by S L Shelton
“Hey,” I called through the door.
No answer.
“Hey!” I called louder. “Isn’t someone supposed to treat my wounds?”
I smiled and listened for movement. It came in the form of a boot, kicking the wood.
“Shut up,” the man said—Not Bellos, I thought. That’s all I wanted to know.
I pulled the pen from my waistband and snapped the clip off. As I moved to the wall to steady myself, I heard voices in the hallway outside and paused.
“…broadcast on a narrow band,” a man said. “The distance has been boosted on the fuel but not on the receiver, so we have to bump up the broadcast power.”
“Do what you have to,” came Harbinger’s reply. “The call could come at any minute.”
I quickly dropped the pen and the broken clip to the floor and reached down to pull a piece of cardboard over it. The latch clacked just as I straightened up and Harbinger walked in, ducking to avoid hitting his head on the timber doorway.
“I thought you were going to cooperate,” he said with a mild grin, but I saw the anger flickering in his eyes.
I noticed tiny red dots of blood popping into the whites of his eyes.
“It was a reflex,” I said, doing my best to give the appearance I was intentionally restraining my fear—not a difficult task, considering his bulk and proximity.
Harbinger glared at me for a second before leaning forward, his eyes squinted. The act confused me until he sniffed.
He can smell fear on others, I realized. Can he smell it on me?
He straightened after a second but continued to stare at me. When he crossed to the other side of the cell and leaned against the wall, I was afraid the interrogation was about to begin. I’m not ready yet.
“I don’t yet have a kill order on you,” he said. “But rest assured, after we get the information that Combine is looking for, kill order or not, if you do that again, I will let Bellos have his way with you.”
“Combine?” I asked.
He held up his hand. “Save your resistance to questioning until the questioning begins,” he said, pushing away from the wall and then moving back to the door. “It’s wasted sentiment until then.”
I remained quiet as he ducked to leave. Once through the doorway, he stopped and turned, resting his big hands on the timber above the door.
He ducked down to look at me once more. “To be honest, I expected more trouble from you,” he said. “I’m a bit disappointed that after all the failed attempts to capture you, you’ve turned out to be rather tame.”
“I’ll try stepping up my game,” I said, letting a quiver in my voice sound as if it was false bravado rather than a ruse that had motivated me to respond.
He drew back before chuckling, again surprised by my response. He pulled the door closed as he left, the bolt latch clanking into place as his footsteps receded.
I leaned down and retrieved the clip and pen from the floor as soon as he moved away. I squatted and maneuvered the broken clip end into the notch of the ties on my feet. It took a few seconds of digging around for the right spot, but I could feel the edge of the clasp. The plastic zip-cuffs had a small steel tab inside, preventing the textured strap from backing out, but the broken clip finally slipped beneath it, lifting the spring steel enough for me to loosen the restraint. As soon as I had enough room to pull my boots through, I stepped out of them.
It would take a little more effort get the wrist ties off, but at the moment, I didn’t have to. I just wanted to be able to climb up to look out the window. It was a small window, but more than wide enough for me to get through. I pulled it open, surprised it moved as easily as it had. Though the air was cold outside, there was no wind…not across the window anyway.
It’s on the protected side, I realized as I paused to listen in the direction of the door.
Careful not to scuff, I tipped the edge of my boot toe to the rough stone beneath the window and stood until I could pull myself through the two-foot-thick stone opening. I’d be able to get through for sure.
Leaning forward, I stretched my zip-cuffed hands out of the window and then cupped my fingers on the stone just outside. I looked backward and listened once more before pulling myself through. It was dark as pitch outside, but as my eyes adjusted, I could see the line of white at the base of a sheer drop, some five hundred feet below.
I reached my hand down and felt the stone—it was nice and bumpy, just like the nubby face climb at Carderock. I smiled.
Yeah, I thought. Piece of cake. This will be my way out when I need it.
As I inched my way backward into my cell, I started to think I might actually survive this after all.
Now all I have to do is find those rockets.
**
1:25 a.m. Switzerland time—Somewhere over the Atlantic
NICK HORIATIS pored over the police updates from Basel that had just been delivered to him. There was no doubt in his mind that the reports of automatic weapons fire and explosions had to do with Scott. He gripped the arm of his chair, letting himself hope it wasn’t too late.
“Yes sir, just a second,” Dylan Pritchett said as he came forward from the rear of the plane and then handed the phone to Nick. “It’s for you.”
Nick snatched the phone from Dylan’s hand and continued to stare at him for a second before answering.
“Horiatis,” he said finally, somewhat muted.
“I understand you’re on a little field trip,” came the voice of Director Burgess.
“Yes sir,” Nick replied. “The data center Monkey Wrench was using got blown. A tactical unit from Baynebridge raided Storc’s house. They beat him to a bloody pul—”
“I’ve been briefed,” Burgess said. “And save your breath. I know you took one to the lung.”
“It’s not so bad,” Nick said. “The surgeon patched me up and said I didn’t have anything to worry about.”
The surgeon looked back from his seat and was about to speak but Nick jabbed his finger into the air toward him, his face contorted in angry warning to be silent. The doctor slowly turned to face forward again.
“I didn’t call to second-guess your actions, Nick,” the director replied. “I have new INTEL on the situation. Miss Rhodes transferred a call from Kathrin Fuchs to me.”
“To you?” Nick asked.
“I think it was her passive-aggressive way of cluing me into what was going on,” Burgess said. “Either way, I got the call. I’ve already given the information to Dylan.”
Nick turned in his seat, sending fresh waves of pain through his chest. Dylan looked up and shot Nick a thumbs up.
“What INTEL?” Nick asked.
“Miss Fuchs apparently tagged one of the vehicles they took Scott away in,” Burgess replied, sending a burst of relief through Nick. He’s still alive!
“When we checked the status of the tracker, it showed they were headed into the interior of Switzerland. I’ve arranged for a customs-free diplomatic landing at Emmen Airport, just north of Lucerne,” Burgess said. “It’s a shaky order, so don’t push your luck with what you take off the plane.”
“Understood,” Nick replied.
“I know you’ve probably already thought of it, but just in case you hadn’t, I called in a favor and got a helo stationed at the airfield,” Burgess continued. “It should be there before you arrive.”
“That’s better than what I had planned,” Nick replied. “But I wasn’t sure about a destination yet.”
“A HALO?” Burgess asked, seeming to guess Nick’s plan for air dropping his fighting force using a High Altitude Low Open jump.
“Yeah…with whatever INTEL we had at the time,” Nick replied, pleased the director had read his intentions.
There was moment of silence. “That may still be your best bet,” Burgess said finally. “My deal just gives you a place to park the jet and move any support you might require.”
Nick nodded as his plan began to morph. “Thanks for that,” he said finally
.
“Well, it sounds like you’ve got it under control,” Burgess replied and then he spoke away from the phone, to someone else. “Yes, Madam Secretary. It’s still developing, but our people are on it.”
Nick tensed, knowing who he was speaking to.
“I’ve got to go brief the Secretary,” Burgess said. “Keep a low profile and let me know if anything changes.”
“Will do, sir,” Nick replied.
“Oh…before I forget,” Burgess said. “Miss Fuchs will be waiting for you when you land. You should allow her a seat on the helicopter.”
“What?!” Nick exclaimed. “Sir—”
“I know it’s not ideal, but she negotiated for that seat in exchange for not contacting Mossad,” Burgess said. “As much as I hate it, you’re going to have to give it to her. The last thing we want is another intelligence agency digging into this operation while it’s hot.”
Nick chewed on the corner of his lip.
“Nick…”
“Yes, sir, I understand,” he replied finally, but his tone carried all the anger he was feeling.
“Scott trusts her,” Burgess said. “That’s got to count for something.”
Nick recalled what John had said about Scott’s ability to read people. The old man is right, that has to count for something.
“Yes, sir,” Nick replied. “It does.”
“Good. Keep me updated,” Burgess said before the connection ended abruptly.
Nick tried turning in his seat again but only got halfway before the pain stopped him. “Where are they?” Nick asked Dylan.
“Flühli, Switzerland,” he replied.
Nick looked down at his printouts and scanned until he came across a satellite photo with the town of Flühli marked on it. “Shit,” Nick muttered.
“What?”
“That’s awful damn close to Alpnach,” Nick said without looking up.
“So?”
“Alpnach is the Swiss air force base the G8 foreign ministers and intelligence heads are coming into and leaving from for the summit in Lucerne.”
“We’ll have to be careful when we come in,” Dylan said. “We’ll take it wide so we don’t raise any alarms.”
Nick nodded and rubbed his fingers across his forehead. Why would they take a chance on being so close to a Swiss military base? he asked himself and then shook his head. “Makes it a damn sight harder to get there,” he muttered. We’ll have to drop the SEALs and the equipment before we land.
**
Time Unknown—Location Unknown
I wasn’t sure what time it was when they finally came and got me, but judging by the faint glow in the eastern sky through my window, it was two or three hours from sunrise. I had already put the restraints back on my feet, afraid I would fall asleep and get caught with them off. It was a good thing I’d thought that far ahead. The door opened, snapping me awake.
Two men, the guard from outside my cell and another I hadn’t seen before, stepped in without a word and lifted me by the arms. A third man stood outside the cell, with a pistol aimed at my head.
“What’s going on?” I asked, injecting as much false fear into my voice as possible.
No response.
“Please man, I’m just a tech…I’ll do whatever you want,” I added, trying to judge the mood of the men—they didn’t look well-rested.
“Shut up,” the man with the pistol said, but without any vigor.
Good, I thought. They’re run down.
Outside my cell, they dropped me into the wheelchair and began wheeling me down a connecting corridor to the one I’d come through when I arrived. On the way, we passed a room with no door containing radio and computer equipment. Two men were working on connecting hardware; one was on his back, working on a panel of connections from behind.
“Eyes forward,” the man with the gun said as he whacked me across the back of my head with his barrel.
I pressed my lips together, waiting for the automatic anger response to fade away.
12, 13, 14, I thought, keeping a running count of new faces.
I kept my head down after that, only moving my eyes or looking up briefly when someone new passed. We passed three more, one I recognized. Damn! 15, 16.
There seemed to be an inordinate amount of activity for so early in the morning. Something was going on that had nothing to do with my capture.
“I said,” the guy behind me whacked me again, “eyes forward.”
“Thank you, sir, may I have another?” I muttered, slipping out of character briefly.
He obliged me and came down hard on my shoulder with what felt like the grip of his pistol.
“Enough,” I heard Harbinger rumble quietly. “Take him into the prep room.”
“Yes, sir,” the man replied and wheeled me into a room slightly larger than twice the size of my cell. There, a metal chair had been bolted to the floor. In front of it was a folding table with a laptop, open and facing the chair.
Harbinger ducked his head into the room. “Get him strapped in,” Harbinger said before heading down the hall again.
The two men proceeded to release my wrists and roughly lifted me before shoving me into the metal chair. The third man held his pistol rigidly, aimed at my head the entire time.
“I said I wanted a window seat,” I muttered.
One of the men punched me in the gut with no fanfare or comment before grabbing my wrist and holding it to the arm of the chair. I didn’t resist as the second man strapped it down.
I looked up and saw five more men walk by the door, two I recognized, three I didn’t. 17, 18, 19, I thought. This is getting ridiculous. How am I going to get past this many even if I manage to free myself?
Another punch to my gut reminded me I was thinking too many steps ahead. First things first…kill these three bastards, I thought as anger threatened to make me speak out again.
As they cut the restraints on my feet and then rebound them to the legs of the chair, I began to panic. This was it. They are going to torture me now.
Harbinger ducked through the door, grabbing a folding metal chair from the wall and setting it down backward in front of me. He straddled the seat as his massive body settled down, leaning forward, resting his arms on the back of the chair.
“What we are going to do now is going to be hard for you,” he said. His tone was an odd combination of soothing gentleness and malevolent disconnection. “There will be questions. Many questions. And, sadly, regardless of the answers, there will be pain. How much pain will depend very much on the answers to those questions.”
He tilted his head to the side. “Do you understand what I’ve said?”
“Yes, sir,” I replied simply, with no emotion.
There it was again—that surprise on his face.
“Good,” he said. “With your help, we can put all of this violence behind us and bring a rapid conclusion to our dealings.”
He was going to kill me regardless. He knew I didn’t appreciate it at that moment, but what he was plainly saying was: “For the pain to stop, you have to tell me what I want to hear, in a believable fashion. Then, and only then, will you get the release of death.”
I heard a door open behind me, and I saw Harbinger nod. The new man appeared in my peripheral vision. He picked up a large box resembling a suitcase, before placing it on the floor next to me. I didn’t recognize him either.
“Twenty,” I mumbled.
“What was that?” Harbinger asked.
“Twenty,” I replied quietly, calmly. “I’m keeping track of how many men you have.”
Harbinger furrowed his brow and tilted his head in puzzlement before the man who had come in stepped between us. The man began carefully slicing my pants, cutting upwards on each leg. Just below my hips, he stopped and then cut sideways as if he were making cutoff shorts out of my pants.
The room was warm despite the cold elsewhere, probably owing to the fact it was an interior room rather than an outer space like my cell was. Bu
t when he yanked, ripping the rest of the material of my pants away and letting it fall over my ankles, I suddenly felt chilled and exposed.
When he stepped away from me, Harbinger was tapping on the computer. In the display, I saw a dark window appear as if a video feed had been started with something blocking the camera on the other end.
“There,” said a voice through the computer. “I see him now.”
German accent! Is that the white-haired mystery man?
Harbinger turned and nodded toward the man who had cut my pants. He opened the case that had been placed next to me so I could see inside. My heart started beating faster as I saw the contents. It was a control board with dials. In the lid were coiled wires, clamps, and knife-like instruments of various sizes, each with a hole drilled into the base at the wide end.
Shit! They’re going to use electricity on me. Almost like they knew Wolf said he couldn’t help with that.
The second guard brought another cord over and plugged the case into it. It immediately began to hum as the device built up a charge. When they’d finished setting up the torture device, they stood still, staring at Harbinger, awaiting direction. I tensed as my mind grasped the design and purpose of each piece.
“Well, go ahead, then,” Harbinger said to them.
One of the men proceeded to extract two of the shorter knife-like objects, but Harbinger stopped him with a raised hand.
“Let’s not be cruel,” he said, smiling sympathetically. “Use the big ones… This will be over much more quickly if we start with the big ones.”
“I don’t mind the small ones,” I said. “I can promise I’ll be just as forthcoming with either.”
He shook his head. “You say that now, but there’s no need to drag this out unnecessarily.”
I read his microexpressions. Though he wasn’t actually enjoying this, he was sincere in his statement. I wondered why.
I decided to find out.
“Is there anything you would like to know before you send electricity through me?” I asked with a smile.
I carefully read his expression.
“I’m afraid that won’t be productive. But if you wish to get something off your chest before we begin, by all means, go ahead,” he said, reverting back to his cold glare.