by L. T. Ryan
Clarissa steadied herself, removing any expression from her face. Her heart rate increased, as did her breathing. She wanted to ask what the needle was for, but she knew. Instead she asked, “Does it really do anything when you flick the end of a needle like that? I thought that was just to build a little suspense in a movie.”
Sinclair laughed. “You are something else, child.”
She smiled, shrugged. She felt the sincerity in his words, but she wasn’t going to kid herself. In the end, this would go the same way as the other attempts to get her to talk had gone.
“Now, child, we can do this the easy way or the hard way.”
Six hours ago Clarissa would have leapt at him, taken the syringe and plunged it into his neck. However, the hours of beatings had left her exhausted. She held out her arms, palms up and waited for him to inject the drug into her.
“Very nice,” Sinclair said. “I’ll make this quick.”
Clarissa’s eyelids fluttered. Her eyes reacted to the light. The world looked grey and blurry. The drug Sinclair injected into her knocked her out cold. For how long, though? She blinked and her vision started to clear. She saw his expensive shoes a few feet away from her face.
“Welcome back,” Sinclair said.
She tried to lift herself up but found that her arms wouldn’t move. She tried to kick her legs and nothing happened. She tried to talk but her mouth stayed shut. Her throat didn’t produce a single sound. She could feel some things. Her body tingled. The sting of the cuts and bruises hadn’t faded. She just couldn’t move.
“Not to worry,” he told her. “I’ve injected you with a paralytic agent. Your muscles are frozen, that is all. In a few minutes the ability to control your body will return. Try speaking now.”
Clarissa tried to talk. A squeak slipped from her throat. Her mouth remained closed, though, still unable to work the muscles of her face.
“Excellent. Here’s how this will work. I’m going to ask you a question and you are going to give me an answer. Failure to provide me an answer will result in pain being inflicted upon you. Understand?”
Clarissa remained still.
“Blink twice to let me know that you understand,” he said.
She blinked her wide eyes twice.
His lips thinned. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to hit you. I don’t believe in that. I can see that they have thoroughly beaten you. Yet, where did that get them?” He shrugged. “You see, my methods are far more effective. A tough girl like you can take a fist to the face. But do you really want to lose your thumbs?” He held up a pair of garden shears, slamming the blades together to demonstrate.
A tear rolled down Clarissa’s cheek. Her lips trembled. She tried to force out a word but nothing happened.
“There, there. You have nothing to be afraid of. Tell me what I want to know and I’ll be on my way. Have you regained your voice?”
She looked away and closed her eyes. She enjoyed a few moments of silence, trying to convince herself this was just a dream. The hissing of a blowtorch disrupted the serenity she had built in her mind. She opened her eyes and looked up at Sinclair.
He held the end of an ice pick over a flame. “I asked if you had regained your voice.”
She refused to answer, looked away.
Sinclair knelt over her and whispered in her ear, “We can do this any way you like. It makes no difference to me.” He waited a few seconds for a response and then touched her cheek with the burning hot ice pick.
Clarissa gritted her teeth and did her best to hold in her scream. The pain increased with every second he held the burning ice pick to her face. She yelled out, “Bastard!”
“Now that wasn’t so difficult, was it? Now that we have established you can speak, we will proceed with the questioning.” He lifted her off the ground and sat her in a chair fitted with restraints. He crossed the large leather belts across her torso, wrapping them around her arms. He also placed separate belts around her waist, above her knees, and across her shins, securing them to the chair. Sinclair grabbed his chair and supply bag. He placed his chair in front of Clarissa and sat down. “I’ve already provided you with instructions on how this works, so let’s get started.”
Clarissa looked down at her bound body. The feeling returned to her arms and legs, but she was in no position to defend herself.
“First question. What is your name?”
She didn’t answer.
He fired up the blowtorch and grabbed the shears. “The beauty of heating these up is that they will partly cauterize the remaining flesh after I cut off your thumb, reducing the amount of blood loss. Quite revolutionary for cleanup crews.”
She watched intently as the blades turned bright red. She knew she was dead. It would just be a matter of how much suffering she could tolerate before the final blow.
Sinclair leaned in and grabbed her right hand. “I will ask one more time. After that you lose your thumb. What is your name?”
She felt the heat from the blades. She clenched her fists. “Clarissa,” she whispered. “Clarissa Abbot.”
“Beautiful name, Ms. Abbot. I can’t believe you were almost willing to give up your thumb to withhold that information from me.” He scribbled her name into a notepad.
She knew what he would do with her name. They probably figured she wasn’t going to give them any information, but killing her would be a waste. However, with her name they could track down her family and try to find someone close to her. If she wouldn’t talk to save her own life, maybe she would to save someone she loved. Fortunately, she had no one, except for Jack.
“Next question. What do you do for a living?”
“I’m a dancer.”
“Ah, ballet?”
She smiled at him. “Exotic.”
“Intriguing. Who is the little girl?”
“Mandy?” she asked.
“Is there more than one?”
“No. Mandy is her name. I thought you would know about her. I don’t know much about her. She was lost. Jack brought her to my apartment.”
“Tell me about Jack. How do you know him?”
“My father. He served under my father.”
“So your father introduced you to him?” he asked.
“Yes.” Her eyes cast down at the floor.
“Go on,” said Sinclair.
“Jack was the one who informed me that my father had been killed. And then, I don’t know.”
“I sense there is more, Ms. Abbot. Did Jack take you in after your father’s death?”
She laughed. “I was nineteen and had been on my own for two years. I didn’t need a hero to take me in. He let me know if I ever needed anything he was there and could help.”
“Are you aware of Jack’s job?”
Clarissa nodded. She didn’t know all the details, but she knew enough.
“Jack was carrying a briefcase the night he came to your apartment. Correct?”
“Yeah, handcuffed to his wrist.”
“Did he tell you what was in the briefcase?”
“No,” Clarissa responded. “He never said anything about it. I didn’t ask, he didn’t tell.”
Sinclair reached for the ice pick and blowtorch again. He repositioned himself and said, “Where is that briefcase now?”
She shook her head, eyes focused on the ice pick. The burn on her face ached and she wondered if he was going to give her a matching one on the opposite cheek.
“I don’t know,” she said.
“Are you sure?” he asked as he lit the blowtorch.
“Yes,” she replied. “Jack was gone before I woke up. He took it with him.”
“Did you see him take it with him?” Sinclair held the end of the ice pick in the flame.
“Like I said, I was sleeping. When I got up, he was gone. So was the briefcase.”
“So you looked for the briefcase?”
“What? No, I mean, I just noticed it was gone.”
“How long have you been working for Jack?” His t
one deepened, eyes narrowed to slits, and his lips drew thin and tight.
“Work for him? I don’t work for him. He’s just a friend.”
“Do you often let friends sleep over at your house?”
The questioning flustered her.
“I will ask you one more time, Clarissa. Where is the briefcase?” He turned off the blowtorch and put it on the table. Then he stood up and grabbed the back of her head pulling her hair back and forcing her face to look up at him. He held the ice pick inches from her eye.
Clarissa started to cry. “I don’t know.”
“Clarissa, don’t lie to me. Where is the briefcase?”
“If I knew, I would tell you.”
“Don’t mess with me, Clarissa.” He leaned over so his face was barely hovering over hers. “Do you see my eye? Do you see my dead eye? That is what happens when a scalding hot ice pick is inserted into an eye. Is this what you want?”
Clarissa sobbed. Her heart raced and her stomach tightened. She had never been this frightened before. “I don’t know.”
Sinclair backed up and reignited the blow torch. “This is your last chance.” He cleared his throat and brushed strands of his silver and black hair out of his face. “Where is that briefcase?”
She said nothing and looked away. There was no hope. His gloved hand grabbed her chin and pulled her face toward him.
“So be it, Ms. Abbot.” He moved the ice pick directly above her eye. “I won’t do this quickly. You see, it’s rather painless once the pick penetrates your eye.”
The real damage was the buildup of the event, the terror of knowing that a burning piece of metal was about to be inserted into her eye, blinding her. The fear spread as the glowing red ice pick inched closer and closer.
“Enjoy these last ten seconds of sight.”
The door to the cell slammed open. Sinclair let go of Clarissa’s face and turned around. “What the hell are you doing?”
Clarissa saw the outline of a large man in the doorway.
Charles stepped into the light. “Give me the whore.” Dried blood covered his face. A white bandage stained red covered his forehead. A trickle of blood streamed down between his eyebrows and along the right side of his nose.
“The old man called me to extract information. You can have her when I’m done,” Sinclair said.
“You’re done,” Charles said. “I’m relieving you of your duties.”
“Like hell you are. Go get the old man.”
Charles grabbed Sinclair by the throat and lifted him into the air. Sinclair swung the ice pick and plunged it into the back of Charles’s shoulder. Charles hurled the man against the wall. Sinclair staggered to his feet. Charles charged and slammed his shoulder into Sinclair, driving him into the wall. He lifted Sinclair by his neck, punching him twice in the face. He let Sinclair go and watched his body collapse into a pile on the floor.
Then he turned his attention to Clarissa. “You’re mine.” He untied her restraints, threw her over his shoulder, and carried her out of the room.
Part of her felt relieved. And the other part of her felt more terrified than ever.
9
Jack stood in the shadows, half a block from Clarissa’s apartment building. The briefcase and the documents it held were hidden inside an apartment. They were the key to getting Mandy and Clarissa out of the old man’s compound alive.
He knew the old man would have a team watching the apartment building, waiting for him. Like any tactical team, there would be a pattern to their movements. He studied the area to locate the men and dissect their patrol pattern. Two men stood on top of the building. A gap of 15 seconds where neither man monitored the front of the building occurred every two minutes. Ground level appeared easier. Two men patrolled on the ground. They walked around the building together, leaving a large gap of time where the front was unpatrolled.
They heard about me. Must be scared to be alone.
Jack inched closer to the building, tight against a brick facade, staying out of the light. When the opportunity presented itself he sprinted to the entrance. He entered the building with the gun he stole from Charles drawn. He made his way to the apartment where he had hidden the briefcase. As he picked the lock again, he thought to himself, Who the hell is dumb enough to not use a deadbolt in this city? The latch clicked.
He pushed the door open and peeked inside. The large man sleeping on the couch hadn’t been there when he was inside last time. It had been completely empty. Jack wished the heavy man was wearing more than a pair of boxers with cartoons of puppies.
Jack slipped to the closet in the back corner of the room. The sleeping man coughed and seemed to be waking up.
I’d kill for a suppressor for this gun.
He held his breath until the man rolled over and went back to sleep.
Jack opened the closet door and moved blankets and sheets around until he had the briefcase in his grasp. He backed out of the closet and turned to see a woman standing there, half naked. She, unlike her sleeping beau, looked good in her skivvies. At first he grinned and winked at her, but when she opened her mouth to scream he held the gun up in one hand and put his other hand to his mouth and gave her the universal signal for, “Shut the hell up if you don’t want to die!”
She stood there, frozen. Arms held out, mouth open, eyes unblinking. Jack fully expected her to urinate on herself.
He made his way back to the door, keeping his back against the wall. He kept the gun pointed up and his finger over his mouth. She turned her body, mirroring his movements. He opened the door and slipped out. Before completely closing the door he popped his head back in and said, “You really should use your deadbolt and get a chain lock as well. Especially with a body like that. This was just too easy.”
The man started to wake.
Jack smiled at the woman and closed the door. He wasn’t one hundred percent sure, but he thought she might have smiled back.
Jack’s smile faded as he turned his attention to getting out of the building. He climbed the stairs to the second floor and ran around back. The hallway was dimly lit. He peered out the window. The dark alley behind the apartment building provided just the kind of cover he needed. He lifted the window and climbed onto the metal fire escape. He stuck a leg over and paused. The sound of police cars approaching filled the air. “That son of a bitch,” he muttered, certain it was the fat man that placed the call. They actually did him a favor by calling the police. The men on the top of the building would have to hunker down so they wouldn’t be spotted, and the team that was patrolling outside would split, running off in two directions. At least, Jack hoped that would happen.
Jack made his way down to the ground, using the gaps between the large bricks that made up the exterior as handles and footholds. He crouched down as he heard the men on patrol approaching. Just as he expected, they each went a different direction after they reached the back of the building. He followed the heavier man, figuring he would quit running sooner. Jack Noble, above all else, considered himself a man of opportunity.
The heavy man impressed him, making it approximately a half mile before he stopped to rest and catch his breath. As Jack approached him, he deliberately stomped his feet on the sidewalk to alert the heavy man to his presence. Jack never got much pleasure out of attacking a man from behind. He’d do it if necessary. However, he liked to look his victim in the eye as he rendered them incapacitated.
The man spun. His eyes widened at the sight of Jack, and he reached for his gun in between labored breaths. Jack closed the distance with a sprint, lunged at the man and delivered a strike to his throat. The single blow collapsed the man’s windpipe. He fell to his knees and onto his stomach.
Jack searched through his victim’s pockets. He had never been inside the old man’s compound before, but he had heard plenty of tales from his associates. You needed an access card to get through the main gate as well as to enter certain rooms. He found the card tucked in a pocket on the inside of the man’s co
at. He decided to keep the jacket and ditch the disgusting trench coat. Lastly, he grabbed the man’s gun and wallet. He slipped into the darkness. He had one more stop to make before going to the compound.
10
Jack stood behind Bear’s apartment building for close to fifteen minutes, getting more agitated with every second that passed. “C’mon Bear!” he kept muttering under his breath.
“I’m right here,” a deep voice said from behind.
“Jesus!” Jack said. “I would have killed you if I heard you coming up behind me like that.”
“You didn’t hear me, though. Did you?”
Jack wondered how a man that large could be so invisible and so quiet. He had been in several sticky situations with Bear and not once had the enemy got the drop on the big man. Jack could partner with any spy, thief, or killer-for-hire in the country, but time and time again he chose Bear.
“Did you bring everything?” asked Jack.
Bear rolled his eyes at him and sighed. “Really, Jack?” He held out a duffel bag.
Jack grabbed the bag and inspected the weapons one by one to make sure everything was there. “Ok, looks good to me.”
“When will you stop doubting me?” Bear said with a laugh.
“When we can get through one of these without me having to save your ass,” Jack said.
Bear laughed.
The stress of the day had finally got to Jack. These missions usually didn’t involve personal feelings. Tonight was different. It was his fault that two women and one little girl were in danger of losing their lives. He swore an oath to a dying man stating that he would protect Clarissa. He might as well have done the same for Mandy, because there was no way he was going to let her or her mother, if she was still alive, die.
Jack shushed Bear to get him to be quiet, but the large man’s full belly laugh was too much for him and he joined in. They were in hysterics, so much so that they didn’t notice a man sneaking up on them.
“Freeze!”