*

“Enough.”

Drummond walked from the shadows in the soundproofed basement and stood before the bound man. Kroen stepped back, breathing hard. There was a small smile of ecstasy on his blood-splattered face. The huge bodyguard wore a plastic apron and dark shirt, sleeves rolled up. Blood and specks of flesh coated the material and ran down the plastic to the floor. Sticking from the large front pocket of the apron was a pair of greasy-looking bolt cutters.

Drummond looked down – there were two seats, nailed to the ground and facing each other. They both contained naked men, one untouched but with eyes heavy with fatigue and scoured of any human emotion. The other contained a man who had been beaten to a red mess. Bits of bone showed whitely at his eyebrows and cheekbones. Both eyes were swollen closed and his lips were split, in one place so badly the remains of his broken teeth showed through. Scattered around him on the floor were ten fingers, looking like pale grubs trailing bloody tracks back to their former owner.

Drummond walked around the ruined man, tsk-tsking, and placed a hand on his bloody shoulder from behind. He wore rubber gloves, and gently patted his captive. He looked across at the untouched man.

“This must really hurt. The important thing is, I’m not doing this because I hate him – I don’t even know Agent Herzl here. I’m not doing it for him, or Kroen, or even myself. In fact, you may have noticed that I have not asked a single question of him…although I have many.”

Drummond reached up and stroked the man’s sweat-soaked hair. “Many questions…but not for him. I’m not a monster…not really. Nothing like what’s coming.” He stifled a laugh, then spoke in perfect Hebrew to Agent Herzl. “Release you now?”

The battered head came up a fraction, and one of the eyelids twitched but couldn’t possibly open through all the swelling and sticky blood. Drummond straightened. “Kroen. Show him our mercy.”

Kroen, turned and lifted a huge silver bowl from a tabletop, and came and placed it between the battered man’s legs.

Drummond looked to the untouched seated man. His eyes now burned like lasers beams of pure hate. The older man smiled. “Good – anger, defiance, determination – you will need it all. Agent Kahan, what you see here is nothing more than a demonstration of our resolve. Soon, you will pray to be given this merciful gift.”

Drummond held out his hand, and Kroen placed a long silver surgical blade into it. In a flash he dragged it across the man’s lower abdomen, causing his entire bowel and intestines to spill forward heavily and plop into the bowl. The man shuddered, and his ragged lips opened in a moan.

Drummond stroked the man’s hair, almost the way someone would their favorite cat that had taken up residence on their lap. He smiled and watched as blood ran thickly, already overflowing the crowded bowl. The room filled with the smell of dark blood and the contents of Herzl’s bowels.