God let you into a place like this?”

  “God?” Will laughed, but his tone held utter menace. “God has no jurisdiction over me.”

  Guy’s head slumped down.

  “Head up, I said!”

  Guy lifted his head; his eyes were wet.

  “The rat will be awake in minutes, maybe seconds.”

  Guy looked toward the ceiling and muttered, “Save me.”

  “Look at me. The only thing that matters is me!”

  Guy did so. His breathing was very fast now.

  “You need to make a decision.” Will kept his face in the light. “Give me the location of Razin or die a horrendous death just before we leave to butcher your colleagues, their wives, and their children. The decision is yours and yours alone.”

  The Head of Moscow Station had tears rolling down his face. He shook his body, but the ropes and the heavy chair remained firm. “Get this thing off of me!”

  “Not until you answer my question.”

  Roger spoke. “I reckon the rat will be waking up now.”

  “Get it off of me!”

  Will narrowed his eyes. “I repeat, not until you answer my question.”

  Guy let out a scream, his face screwed up in terror. Gulping air, he shouted, “I’ll tell you anything. Untie the box. Please. Please.”

  “No.”

  Guy was hyperventilating. Will stood, stepped quickly forward until he was right in front of the MI6 officer, placed one hand over the box, and pushed it tighter against his body. “It appears my colleague is right. I can feel movement against the inside of the box.”

  Guy stared with wide eyes at Will. His face was now a mess of sweat and tears. His body reeked of fear. “I’ll tell you!”

  “Where is he?”

  Before Guy could respond, Roger shouted, “Smoke!”

  Will spun around, pointing his flashlight left and right. He heard movement to either side of him and knew that Laith and Roger were taking up defensive positions. “What’s happening?”

  Roger did not answer but instead ran forward, his flashlight held firm against the side of his assault rifle. The beam from the flashlight moved toward the church’s entrance. Then Will saw what Roger had seen or smelled. Black smoke was wafting through the air. It was moving from the entrance toward the altar.

  Will positioned his flashlight on Roger, who was now on the other side of the church. “Smoke grenade?”

  Roger pressed himself beside the doorway, waited a moment, placed a hand against the wooden door, winced, then stepped away from the exterior wall. “Not a grenade. This building’s on fire.”

  Will’s heart beat fast; he pulled out his handgun. “Razin!” He swung his light on Guy. “He’s come to silence you.”

  Guy moaned. “Please take the box off me. I beg you.”

  Will ignored the man and shouted, “Laith! We need an exit!”

  From the darkness, the paramilitary officer replied, “I’m working on it.”

  The smoke became thicker. Will began coughing. He unbuttoned the top of his jacket, pulled it up, and then closed it so that its collar was resting over the bridge of his nose, acting as a crude mask. Then he saw the first flames curling underneath the door. Soon there were more. Stained-glass windows burst as more smoke and flames moved into the church. Curtains caught fire, their dry fabric allowing the flames to accelerate up the walls. Sparks spat across the pews.
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  Laith shouted, “Run to my voice! I’ve found a side entrance!”

  Roger dashed across the church. Will was about to move to check the exit but stopped as he felt something dripping on him. He pointed his flashlight at the roof. He saw one hole, then another, then many of them. Liquid was dripping through them, but within seconds it was pouring. His heartbeat increased as he realized what was happening. “Gasoline!”

  He pulled out his military knife and ran toward Guy to cut him free of the ropes. But as he did so, liquid drenched the Head of Moscow Station. A spark jumped through air, landed on Guy’s lap, and set his clothes on fire. Will recoiled from the intense blaze and heat.

  “Will, we have to get out of here!” Laith’s voice was desperate.

  But Will tried to move closer to Guy. The man was screaming in agony; the smell of roasting flesh was in the air. More liquid fell onto Guy, and he became a human fireball. Gasoline from the other holes in the roof turned into columns of fire that rose up from the church floor to its ceiling. In the middle of them all, Guy rocked his body back and forth but could not free himself from his shackles. He stopped screaming. Will stopped moving.

  “Will, come on!”

  Will lifted his handgun, cursed everyone and everything, cursed himself, but at the same time decided that he was not going to let his prisoner die in agony. He pointed his gun at Guy’s head and pulled the trigger.

  He turned and saw flames race across the pews toward him. Sprinting to the right, he reached the wall and was grabbed by Laith and hurled out of the side door. He crashed onto snow-covered ground, was grabbed again, this time by Roger, and was lifted to his feet and pulled fast away from the church. After a hundred feet they stopped. Laith ran to them, his rifle held high, scouring the area around them. The small church was now engulfed in flames.

  “Razin’s got to be around here somewhere.” Will gripped his handgun tight. “We split up and hunt him down.”

  A vehicle’s tires screeched in the distance. The three intelligence officers swung their weapons in the approximate direction of the noise but could see nothing.