by James Rosone
“We’ve placed one Stinger with each of the weapon caches. I’m sorry we couldn’t give you more, but we have other militia units we need to arm and prepare for the coming fight.”
“OK. This is good though. I think we can do a lot of damage with what you’ve given us. Should we go out and talk to them now?” Robinson asked.
Van Rossum could tell the crowd was getting restless in the hangar. He nodded, then signaled for Robinson to lead the way. The two of them walked out of the backroom and headed for the podium.
Luitenant-Kolonel Maarten van Rossum walked up to the podium first. “Members of the Flint CDF, I want to tell you personally how proud of you I am. These past five weeks, you’ve shown yourselves to be true warriors—men and women willing to stand up to tyranny and defend your city and community. I know it is not easy to stand up to a dictator, but that’s what you have done.
“The coming weeks and months are going to be some tough times. There are going to be days when you’re going to want to give up, to turn yourself in. But I’m here to tell you that you need to stand and fight.”
He paused for a moment as he looked over the crowd. They were hanging on his every word, lapping up whatever he said like hungry animals. Van Rossum was loving it.
“I’m reminded of how your great nation was born. Did you know that your war of independence against the British was fought by no more than three percent of the population? It wasn’t fought by ten or even twenty percent of the colonies. It was won by three percent—three percent of the most dedicated, hard-core men and women in their communities. Well, as I stand here today, looking at all of you. I see you as the three percent of this war. You are the ones standing up for your community, for your loved ones and families.
“The next couple of months are going to be the toughest times in your life. Some of you—no, many of you—may be killed in the coming fights. But many more of you will live, and the sacrifice you’ll have made will help ensure your children and grandchildren will grow up free—free from that tyrannical dictator Sachs and his corrupt government.
“My men and I have been tasked with staying in the area to help advise your leaders on how best to deploy your militia to defeat the federal forces. I can tell you that in the coming days and weeks, Sachs’s soldiers are going to make a concerted effort to retake Michigan. We need to stand united against this force. Starting today, we are going to break this force down into smaller company-sized elements. Each company is going to have four of my commandos as advisors. When I dismiss you, my commandos will call you each over to your new section leaders. Listen to them. Follow their orders, and we will do our best to help lead you to victory.”
When van Rossum finished his impromptu speech, the crowd roared and clapped. There was a renewed sense of optimism, purpose, and pride.
*******
CIA Safe House, Brazil
What the hell is this? thought Roberto. Where am I? What’s going on?
Roberto Lamy woke up, still attached to the sensory deprivation equipment. His body felt almost weightless, yet he realized some straps were holding him into a chair.
How long have I been here? he wondered. The lights and noise overwhelmed his brain. Oh, God, make it stop!
Roberto struggled to wiggle his arms and legs again, but they were firmly tied to the chair. Suddenly he felt a new sensation; it was almost like he was falling. Then he felt his feet plant themselves on the ground. At that moment, the room stopped spinning. As if a miraculous answer to his prayer, the flashing lights and that godawful noise were all turned off. His eyes were a bit shocked by the steady light; everything felt hazy. The last time he felt like this, he was waking up after surgery.
“Mr. Lamy, can you hear me?” asked a voice. The sound was familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it.
Roberto blinked his eyes several times, and things became clear. He moved his hands up to his eyes and rubbed away the dried tears and crusts from the corners of his eyes. His vision returned to normal as his pupils finally adjusted to the bright light of the room.
He immediately noticed the whole room was bright white. The floor almost looked like it was illuminated by panel lighting. The walls were white, but he couldn’t tell what kind of material they were made of. The ceiling was a mix of paneling and very bright white lights. It almost felt as if he was in a sterile surgical room or laboratory of some sort.
Fingers snapped in front of him, bringing him back to reality. Sitting on a chair opposite a white metal table was the man who had first questioned him.
“Mr. Lamy, can you hear me?” the man asked again.
Practically whispering because of how raw his throat felt, Roberto said, “Water. Can I please have some water?”
Nodding, the mystery man reached down into a small backpack near his chair and produced a water bottle. He handed it to him.
Like a ravenous man who hadn’t had anything to drink in days, Roberto chugged the liquid down. In less than a minute, he had drained the bottle of its contents. Roberto immediately felt a lot better as his brain returned to normal and his body rehydrated itself. He no longer felt like he was floating in some black abyss. Then his stomach growled.
“Food. Can I please have some food?” he managed to ask.
Tilting his head to one side slightly, the mystery man smiled somewhat before replying, “All in due time. Do you know why you’re here?”
Roberto’s mind flooded with the recent memories of their last conversation. He remembered that he’d been asked about his relationship with Peng An. There was something else too…a deal or bargain that President Tate had made…he had to work hard to reach deep into his thoughts.
Yes. He wanted to know about the deal we had struck with him.
Looking back at the mystery man, Roberto pleaded, “Why have you kidnapped me? When can I go home?”
The man shook his head, ever so slightly. “The time to go home was earlier. We aren’t in Brazil anymore.”
Roberto’s jaw dropped open. Then he shouted, “Where am I?”
“Where you are is irrelevant. What is relevant right now is what you tell me next. The more you cooperate and talk, the sooner you can have something to eat, and the sooner I can move you to a more comfortable room.”
“I don’t know what you think I know, but you have your facts mixed up,” Roberto insisted. “I work in trade. My job is to help ensure there is free trade around the world and resolve trade disputes between nations.”
Brushing off his comments, the mystery man insisted, “You are far more than that, Mr. Lamy. I want to know what kind of deal you, Peng, and Behr have struck with Senator Marshall Tate.”
Roberto felt a bit panicked. He searched through his shattered mind for a way out of this situation. Maybe there is something else I can give them instead, he thought.
“The only deal I know about is the formal request Mr. Tate made to the UN to help remove Jonathan Sachs from office and recognize him as the legitimate leader of America.”
Roberto saw his answer did not satisfy the man. The man reached down and picked up the bag he had with him, placing it on his lap. He then proceeded to pull out a ball pin hammer and put it on the table. Next, he pulled out a Black & Dekker wireless drill and attached a long, thin drill bit. Each time he reached into his bag, he pulled something insidious out of it. Then he’d pause and look at Roberto, as if he was trying to size him up to see which one scared him the most.
Trying his best to remain calm and stoic in the face of what he could only conclude were devices that’d be used to torture him, Roberto did what he could to keep his face passive and not let the spectacle unfolding in front of him give away his true feelings of absolute terror.
“Which of these are you the most afraid of?” asked the mystery man.
As Roberto sized up the man sitting before him, he couldn’t fathom how he could be so stoic like that while talking about torturing someone. It was beyond Roberto’s ability to comprehend.
“You ar
e an evil, sick person!” he stammered. He felt rage building up inside him. Roberto was angry that he was still strapped to this chair, irate that he had been kidnapped and that he was going to miss his mother’s funeral. Most of all, he was furious that this bastard was taunting him with these devices.
The man just smiled a sick sadistic smile. He grabbed the drill and depressed the button. The high pitch whining of the motor and the rapid spinning of the drill bit caused Roberto to urinate on himself. The warm liquid running down his legs was a bleak reminder of just how powerless he was at this very moment.
That sick monster just smiled when he realized I peed myself, he realized. His captor was getting off on his fear and terror. Damn these evil Americans!
The mystery man leaned forward, placing himself closer to Roberto. “Enough games, Mr. Lamy. You are here for a reason. Now tell me about your relationship with Marshall Tate!”
“I don’t have a relationship with Mr. Tate,” Roberto insisted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The two of them argued for a few more minutes. The mystery man produced several phone transcripts, which he read aloud. He even made Roberto listen to a couple of audio intercepts to further drive home the point that he already knew quite a bit.
Roberto felt trapped. He knew he wasn’t going to hold out under torture, yet he also knew he couldn’t tell them everything. He had to figure out what he could share that wouldn’t endanger the entire plan.
Roberto’s eyes darted around the room. He still had no idea where he was, and he had no idea how long he’d been gone.
Will anyone be coming for me? he wondered. Does anyone even know what happened to me?
*******
Seth’s patience was running thin. This stubborn prisoner continued to deny even basic facts and the evidence being shown to him. He flashed back to Arab men he’d questioned that constantly repeated “Wa Allah Ma’arf,” which means “I swear to God I don’t know,” even when asked the most basic of questions.
After going round-and-round a couple more times, Seth knew it was time to bring out his other bag of tricks. Reaching down into his backpack, he grabbed the small leather case containing his other tools of the trade.
After placing the case on the table, Seth unzipped it and looked at the two syringes and the two bottles. Looking up at Roberto, he saw the color drain from the man’s face when his eyes settled on the contents of what was inside.
“It doesn’t have to be this way, Mr. Lamy. If you would just answer my questions, this could be a pleasant conversation over a meal. I could even have them cook up a few steaks for us if you’d like.”
Roberto just stared blankly at him.
Seth sighed. “Mr. Lamy, if you’re unwilling to talk with me, then I’m going to inject you with a substance that is going to make every nerve in your body feel as if you’re on fire. Your brain will be tricked into believing that you’re being burned alive. I can assure you; this is incredibly painful.
“You won’t die from it, but you’ll wish with every fiber in your body that you were dead. The pain is going to be so intense; you will beg me just to kill you. But I won’t. I will let you sit there and suffer until you have decided that you’ve had enough. When you’re ready to tell me the truth, I will give you another drug that will turn the pain off like a switch…but I’ll only do that if you tell me the truth.”
Seth searched Roberto’s face. He could see a flood of conflicting emotions on his prisoner’s face as he tried to determine if he should hold out or talk now. Seth had gone through interrogation resistance training, and he’d even had the drug administered to him—he knew exactly what was going through Roberto’s mind.
Leaning forward, Seth added, “Mr. Lamy, everyone breaks. There’s no shame in it. It’s just a fact of life. I know the question that is going through your mind right now—how long can I hold out? My question to you is, ‘why bother?’ You’re ultimately going to break. Everyone does. So why endure unimaginable pain and suffering when, at the end of the day, you’re going to tell me everything anyway. Save yourself that pain and suffering and just be straight and honest with me now.”
Roberto licked his lips, and his eyes darted to the now empty water bottle. A disappointed look appeared on his face.
Sensing that Roberto’s mind was now where he wanted it, Seth grabbed the second bottle of water he had in his bag and placed it in front of him.
“Go ahead, Mr. Lamy. Things are about to get painful, and you might as well hydrate yourself,” Seth said as he motioned for him to drink.
Grabbing the bottle, the prisoner unscrewed the cap and started downing it. He was apparently very thirsty. He emptied the bottle rapidly.
Seth watched Roberto closely. Maybe sixty seconds after he finished the bottle, his eyes dilated a bit. Smiling, Seth resumed his line of questioning.
“Do you mind if I call you Rob?”
Flashing a dopey smile, Roberto answered, “Sure. Most of my friends call me Rob,” Seth could tell from his rather jovial demeanor that the drugs had begun to have the desired effect.
“Thanks, Rob. I’m hungry. Would you like to join me for some lunch?” Seth asked warmly.
Licking his lips, Roberto responded, “I sure would. I’m famished.”
“Excellent.” Seth turned and said something to someone on the other side of the mirror. “They’ll bring us some Picanha and vegetables shortly.”
Rob smiled. Seth knew his prisoner was letting his guard down further as the drugs saturated his brain and lowered his mental ability to resist.
“I must say, Rob—that deal you guys struck with Marshall was brilliant. How did you manage to get him to agree to it?”
Roberto laughed out loud. “Never underestimate what a person is willing to do to achieve power,” he replied.
Seth played along and joined in the laughter. “Still. It was brilliant. You’re a master deal maker. What sealed the deal?” he asked.
“All that jerk cared about was being President. He didn’t care how or what he had to do so long as he became President.”
Seth snickered at the comment and tried to stay in character. “Do you think he’ll hold up his end of the bargain, though? You know, once that bloviating idiot Sachs is removed from office.”
Roberto shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. What I can say is if he doesn’t, Johann won’t hesitate in the least to expose him. Neither will Peng. Those are two people you don’t want to cross. They are the real masterminds.”
“Oh, come on. None of this could have happened without you, Rob. You’re the glue that holds everything together.”
“Me? No. I’m just the money guy. Erik and I were just responsible for making sure Marshall had the money he needed to run his campaign and win. Erik was responsible for funneling all sorts of money to that other SuperPAC. What was it called? Oh, yeah—One World. I don’t know how he pulled it off, but he managed to help them raise more than two hundred million dollars.”
Seth shook his head in astonishment and beamed at the man. “That’s impressive, Rob. How did Erik manage to do that? He’s just a small fish in a big pond. You’re the big fish,” Seth said as he continued to stroke the man’s ego.
Roberto laughed. “Erik, a small fish? No way. Erik Jahn is the investment guru at Norges Bank. You realize the portfolio he manages for Norway is valued at over 1.3 trillion USD, right? He has financial contacts all over the world and in nearly every major corporation. Once Johann and Peng put the plan into motion, Erik was able to funnel more money than you could believe to make it all happen. That idiot Sachs has a lot of enemies, you know. Hell, Erik was funding numerous SuperPACs to help Marshall. I only know of the one because that’s where my contacts were told to put their money.”
Just then, a couple of men opened the door and wheeled in a cart with their food on it. Prior to entering the room, Smith had worked it out that these men would be dressed in high-end suit jackets, slacks, and shoes, to give the appearance th
at Seth and Roberto were dining at some high-end restaurant. The servers had a white cloth draped across their left arm while they set the table between Seth and Roberto with real silver forks and steak knives.
One of the guards nodded slightly at Seth as he placed another bottle of water in front of Roberto, who greedily opened it up and started drinking from it. Then they pulled the silver cloches off their plates to reveal a wonderfully prepared meal of Picanha, which is almost like an American skirt steak. They also had asparagus that had been specially cooked in bacon fat to give it an even more robust flavor, along with a twice-baked potato. To complete the meal, the servers placed a small bowl next to their plates, which contained a fresh garden salad. Before leaving, one of the servers had managed to remove Roberto’s hand restraints without him even realizing it had been done.
When the servers left, Seth picked up his fork and ate his salad. Roberto did the same. As Rob was eating, Seth reached for the bottle of red wine the servers had left behind.
“Would you like a glass?” he asked.
Roberto nodded like a person who has had one too many drinks. At that point, he was definitely feeling the double whammy of the drugs—he was barely able to keep his head from falling into the plate of food in front of him. Based on his experience, Seth knew that as far his prisoner’s mind was concerned, he was at a fine restaurant, eating a traditional Brazilian meal with a friend.
Seth poured them both a glass of Casa Valduga, Terroir Leopoldina Merlot, an award-winning Brazilian wine only served at expensive restaurants or in the homes of the wealthy.
Returning them to the task at hand, Seth asked, “What where the details of the deal you all had made with Marshall? I can’t help you make sure he stays accountable to them if I don’t know all of the details.”
Roberto creased his forehead. “What is your position again?” he asked, slurring his words.
“I’m one of Marshall’s senior advisors; I’ve been with him from the beginning. Peng said I’m supposed to help him put the country back together after that treasonous bastard Sachs is finally removed.”