Chapters (45)
- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- Contents
- Prologue
- 2046
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- About the Author
The confusion is almost as great as the fear. He undertook some basic interrogation training in the military so he understands being waterboarded. What he doesn’t understand is the lack of questions, or, to be more specific, the lack of any questions. Not one of the five men has asked a single question.
As the immediacy of the threat of drowning abates, so he coughs to clear his airway in order to ask what they want but the gun rises, presses to his temple and fires before the words form.
The lights come on. Harsh overhead strip lights that show the body of the man just killed in the dingy room.
Five remain. All of them have broken noses, contusions and the after-effects of concussions. One has a broken arm. Two have broken wrists. One has a ruptured testicle. One has a dislocated shoulder.
It takes seconds for the pain in their eyes to ease so they can look round and see that death for themselves.
Like Hans Markel, they are hard men. Ex-military. They have seen conflict and bodies before, but being forced to remain kneeling with their arms bound behind them while listening to one of their own being silently waterboarded was an assault to the senses none of them ever expected.
The five look round the room, blinking rapidly as they adjust to the bright lights. As one they spot their mate now dead on the floor, lying in a pool of blood that is turning pink from the puddles splashed during the torture.
Five men in balaclavas stare at them. Five men dressed in black from top to toe.
The five men walk to stand in front of the five kneeling men. They stop with one in front of each from Alpha to Echo in one line.
They have the height advantage, which they know adds to the intimidation and perception of threat. They fold their arms and widen stances. They remain quiet. Not a word spoken.
One of the kneeling men coughs to clear his dry, parched throat. Another groans from the agony in his joints and the fact his broken arm has been forced behind his back. Another sways on the spot. The pain from his shoulder threatening to render him unconscious.
Alpha nods to Delta. Delta draws his pistol and shoots the swaying man in the head.
Four remain. Four that gibber in absolute terror. Still not a question has been asked. Not a word uttered. They were in the two ambulances. The paramedics were really nice and made sure they were comfortable. The offered water and made small talk. The ambulances stopped. The paramedics got out. There was silence but the injured men did not question it, such was the state of them. Five men wearing balaclavas came back. The operatives were dragged, beaten, thrown and pushed into the cellar of the abandoned warehouse and forced to kneel in the pitch black while the first one was dragged away.