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Back Whirlwind Save as PDF
Chapters (95)
  1. Title Page
  2. 1
  3. 2
  4. 3
  5. 4
  6. 5
  7. 6
  8. 7
  9. 8
  10. 9
  11. 10
  12. 11
  13. 12
  14. 13
  15. 14
  16. 15
  17. 16
  18. 17
  19. 18
  20. 19
  21. 20
  22. 21
  23. 22
  24. 23
  25. 24
  26. 25
  27. 26
  28. 27
  29. 28
  30. 29
  31. 30
  32. 31
  33. 32
  34. 33
  35. 34
  36. 35
  37. 36
  38. 37
  39. 38
  40. 39
  41. 40
  42. 41
  43. 42
  44. 43
  45. 44
  46. 45
  47. 46
  48. 47
  49. 48
  50. 49
  51. 50
  52. 51
  53. 52
  54. 53
  55. 54
  56. 55
  57. 56
  58. 57
  59. 58
  60. 59
  61. 60
  62. 61
  63. 62
  64. 63
  65. 64
  66. 65
  67. 66
  68. 67
  69. 68
  70. 69
  71. 70
  72. 71
  73. 72
  74. 73
  75. 74
  76. 75
  77. 76
  78. 77
  79. 78
  80. 79
  81. 80
  82. 81
  83. 82
  84. 83
  85. 84
  86. 85
  87. 86
  88. 87
  89. 88
  90. 89
  91. 90
  92. 91
  93. 92
  94. Also by DAVID KLASS
  95. Copyright Page

He looks at me for a second, eye to eye. “You’re a brave boy,” he whispers. “Your father is a courageous man, too. But everyone has a limit. Once you see the death I have in store for you, you’ll tell me everything.”

47

47

My numb right foot won’t support weight and the three guards don’t seem inclined to carry me, so they just drag me roughly along corridors and down steep flights of steps.

As we move through the gloom, my guards grow nervous. They’re tough-looking men with scars, who have plainly dished out and received their share of punishment, but with every step we take they become increasingly agitated. Frightened. “Terrified” would not be too strong a word.

My imagination runs wild picturing what is waiting at the end of this labyrinth. Is it some high-tech torture from the future, or will it be something more primitive?

I recall Dargon and his great white sharks. As we traverse a gloomy corridor I try to imagine what fearsome Amazon denizens his deranged dad may keep as house pets.

A circular black door becomes visible—it looks like the entry hatch to a submarine. At the sight of it my three guards slow till they’re almost walking backward. They begin arguing in whispers, till the burliest of them stops and utters a gruff command. The two smaller guards lead me unhappily onward.

I smell something salty. Decaying leaves? Brackish water? It leaves a slight tangy taste on my tongue.

The guard holding my right arm begins trembling. He does his best to hide it, but he soon turns pale and starts breathing in gasps. I glance at the guard on my other side. He’s clutching a small crucifix.

We reach the round door. Neither of them wants to touch its metal handle. I hear something stirring inside. Is it singing? No, it’s some kind of oscillating whisper.

The guard on my left reaches out with the tips of two hesitant fingers and pulls the door open, and we enter.

It’s a large and well-lighted chamber, about the size of an ice rink. But it’s not ice that glimmers under the bright lights. It’s water—shallow water, in a deeply recessed pit. The colonel has his own wading pool.

Spigots are mounted on opposite sides, and twin streams of water arc out of them and splash down ten feet to the surface of the pool in a continuous liquid whisper.

I look down into the pit expecting to see caimans or clouds of toothy piranhas, but it’s just clear water, empty as a bowl of broth.

A narrow footbridge spans the pool. On the far side of that bridge I see the colonel. He’s now wearing plastic bags over his boots and a shower cap on his head.

A dark figure stands behind him. I can’t make out the man’s features—he’s wearing a black mask.