by Tom Hunter
Soon the six of them were huddled around a café table in the departure lounge, plotting their next move.
“I’m conscious that the longer it takes us to find the remaining artifacts, the longer Fatima is in danger,” Samuel began. “That’s why we need to hit the ground running when we reach Atbara. If Fatima is the kind of woman I think she is, she’ll hold out against the Bruard for as long as she can, but we’ve all heard the stories of just how persuasive they can be.”
“May I make a suggestion?” put in Waleed. “Would you let me procure us some arms when we get into town? I don’t know about the rest of you, but quite frankly, I’m rather tired of being outgunned by the Bruard.”
“I don’t know,” began Samuel dubiously, just as Josh broke in.
“I hate to say it, but Waleed’s right,” he agreed.
Waleed did a double take. “Did you just say that I’m right?” He blinked a few times in quick succession, eyes wide. “Can I have that in writing?”
“Don’t push your luck,” warned Josh. “But I do think that we need a different approach moving forward. We keep going into these dangerous situations with nothing but research and balled-up fists to defend ourselves. We’ve been lucky so far, but luck can run out at any time. The Bruard only need to get lucky once. Sooner or later, if we don’t do something to protect ourselves, one of us is going to get themselves killed. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I don’t want to see that happen.”
“I hear what you’re saying, but I’m not convinced that guns are the way to go,” Samuel said. “We’ve always managed without them so far. Sure, there’ve been a few hairy moments, but unless you’re willing to pull the trigger at the second when it counts, it’s just as likely that your attacker will be able to take the gun from you and then all you’ve done is arm your enemy. Do you really think you could look a man in the eye and gun him down? Besides, the only way to get hold of guns quickly is to go through a smuggler or gangster, which is all getting a little too shady for my liking. We haven’t got time to follow legal protocols, assuming we’d even be eligible for a gun in the first place, and I don’t know any handy gun dealers.”
“But you do know someone who does, my friend,” beamed Waleed. “I can take care of that side of things. All you need to do is supply me with a little capital to work with once we arrive. I’ll handle the rest.”
“And how do we know you won’t just disappear with all the money once we’re there?” Samuel arched an eyebrow.
“The old me might have done that,” Waleed conceded. “But I am as much a part of this mission as the rest of you, and I don’t fancy living under Bruard rule. You can trust me. I’ll arm us.”
“But what happens if your contact wants to know what the weapons are going to be used for?” asked Shafira. “One mention of the Bruard and what’s to stop them selling us out? I’m sure the Bruard have put a price on our heads by now. For all we know, the entire underworld could be watching out for us.”
“I can tell you haven’t dealt with many gun dealers,” scoffed Waleed.
“Funnily enough, no,” snapped Shafira. “And I fail to see how that’s a bad thing.”
“They’re not going to ask what the guns are for,” Waleed told her. “As far as they’re concerned, the less they know, the better. It gives them plausible deniability should our weapon ever be traced back to them. Whether we need the guns to rob a bank or kill a love rival, they simply don’t care. All they want is their money. Give them enough and they’ll keep their mouths shut alright.”
“But is it even the right or smart thing to do to give money to a gun dealer?” put in Basile. “It’s not as though we’ve got unlimited resources. We’re not government funded and the Knights of the Spring Dream haven’t exactly been generous either. We’ve only got what’s in our bank accounts and on our credit cards and with the number of flights we’re having to book, we’re going to run out of cash pretty soon.”
“We do have to be careful to spend our money wisely,” nodded Samuel. “I’m not sure that a gun is the best investment right now. What if we can’t afford an important flight because we’ve blown everything on a rifle?”
“Samuel.” Shafira dug her elbow into his side and nodded at an approaching security guard. She lowered her voice. “Maybe talking about purchasing firearms isn’t the wisest thing we could do at an airport?”
“Fair enough.” Samuel stretched and nodded. “Let’s pick this up later.”
“All passengers for flight 182 to Atbara, please make your way to Gate 3 where your flight is ready for boarding.”
“That’s us!” said Josh, when he heard the tannoy announcement. “Come on. Let’s get on that plane. We’ve still got a long way to go.”
Six
Gord closed the door to the interrogation room, leaving the light on for the benefit of the prisoner left inside. Whether this was as a courtesy to her, or to make it harder for her to get any rest was open to interpretation.
Pin grimaced in distaste as he pulled off his blood-soaked gloves, and tossed them in a corner of the antechamber for the servants to pick up later. He sniffed in distaste when he noticed the large stain down the front of his coat, as he crossed to the sink on one side of the room and began to scrub his hands thoroughly.
Gord stood by patiently, St. Augustine’s hat tucked under one arm. At last, Nam-Gi was satisfied that his hands were fully cleansed and he grabbed a clean towel, rubbing it over his hands, front and back, then front again.
“A moderately successful session,” he determined. “I am unsurprised that she didn’t tell us anything at this stage. Still, it was only the first of many. We have established that we are serious about our goals. I’m sure our Fatima will open up more as our work together progresses. There are still plenty of bones to break.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” Gord observed. “I’m not convinced the old lady will last if we keep pushing her the way you were.”
“What’s this I hear?” Pin mocked. “Is the brute Gord finally getting tired of violence? I thought you enjoyed a little roughhousing. You can’t tell me you’re getting soft in your old age?”
There was an edge to his voice that Gord ignored.
“Hey, I love a good fight as much as the next man,” he said. “But it’s only fun if your opponent has at least a small chance of beating you. That’s why I let Haisam go before I hunted him down. Of course, he didn’t stand a chance of escaping me, but how else am I supposed to keep my skills sharp if Haisam didn’t believe that it was a possibility? I need a challenge and if he’d beaten me, then he’d have earned his right to freedom.”
“You know, Gord,” sighed Pin. “You really should have figured out by now that playing with one’s food for too long only makes it more likely that someone else will steal your meal, leaving you hungry.”
He reached over and grabbed the papal cap away from Gord. He cradled it affectionately as he gazed longingly at the embroidery, lost in thought. Gord said nothing, working hard to restrain the urge to raise his eyebrows at the strange, obsessive fondness Pin seemed to be developing for the relic.
Finally, Pin tore his attention away from the hat, blinking as if coming out of a trance. Clearing his throat to cover his embarrassment, he nodded slowly.
“Alright,” he said to Gord. “For now, we shall give Fatima some time to relax and recuperate before the next session. Let her think that she kept all her secrets to herself. She would be devastated if she realized that she’s already given us one key piece of information.”
“Really?” Gord frowned. “Were we in the same room? All I remember is you asking her questions. Most of the time she ignored them. When she could be bothered to speak, she hurled insults at you. How was any of that useful?”
“You are right that she didn’t give us anything overtly helpful,” Pin nodded. “However, if you’d been paying that much attention, you’d have noticed that all the questions I asked were based on the relic and how it works. Her r
eactions told me that she’s confident that we don’t yet have everything we need to activate it. That means that my theory is correct. Our work here is not yet done. Given that we snatched her away from the clutches of Samuel McCarthy and his precious gang, I think it is a reasonable assumption that she’s sent them on a little errand to thwart us. We need to know more about the assignment she’s given them.”
“Do you want me to mobilize a squad to track them down?” Gord offered. “I have a few contacts in the field who’d be able to trace their movements. We can eliminate them as a threat and then retrieve whatever else we need at our leisure.”
“There’s no need.” Pin shook his head. “In fact, I think we should let Samuel do all the hard work for us. Let him gather together all the puzzle pieces. We can then take them from him and assemble the jigsaw to unlock the true mystery of this beautiful object.”
He held up the papal cap, admiring the way the light reflected from the gold thread running through the seams.
“All right. Do you want me to send in the doctor to go in and clean up after us?” Gord asked.
There was no reply. Pin merely cooed at the hat.
Gord tutted and shook his head, turning away to fetch the medic. His exit went unnoticed, as Pin was far too focused on the relic to care what his henchman was doing.
Seven
Pin sat in his room, the three pronged trident of the Bruard’s symbol glinting in the light cast by the desk lamp next to his elbow. On the desk in front of him was a dinner plate piled high with a steak dinner, lovingly prepared and artistically laid out by his chef. It was truly a feast for all the senses.
All that hard work was going to waste, however, as Pin completely ignored the food. He leaned back in his chair, lightly stroking St. Augustine’s hat. Sitting up straight, he put the cap on. As he felt its light weight on his head, he closed his eyes to focus his mind, attempting to psychically meld with its incredible powers. After a few minutes, he took it off again, shoving his untouched food out of the way so that he could safely place the hat on his desk without staining it.
He stared at it, wondering if there was some secret inscription he’d missed, some hidden message he had yet to interpret.
“What am I missing?” he muttered, tapping a finger against the desk. “Think, Pin, think!”
A rapping at the door broke his concentration.
“Go away!” Pin barked.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, but it’s important that I speak with you.”
Pin sighed as he recognized the physician’s voice. “Very well,” he ordered. “You may enter.”
Doctor Ali pushed open the door, quietly closing it behind him before approaching the desk. He bowed deeply before Pin. “Esteemed Master,” he began. “I have a report concerning the old woman.”
“Yes?” huffed Pin.
“Well, Esteemed Master,” stammered the doctor, “while I appreciate that you did what you thought was best, I’m afraid that you and Gord were a little too wild in your questioning of the prisoner. I know that she is an enemy of the Bruard, but I am assuming that you have a need for her, or she would not be here. Given that she is still alive, I took the liberty of presuming that you did not get all the information you required from her, so I did my best to patch her up in order for her to be able to face more questioning. I was able to save her from the bruising and blood loss–this time. However, if you continue to treat her in that fashion, I doubt that she will survive a second session with either of you.”
“Is that right?” sneered Pin. “And what lead you to that conclusion?”
“The prisoner has a broken arm,” the doctor began.
“Indeed? And how could you diagnose that without an X ray?”
“I have seen plenty of broken arms in my time. It’s not difficult to see that a limb is broken when her lower arm is crooked, Esteemed Master,” the doctor replied, working hard to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “I have set it as best I can, but she will be in a great deal of pain for quite some time. In addition, there are a number of contusions around the area, as well as on her face and across her torso. I suspect a few broken ribs as well, so I have strapped her up to alleviate some of the discomfort. Her lip is cut deeply, so I have put in a couple of stitches. However, there will be a scar once it heals. Her left kneecap is completely shattered. I have wrapped it up with fast-healing bandages, but she’ll be walking with a limp for the rest of her life. While none of these are an immediate threat to her survival unless an infection sets in, given her age, her heart may not be able to withstand another session of similar treatment.”
“And what do you suggest I do about all that?” Pin arched an eyebrow. “The health of the subject is your concern, not mine. If you cannot do your job, then that would suggest a deficiency in your skills, would it not? Do I need to hire a new medic?”
“Not at all.” The doctor gulped, but maintained his composure. “However, I would advise that I be allowed to sit in during the interrogation to alleviate the worst excesses of Gord’s behavior. I know that he can be a little… enthusiastic in his questioning. If I’m there, I can ensure that he doesn’t take things too far. I would hate for either of us to let you down in your quest for information.”
“You believe that Gord is too enthusiastic?” mused Pin, thinking back to how Gord had been merely a passive observer during the questioning. “Interesting. Well, while I take your points on board, I must decline your request. We are dealing with sensitive information and you do not have the required clearance. Whilst I could authorize your presence, I would only have to execute you at the end of proceedings to ensure your silence. Thank you for your input. Your points have been given their due consideration. You may leave now.”
He waved away the doctor, but the medic stood his ground. “Perhaps I was not clear, Esteemed Master. Whilst I pride myself on the level of my skill, I am a physician, not a god. With the best will in the world, I cannot work miracles. Your subject was pushed almost to the point of no return in just one session and that was when she was in full health. Treat her like that again and she will not survive the encounter. What will happen then if you don’t have all the sensitive information you require? Do you seriously expect me to resurrect the dead?”
Slowly, deliberately, Pin pushed his chair away from the desk and stood up. Clasping his hands behind his back, he carefully picked his way towards the doctor.
Suddenly, he rushed forward, grabbing the doctor by his collar and throwing him against the wall. Pushing him up so that he was standing on tiptoe, Pin placed his forearm against the medic’s throat, forcing him to fight for air.
“Are you aware of what I do to disrespectful insubordinates?” he said lightly, as if they were discussing the weather. “In your case, I would tread particularly carefully. Since you are the only doctor on the island, were anything untoward to happen to you, there is no one who can treat your wounds.”
“You’re not going to do anything to me.” The physician shook his head as best he could against Pin’s restraining arm. “You’ve just said it yourself. I’m the only medic for miles around. My skills are far too valuable for you to risk losing.”
“No one is irreplaceable,” Pin snarled, pushing harder against the doctor’s throat, making him gurgle as he fought for air.
Pin narrowed his eyes, tilting his head to one side as if he could hear someone calling him. He stepped back, releasing the doctor. The man sank to his knees, clutching at his throat and choking now that he was free to breathe again.
Pin shook his head, brushing his clothes down to straighten them. “I must apologize,” he said. “I don’t know what came over me. You are, of course, correct. You are a vital member of our team. Your input is crucial to the success of our mission.” He reached down to help the man up to his feet. “Please. Enlighten me as to your opinion on the best way to proceed. A few cuts and scrapes notwithstanding, the safety of our subject is my prime concern, just as it is yours.”
The d
octor cleared his throat, his voice breaking when he first began to speak. “As I’m sure you’re aware, physical violence isn’t the only way of obtaining information from a suspect. Given the woman’s current state, she needs time to heal before you can risk breaking her body any further. However, there are still plenty of highly effective alternatives available that will increase your chances of her giving you what you seek without jeopardizing her life.”
“Fascinating. Do go on.” Pin gestured to the doctor to continue as he returned to his seat. Picking up the papal cap, he carefully placed it on his head, putting his elbows on his desk, and clasping his hands together to provide a resting place for his chin. He gazed at the doctor as if utterly captivated by every word.
“Well, I’m sure you’ve heard of waterboarding,” the doctor continued. “There is a reason why it continues to be a perennial favorite among torturers. It works without causing the types of injury I witnessed today.”
“Ah yes,” nodded Pin. “That is the technique that induces a sensation of drowning in the victim, is it not?”
“It is,” confirmed the doctor. “And make no mistake–the individual is drowning. In the hands of the unskilled, it is possible to kill someone using this method. However, used appropriately, it can bring near miraculous results.”
“Hmmm. I can certainly imagine why,” murmured Pin, reaching up to stroke at the hat on his head. “Imagine that feeling of claustrophobia, your mouth and nose completely covered, water forcing its way into your lungs as you fight for breath. There’s no respite. As they take the waterlogged cloth away, you vomit up water, liquid pouring out of every orifice, the burn of stomach acid adding to the pain. With no time to recover, the cloth is back over your face, more water coming in to replace what’s been lost. You lose consciousness, a brief respite from the agony of near death, but the moment you’re brought round, it all starts again, an endless cycle of anguish. Are you willing to spin that wheel? As a doctor, devoted to preserving life at all costs, could you face the look in her eyes as she silently pleads with you to release her?”