by Shah, R D
Silva stood back as Munroe looked up at the stencilling on the door, a single word.
Reorientation
Munroe entered the room swiftly before coming to an abrupt halt. Once again he felt a chill as he gazed down at the small metal chair in the middle of the room. Four weathered and cracked leather straps hung from slits in the metal where arms and legs could be secured and cables ran from the chair’s sides into a wall socket. Above it a red ON/OFF switch had been placed. On one side was a desk, and a metal cage split the room down the middle from left to right. The cage was further split into three compartments, the outer ones large, sandwiching the central one between them, which was much smaller. About the size a small child could fit into. In both of the outer cages lay the desiccated bones of animals, judging by the skulls dogs of some breed, and the middle cage was empty except for a small bowl, maybe used for water or food.
Silva now stepped in behind him and they both stood there in silence for a moment.
“It’s a form of conditioning. I’ve seen it before, but never used on children.”
“You’ve seen or ‘done’ it before!” Silva growled aggressively, but Munroe was already shaking his head sternly.
“I’ve never done it,” he replied, almost spitting the words angrily, “but I’ve been told about it.”
Munroe took a step over to the cages and flicked his finger towards them. “The subject is placed in the middle cage, with barely enough room to move, and starving dogs are placed in the outer cages and left, sometimes for days. Caught between dogs attempting to attack you on either side and keeping you pinned to where you sit, 24/7, can be excruciating. By the time they’re let out, if they haven’t lost their minds from fear they become fairly pliable, as you can imagine. Then the subject is placed on the chair and electrocuted over and over again, but there are certain compounds that can be administered which stop the subject from passing out.”
Silva still had a look of disgust on his face, but he also looked confused. “What the hell is the point of that?”
“The Soviets tried it during the seventies and I heard some intelligence agencies played around with it. The basic premise is that passing out is, in a way, the body’s method of preserving the mind. There’s only so much pain a mind can handle… but, if you can’t pass out, then the body deals with it in another way. The idea is that under the right circumstances the mind can fracture and create two personalities. It’s seen in severely abused children who develop multiple personalities. Stronger personalities develop who can defend the original from the ongoing trauma. The mind’s way of protecting the child’s original personality.”
Munroe felt sickened by what he was explaining but he compartmentalised it as he’d been trained to do. Silva sounded far more emotional, and not without reason.
“It’s sick,” he protested, as if it were Munroe’s idea in the first place. “What good can come of it?”
Munroe took a final solemn look at the chair and then he turned to face the understandably troubled detective. “To create people who wouldn’t even know who they were… The perfect assassin, lying dormant until the right stimuli was given – the word, sentence or whatever they’ve been conditioned to respond to.” Munroe walked past Silva and into the hallway and gazed over at the rows of doorways most likely hiding similar horrors. “And it looks like they managed it.”
“Who are they?” Silva replied, and Munroe shot him a look of uncertainty. He couldn’t tell the man about Daedalus and what they were, but Christ he wanted to. “I don’t know.”
“Bullshit, Munroe. They’re the same people who torched the church, covering their tracks for a reason only you appear to know. Fucking McCitrick and his secrecy bullshit.”
Munroe remained silent as Silva continued to unload. It was better to let the man get everything off his chest. “And if they took care of all those people in the church, why did they leave this place standing?”
It was a fair point, but Munroe didn’t have an answer. “I honestly don’t know, Detective. But I want to.”
“Yeah,” Silva spewed angrily, his cheeks darkening under the yellow glow of the strip lights above them. “Well, I would love to meet these sick bastards face to face.”
Above them the lights suddenly blinked out as corridor by corridor the whole building descended into pitch darkness. Munroe immediately clicked on his torch and shone it upwards between them. He listened for any sounds but there was nothing. He turned his attention back to Silva and pulled his gun from his holster. “Careful what you wish for, Detective. I think you’re about to get your chance.”
Chapter 22
“Captain Munroe, it’s a pleasure to meet you, even under these awkward circumstances.”
The voice boomed through the corridors and Munroe immediately shone his torchlight upwards to its source: a flat, grated speaker, along with others equally spaced and set into the ceiling above them. “Despite the ideas running through your mind at this moment I can promise you that we have no wish to hurt you or Detective Silva. I only offer an introduction in the hopes we can talk. My name is Bauer, Hans Bauer, and if you will please come back outside I offer you the promise of protection and discussion on what you think you may have discovered.”
Munroe glanced over at Silva, who shrugged his shoulders.
“He’s not one of mine. I’ve never heard of him.”
“Me neither,” Munroe replied, turning his torch down to the floor between them, allowing them to be partially lit up from the reflection off the shiny white floor tiles. “But if they’re the same ones who burnt down the church then he has no interest in talking. More like silencing. Could your two men upstairs be involved?”
Silva was already shaking his head. “Never. I know them personally.”
“Then I’m sorry to say, Detective, that they are most likely incapacitated.” Munroe didn’t want to admit the likelihood that his colleagues were probably already dead but by the pained look on Silva’s face he already understood the reality.
“Who the hell are these people, Mr Munroe?”
Munroe still couldn’t tell the man, but he could tell him what they were. “They’re trained killers. No compassion. No empathy… No fucking soul, if they are who I think they are, and they won’t give us free passage out of here regardless of whether we talk to them or not. This Bauer and his goons up there are sick bastards. The kind of degenerates who pick pieces of sweetcorn out of poo as a hobby. Know what I mean?”
Silva looked confused by the unusual analogy and he shook his head. “Not really, Mr Munroe.”
“Forget it, bad example,” Munroe replied, putting aside his poor attempt at levity. “Suffice to say parley is not an option with these people. How many rounds do you have?”
Silva flicked open his revolver displaying the five chambered bullets it held and then tapped at a round metal quick changer holding a further five. “That’s all… you?”
“Two magazines and the one I have loaded. Who knows if it’s enough. We’ll have to play it smart. I’m going up there to meet with this Bauer, and you cover me from the staircase. The moment he shows his face you shoot him in the head and we’ll fight our way out from there.”
By the shocked expression on Silva’s face the idea of shooting a man in cold blood was not something he was happy about, and Munroe now clamped his hand onto the detective’s shoulder. “I know it sounds cold, but all we’ll get from these killers is torture and a slow death. Believe me, I know. We don’t have much of an option, so after I’ve lulled him into a false sense of security you make sure you blow the back of his fucking head off. No misses. Understand?”
Silva was now wide-eyed, and to say the man looked uncomfortable was an understatement. He offered a jerky nod of his head as from the speaker above the voice of Hans Bauer crackled into life once again.
“Err, gentlemen. You might want to know that this is a two-way speaker system.”
The revelation had Silva rolling his eyes and he gritted
his teeth in angst as Munroe replied, “Well, our cards are on the table then, Mr Bauer, so you better come and get us.”
There was silence for a moment, and then the suddenly the strip lights flickered back on and two black canisters dropped onto the floor of the reception area at the end of the corridor. Sparks flared outwards from their lids and dark plumes of smoke began to puff out from them, filling the area in a thick grey mist. Through it the hazy shapes of three men wearing gas masks began to emerge.
* * *
Up on the ground level the sound of shots echoed up the stairwell and into the main hallway as Hans Bauer, surrounded by eight armed guards, stood next to the main entrance and pressed his finger against a red speaker button contained inside a small hidden panel within the wall. “There is no way out of the basement, Mr Munroe. Please, for your own sake, stop resisting and let my men bring you upstairs. Despite what you may believe I have no interest in killing you. Consider it a professional courtesy between two warriors.”
The sound of scuffling feet and coughing could be heard on the other end, and then Munroe’s voice came across the speaker loud and clear.
“You’re not a warrior, Bauer, and this place is vast. I doubt you have enough grenades to fill it completely with smoke. You should also know Detective Silva has just alerted his men and they’re already on their way. Why don’t you just clear out and we’ll chalk this one up to experience.”
Bauer smugly chuckled at the desperate ploy, and he pressed the speaker button once again. “Oh I doubt that, Mr Munroe, and even if they did arrive my men would ensure they never made it past the front gates.”
There was a moment of silence and then Munroe came back on the line. “I’m sending one of your boys up alive, so don’t shoot. Consider it a professional courtesy.”
From the stairwell one of the guards wearing a navy-coloured flak jacket and body armour appeared and stumbled over to the other men, limping due to the gunshot wound to his shin. He pulled off his gas mask and dropped it to the floor, his face shining from the sweat and his teeth gritted together. “Bastards are holed up tightly. Those corridors are death traps, sir. If we had bulletproof shields we could take them easily.”
“We don’t have any, though, do we, idiot,” Bauer growled, furious at, as he saw it, his men’s incompetence. “Where are Delany and Josef?”
“Delany took one in the thigh and Josef is with him in the main reception room.”
“And where are Munroe and his friend?”
“They’re about halfway up corridor Z3. They’re using the rooms for cover.”
Another barrage of gunshots could now be heard and Munroe’s voice came back on through the speaker.
“You’re going to need more men, Hans. These two look like they’ve had enough.”
Bauer looked furious and he pushed the injured man towards the main entrance. “Get yourself back to HQ and get cleaned up.” He turned to the guard next to him. “Use the back entrance to the rear of the building. It leads to the lower level and the other end of corridor Z3, you know where it is. I’ll stay here and cover the stairwell. Take the other half of the men. When you find them throw down a couple of flashbangs and we’ll breach from this side. We’ll sandwich the pricks.”
The guard looked unsure of the order and he leant in closer to Bauer, not wanting the other men to hear. “Why don’t we just blow the whole place up, sir? We were going to level the building anyway, we have the ordinance.”
Bauer gazed back at him with an icy stare, not liking his orders questioned. “I want Munroe alive. What he knows could prove an asset to us.”
“Yes, sir.” Two more gas-masked guards appeared at the stairwell, one helping the other with a bloody wound in his thigh out through the main entrance. “And Detective Silva?”
Bauer watched the two wounded guards exit, looking furious. The death of his men was acceptable, and he had little if no compassion. Their type were nothing more than meat for the grinder, collateral damage, but the fact that Munroe and some two-bit cop were making them look foolish was what truly made his blood boil. “I don’t give a fuck about Silva, but Munroe lives. Until we’ve had time to extract any information. Understand? I’ll be waiting.”
The guard nodded sternly and with a click of his fingers to summon the others he headed outside through the front entrance, and they began making their way around to the rear of the building. Bauer unclicked a radio from his belt and laid it next to the red speaker button. “I appreciate you not killing my men, Mr Munroe. But how are we going to get this resolved? You can’t stay down there for ever.”
“You could offer safe passage and we go our separate ways.” Munroe’s voice crackled over the speaker, his throat now sounding strained as he coughed loudly. “I’m sure we’ll meet again.”
The coughing drew a smile from Bauer. “Yes, the smoke will get you. It’s eyewatering. But seeing as we could be here a while, why don’t we chat, Mr Munroe.”
“By all means,” Munroe replied, stifling the cough he wanted to unload.
“Tobias Kessler told me about your little back and forth, and I must say your escape was impressive. Pity for you it was too late to make a difference back at the Houses of Parliament. Such an ancient institution, ripe for a change, wouldn’t you agree?”
More sounds of coughing could now be heard and Munroe took a moment to clear his throat. “Just shy of a thousand years, Hans. It makes your boys’ twelve years in power look rather pitiful, wouldn’t you say? My AOL account lasted longer than that.”
“Maybe so, but our second time will last a lot longer than that. That’s where the name Daedalus comes from. We may have flown too close to the sun first time around, but this time those wings will never melt. That’s what our symbol represents. A pyramid that, despite the passage of time, has remained the only man-made constant since the dawn of civilisation. Then the maze concealing the core, the all-seeing eye radiating its hidden power over all it surveys. And it would appear we have more in common than you think. We’re both looking for Icarus, aren’t we? I wonder who will get to him first.”
Bauer released the speaker button just as a hushed voice came over the radio lying next to it.
“In position and ready to breach on your signal, sir.”
Bauer picked up the radio. One of the guards passed him a gas mask, which he slipped on, and then he went to stand at the back of the line of men forming up at the top of the stairwell, each with one hand on the shoulder of the man in front, an M4 machine gun readied in the other.
“Breach,” Bauer whispered into the radio, and seconds later the sound of flashbangs could be heard down below in the lower level as his group now zipped downstairs in unison with Bauer trailing at the rear.
The smoke from the previous smoke grenades had dispersed along the other corridors, leaving a mist which could be seen though easily, and as the line of guards piled into the reception area and forward down the corridor, Bauer saw the flashes of muzzle fire as he shouted into the radio, his voice muffled due to the gas mask.
“I want him alive.” He barged his way past the guards to a room where the other unit had already entered as someone inside yelled “Clear!”
With smug satisfaction Bauer came to a halt and stared down at the two men splayed out on the floor before him, and for the first time gazed into the eyes of Captain Ethan Munroe and Detective Silva.
Only it wasn’t them.
Delany and Josef, the two wounded guards, lay before him unconscious and with moist eyes due to the smoke. They had been stripped down to their briefs, and an array of shirts and clothes had been used to bind and gag them. On the floor between them sat an iPhone that had been put on loudspeaker.
“Sorry, Hans but we had to step out. Sure you understand.” Munroe’s voice boomed from the mobile’s speaker. “You know, I thought you’d be brighter for a man in your position.”
Bauer picked up the mobile and hurled it against the wall with such ferocity that the device shattered into
pieces, and then he yelled at the top of his voice, “Find them.”
* * *
Munroe hung up the call and passed the phone to Silva before accelerating the black Range Rover along the dirt road in the direction of the airport. “Make the call to your people. And you can take that off now.”
“Who are those people?” Silva yelled in frustration, removing his mask as he tapped a number into the iPhone and placed it to his ear.
“Better you don’t know,” Munroe replied, swerving past a deep pothole, “but when we get to the airport you should contact your government immediately. These are not the kind of people you want on your doorstep.”
From their position in the corridor in the depths of Dr Ferreira’s school of re-education the three men with gas masks coming through the smoke had been easy targets. Then a change of clothes later, once the other guard had retreated back upstairs and after tying up and gagging the two guards, Munroe had simply left Silva’s phone and called it using his, then walked up the stairs and out of the front door to the waiting Range Rover. No one, not even Bauer, had given them a glance, and seconds later they were driving out the front gate as they watched the team of guards heading to the rear of the house.
Silva had almost given the game away when they saw the dead Brazilian soldiers lying on the ground outside the building’s entrance, each with a single gunshot to the head, but the detective had kept his anger in check. From what Munroe knew of Silva, the man would not be the kind of person to let it go, and even though he understood how he felt the very nature of Daedalus meant any investigation would lead nowhere.
“I’m sorry about your men,” Munroe offered respectfully. “These people will pay, I promise.”
“Easy for you to say, Mr Munroe. I’m still in the dark about all this, and they were colleagues of mine.”