“Now then, Yanni,” Dietrich began. “Are you going to tell us where you found your friends?”

Lockhart ignored the question and began to pray. He thought of Anna and Amy and wanted to cry, but he stopped himself. The pliers grew tighter and his finger was being bent to just before the breaking point.

“Come on, Yanni, tell us.”

He was so tempted, but he knew he couldn’t. Dietrich nodded at Fasshauer and the junior officer pulled hard on the pliers. The finger broke with a gristly crack, pain pumping from Lockhart’s hand to his brain with a ferocity and venom that he didn’t think was possible. He screamed high and loud and could dimly detect the sound of laughter.

“Christ!” he bellowed.

Dietrich and Fasshauer stopped laughing. Lockhart had said the word in English.

The two officers looked at each other.

“What was that?” asked Dietrich. “It sounded like English.”

“I think it was,” Fasshauer replied. “I’m sure he said ‘Christ.’”

Dietrich chewed his bottom lip. He had been certain this captive was unusual, and now he had proof. Just one little word had uncovered a cowardly English spy. How many more idiots like this were running around the mountains, causing him trouble? There was only one way to find out. He crouched next to Lockhart, who was moaning softly. Dietrich cleared his throat.

“So then, you’re not really a ‘Yanni,’ are you? You’re probably a ‘Geoffrey’ or a ‘Nigel.’”

Dietrich pronounced the names to make them sound absurd. The prisoner continued to look away. Had he even realized that Dietrich had spoken in English? He must have.

“Come on, my friend,” Dietrich continued in a mock-soothing tone. “You nearly had us fooled, but you can give up now. Don’t pretend that you’re some sort of peasant—your moustache isn’t big enough. If you don’t tell us everything, I’m going to break one of your fingers every hour. If that doesn’t work, I’ll then smash a kneecap. And then the other one. Perhaps then I’ll move on to your arms. Maybe cut off an ear. Anyhow, you’re not going to die for a long time now. And if you do tell me what I need to know, then I might let you live. Nod if you understand me.”

Lockhart was barely listening. His brain was occupied by pain, nausea and, worst of all, guilt. He knew he had sworn in English, and all he wanted to do was to end it, to somehow let himself slip away. But he knew he had to find the strength to face more agonies, not to let down the organization and his comrades. If he ever met Anna and Amy in this, or another life, he would be able to embrace them as an honorable man, and not as a betrayer of secrets.

As his thoughts stumbled around, he could make out occasional phrases in English coming from Dietrich’s mouth.

“Don’t pretend…smash a kneecap…. Nod if you understand….”

He looked up at Dietrich and nodded.