Reverb (Story of CI #2)

by Rachel Moschell

  “The apostates,” Dr. Hosseini said wryly. “The number of Christians has been growing, but before they didn’t have such an impact on society. When Sami began to share what he believed, members of the influential began to convert, and now Mirza Samadi is continuing that legacy. They want to make Sami and Mirza into leaders of a revolution, corrupting young people against Islam and thus against the government of Iran. A soft revolution, through ideas. This is treason, you understand: against Iran, for the West. Sami went to the US and had contacts with large US churches. They want to prove that he and anyone associated with him are part of a secret organization working to overthrow the government. And for that, this young woman, Ms. Cadogan, is the lynchpin in their case.”

  “And that would be because…” Rupert’s voice was gruff, not liking where this was going. Alejo exhaled loudly.

  “Wara is a member of Jaime Malcolm’s childhood church in Montana,” he said flatly. “Jaime Malcolm is the American who led the project to bring Ashavan to the United States. He was a leader at John Rainer’s church. They must have been investigating Malcolm, and found Wara’s picture on the internet. She was a missionary from that church.” Alejo groaned and clunked his head back against the wall. “They see Wara as connected with Jaime Malcolm.”

  Dr. Hosseini nodded gravely and leaned forward. “If they can get Ms. Cadogan to testify that a Western organization working for revolution exists, then Mirza is condemned as part of it. And not only him, but all who are connected with him.”

  Again the horror threatened to rise up from Alejo’s belly. “What are they doing to her?” he croaked. This was big; they weren’t just prosecuting rock stars for pro-Western ways. This case was dealing with Iran’s national security at the highest levels. And Wara was in their hands, in Evin prison.

  “They insisted she must testify,” Dr. Hosseini sighed. “But she refused. At the trial, in front of everyone. She stood up there, screaming that it was all a lie, that everyone was innocent.” The faint flicker of a smile creased the doctor’s lips, then he sobered. “They won’t give up, however. They will make her testify. Mr. Sandiego, they are using the strappado.”

  The word ran down Alejo’s spine like cold sludge. He stared at Dr. Hosseini in disbelief, the roof of his mouth like sandpaper.

  “Strappado?” Rupert grated. “Reverse hanging?” Alejo glanced at him in shock, images of the torture device called the strappado flashing in front of his eyes. They would tie the prisoner’s wrists behind her back, then hang her from the ceiling. Shoulders would rip out of the socket, sending shooting pain down her whole body.

  Alejo drew in a ragged breath and let his head sink down to his knees. The room’s atmosphere seemed to swirl around him like a tornado. Amid the roar, he heard Dr. Hosseini continue to report. “They’ve already used the strappado twice,” he said. “They plan to continue every day until she agrees to implicate who they want for the case. They are serious about this,” he warned. “They won’t quit. They will make her confess.”

  The heavy breathing at Alejo’s side told him Rupert was furious. He hadn’t known Wara long, but he had promised to take care of her like his own daughter when she got involved with CI.

  “I have to get her out,” Alejo said. He lifted his head and faced Dr. Hosseini, eyes on fire. “It’s not like in the movies. Real people can’t resist that kind of torture. It’s only a matter of time…” Alejo stopped, realizing he had been about to say, until they kill her or she confesses and tells them whatever they want to hear.

  “I couldn’t agree with you more,” Hosseini said. “We have to get the young lady out of there. She’s being used to implicate many who have done nothing wrong. But if someone were to have a plan to rescue her…” He paused and cleared his throat, sweat shimmying past his eyebrow. “…It would have to be done outside the prison. When she’s being moved. I cannot give you the kind of intelligence you need to raid Evin prison.”

  Obviously. Alejo, Rupert, Lalo, and Caspian were not anywhere near equipped to do a prison break under these circumstances.

  “How can we get her out?” Alejo asked. “We need to make them move her.”

  “The only reason they will move her is if she is to testify at the trial,” Hosseini replied.

  “She’ll break, and then we’ll get her out when she’s moved.” Alejo barely recognized his own voice. “Can you get word to us when the trial will be?”

  “Of course.”

  “And we’d need to know the transport route,” Lalo said. “What if it varies? We have no way to track her.”

  “And no way to get word to Wara that she should give in and get herself transported to the trial before they do more to her,” Rupert observed sourly.

  Alejo rolled his frozen shoulders back against the wall and remembered bloody Arad Neesi, his friend from college, dismembered beyond recognition on the marble porch. They had done that to him in Evin.

  “I’ll go,” he said. “To Evin.” The words sounded alien, and he pushed back a force field of panic. Rupert was listening, regarding him with those cool blue eyes. “I’ve got two implanted tracking devices, Rupert.” Alejo motioned to his right hip and left bicep. “I’ll give you the frequencies. I’ll go to the police. As Wara’s husband, I’m the real mastermind behind this whole thing, the one they really want to confess. But I’ll only confess with her. When they move us to the trial, Hosseini will let you know and you’ll track us.”

  Rupert was watching him, and the man appeared content.

  40

  Forget Me Not

  BREATHE IN, BREATHE OUT. Breath out slower…

  The darkness enveloped Wara completely in her cell, so heavy she struggled to breathe slowly under the pressure. It had been hours since the torture, the hanging from the ceiling that wrenched her shoulder blades out of the sockets, and the pain was riding just on the edge of unbearable. Wara lay flat on her back, feeling the darkness push her into the thin blankets and the cold concrete, sucking in deep, slow breaths to fight off the raging pain shooting from her shoulders.

  The first time Shahrukh had done this to her, she had passed out. She woke to a doctor putting her dislocated shoulders back into place, and promptly passed out again. She had a faint memory of the aged doctor giving her a shot of something, and it must have been strong. The pain she felt the first day hadn’t been as bad as now. After Shahrukh had hung her up earlier, the doctor hadn’t been back. They’d dumped her in here on her back for what seemed like an eternity. The hot pain burned through her upper torso, and the fear gnawed at her gut.

  There was no way she could let them do this to her again. When the guard brought Wara’s meal, she’d barely registered it, totally focused on fighting the pain. Even if she’d been interested in the food, there was no way she could eat. She couldn’t move her arms, thanks to the dislocated shoulders.

  She was trapped here on her back. Wondering when they would come haul her out again and hook her up to the ropes.

  In between surges of pain, Wara’s mind went to Neelam. And Tarsa, and Mirza. All of the believers she had met here flickered before her eyes, filling her with dread.

  There was no way she could do it. If she said what Shahrukh wanted, she’d be condemning all of them to imprisonment or death, like Sami. Even scrawny Jaime Malcolm and his hobbit twin, probably from the States as well, would be in severe danger if Wara gave in and testified.

  But she couldn’t let Shahrukh tie her arms behind her back again and yank her into the air. Wara’s breathing quickened to raspy hyperventilation, just imagining the man’s hands on her, twisting her shoulders to put her in position for the ropes.

  There was no way out. Saying what they wanted seemed unthinkable. How could she do this to Tarsa and Neelam?

  But how can I stay here?

  Cooling tears pooled in Wara’s ears, tickling her like crazy, but she couldn’t brush them away.

  If I could just sleep, I wouldn’t feel like this anymore.

  She pinched
her eyes shut against the palatable darkness, drawing in deep, unsteady breathes, and tried to imagine peace.

  Peace would be Alejo here, lying next to me and holding my hand in the dark.

  The realness of the thought startled her, and Wara felt tears sting her eyes. When had she begun to feel that way? In Coroico, Alejo had carried her down the mountain, taking her away from the men who wanted to kill her. She remembered now how his hazel eyes always watched her, quiet yet full of fire, as if he would kill anyone who dared to touch her, dared to hurt her.

  The empty sweetness of the thought racked her.

  He wasn’t here. No matter how much she imagined, it was impossible.

  Of course, God was here, and honestly, right now, Wara would give anything to be able to see him, to hold his hand and feel him between her and everyone at this prison.

  Finally feeling the utter exhaustion, Wara felt her body relax and drop into sleep.

  The blessing of sleep didn’t last long. Wara started with an awful mix of nausea and pain as the cell door slammed. A fuzzy beam of cheese-colored light danced around the tiny cell from the direction of the door, and the female guard Sohrab was muttering something crossly in Farsi. Male voices also rumbled in the hallway, and Wara saw the shadow of a man cut across the light, pushed into the cell.

  “Enjoy the honeymoon suite,” Sohrab snorted and let the door slam and lock.

  “Sure, thanks a lot,” the man’s voice muttered in Farsi. Wara’s world whipped into a violent whirlpool in the darkness, horrified that some man was now in her cell. She tensed and fought crying out as her sore body readied to kick whoever was standing over her.

  “Who are you?” she managed to stutter.

  “Wara,” the intruder said softly. The familiar voice shocked Wara into motionless as she felt the man fall to his knees next to her blankets in the darkness. She whimpered and tried to move away, causing the intruder to moan. “Petra. It’s Paulo. I’m here.”

  He fumbled in the pitch blackness for her hand, and a buzz spread down Wara’s neck, jolting her entire body. “Alejo!” she gasped. “Alejo? What are you…” the words died into a muted groan as she shifted positions in her excitement and pain shot down the arm Alejo held. He quickly pulled his hand away and she felt him lower himself to her side, careful not to touch her.

  “What did they do to you?” he whispered. Wara imagined his hazel eyes on fire in the dark, and she couldn’t hold back a very undignified sob.

  “I can’t believe you’re here,” she blubbered.

  She felt Alejo’s forehead press against her own, and then he pulled back. “Don’t get too excited,” he whispered wryly in Spanish. “I’m sure you can think of a lot of other people you’d rather be locked up with.” Alejo’s voice sobered. “Wara, what did they do? I know they’ve been torturing you.”

  “Oh. Only twice.” Wara suddenly felt terribly inferior, lying here helpless on the prison floor, ready to die because of a couple dislocated shoulders. Alejo could probably be drawn and quartered, then shake it off and go have a beer with the guys afterwards.

  But she wasn’t him.

  “I’m miserable,” she admitted pitifully. “I guess they dislocated my shoulders. The first time an old guy put them back in place, but the second time no one’s come. I can’t move.” She heard Alejo exhale loudly, and realized it was probably good she couldn’t move or she might throw herself into his arms and cry. “It hurts,” she groaned in English, concentrated on pushing back the nausea of pain.

  Alejo’s breathing was raspy, and she could tell he was really angry. “Before they let me come in here, they told me you’d been receiving wonderful medical care after your unfortunate fall down the stairs.” Alejo bit off the words. “But this weekend, the prison doctor is out of town at his daughter’s wedding.”

  “You—don’t—have any morphine or anything, do—you?” Wara gasped, curling her toes against the blankets and doing her best not to shriek out loud. Fragmented thoughts ran through her head like scampering mice:

  What in the world is Alejo doing here? How did he convince them to let him in my cell? Does anyone else know we’re here?

  But it was so darn hard to think when your body is screaming for mercy.

  “No, no morphine,” Alejo let his voice rise louder. “I’m going to have to put your shoulders back in place. You’ve gotta let me do it. Trust me, after your shoulder’s back in place, you’ll feel a lot better.”

  Wara cringed. “I remember when you wanted to put my broken nose back in place. In Bolivia. After you broke it yourself. Remember?” She was wishing desperately for that shot of morphine, trying to stall for time.

  “Which thankfully didn’t end up being broken,” Alejo clipped. “I’m going to position your arm a little differently. Keep taking big deep breaths like you’re doing.” Alejo slowly pulled her right arm away from her body, laying it out in a ninety degree angle, bent at the elbow. “Bet you can’t imagine how your face would look today if you’d really let me fix your nose,” he said lightly. Wara grimaced.

  “Y-you’re trying to do what they al-always do in the movies, aren’t you. Trick the patient into l-laughing at some funny story so you can jerk my shoulder back into place when I’m not paying attention.”

  “You got me,” Alejo said, probably grinning in the dark. “You do have to be relaxed.” He gripped her elbow with both hands and slowly applied pressure. “I stink at funny stories.” Alejo’s fingers circled her forearm, and he slowly rotated her arm. Wara drew in deep, ragged breaths. She shrieked as a hollow pop sounded near her ear and a lightening bolt assaulted her senses.

  Wara slumped into the scratchy prison blankets, unconscious.

  When she opened her eyes, it was immediately obvious that Alejo’s medical intervention had worked. Comfort flooded her world: only soreness left in her shoulders instead of burning pain. Relaxed muscles that no longer screamed for relief. Her cheek pressed into warm fabric instead of the cold concrete floor.

  Wara let her eyes flit downwards, and saw that she was lying on one of Alejo’s thighs. Weak light was now bathing them from a bulb in the ceiling, revealing cheap white and teal tiles and Alejo sitting on her blanket in navy prison clothes and bare feet. She risked a movement and nearly wept with relief when she realized Alejo had gotten both her shoulders back into place.

  “Thank you,” she spoke hoarsely. “It doesn’t hurt nearly as bad. Sorry I’m such a wimp.”

  She felt Alejo shift under her head. “The second shoulder was a lot easier because you were all relaxed. And you’re not exactly a wimp. What they hung you up on is called the strappado. Or reverse hanging. It’s an awful thing, Wara.”

  She wasn’t going to argue with that. She could tell her shoulders were back in place, but she still felt like she’d fallen down a mountain. Muscles and ligaments throughout her body still protested vigorously and she wasn’t about to try to move from her position on her back, using Alejo Martir as a pillow.

  Alejo was here.

  “I’m so sorry they arrested you, too,” she said tightly. Her eyes stung, frustrated that even Alejo had been caught and put in this prison.

  She sensed Alejo shrug. “I asked them to arrest me, actually.” Wara blinked, hard. “I went down to the station and told them my wife, Wara Cadogan, knows nothing about the spy ring. And that if they want a confession, they’d better let me be the one to do it. After they give me a night alone with my wife.”

  Wara felt numb. “You…let them arrest you? Why?”

  “I’ve got a tracking device inside me. A few inches from your nose.” Wara started, then lowered her eyes to Alejo’s hip. “They think I’m going to confess, and we’re going to the trial together. Rupert’s here, Wara, with some of the lukes. They’ll track us. We’re going to try to get you out.”

  She felt herself gaping, dumbfounded by what Alejo had just said. She had seen the terror in his eyes that night in the village when he told her about his friend. But Alejo had let them br
ing him here, to prison, to save her from this place.

  “But…if Rupert can’t get us out, you’ll be stuck here too.” Of course. Alejo didn’t even grace that observation with a reply. ”They’ll kill you when they find out you won’t really testify against Mirza and Jaime. Jaime Malcolm’s here…I saw him in the courtroom. They want me to testify he’s the leader of some spy ring, so they can charge anyone who was ever connected with Sami.”

  Alejo stiffened. “Malcolm? No one knew he was here.”

  “It totally doesn’t make sense, but it was definitely him. And another blond guy. On trial.”

  “We have to get you out of here,” Alejo said darkly. “It’s the only way.”

  Hinges ground against wood and a thin shaft of light brightened the room. A male guard entered the room, face shiny and grazed with stubble.

  “Um, hello,” he whispered, and quickly shut the door behind him. He clicked on a little flashlight, which he pointed at the ground. “I’m sorry to bother you in the middle of the night. But I brought this.”

  Alejo lowered Wara’s head and shoulders to the ground and rose to approach the guard on bare feet.

  “It’s medicine,” the young guy explained, voice still hushed. “My cousin works in the prison pharmacy. Extra-strength Ibuprofen.”

  “This’ll be helpful,” Alejo nodded after examining what the guard placed in his hand. He brought a glass of an amber liquid from the forgotten tray in the corner and lifted Wara’s head so she could drink and swallow. Alejo place three of the chalky pills in her mouth, and she washed them down with the contents of the cup, a mixture of bitter herb and sugar.

  The guard just stood there, nervously, silver flashlight twitching in his hand. “My name is Hourmazd,” he finally told them. “If you need anything else, ask Sohrab the guard to call me. I met Sami, the rock singer. And I was there when you and your other friends were arrested at the concert.”

  “Mirza and Neelam?” Wara struggled to lift her head higher and see Hourmazd. Those pain pills had yet to kick in, however, and she had to content herself with flopping back on the blankets. “How are they? Are they still here?”