by T. K. Harris
"I said. Get. On. Your. Damn. Feet!"
The man reached out and grabbed him with one hand, snatching him off the bed. Tommy crashed to the floor, trying to twist away from the image of the other enraged animal lunging for him. He screamed as the animal's claw closed around his arm and then just as suddenly, the other animal morphed into a man as well. This one with cold, dead eyes.
This man yanked Tommy off the floor and twisted his arms painfully behind him. He felt the bite of something sinking into his wrists and then was shoved through the door. When he collapsed, arms grabbed him from both sides, yanking him to his feet and shoving him down a long hall.
"Who are you?" a voice croaked. It was a moment before Tommy realized he had spoken. In answer, one of the men shoved him again, sending Tommy stumbling into a wall. A wave of nausea overtook and he began to slide to the floor, only to be pulled up and pushed forward.
They proceeded down the hall, making several turns. Tommy's memory provided the image of having done this before, sometime far in his past. Occasionally, he was overcome with coughing and stopped, only to be shoved forward once more. Time stretched out as they walked and walked until they finally stopped in front of another door. The bald man unlocked it and stepped aside as the other man escorted Tommy in.
Shoving him inside, they both turned to leave. Without seeing the room in front of him, Tommy turned in time to see the door slammed shut. His arms aching from the zip ties, he tried to process what was happening.
It was several minutes before he could think enough to turn around and look at the room, noting that it was bare except for a table and two chairs. There were no windows, only a large mirror, and no sound except for the buzzing of the florescent lights, pitched almost perfectly to the ringing in his ears. Tommy began to shake uncontrollably.
After several more minutes, the shaking stopped and Tommy made his way to one of the chairs, sinking down onto it. He was stranded. Lost. He didn't know how to get out and it looked like he never might.
An image flashed briefly in his mind of a blond haired woman with blue eyes. He saw her face, tear streaked and pale. His mom. He remembered visiting her in the hospital, tubes running in and out of her after her second heart surgery. How was she taking this?
Anger shot through him at the thought and he screamed, "I'll see you rot in HELL if she's not okay! Do you hear me? I'll find a way to get out of here and kill every last one of you if she not okay!" He felt something break inside him as he realized he meant it.
As the echoes of his rage died and the coughing consumed him, Tommy leaned forward, placing his head on the table. "I'll see you rot in Hell," he whispered as the tears came unbidden.
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A few doors down, Frank Borne stared through a swollen eye at the two dark suits in front of him. He had dubbed them Tweedle ‘Dumb’ and Tweedle ‘Dumber’. Tweedle Dumber, the slightly shorter, fatter one, leaned forward, his black eye and bruised nose bringing a small smile to Frank's lips. The last time he had gotten in Frank's face, Frank had been just too happy to head butt the guy. The fact that it now meant Frank's head, along with the rest of his body, was restrained had been worth it. Tweedle Dumber's condescending look now held just a little fear.
The sight made Frank's smile broaden, causing him to wince from the sudden, sharp pain of his lip splitting further. Then he started coughing. More strands of pain shot through his bruised body and head and it was a few minutes before he could catch his breath. The breathing part was made harder by the fact that his nose no longer worked. He was pretty sure it was broken. Again. Sally was never going to forgive him.
Tweedle Dumber spoke. "Tell us, Frank. What were you planning on doing? Who is leading this group? What is its purpose?"
Frank tried to look at his arms to count the black and blue bruises and see how many had already turned greenish-yellow. But he was stopped by his head restraint. Instead he closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind.
He knew what they were trying to do. Solitary confinement, minimal contact, sleep deprivation and then psychological interrogations. And, when those hadn't work, physical interrogation. But they had to know that he had been a PSYOP with the 75th, which meant he was likely to have done a term at SERE school as well. Not that he had exactly been following his training the last two days. He’d always had a bit of a temper. Or maybe they didn't know about his training? They did seem to be a stupid bunch, what with their talk of organized terrorism and his involvement. The only terrorism he'd ever been involved in, his government had hired him to do.
"Answer me!"
The smell of the man's fetid breath made Frank open his eyes. He had to concentrate for a minute to form words. Isolation and lack of sleep will do that to a person. Being beaten didn’t exactly help either.
"I told you, I don't know what you're talking about. I want my phone call and I want a lawyer."
Tweedle Dumb, a man who looked as if he had served some military time, glanced at Tweedle Dumber, who shrugged and stepped away as he took his place.
"Like we told you before, we aren't the police, Frank. And what you've done is pretty damn close to committing treason. Now, you'll get your representation, your phone call and everything else you are entitled to under the law just as soon as we've decided we're done with you. Is that clear, Frank?"
Frank nodded his head as much as the restraints allowed, his thoughts wandering to the oath he had sworn when he’d joined the Army. I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic. And, if they were denying him his basic rights, they were the enemy.
Tweedle Dumber mumbled, "I’m glad they’re bringing in the doctor. I’ve had enough of dealing with these pieces of shit, Paul."
Paul looked at Tweedle Dumber with disgust. Frank couldn’t believe the fat idiot had used names in front of him. And, earlier, he had let slip there were other detainees. Paul obviously felt the same way, as he sarcastically replied, "It’s been harder to get him to cooperate because of his training, Marvin."
"Then step up the interrogations!"
"No. Even if he is a traitor, he's still an American. And I'm not willing to go beyond what is allowed to get the information either. And I don’t agree with you about the doctor."
"It's been over a week with no headway. And, as you so adamantly pointed out a few days ago, information extracted under duress isn’t very accurate anyway. So, if that’s true and if his training is making him resistant, we need to stop wasting our time and do what they told us to do. It’s not like we have a choice anyway. They’re bringing in the doctor regardless."
Frank interjected with, "That isn’t going to help you damn pansies either. I’ve told you the damn truth and I’ve been telling the truth!"
Marvin pushed past Paul and thrust his face close to Frank's, shouting, "You shut the fuck up!"
Frank ignored him and began reciting the seven layers of the OSI model out loud.
"I said shut the fuck up and tell us what we want to know!"
Frank arched an eyebrow at the demand. He knew better than to mouth off, ignore, or otherwise antagonize his captors. His training had covered this. But the weasel of a man grated on his last nerve. "How can I tell you what you want to know, Marvin, when you just told me to shut the fuck up? Fucking moron."
The next blow sent Frank, chair and all, crashing to the floor. He hit the cement with a loud crack, pain exploding in his head. Frank lay stunned, barely able to watch as Marvin walked toward him and kneeled so he was in Frank's face. "I don't like you, Frank. And I am going to pay you back for this broken nose."
"That's enough," said Paul.
Marvin stood up, brushing off his clothes. "Fine. We'll wait until the doctor gets here. Let's go talk to the kid."
Frank didn't know how long he lay there waiting for the pain in his head to subside and the roaring in his ears to stop. Sometime after an eternity had passed, someone came and picke
d him - still attached to his chair - off the ground, set him upright and then bandaged him. A few minutes later, his restraints were removed and he was led back to his cell, supported by two armed guards who tossed him on the cot. Remotely, he heard the cell door slam shut.
For a long time Frank just lay there, head throbbing, and mentally berated himself for not following his training. He shouldn't have antagonized them. He had tried cooperating, but when they had continued to call him a liar and beat him despite the truths he told, he lost his temper.
Minutes more passed before it finally sank in about the kid. Why would they detain a kid? This was the third person he had heard of, besides himself, being held here. But knowing that he wasn't alone didn't help.
Marvin and Paul. He had names now and he clung to them, vowing to remember them when, if, he ever got out of here. And who was the doctor? The way they said it, the title should have been capitalized. He wondered what the doctor did. Unless that was whoever had just bandaged him up. But from the way they were talking, he doubted the doctor did anything good.
Frank turned over carefully, trying to get comfortable, and hoping that he would be able to sink into some oblivion beyond his pounding head and aching body. His thoughts returned to his wife and kids, and he hoped they were okay. For the umpteenth time, a wave of regret washed through him as he thought about how he and his wife had been spending the last year fighting, they’d even mentioned divorce. The night the bastards had taken him, he had been on his way to buy her a ring with the cash he’d made from sales. He wondered what they had done with the money. But more so, he was thinking of the fact he had been heading home to apologize and tell her how much she and the kids really meant to him. To tell her that he still loved her and was willing to do whatever it took to save their marriage. Now she would never know.
‘Might’ never know, his voice told him. ‘Might’. Not ‘would’. Stay positive.
Right. Might never know.
He heard a burble of sound that erupted into a loud laugh. It took a few minutes before he realized that he was the one laughing.
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Agent Barrett stood outside one of the interrogation rooms, watching through the two-way mirror while they interrogated the Iraqi national. He felt a headache coming on and realized he was clenching his jaw. Forcing himself to relax, he tried not to think of how little they had found in eight days, despite the team of experts they were using. The latest report from the computer forensics guys - for all but the Bevels and Moore detainees - didn't look all that promising. The only thing they had found on the other two computers was evidence they had stumbled across the trap that had been laid. And what they had on Bevels and Moore, while worthy of investigation, still hadn't netted them a smoking gun.
He winced as he watched the detainee go down from a blow to the head. Stepping away, he stalked to his office. They were going to find something. The computers had all been sent back for a deeper analysis for any hint of external devices carrying encrypted data, or anything that might point them to their smoking guns. In the meantime, at Gillespie’s insistence, they would change interrogation tactics. Doctor Lyndsay was even now on the way back from Afghanistan. Barrett was curious to see if the doctor really was as good as they said, though he was still curious as to why his contacts had seemed perturbed when he first mentioned Gillespie’s suggestion. They had even asked him to try and change Gillespie’s mind but there had been no doing that.
Walking to the vehicle waiting for him, he braced himself for his next meeting with Gillespie. Even after he had explained that they were doing as Gillespie had asked, the man had not sounded happy, instead insisting that Barrett fly up on a Saturday to ‘discuss’ things. Barrett suspected that Gillespie had expected them to go in, guns blazing, and have all of the information in a matter of hours instead of days. Though, if he had to be honest with himself, Barrett had really expected to have more by now as well.
Swallowing his irritation, he climbed into the car, watching as the small casino town slid quickly into the distance. As the car sped toward the desert shanty the locals had the audacity to call an ‘airport’ he thought, well at least I get to see the girls.
Chapter Seven
"Why do we still have nothing? It has been nearly two weeks! You assured me that once we caught anyone in our trap, getting information was not going to be a problem. A little time, I understand, but not this." Gillespie took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He looked over at Barrett, who stood behind one of the chairs as if to keep it between them.
Coward.
The thought came unbidden and it was only years of practice that kept his lip from curling in disgust.
"Nine days now."
"What?"
Barrett’s voice was tentative as he restated, "Nine days, sir. And, if we’re dealing with the kind of people we think we are then we expect it to be a challenge. They are serious players. They would know how to cover their tracks."
"But still fall into the trap?"
Barrett cleared his throat. His face told Gillespie that Barrett was wondering that as well. Still, he replied with, "It was a solid trap. One that would take a hacker of some skill to get into. We just need a little more time."
"How much longer? The campaigns for elections are gearing up soon and I can only do so much without delivering on the promise I made. You would think that just the facts of their backgrounds would be enough to mention!"
"I agree with you, sir. But, as you know, they not only covered their electronic tracks but they have also been holding up to questioning much better than we expected, especially the three civilians. As for them being more cooperative in answering us…Well, let’s just say that we’ve decided to do as you suggested."
"So the doctor is on the way?"
Barrett nodded and Gillespie tried to recall everything he had read and heard about the doctor. Questioning was necessary when fighting any war and sometimes that questioning might not be within the bounds of what is considered proper or even lawful. Something he knew from experience. But, he was unfamiliar with the techniques he had read about in the doctor's dossier. Not that it mattered. Based on the stories that some of his former army buddies had told, the doctor was the person who would get answers when no one else could. His brothers in arms were some of the first people he had reached out to when Barrett and the investigative team first started hitting road blocks and he had - and did - trust them with his life.
As if reading his mind Barrett said, "I’m sure the doctor will help. Between that and the more intensive computer forensics analysis we’ve begun, we'll deliver."
Gillespie gave a sharp nod. "Good. Now, just get it soon."
He watched as Barrett headed out of the room, and then went to pour himself another drink. The lack of information at this stage in the process was not good and he was beginning to have his doubts. Doubts he could not afford.
Never one to leave potential situations that could affect him or his career in another person’s hands, Gillespie picked up the phone to make some calls. Over the years he had built up hundreds of favors. Some he had called in to help push his agenda through, and while he would keep most of the remaining favors for his actual campaign, it looked like it was time to burn a few more to find out what the devil was going on. If Barrett or his partners thought Gillespie was going to just leave the success of his plan in their hands, they were going to be in for a surprise.
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Hands tucked into his pockets, Barrett frowned as he headed to his car. Both Gillespie and Barrett’s backers were clamoring for information he didn't have yet. And, he'd already been bitten once for rushing in and paid the price; his life had been ripped apart for it. So, he wasn't about to hurry again.
Even though the setbacks had raised some doubts, he knew they had something this time. You didn't have an Iraqi national, a card carrying NRA gun advocate/conspiracy the
orist, an ex-military PSYOPs who was also a computer hardware specialist, and a college kid studying network security all hit the same trap around the same time. Not unless there was some sort of collaboration going on. If he had to bet, this was bigger than everyone realized and he wanted part of the credit. And he'd be damned if they thought he would hurry the investigations because of some stupid politician and his damn ambitions. They would just have to wait.
His phone rang, knocking him out of his internal tirade. "Barrett."
"Did you speak with him," asked the accented voice.
Barrett still didn't have a name for the man. He was simply 'sir'.
"Yes, sir. I just spoke with him."
"And has he calmed down now that we’ve agreed to bring in the doctor?"
"Not exactly." Barrett's jaw tightened. "He wants to go to the press soon. I explained we need more information."
"And how is actually getting that information coming along?"
Barrett clenched his teeth tighter. The check-ins were constant. Why had they hired him if they didn't trust him? "We're working on it."
"How much longer?" The voice sounded impatient.
"I think we'll have something soon. A couple of days more, a week tops. Probably sooner. The doctor has an impressive track record."
"For your sake, let us hope so."
The line went dead and Barrett contemplated throwing the phone away.
His caller was the one that had coordinated laying the trap in the first place. Why weren't they helping more?
His irritation mounting, he decided he didn't know and didn't want to know. Whatever the reason, it didn't matter. He was getting paid, and paid well, and he was going to get the chance to earn his reputation back.
Still agitated, he decided his next meeting could wait. It was Saturday night and time for some well-deserved relaxation. He hit the 1 on the speed dial as he continued to his car.
