by Philip Cox
Just as they got to the end of the truck it happened: all in the space of a second. He felt himself being grabbed from behind by two people, then what felt like a small sack was pulled over his head, and then he could see nothing. Whoever was holding him was now tying his hands together behind his back. He heard a small scream from Corinne, but then was bundled away. He tried to cry out but a fist hit him in the stomach, winding him. He could hear a vehicle door being opened, and then was bundled inside. The door slammed shut behind him.
Ben could hear the sound of three people climb into the front seats and start the engine. As they pulled away sharply, Ben rolled around at the back. He guessed he was in the back of a small van: as he rolled he could feel some cardboard boxes also in the back and something hard, maybe metallic: some tools, perhaps. He could hear men’s voices, talking and laughing from the front.
The van was not moving excessively fast: maybe not to attract unwanted attention, Ben thought. He lost count of the number and direction of the many stops and turns they made. After a while, the ride became bumpier. We’ve come off the main road, Ben thought, where the hell are we going?
After about ten minutes they stopped. Ben could hear the three men get out, and walk round to the rear of the van. He heard the door open, and was manhandled outside.
‘Where are you taking me, you bastards?’ he shouted. The only response was another fist to the stomach. He felt himself being dragged up a hillside; he tripped over some bushes and rocks on the way, and then was dragged even harder. He heard a wooden door being opened, and he was taken inside. Once inside, the sack was taken off his head. There was some light in the barn, from a small naked bulb hanging from a beam. He thought he might have a chance of seeing his abductors, but they stayed behind him. He looked around: they had taken him to a barn. Now they were standing on straw, and there were bales of hay piled up against one side of the barn. His chance to look around was short-lived, however: no sooner had the sack been taken off, and then a blindfold was tied around his head.
Two of the men grabbed hold of his arms and pulled him across the barn. He thought he was being jostled to the ground, but realized he was being laid on a wooden board. His hands were still tied together behind his back; still tied together, they were wedged underneath his buttocks. He felt two hands on both his legs, firmly holding him down. Then he felt one end of the board being raised, so that his feet were maybe a foot higher than his head.
‘Answer me! What’s going on?’ he yelled out. Still no answer. He could hear footsteps coming towards him and felt some kind of towel being wrapped around his head. The towel felt rough and smelt dirty and oily. Are they trying to suffocate me?
He could hear more movement behind him, and a splash. Was that water? He felt a splash of water on the towel.
It was then that Ben realized what was going on. His heart missed a beat as it sunk in what was happening to him. He had read about it in the newspapers, and there had been reports of it being used in Iraq, but he never thought he would be experiencing it.
This was waterboarding.
Chapter Twenty-One
BEN TRIED TO recall what he had read about waterboarding. He had read how it was a controversial technique used in interrogating terrorist suspects, such as members of al-Qaeda. He had read how civil liberties groups had claimed it was really a form of torture and that information gained as a result of its use was unreliable, as the suspect would say anything to get it to stop. Others had claimed it is not torture, merely a reliable means of getting short-term strategic information. He had not read what it exactly involved, but it seemed that now he was going to find out.
With the towel wrapped tightly around his head, Ben could still breathe to a degree, but could see nothing because of the blindfold, and any sound was now muffled. Through these surreal surroundings, he thought he could make out a trickle of water, then a faint splash. He could just about feel the water landing on the towel. He tried struggling, but the two men holding his legs down were too strong.
By now the water was beginning to soak through the towel. He quickly took a deep breath, as deep as he could manage before the water got to him. Now the water was running down his nostrils. He kept his mouth shut, but still the water was trickling down into his lungs. He started to choke, but this made it worse: the water was not entering his mouth. He was drowning: he felt a huge weight on his chest pushing down on him, pushing him under. This is it, he thought.
*****
Harry, the barman at Shots was having a very busy night. Friday nights and Saturday nights were always busier, but this night was more so. No particular reason why; sometimes it just happened that way. His big mistake was giving Corinne the night off. He still had five others here with him tonight, to work the tables and to tend bar, but he was nevertheless run off his feet.
A party of ten women, all middle aged, had arrived, and he had been driven almost out of his mind serving them. Each had wanted the most obscure, exotic cocktail, which wasn’t his speciality – it was Corinne’s – and now they were crowded round a small table eyeing up all the men under twenty-five. Cougars, he understood they were called. Not his ideal customer: a man with a beer was his preference. Still, as long as the cougars kept drinking and paying, that was fine by him.
One thing Harry was good at, however, was remembering his customers. Even though it was very busy, he would notice his regulars, even somebody who was only here for the second or third time. It was that way with those two Brit guys. Tonight was only their second time here he was sure, but he guessed it was because it was quiet when they came in before, and that there was all that fuss about the CCTV that he remembered them. Now that’s what I call getting settled in, he muttered as he could see what they were doing.
The tall one, he noticed, had not missed the attention of the many single girls who frequented the bar at weekends. That didn’t take long. As for Corinne: he noticed how interested she was in the guy when he came in before. And to think Harry was going to ask her to spend an hour or so behind the bar tonight, as it was extra busy…. Looks like she’s out to get lucky tonight.
As for the other Brit: well, Harry knew right from the start this one didn’t like the ladies. He didn’t waste any time, either. He was getting very friendly with the young stud next to him at the bar. Harry didn’t actually see them leave together, but would bet a month’s pay on it. What was strange though, was that a minute or so after the two Brit guys left with their respective partners, the other three guys who had been sitting at the bar all evening left as well.
Harry shook his head. These kids: sex mad. He was sure it wasn’t like it in his day. Or maybe it was. It was too long ago to remember.
*****
Ben felt as if he was starting to lose consciousness. His brain was losing oxygen, and here, in the middle of a barn filled with straw he was drowning.
Suddenly his legs were released, and he was rolled off the board. He could feel a click behind him, and felt the ropes tying his hands being cut. Still choking, once his hands were free he instinctively tugged at the towel. A foot kicked him back down to the ground.
‘Stay where you are, motherfucker,’ a voice grunted from behind. As he struggled to pull off the towel, still coughing up water, he heard the three men running out of the barn. He heard the van start. He staggered to his feet, and pulled off the blindfold. Coughing, he ran to the barn door and flung it open. It was pitch dark outside, and he could see two red tail lights in the distance, bouncing down the hillside.
Ben looked around the barn. The small bulb enabled him at least to see his way around. He could see he had been laid on an old door, propped up at one end by the remains of a wooden crate. The towel was lying on the ground, as was a small rusty gasoline can. He choked again. He picked up the can, and sniffed at the cap. He could smell nothing: thank God it was just water. Throwing the can onto the ground, he noticed two small shelves on the nearest wall. He looked around for a flashlight. He found one, tried to sw
itch it on, but the batteries were dead. He rummaged around for spare batteries, but could find none. He threw the flashlight down.
His phone! He reached into his pocket, and pulled out the phone. It was still intact. Thank God again, but there was no signal. He went outside, and tried again, still no signal. The battery level was half way; best to switch it off for now, he thought, save the battery.
Ben staggered out of the barn, and sat on the grass outside. He looked around. Away from the light from the barn, he could see very little. There was some moonlight, but not bright enough for him to see past the outline of the trees surrounding the clearing in which the barn stood. He knew he was on a hillside; also that he couldn’t be too far away from civilization as the journey here was quite short. But there was no way he could make it on foot; it was too dark to make it down that hill without a light. As he switched off his phone he could see it was just after ten. He reckoned it got light about five; the safest action would be to sleep here until sunrise, then make his way back then.
He went back into the barn, and decided to try to get some sleep until daylight. He looked for a switch to turn off the light, looked around the barn, then decided he would prefer to sleep with the light on.
Ben was just about to bed down, not that he was tired, when he thought he could hear a vehicle noise. He went outside again, and looked around. In the distance, roughly where he had seen red lights disappearing into the night, now he could see headlights. They were coming back! There’s no way they’re gonna finish the job, he thought. He quickly looked around the barn. Some kind of agricultural device with a long wooden handle was propped up in a corner. Ben had no idea what it was, but it would serve as a weapon if need be. He grabbed it and ran over to the bushes. Crouching in the darkness, he watched as a vehicle pulled up in the clearing. It didn’t look like the van he came in. Two figures got out, but it was too dark to make them out.
‘See, I told you you’d left the light on,’ a woman’s voice called out.
‘I told you I hadn’t,’ a man’s voice called back. ‘Those sonsofbitches have been in here again.’
Ben’s heart started pounding: these voices sounded older; they weren’t his abductors returning to finish him off. Taking a deep breath, he stood up and walked out from behind the bushes. ‘Hello there,’ he called out, realizing how ridiculous it sounded, particularly as he was still holding the agricultural tool.
‘Hank!’ the woman called out in a panic. ‘Hank! Come back out here!’
Hank came out. He was standing in the beam of his truck headlights, and Ben could see he was much older, and wore a cowboy style hat and a sheepskin jacket. ‘Now hold on, son, we don’t want any trouble,’ he said, holding his hands up.
Ben glanced at the tool, and threw it down. ‘Sorry, neither do I. I got brought here by force.’
Hank jerked his head back into the barn. ‘I could see something’s been going on in there.’
Ben gave them a brief explanation of what had happened that night: his abduction outside Shots, his journey to the barn, and the waterboarding.
The woman had by now realized Ben was not a threat. ‘My, you poor dear,’ she said sympathetically, holding his arm. ‘Hank, we’d better get this young man back home. Son, would you like some hot tea first, maybe some chicken soup?’
‘No, no, thanks,’ Ben said. ‘I will be fine. I just need to get back. Would you be able to give me a ride back into town, or to the nearest bus stop? My car is still at the bar.’
‘We’ll give you a ride back to the bar,’ said Hank. ‘It’s no chore for us. Jump in, son. By the way, I’m Hank, and this is Mary.’
‘Ben.’ He shook hands with Hank and Mary, and climbed in the front of the truck with them, sitting between them.
‘I can tell you’re not from these parts,’ Mary said as they bounced down the hillside. ‘You here on vacation?’
‘Sort of. I’m from London. I’m here with a friend, for a sort of – reunion.’
‘That’s nice,’ Mary replied. ‘Is that London, England?’
‘Yes, that’s the one,’ said Craig, pulling out his phone.
‘Wow,’ Mary continued, ‘I’d love for Hank to take me there one day.’
‘One day, Mary, I keep telling you,’ said Hank. ‘Don’t waste your time with that, son; it won’t work out here.’ He had noticed Ben switching his phone back on.
Still no signal. ‘No, I’ve got no signal.’
‘Those guys from the phone company keep harassing me. They want to put up an antenna up here, say it’s so folks can use their cell phones. I keep telling them, no not on my land you don’t. I’ve read they can cause cancer and such like.’
‘Hank, think of all the money they keep offering you,’ said Mary. ‘Twenty thousand dollars, last time.’
‘Sure, it goes up every time. Guess I’ll hold out till they get to thirty, then I’ll say yes. Then we can make that trip to Europe you’ve always wanted, Mary.’
They had left the hillside road and turned onto a main highway. The ride was smooth again. Shortly Ben’s phone picked up a signal; seconds later the phone beeped as the screen showed 1 message received. Ben checked it: it was a missed call from Craig. He listened to the voicemail.
‘Ben, you there? Where are you?’ There was a lot of coughing. ‘Call me as soon as you can, mate, please. I am at the apartment. Come over.’
This didn’t sound right. ‘Hank, forget about the car,’ said Ben. ‘I can pick that up in the morning. Could you take me straight back to the apartment rather than the bar?’
‘Sure thing, son.’
Ben gave Hank the directions, and within ten minutes they were driving along the Davenport road. Ben peered through the windscreen looking for the sign for the complex; almost too late he saw it.
‘There it is. On the right,’ he called out, but Hank was already making the turn.
‘I saw it already, young fella,’ he said.
Ben was about to say pull in anywhere here, but Hank had already stopped right outside the apartment building. Hank climbed out, and Ben followed, wishing Mary goodnight.
‘Now you take care of yourself, son.’ Hank said, climbing back into the truck.
‘I will. And thanks again.’ Ben waved as Hank and Mary pulled away and made their way to the main road. He watched the truck pull onto the main road; then, as the sprinklers were still on, ran around the grass into their building.
As he got to their floor he could hear coughing. The apartment door was ajar. He pushed it open. Craig was sitting on the floor in the hallway. The white tiled floor had splashes of blood. Craig was wearing only his jeans and there was blood all down his chin, neck and chest. He coughed again, and more blood spurted out of his mouth.
Chapter Twenty-Two
‘JESUS CHRIST!’ BEN exclaimed. ‘What’s going on?’
He ran in, shut the door behind, and helped Craig up. He took him into the bathroom and sat him on the pedestal. He grabbed two hand towels from the rail, held them under the cold water for a few moments, and then gave them to Craig, who began to wipe off the blood.
‘What the fuck happened?’
Craig held his arm out to reassure Ben. ‘I’m okay, I’m okay. Let me take a quick shower. Then I’ll tell you.’
He walked shakily to the shower.
‘You sure you’re okay?’ Ben called over his shoulder.
‘Yeah. Fine.’
While Craig was in the shower Ben made an attempt to wipe up the blood from the hallway floor. He looked in Craig’s bedroom doorway. The bed was unmade, the sheets all over the floor. There were clothes everywhere, and the all the drawers in the small chest of drawers were open.
Craig came into the room, wiping himself with a towel. He had cleaned the blood off his body, but his mouth was still bleeding. The white towel had blood on it.
‘So what’s happened?’ Ben repeated, sitting on the floor.
Craig sat on the bed. ‘Jack,’ he spat. ‘That’s what happened.’
‘He did this?’
Craig ran his hand through his hair. ‘Yeah. How could I have been so stupid? I picked him up as you saw, or maybe he picked me up, I’m not sure. We were chatting, like you saw. We could tell each other was gay, or so I thought. He was very friendly: you know, doing all the text book things, eye contact, body language.’
‘You mean…’
‘I mean the sort of thing you were doing with those two girls.’
‘Didn’t happen quite like that.’
Craig stared at Ben for a moment. ‘Anyhow, after you went off with those girls, I went to the bathroom. I found a space at the bar, and ordered another beer. This guy sat on the next seat. He must have heard me ask for the beer, as he asked where I came from. I told him the UK, and the conversation went on from there.’
Ben thought for a moment. ‘What sort of conversation?’
Craig stared at him again, and then took a deep breath. He put his hand to his mouth, and then checked it for blood. ‘He said he always wanted to go to London, but the furthest he had got was New York. He asked what I was doing here, and I said I was here on vacation. Then we just chatted about what we liked to drink, about our favourite movies, that sort of thing. You came over, remember, then he asked how long I was staying here. We seemed to hit it off: I found him attractive, and he was looking me right in the eye when we spoke. Just to emphasize a point he would put his hand on my leg. After a few times he kept it there. Then he asked me if I wanted to go somewhere else.’
‘Is that when you sent me that text?’
‘Yes, I think it was about then. He said he was staying at a bed and breakfast so we couldn’t go there, but he had a car, so did I have somewhere we could go to. I said sure, and that was when I sent that text. I told him he could only stay till eleven thirty, because of my roommate.’
‘What did he say then?’
‘He said something like we’d better hurry then, so we finished our drinks and left. We got back here, he said he knew where the complex was, and came in.’