*
Oscar remained motionless, and the claw remained in the same position: attached to the creases of his scrotum, only without Besson’s hand on the handle. Besson’s assistant had taken control of the claw, leaving him to concentrate on the interrogation. So far, Oscar was being very accommodating with his answers, but he wasn’t giving anything away, but every answer he had given would prove to be a red herring. Although in a precarious position, Oscar would never consider naming names, not even if his balls depended on it.
‘I think that you have been very helpful, but I’m afraid that I know the lengths that people will go to in order to spare themselves from the pain of torture—and you will not be spared!’ Besson said as he relinquished his assistant of the claw.
Besson pulled on the claw slightly, just enough to cause Oscar to scream, but he had other ideas as to how he was going to cause Oscar further discomfort. The claw was removed, and Oscar’s underwear was replaced.
‘I am going to go for a break,’ said Besson. ‘In that time, I want you to think long and hard about the answers that you have given me. I am far from convinced that you are telling me the truth. However, I must commend you. Your loyalty to your compatriots is very noble, but it isn’t doing you any favours!’
The door to the interrogation room swung open and Besson left silently, clicking it shut behind him. A sense of relief swept over Oscar’s pain-racked body; the respite was most welcome. Besson’s assistant remained in the room, keeping a close watch on Oscar while preparing the equipment for the next assault.
*
Jen somehow managed to exhaust herself into sleep in an uncomfortable, uneasy standing position. Besson purposely walked by her cell so that he could gaze on her lovely face before he began to work on her fragile state of mind. For five minutes he stood gazing upon her serenity, thinking sadistic thoughts of how he was going to punish her for eluding him for so long.
‘It’s your turn next, my pretty!’ he whispered just before walking away.
In the darkest reaches of her subconscious, Jen was vaguely aware of a sinister presence lurking nearby. The last person she would have expected it to be was Simon Besson, her self-professed nemesis.
On his short break, Besson had come to the conclusion that Oscar was not going to be of much use to him. The lad certainly wasn’t in a fit state to withstand any further punishment on his fragile, bloodied frame. At that moment Besson had decided he wanted Jen, sparing Oscar from sampling the other torturous implements that had been put aside for him.
Whistling off-key, Besson went back to the interrogation room and intentionally flung the door open with a resounding bang, making Oscar jump with trepidation.
‘It’s your lucky day, Mr. Saracen—I have no further use for you at this time!’ He turned to his assistant and barked: ‘Get him down, and take him to the infirmary!’
‘Are you certain, sir?’ the assistant questioned. ‘I’ve never known you to show leniency to anyone.’
‘Do you dare to question me?’ Besson boomed. ‘Careful, you impudent swine, or I shall cut off your member and shove it down your throat! Now, be off with you, and bring Miss Cole back with you!’
The assistant stared at him blankly.
‘The next prisoner, you idiot!’ Besson snarled.
His assistant took umbrage at the slur, but did as he was asked.
*
Jen was still dozing fitfully when Besson’s assistant came to retrieve her. He took a key from his overall pocket and opened up the iron maiden-esque cell. Jen woke with a start as the key clicked in the lock, her one good eye trained on the man turning it.
The door swung open and Jen was pulled out forcefully, landing painfully on her knees. She had grown weak from having stood in the same position for nearly two days. Her trousers were covered in stale urine, the smell of which had become unbearable in the confined space.
Besson’s assistant pulled Jen to her feet by the scruff of the neck and forced her against the adjacent wall with such ferocity that she found herself seeing stars. He pressed his stunted body against hers and whispered in her ear: ‘Your friend is safe for now, but I can’t say the same about you! Best you do as you are told in the interrogation room.’
It sounded very much like he was trying to help her, but Jen didn’t read too much into it: she was too nauseated by the foul reek of his rancid breath.
He took the same rag that had been used as a blindfold on Oscar and placed it over Jen’s eyes. He then pulled her away from the wall and dragged her down the dimly lit corridor towards the interrogation area. In a vainglorious bid to postpone the inevitable Jen let her body go limp, forcing the assistant to drag her most of the way.
Besson came out to meet her, revelling in her helplessness her obliviousness to the identity of her torturer. Besson took hold of Jen’s restraints and led her over to the centre of the room. He attached the restraints to a pulley device with a hook and chain and wheeled the chain taut, almost dislocating Jen’s shoulders in the process.
*
Blindfolded and chained, Jen was in no position to bargain with her tormentor. Besson had finally got her where he wanted her, after what seemed like a lifetime of waiting.
He couldn’t believe his luck when he found out that Jen had been arrested. He could finally finish what he had started at the camp. His involvement in the war had hardened him into a genuine monster without an ounce of humanity left, as Oscar had found out.
‘Well, my dear, how are we today?’ said Besson with mock affability.
Jen’s face blanched with fear and repulsion. That sounds like Besson’s voice! It can’t be, but it is!
‘Those screams you doubtless heard a while ago came from your confederate, who came within a cat’s whisker of having his puny balls ripped off!’ Besson crowed. ‘Now it’s your turn—I told you it wasn’t over!’
Jen began to pull down on the chains that held her wrists, but her struggling was in vain.
‘Don’t waste your strength, my dear! You’re caught like a rat in a trap—my trap!’
Jen hung her head forlornly, a plethora of emotions running through her mind. She didn’t know what she felt more: frightened or angry. She was trembling at the thought of Besson touching her in her vulnerable state.
Besson had prepared something special for Jen’s interrogation. There was a furnace in the corner of the starkly cold room, and Besson’s assistant had stoked it to a bright flame. The assistant had kept to himself so far, not wishing to get caught up in the barbarity. He had had enough after witnessing the attack on Oscar Saracen’s body earlier that day, and he knew that what lay in store for Jen would be far worse.
Alongside the furnace was a tray which held a selection of meat branding irons, each with a different letter. Besson mentioned something to his assistant just before he ordered Jen’s retrieval from her cell. He had spoken of his intention to physically maiming Jen for life—branding her with a permanent message, something that summed up his feelings for her.
Something lay deeper than the hatred that Besson possessed for Jen, but he never shared his secret thoughts with anyone; not even people close to him, whom he regarded mostly as mental defectives and his social inferiors. Ever since he beheld her entry photograph at the labour camp, he had had a fascination with her. He always referred to Jen as ‘the one that got away!’ and the one that he wanted to do the most damage to, for that fact alone.
Besson was eager to get on with the interrogation. There were so many questions to ask, so many torturous delights that he intended to use, but so little time in which to carry out his intentions. Besson’s assistant continued to stand in the corner, stoking the furnace; a nervous smile played upon his face. He watched curiously as Besson circled Jen, running his fingers over her midriff, making her flinch with every stroke until he had reached her lower back, at which point he paused and turned to his assistant.
‘Pass me that knife!’ Besson snapped.
The assistant jumped
at his command, passing him the knife tentatively. Besson snatched the knife out of his hand and made his way back towards Jen. For a moment, he stood behind Jen, slapping the knife blade against his left hand. Jen struggled futilely at her bonds, her mind’s eye conjuring abominable images of sadism. Besson drew even closer, so close that Jen could feel his hot breath on her shoulder. He placed his hand flat on the small of her back. Jen froze with trepidation, waiting for his next move.
Besson grabbed the bottom of Jen’s vest top and began to run the knife up. He sliced into the material and exposed her back to the cold room, which the antiquated furnace struggled to heat.
‘Let me make this clear to you, Miss Cole,’ Besson said in her ear, giving her lobe a perverted little lick. ‘Don’t for one second think that I am going to show you any leniency just because you are female. You know from experience that I would never entertain such a notion. I intend to finish what I started with you in the labour camp!’
‘What do you intend to do with me?’ Jen said calmly, trying to hide her fear.
‘My dear girl, patience is a virtue—you’ll find out soon enough,’ he sneered, as he ran his hand sensually over her bare skin. Walking slowly around front, he grabbed hold of her head in both hands, squeezing tightly.
‘I am going to leave the blindfold on—it will add to the suspense, I think,’ Besson hissed, touching his forehead to Jen’s. ‘I am going to be asking you the same questions as I asked your compatriot—and I expect better answers from you, is that clear?’
Besson let go of her head, pushing it violently backwards but still remaining close to her. Jen spat in his face and was rewarded with a swift backhand to her left cheek that sent her reeling.
‘Keep that up, and you’ll be leaving here in a body bag!’ Besson yelled while wiping his face on his lab coat. ‘Now be a good little bitch and cooperate, and I will try and make this experience as painless as possible.’
Besson’s assistant watched, waiting for his sadistic superior to make his next move. The assistant was in awe of Jen, admiring her sheer tenacity, and wishing secretly that more of Besson’s victims were as brave as she appeared to be. He wasn’t relishing the thought of having to help Besson break her down. If he had the choice, he would rather not be in the room at all.
‘Who is The Independent Mind? I want names—all of them!’ Besson demanded. ‘And don’t insult my intelligence by telling me that you don’t know what I am talking about!’
Jen didn’t answer straight away, as she knew that whatever answer she gave wouldn’t spare her from discomfort.
‘I can’t answer your question! I really don’t know what you are talking about! I don’t know anything! I was just the messenger, that’s all!’ she replied desperately.
‘Very well, if that’s how you want to play it!’ Besson said icily. ‘You! It’s Parker, isn’t it? Pass me the brand with the “W”!’
Besson glanced at the array of brands that had been heating up on the coals. Lawrence Parker dithered, pretending as if he hadn’t heard or didn’t understand.
‘Unless you’d like a “P” branded on your insipid forehead, Mr. Parker, you will pass me the “W” now!’
Gulping, Parker did as he was told.
Besson turned his attention back to Jen. ‘I will ask you one more time: what are the names of your fellow conspirators?’
‘I will tell you nothing,’ said Jen defiantly, ‘because I have nothing to tell!’
Besson smiled his dragon smile. ‘You leave me no choice, then.’
Without warning, he plunged the brand against the exposed flesh of Jen’s back. She let out a fierce scream as the brand seared her skin, blistering and reddening immediately upon touch.
‘That hurt, I can tell,’ Besson mocked. ‘It can all stop if you just cooperate.’ Jen’s response was to writhe and squirm desperately.
Besson paused to hand the brand back to his assistant. ‘Give me names, Miss Cole. That’s all I want from you—just names!’ he said in a calming manner. This sudden change in tone did not reassure Jen in the slightest.
‘I don’t know about you, but I could keep this up all night,’ Besson teased.
Jen began to sob gently.
‘Hush, now! There will be plenty of time for tears … later. In the meantime, I am going to take a break. I want you to think about the question that I have asked you, and I will expect a truthful answer upon my return. Is that understood, Miss Cole?’
Jen said nothing.
‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ Besson cackled.
Besson’s leaving the room was made evident by the clicking of the door. Jen gasped, and then let out a great sigh of relief for her brief respite.
Parker did not wish to get himself drawn into any kind of conversation with Jen, and quickly left the room as well. This left Jen to her thoughts, and what information she could provide to Besson to make her situation a lot more bearable.
*
Gerick Meyer had been sitting in the far corner of the lavish staff cafeteria, playing with his coffee and reading his latest notes on the cloning experiments that John Howard had forced him to undertake. His privacy was short-lived, however. Besson entered with a smug smile on his face, like the proverbial cat that swallowed the canary. Gerick knew Besson all too well—loathed him, in fact—and braced himself for his unwanted company.
‘Good day, Gerick. Mind if I join you?’
Gerick knew Besson would join him regardless of what he said.
‘Feel free, Simon!’
Besson sat down at Gerick’s table, looking curiously at the pile of papers in front of him.
‘Why the smug face, Simon?’ Gerick asked.
Besson revelled in his question for a brief moment, deciding whether or not he had time to reply or not.
‘What if I told you I have two of the main operatives of The Independent Mind in the medical wing right now?’ Besson said, barely able to contain his excitement.
Gerick turned a ghostly shade of pale. He was terrified Besson would discover he was working in conjunction with The Independent Mind if either Oscar or Jen were to crack under torture. Besson would also find out that if it hadn’t been for Gerick, The Independent Mind would not have existed as long as they had. He was their main source of information, and he had risked life and limb to get them that information.
‘What’s the matter with you? It’s a good thing that they’ve been caught before they do any more damage. When I find out who the others are, that will be the end of The Independent Mind,’ Besson said menacingly.
Gerick didn’t doubt the doctor’s braggadocio for one minute. He knew from past conquests that Besson didn’t give up that easily.
‘Good luck with that!’ Gerick replied insincerely, which aroused Besson’s suspicion.
‘You almost sound defensive. Is there something you’re not telling me, Gerick?’ Besson waited patiently for a reply that never came. ‘Very well, you don’t have to answer me now… but I will find out sooner or later!’
On that note, Besson took his leave of Gerick, eager to make his way back to the medical wing to finish what he had started.
‘This isn’t over, Gerick!’ Besson hissed over his shoulder.
Gerick stared blankly as Besson strode purposefully towards the cafeteria exit. He knew from that moment on, that Besson would scrutinise everything that he did. He would no longer be safe to pass The Independent Mind information to bolster their cause: he was going to have to find another way of getting his messages through. He left behind the lukewarm cup of coffee he had been playing with for the past half hour and made his way back to his office. He wanted to try and get word to The Independent Mind that two of their operatives were being held within the confines of the medical wing. The only problem being that Oscar was his only contact within the Mind, and of course, he was one of the two people that Besson was referring to. Only when he tried to get through would Gerick realise it was Oscar that had been captured.
*
> Besson spotted his assistant, loitering outside the interrogation room, nervously awaiting his return.
‘What are you doing out here? You should be in there looking after the prisoner!’
Then, from out of nowhere, it came: Parker grew a pair.
‘Why? She’s not going anywhere!’ he snapped.
Besson was unfazed by his assistant’s uncharacteristic reply. ‘Get in there—now!’ he barked. ‘And don’t you ever speak to me like that again!’
Parker sank into himself, feeling rather belittled after his dressing down. He followed Besson back inside the torture chamber.
‘Hello again, Miss Cole,’ Besson greeted her. ‘I do hope that you have a satisfactory reply to my question?’
In defiance, Jen said nothing.
‘From your silence, I take it the answer is no?’ He jerked his head at Parker. ‘The “H” brand, quickly.’
Again, Besson plunged the brand into Jen’s lower back, scorching her skin. She lunged violently forward, whimpering like a small child.
‘The first one after a break is always a killer, don’t you think?’ Besson quipped, as he revelled in her pain.
‘Screw you,’ Jen seethed through gritted teeth.
Besson laughed. ‘Now, that’s the spirit! You have another three chances to give me what I want, before I am forced to use alternative means to extract answers from you! If you are smart you’ll start playing ball, before I lose my patience!’
Jen remained tight-lipped, which would not bode well for her.
‘If you please, Mr Parker, I’m ready to proceed with my little game of hangman!’ Besson shouted. ‘I bet you can’t guess what I’m spelling out,’ he whispered in Jen’s ear, ‘but I guarantee you, you won’t like it!’
Besson hurried the branding process along, as he could see his threat was not being taken seriously. He administered the final three brands one after the other, not giving Jen the chance to breathe in between screams.
Going Underground Page 26