1
The heavy fist careened toward my face like a sledgehammer.
SMACK!
The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth.
The fist cocked back and struck again.
BAM!
More blood.
I spat out a mix of blood and saliva. It drizzled down my chin, down my neck, and stained my shirt. I wasn’t really worried about the shirt. The black bag over my head made it hard to breathe, and that was part of the point. Disorienting and claustrophobic. The waterboarding would start soon after they softened me up. I knew the drill, and these guys were textbook.
BOOM!
Another fist. This one hit my cheek, wrenched my head aside like the others, and rattled my spine. My teeth chattered. I wasquite fond of my teeth and wanted to keep all of them. My brain bounced around in my skull.
Pain throbbed.
“I think you’ve made your point,” I said dryly.
“No,” Mr. Fist replied. “I don’t think I have. We’re just getting started.”
CRACK!
This went on for quite a long time.
“If you keep that up, he’s not going to be able to tell you much of anything,” a voice in the corner of the room said to Mr. Fist.
Through the fabric of the bag, hazy shapes were visible, backlit by a work light in the other corner. Mr. Fist backed off and shook out his hand, which was throbbing as much as my face. At least I hoped the son of a bitch was in pain, too.
It was time for the good cop, bad cop routine.
Footsteps shuffled near, and the good cop huddled close. He leaned in and spoke in a hushed tone. "You know, this would be a lot easier if you just cooperated.”
I said nothing.
"Tell us how the reporter got the information."
"I want to speak with my attorney."
Good Cop laughed. "You're not under arrest.”
"So I'm free to go?”
There was a long, ominous silence.
"You violated a national security gag order,” he said in a low growl. “You disseminated classified information in violation of said order. Right now, you and your friend are in a very precarious position. Your actions have posed a threat to national security. Some might consider what you've done as an act of treason. You could be classified as a domestic violent extremist. An enemy combatant. If you're not careful, you could spend the rest of your days in Gitmo, awaiting due process.”
I laughed. "Due process. Is that what this is?”
Good Cop sighed. "Just admit that you gave the reporter classified information.”
This guy was a moron if he thought I was going to admit to anything. Yes, I had given Paris classified information to expose corruption. Yes, Julian Ashby had tried to kill us, and the feds were protecting him. Yes, I was pissed off about it.
“Look, your friend has already admitted to everything. Do yourself a favor and start playing ball.”
