by Gordon Brown
I need to be straight with myself. This is not normal. None of this. Iraq, the plane, the bar, Mary. It’s all…
There is a bang and the door caves in. Buzz 1 and Buzz 2 rip me from the floor.
Chapter 11
I’m out of the hospital and into the back of an unmarked Regal in less than five minutes. No guns. No arm up the back. Simply Buzz 1 saying, ‘Come with us or your wife will suffer.’
I’m not stupid, so I obey.
We wheel north on the I-10. Dodger Stadium appears and a few minutes later we exit the highway. A sign for the Ernest E Debs Regional Park flicks by and we run through the gates into wilderness.
I’ve been up here a few times with Lorraine. There’s not much to it. Mostly trees, scrub and lakes, but it’s a nice place to chill and pop a picnic. The car starts to bump along a dirt track before we turn onto a smaller track that leads into a wood.
At this time of night this would be a good place to beat up on someone and dump them.
The headlights pick out branches and bushes. The driver takes the speed down to a crawl. Another turn and we’re off the road. The car stops. The engine dies.
‘Out,’ says Buzz 1.
‘What?’
The punch is low. In the gut.
‘I didn’t say talk. I said out.’
I get out.
‘In front. Walk.’
A torch flicks on, picking out a worn footpath. It rises into the trees ahead before bending out of sight. I walk with the two Buzzes behind me. I hear the Regal engine fire up before it reverses back onto the track and away.
Buzz 1 gives me a push in the back. ‘Keep walking.’
The path meanders but, even in the light of the torch, it’s clear that it’s well used. I need to lean forward as the hill kicks in, my stomach still growling at the punch. A set of wood-and-earth steps appear. Buzz 1 gives me another push. ‘Up.’
I start climbing. I count to fifty before the steps stop, and we reach a small clearing. A cinder-block building squats in the corner. It has the hallmark signature of the local power company. It still doesn’t explain why the path is so well defined.
‘Stop.’ Buzz 1 walks forward and I wait for a punch or a kick but he keeps going. He reaches a metal door and I notice a little gray box to the side. I’ve seen one of those before. He flicks his hand at it. There’s a whirr and a click. The door snaps open. No light from inside. Just a dark inkwell.
Buzz 2 gives me a push. ‘Inside.’
I hesitate. I don’t think they’re planning to kill me. Not yet. But they’re not preparing my birthday party either. A hand shoves me in.
The inside of the building doesn’t hold much promise. Damp, cold – with dripping water. I’m pushed into the cramped space and the three of us stand shoulder to shoulder as Buzz 2 pulls the door closed.
Dark. Complete dark. The rods in my eyes fire at random and my own personal firework display rages and dissipates.
Buzz 1 is to my left. Buzz 2 to my right. Buzz 1 has stale breath. Smoker’s breath. Buzz 2 is the Aquafresh kid. I can hear them both breathing. The floor jerks and I can’t help but let out a small shout. I hear Buzz 1 laugh. I’m glad somebody’s finding this funny.
The floor jerks again and I have the sensation of movement. Down. Another jerk and we stop. The wall in front parts to reveal itself as a pair of elevator doors.
A dim red light shines in.
The interior of the elevator is a cleverly crafted illusion. Walls in fake stone, floor in fake concrete and a small speaker somewhere adding to the effect with a dripping sound. No doubt the damp smell is artificially generated as well.
We step into the space beyond. The doors slide shut behind us. Another gray box and we’re into a very different world.
A long corridor stretches out before us. It’s as wide as an athletics track and as long. On either side, the walls are lined with doors. Each with a number and a letter stenciled into the wood. The carpet is functional but not low quality. The ceiling is suspended. Hidden lighting gives illumination to the vista. Every wall is plain vanilla and there’s the gentle hum of air-conditioning.
There’s also something vaguely 1980s about the place. As if the interior designer had reached back to the age of no lunches and power suits for inspiration.
I’m encouraged to walk down the wide passageway. None of the doors are open and, if there are people beyond them, the doors are either soundproof or – and this would make sense – empty, unless there’s a night shift on the go.
The corridor ends in a T-junction. We go right and hit another junction. We take a left. All the time the walls are spaced with stenciled doors. I wonder how the hell you keep something like this secret. If all these rooms hold even two people each that’s a lot of traffic for a tiny elevator – not to mention the number of cars that would need to access the place via the wood.
We stop at a set of double doors. Buzz 1 steps forward and pushes them open. A corporate conference room lies beyond. A large polished steel table hosts twenty leather-backed chairs. The walls are bare and the carpet is a continuation of the one in the corridor. I’m pushed into a seat as the two Buzzes sit down opposite me.
Time breathes.
A small clock sitting on the desk ticks. Buzz 1 fires up his cell. Buzz 2 cracks his knuckles.
We sit.
I lean back. Close my eyes. Wait.
The doors swing open and a small bald man wearing a white lab coat comes in. He ignores me and makes for the far end of the table. He fiddles around with something underneath. An electric motor kicks in. A large flat-screen TV rises from the table. He waits until it stops rising and swivels it slightly to face me. Flicking the switch, snow appears, the gray and white dancing dots lighting up the room.
Sitting on top of the TV is a camera. He plays around with it for a minute before leaving.
We all sit in the static disco.
‘Mr McIntyre. How disappointing to see you so soon. Guys, can you see me?’ White Linen appears on the TV. The picture is grainy and flickers a little.
‘Yes,’ says Buzz 1.
‘Good. Can you get Mr McIntyre a coffee?’
The video link is not brilliant. White Linen’s lips are out of synch with the image. It has the making of a badly-dubbed movie. I try and dig his name out. A tennis player. It’s the same as an old tennis player. Lendl. As in Ivan. ‘Mr Lendl, what am I doing here?’
‘Coffee first.’
Buzz is mucking around behind me. With a hiss and a spit coffee starts to brew. A phone rings, Lendl reaches forward and he’s gone. A few seconds later he’s back. ‘Things are a bit wild over here.’
Coffee arrives and I ignore it.
‘Mr McIntyre, I promise we haven’t put anything in the coffee. So old school.’
He wants me to ask what he means by ‘old school.’ I don’t.
‘I hear your wife will be OK. Maybe a little less the beauty but OK all the same.’
I don’t rise to the bait.
‘So what do we do with you, Mr McIntyre?’
‘You could let me go.’
‘I don’t think so. Not yet. Not before we have a little chat.’
I decide the coffee is a good idea after all. I sip at it. Top-notch stuff. I take a larger slug. Buzz 1 and Buzz 2 watch me. I wonder if I should offer them popcorn and a large Coke.
The phone at Lendl’s end goes off again. Another blank screen. Then he’s back. ‘Sorry.’
‘Not as much as I am,’ I say. ‘Why the cloak and dagger nonsense? Where the hell am I and who are you?’
Lendl pushes back in his chair. ‘Let’s discuss you, Mr McIntyre. I read the London and LA police reports with interest.’
‘Already?’
‘But a little backtracking first – indulge me. In Iraq we lose Tom and his friend and you’re there. On the plane a stewardess takes out her frustration on her boss and again you’re there. A biker dies and your wife’s best friend tries to rearrange her face – and there y
ou are again. All in a couple of days.’
‘So I’ve had a crap time lately.’
‘Nineteen eighty-three, Ramadi, two men hack each other up and the only witness is you?’
‘And?’
‘Coincidence? You think?’
‘Look at your notes, Mr Lendl. I was out of the army on the back of that last incident. I didn’t spend nearly five years in the happy farm for fun. I was heading for a breakdown, well before Clegg and Johnston chose to remove each other’s limbs. They found me in the corner of the room sitting in my own urine.’
He ignores what I’ve said. ‘All in all, you seem to attract trouble. Or maybe there’s more. Maybe you cause it.’
‘Crap. What are you on about?’
Lendl leans forward. ‘Mr McIntyre, in my job I don’t talk crap. I may deal in it but I don’t talk it.’
I wonder who the hell could get the report from the London police and the LA police so quickly. ‘So I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Sue me. Give me a break. I’ve lost my job, seen my wife beaten up, been kidnapped…and you think it was down to me?’
‘I said it could be. I think we’ll take this a little further.’
With that the screen returns to snow. Buzz 1 stands. The door opens and two more suits walk in. Plastic cuffs are dangling from one of the suit’s hands. I move to back away but Buzz 2 is behind me. He takes my arm and pushes it up my back. I don’t bother to resist. I just want this over.
Cuffs cutting my wrists, I’m frog-marched down the corridor to one of the nondescript doors. With a shove I’m catapulted into the room. I fall to the floor and the door slams shut. I sit up. There’s a single chair, bolted to the center of the room. A mattress lies on the floor.
‘Lie down, Mr McIntyre. We’ll talk in the morning.’ Lendl’s voice is a disembodied sound with an echo built in. It must be coming from speakers hidden in the walls. The lights go off. I shout out. Then I crawl to the mattress and curl up. I want out. I want my wife. I want food. I want a drink. I want a pee.
I lie awake.
Chapter 12
‘Wakey, wakey.’
I’m back. Sluggish but back. Whatever they injected me with has drained my mouth of liquid.
‘Nothing,’ says Skeleton.
I’m still strapped to the bed. Unable to move. The mouth gag hard across my lips.
‘Scenario two. Let’s inform him on the subjects.’ Lendl’s voice.
I try to get my head round what’s going on.
‘Mr McIntyre,’ he continues. ‘We have two male subjects next door. Both are in their forties. We have David and we have Martin. They don’t know each other and are homeless. Bums. David used to be a career banker and Martin has been an alcoholic since college. They live rough. David on Sunset Boulevard and Martin near Santa Monica pier. David is five-ten, gray hair and used to be married to a doctor called Sanya. Martin has never been married and we suspect he might be gay. He’s six feet tall with black hair.’
The tall man talks as he injects me again.
*
‘Nothing.’ Lendl sounds disappointed as I waken again. ‘Scenario three. Stress. The last two incidents on the plane and in the bar were stressful. We’ll try stress.’
Hands grab the waistband of my pants and they’re yanked down. My boxers are whipped south and my cock is grabbed. I struggle against the restraints but they’re solid. My heart is racing as something cold is placed around the end of my penis.
‘Low level stimulus,’ is the last thing I hear Skeleton say before I’m hit with an electric shock on my penis. I bite down hard. The pain is a living hot wire. I arch my back. I want to scream. I think I’m going to vomit. Gag to death. The pain subsides and I piss myself.
‘Heart rate up to one-forty. Signs are high but no reaction from the two test subjects.’
‘Hit him again.’
Jesus no.
This time I bite so hard blood floods my mouth.
‘Heart rate one-sixty.’ Skeleton sounds like this is something he does every day. ‘Signs are very high but no reaction from the two test subjects.’
Lendl clears his throat. An ugly sound through the speakers. ‘OK. Let’s take it up a little.’
I wait for the next shock but it isn’t electric.
‘Craig?’ The voice is soft. Lorraine’s voice. In my ear. ‘Craig?’ Her voice is distant. A cell phone is pushed to my ear. ‘Craig?’
‘Mr McIntyre, we have lifted your wife from the hospital. She’s in this complex. You’re being uncooperative and we need you to work with us. We have wired her up to the mains. I’m going to have to give her the bad news.’
I want to shout. To scream. To tell them I don’t know what it is they want. Please don’t hurt Lorraine. Please. Take this fucking thing from my mouth. What the hell can I tell gagged?
‘Heart rate one-seventy. Signs are still very high but no reaction from test subjects.’
‘Hit her.’
The howl from the phone is terrible. Lorraine. God what are they doing. Lorraine!
Skeleton speaks. ‘Heart rate one-eighty. Signs are maxing out. Still no reaction.’
‘One more time.’
I throw everything I have into getting free but my muscles collapse at the sound of Lorraine screaming again.
‘Heart rate still one-eighty. Signs still maxed out. Still no reaction from test subjects.’
‘Shit. Wheel him next door.’
Buzz 1 and Buzz 2 grab the dolly. The ceiling moves as I’m transferred to the room I spent the night in. None of the restraints are loosened.
This needs to stop. What do they want? Why do that to Lorraine? She could die. She can’t take it. Not in her state. What do they want? What in the hell do they want?
The pain around my groin is deep and feels serious. There’s the smell of burning flesh. A smell you don’t forget once you have been exposed to it. I wasn’t in Iraq long the first time round but you didn’t need to be around that smell too often to pick up the scent.
I have to take control of this. I need to figure what it is they want.
‘How are you feeling, Mr McIntyre?’
I want to rip the speakers from their roots and ram them down Lendl’s throat.
Click, footsteps, fumbling and my head restraint is removed. ‘You fucking bastard. When I get out of here I’ll kill you. I swear to fuck on everything that I can fucking think off. I WILL kill you.’
Silence.
‘Do you hear me?’ I shout. ‘I’ll rip your heart out through the end of your dick. Do you understand?’
Silence.
‘Are you there?’
‘Are you finished?’
‘No. What do you want? Just tell me what you want.’
‘I will.’
‘What?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Fuck off.’
‘True. Nothing. I’m not sure there’s anything we want. I may have been wrong about you.’
‘About what?’ I’m straining at the leather restraints. Still trying to tear them from their mounts.
‘About you.’
I quit the struggle. ‘Please just speak plain English.’
‘I am, Mr McIntyre. I thought you could be of some use to us. I thought you might have some ability that could have proved a useful aid to our agency but I’m probably wrong. It would seem that you are just one unlucky son-of-a-bitch.’
‘Then let Lorraine go.’
‘Lorraine? Mr McIntyre, we don’t have Lorraine. She’s still in St Vincent’s.’
‘Then that wasn’t Lorraine on the phone?’
The relief is unbelievable. I’m almost pleased. These people have just wired my privates to the power company and I’m almost pleased.
‘Yes it was,’ says Lendl.
My heart skips.
‘We just recorded it all in the hospital.’
‘Fuck you.’
The background hiss that accompanies his voice falls away and I’m back on my own.
Do I?
Iraq in 2003, Iraq a few days ago, the plane and the bar. Violence and me in the background – or is it me in the foreground? Five dead, two badly injured and I was there. Coincidence? It has to be. I knew the first four casualties, but I was asleep each time it all went down. I didn’t know the aircrew and the biker was a stranger.
OK, I know Mary. Know some – don’t know others. Would it have all happened if I had been elsewhere? Probably. Tom and the prostitute. He was beating up on her in the club. She was out for revenge. The plane? Clearly the aircrew had some history. You don’t try and rip someone’s face off without good reason.
The biker? I don’t get that one. I wasn’t even in the building when he was stabbed. Mary? Well she has history with Lorraine and the sort that was getting worse.
Clegg and Johnston in Ramadi? They had bad history. Everyone knew that. Clegg had been back to the US on leave and decided that Johnston’s girlfriend was a better bet than his own wife. All because Johnston had shown Clegg some fairly explicit picture of his new girlfriend. It had been a mistake. Clegg was a nasty person at best. Rape or consensual – it didn’t matter. What mattered was that he happily told Johnston all about it on his return.
Oh, they had history all right.
But I didn’t know them. It was my first patrol with them and I only found out the backstory after they killed each other.
So where does that leave me?
Nowhere. None of this makes sense.
Buzz 1 and 2 return.
They circle me a few times and slip my bonds. I sit up and take stock. My groin is on fire but I’m not looking at it while Dumb and Dumber are at home. I get off the dolly and drop to the bed. Buzz 1 and 2 move to stand either side of the door. They are going nowhere.
I curl up, facing away from them, and check for damage. My foreskin is burnt and it hurts like a bitch. I cover myself up and sit up. Buzz 1 and Buzz 2 are staring at me. I stand, they tense. I sit and they ease off. I could probably take one of them. Maybe even both if I got lucky, but then what?