by Chris Ryan
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said Azim. 'Flatner and his idiots, they knew nothing. Just like those idiots in Abu Ghraib back in Iraq. Brute force, that's all they understand.'
He was toying with a thin glass tube, turning it over and over in his hands. 'But torture is a subtle art, as subtle in its own way as the arts of love. Your victim is like a woman. You must coax him to give up his secrets, just as you would coax a woman into giving up her innocence.'
'And what if your victim doesn't know anything?'
'But he will, Josh, he will,' said Azim. 'You see, a man's memory is a delicate thing. The Arab world has its own traditions of medicine. The greatest doctors of medieval times were all Arab. Much of their wisdom might have been lost, but there are still lessons that have been passed down through the ages. And one of them is about memory'
Christ, thought Josh. This guy's trying to bore me to death.
Azim held up the glass tube between his fingers. Inside Josh could see a pale red liquid. 'A memory can be restored through care, treatment and rest,' Azim continued. 'But it can also be restored through pain and suffering. The careful application of pain can sharpen and sensitise the nerves until the mind yields up its secrets. Trust me, when you want to die enough, then your memory will come back.'
'What the hell is that?' said Josh, nodding towards the tube.
'Blood, Josh. Your blood.'
Josh could feel his stomach muscles tightening.
'We took a pint while you slept,' continued Azim. 'And we're going to keep taking pints/rom you. Our blood is our strength. You're a soldier, you know the truth of that. Without our blood, we are nothing, we are weak. And that's how I want you, Josh. Weak.'
Azim flung the tube down. Josh could hear the glass cracking and splintering. He could see the liquid spill out, spreading a thick crimson stain across the floor. My own blood, he thought in appalled fascination.
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'Talk to me,' barked Azim.
'Piss off.'
'Talk to me,' shouted Azim again, his voice louder this time.
Josh struggled to stay silent. A rage was burning within him. His head was spinning, and his vision weak. With mental fingertips, he was clinging desperately to the memories that he'd recovered last night. Paula. My wife, or maybe ex-wife. And Emily. My daughter. Suddenly he could see her smile and hear her laugh as vividly as if she was cuddling up to him in his arms. That's something to survive for -- and something worth dying for, too, he thought.
'You're a fool, Josh. You're going to tell me, and then you're going to die. Make it easy for yourself
'Piss off,' yelled Josh again, summoning as much strength as possible into his voice.
Josh tried to lash out with his hand, trying desperately to strike Azim, but the chain binding him to the bed cut into his skin. He could see Azim pulling a white handkerchief from his jacket pocket. He slowly unfolded it, revealing three white pills. 'Here,' he said, leaning down in front of Josh. 'Take them.'
'What the hell are they?'
'Two aspirin, and one warfarin,' said Azim.
Josh hesitated. Aspirin was a painkiller, and warfarin was a drug given to heart patients and anyone else who needed their blood thinning. Christ, realised Josh, aspirin thins the blood as well, that's why it too is recommended to heart patients. If you get a cut after taking those three pills it will be impossible for the body to form a clot to stop the bleeding. The blood is going to pour out of you like a tap.
'Fuck off,' spat Josh. 'If you want me to bleed to death, then just cut me open, you bastard.'
He glanced up. The woman had walked into the room and was standing at the foot of the bed, with a syringe in her hand. She stood close to the bed, looking down at Josh.
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'Take the pills, Josh,' said Azim. 'It will hurt less than the injection, and the end result will be the same. Any anticoagulant can be taken as a pill or a jab, as I'm sure you know.'
'Just get her away from me,' shouted Josh.
'Talk to me, then,' snapped Azim.
Josh stayed silent.
'Jab him,' Azim said, glancing towards the woman.
The needle stabbed into the flesh of his thigh. Josh tried to struggle, but against the cuffs on his hands and leg it was useless. The woman stirred the syringe around, searching for a vein, then squeezed hard. The liquid disappeared. Josh yelped as the needle was pulled roughly out of his body.
'I'll give you another chance,' said Azim coldly. 'Tell me where Luke is.'
'Do your worst, you bastard.'
Azim drew a knife from his pocket. Nothing fancy. Just a plain steel kitchen knife, four inches long, the sort of thing for chopping onions. Doesn't matter, thought Josh grimly. It'll do the job.
'Spare us both the misery, Josh,' said Azim.
Josh bit his tongue, preparing himself for the pain that he now accepted was inevitable. Azim leaned over the side of Josh's body, examining him the way a butcher might examine a steak that he was about to carve. He held the knife steady in his hand, then jabbed it into the top of Josh's shoulder. Josh cried out in pain as blood started to seep from the wound. He could fejl himself getting drowsier as the drugs took effect. Blood was gushing from the wound, turning the sheets bright crimson.
Josh closed his eyes. The strength was draining out of him, as if he was about to die.
The sound of the television roused Josh from his slumber. He opened his eyes, blinking hard at the screen. The news.
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A blonde woman was mouthing the words, but Josh was struggling to concentrate.
More blood, he realised. They took more blood out of me while I was sleeping. The strength is literally draining out of me.
'Another terrifying Three Cities Attack,' said the newsreader on the TV screen.
Josh tried to calm his mind as he focused on what she was saying. A harsh neon light was filling the room, and the television was turned up loud. His throat was parched, and his limbs felt numb and lifeless. Hunger was gnawing away at his gut.
'In a pattern that is now terrifyingly familiar, there were blackouts today in Little Rock, Arkansas, in Birmingham, Alabama, and in Jersey City. In each city, the power was switched off at nine a.m. local time precisely, and remained switched off for one hour. Local law-enforcement authorities reported widespread panic, confusion and chaos as traffic systems, airports, schools and hospitals were all shut down. But after this four-th attack - the third in just a few days the emergency services already have in place a well rehearsed plan for dealing with them. Within minutes of the attack, National Guard personnel were patrolling the streets, preventing the outbreaks of looting and rioting seen in earlier incidents. Still, two people in Birmingham died when a truck rammed into a hairdressing salon after failing to spot an emergency traffic signal. And one person died in Little Rock when the power was turned off during heart surgery and the hospital's back-up generators failed to switch on in time.'
Josh squinted at the screen, trying to shake off the pounding headache beating at the inside of his forehead and the terrible waves of fear that were assaulting his nervous system. Another attack, he told himself. Luke's still out there. But where the hell is he? And why the hell does he keep doing this?
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'After yet another attack, more and more people are becoming convinced this must be the work of terrorists, possibly al-Qaeda,' continued the newsreader. 'A spokesman for the Pentagon said earlier today that, despite earlier denials, the possibility that terrorists may have worked out a way to hijack power systems is now being taken seriously. We are going to go over live now to our correspondent at the Pentagon, Ken Flagstaff. Ken, what's the latest you're hearing?'
Azim flicked off the television. He stood over the bed, looking down at Josh, his expression a mixture of pity and contempt.'We don't need to listen to some prattling reporter outside the Pentagon, do we, Josh? We know who's responsible for these blackouts. All we need to know now
is where to find him.'
Josh looked first at the blank TV screen, then up at Azim. He could feel himself starting to become afraid, and the emotion disgusted him. He had felt many different emotions in his life: despair, anger, confusion, rage -- they were all part of what a soldier expected to experience on the field of battle.
But abject, cowardly fear? I hoped I could always resist that.
'So where is he, Josh? Where is he?'
Josh shook his head. 'I've told you that I don't know.'
Azim clapped his hands together. The woman walked into the room. She was still dressed all in white, and she still had a veil wrapped around her mouth, as if she refused to breathe the air of a room that Josh had slept in. Her brown eyes turned icily towards where he was lying, and Josh sensed that she was enjoying herself: there was a hint of amusement in her expression as she advanced towards him at a snail's pace.
She had a wicker basket in her hands.Through the silence, Josh could hear the sound of something rustling.
Please God, not another snake.
'First we get J-O-S-H. Then we get H-E-L-P' Azim paused.'And now we get L-B-J.What does that mean, Josh?'
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He shrugged.'Lyndon B.Johnson. An American President during the Vietnam War.'
Azim shook his head. 'I don't think so. Unless it's some kind of clue. I think it's a message. He asks you for help, then he tells you where to find him. I think the letters L, B and J mean something. Either in that order, or in some other sequence. But that's the signal. So where is he, Josh?'
'I don't know, I've told you that.'
The woman stepped closer. Josh thought that he could smell the snake inside her basket.
'Tell me, Josh,' said Azim, his voice growing louder. 'Tell me, and I'll let you die like a man.'
'I don't know,' shouted Josh. 'I've bloody told you that.'
Azim clapped his hands together. Silently, the woman unfastened the basket. The head of a snake slipped out. Its pale green-eyed stare darted hungrily around the room. About three feet long, with banded black, red, and ivory skin, the muscles in its neck were straining as it looked across at Josh. From its manic writhing Josh could tell that the animal was starving. Probably not been fed for a couple of days, he realised with mounting dread. The bastard is going to bite everything in sight.
Azim tapped Josh's chest with his cane. 'We're going to keep doing this until you tell me,' he said flatly.
'I'd tell you if I knew,' Josh yelled. 'Just keep it bloody off me.'
'The pain will stir your memories, Josh. When you genuinely want to die, then you'll tell me.'
'Just keep the snake off me, please. Please.'
Josh could hear his own whimpering and hated himself. He was willing himself to be strong, but the strength was ebbing out of him. Another day, another two days, maybe three at most. I'm starting to break. I can feel it.
'Just one bullet, Josh, and this can all be over,' said Azim. 'Just tell me what I want to know.'
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Josh remained silent, clenching his fists. Another place, he told himself angrily. Take yourself to another place.
'Let it out,' said Azim angrily, turning on his heels and walking out of the room.
The woman placed the open basket at the foot of the bed. The snake slithered out, its long thin body sliding up across the sheets and rubbing against Josh's body. It moved roughly across him.
Josh screamed, a curling howl that seemed to fill the tiny room.
The snake paused and looked at Josh, first in surprise, then with curiosity. It flicked its tail angrily against the skin of Josh's thigh. Then it started sniffing his chest.
I know, thought Josh, suddenly terrified by the knowledge sweeping over him. I know what L, B and J means. And I know where I can find Luke.
Josh rolled over onto his side. There was a terrible pain in his cliest where the snake had bitten him. Looking down, he could see the marks where its fangs had dugs deep into his skin, and he could see where his own blood had dripped onto the white sheets.
He tried to see if the snake was lying somewhere in the room, satiated and sleeping. But he could see no sign of it.
He had been lying awake for an hour now. The ceiling's fluorescent lights were shining down on him. He no longer had any idea what time it was. Nor what day it was. The fruit had been taken away, and so Ijad the water. His body felt weak and exhausted. Josh had no idea what it was like to die, but he wouldn't have been surprised if it felt something very much like this.
He could remember the snake sinking its teeth into his chest. He could remember losing consciousness as the waves of fear, pain and disgust had washed through him. And he could remember something else as well: a set of memories
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that had come flooding back into his mind just before he'd gone under. Josh couldn't be sure if it was the blood loss or the snakes' venom that was making him remember.
But he ordered himself to hold on to them. TTtose memories may be the thread on which your life is hanging.
Josh struggled to concentrate, slowly reassembling the elements of the story. The initials meant something. L, B, and J were a code, a set of letters that he and Luke had agreed with each other. He couldn't recall the precise time or place, but he could see the picture as clearly as if it were playing on the TV in front of him. He and Luke were sitting in the mountains somewhere. There were rocks and boulders behind them, and scrubland stretching below them. A small campfire was burning next to them, providing the only illumination apart from the stars and the moon in the sky. Luke had a laptop open on his knees. The machine was plugged into a car battery placed next to them in the dust. They were discussing something, although not all the words were clear to Josh. He could see Luke's lips moving, but he couldn't hear all- the words. Word by word, Josh started to piece together what had been agreed between them. If they were separated in the next twenty-four hours, then Luke would contact Josh by switching off the power in three different cities. The first letters of those cities would be a code: use the code and it would give you the GPS coordinates of where the other person had hidden themself. L, B, and J, were the letters. All Josh would need was a GPS machine that could be j>icked up for a few dollars in any electronics store and that would tell him where Luke was.
I know, he realised. / know where Luke is.
Josh, help. L, B and J.
But what possible help can I be to him now?
The best I can hope for is to die quickly without revealing where he is.
Josh lay silently in the bed. The handcuffs were still
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holding his hands and one foot in place, and he had stopped trying to move. The next few hours and days were going to be the hardest of his life, he told himself. As long as his memory had been shot to pieces, it had been possible to take the torture. That's why commanders send out their men with only the minimum of information. That's why terrorists organise themselves in cells, with no contact between different groups even in the same town. You can't reveal any secrets you don't know, no matter what they do to you.
But now I know. And at some point they're going to squeeze the information out of me. The will-power of even the strongest man will snap eventually. It's just a matter of finding his breaking point.
Josh steeled himself. At some point Azim would be back. So would the woman. They would have snakes with them. Maybe something worse. My best hope is to provoke them, he told himself grimly. I need to rile them. I need to get their blood up so high they make a mistake.
/ need to push them over the edge. So that they kill me.
Josh could feel the silence all around him. He didn't want to die, he knew that. Enough memories had come back to him in the past few days for him to know that there was a life back home waiting for him. There was Paula. He thought they had split up, but she was still the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Maybe they'd all get back together some day. There was Kate too. He still had no way of knowing wh
ether she'd escaped Flatner and his thugs. If she was okay, if he escaped, maybe there would be something between them. And most of all there was Emily. A little girl with the looks of an angel. Emily. My daughter. Whatever happens, I must act in a way that would at least make her proud of my memory.
/ don't mind dying if I have to. So long as it's dignified.
The door slid open. There was a creak where the hinge needed oiling, and Josh had learned to fear the sound. He
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glanced upwards. The woman was slipping silently into the room. In the past day, Josh had also started to recognise her scent: a mixture of onions, cheap perfume and disinfectants. His stomach was already churning as he took in the vile smell. He could see a long syringe in her hands, its metal tip sparkling under the neon light. My blood, realised Josh. They're coming to drain more blood from me.
He lay perfectly still. Azim had a cold intelligence that Josh could only respect.The woman was more hot-blooded. Her eyes were full of anger and contempt. The rage within her was always going to make her vulnerable. If she was provoked, she might lash out.
Of the two of them, she's more likely to make a mistake. She's the one who might kill me.
She was leaning over him now, looking at his skin. Josh kept his eyes closed, tracking her movements by the stale smell of her breath. She thinks I'm asleep, he told himself. He felt the needle jab his shoulder. The metal tip was thick, and he could feel his nerves stinging as it pierced the skin and started probing its way towards the vein. Now, he told himself. Strike.
Using all the strength he had left, Josh bucked upwards with a sharp jerking motion. 'Get the fuck off me, you bitch,' he roared.
The woman looked petrified, as if Josh had just risen from the grave. The hypodermic fell out of her hand and onto the floor. For a moment she froze, unable to move. Josh was heaving himself up, ignoring the pain of the handcuffs cutting into his wrists. 'Untie me, you bloody bitch,' he shouted. 'Untie me before I bloody kill you.'
The woman slapped him hard on his cheek.
'Kanith, kanith,' shouted Josh.
I may not have learned much Arabic in my time as a soldier. But I know the word for 'Fucker'.