Part 17 (1/2)
”The security isn't as good as you think.”
”Really.”
”There's gaping holes.”
”Where?”
”Everywhere.”
”Well, it just so happens that you've been under surveillance for the past two weeks, and you haven't been anywhere near the project. We have pictures of you at pay phones all around the San Francisco area, which leads us to believe you've received your information by phone. It was given to you willingly by someone at the project, someone deep within the project.”
I regretfully finish the last of my coffee. ”This is pointless,” I tell him. ”I have no idea what the version of me has been doing here for the past two weeks. I only got here this morning.” I reach for the thermos but he pulls it away.
”One last chance, Harrison.”
”Whatever.”
”Give me the name of your source.”
”Even if I did know, I probably wouldn't tell you.” I stare at the thermos with sadness.
Cooper stands up, taking the thermos with him. ”Your loyalty is admirable,” he says. ”But we're going to get it out of you no matter how strong you think you are. I'm turning you back over to the FBI, and they know all the weak spots.”
”I'm sure they do.”
”You're really in for it, Harrison,” he says, turning away. ”These men are ruthless.” He gives me a look.
I stare back, feeling hopeless.
Cooper walks out the door and is gone.
The guard with the square nose and the over-large chin steps in, smiling. ”You didn't cooperate,” he says. He and his comrades surround me, yank me up from the bench and away from the table. The first fist smashes across my face, giving a distinct, hot pain; the rest fades together in a blur of agony.
I spend the night in a cold cell with the blanket but no cot. I sleep fitfully, waking every few minutes thinking they're coming in with the fire hose. The light is bright and there's no way to turn it off, and even if I lie facing away from it, it reflects bright from the concrete walls and lights up my eyelids. I keep hoping to sleep and s.h.i.+ft realities, but for some reason I'm stuck here. Perhaps it's because I can't get into a really deep sleep? For a while I lie there and try willing myself to move. It's useless, I'm so stiff and sore I can barely move in the mere three dimensions of the cell.
There's a metallic bang and loud clunk, and the squeal of heavy doors opening. I close my eyes and pretend I'm dead --- maybe they'll leave me alone. No such luck. I get a kick right in the middle of my back, then hands take hold of my arms and lift me painfully to my feet.
My legs don't work very well, and they have to hold me up as I stumble in between them. They take me to the room with the table and benches, and for a brief moment I hope for coffee and maybe even a meal --- I haven't seen even a crumb of food since they brought me here --- but no, I'm marched right past the table, right to the back of the room and through the door. In the room beyond, the room with the electric chair, they lock me into a standing position by putting my arms and legs in manacles, then they leave.
The chains holding my feet are short, close to the wall, while the chains holding my arms are a foot and a half long. The wall, I find, is not straight --- it angles forward --- which makes it impossible for me to lean against it. I have to stand under my own balance or hang by my arms, which is painful. This makes sense, because whoever designed it obviously didn't want to make it comfortable.
The torture is very subtle. Not only to I have to stand there and stare at an electric chair, but also a big electric clock on the wall.
Hours pa.s.s second by second, and I get to watch them pa.s.s --- the slow, deliberate movement of the second hand becomes a horrible thing. It does no good to close my eyes, because when I open them again I can't believe how little time has pa.s.sed. Five hours pa.s.s this way, and I'm to the point of pa.s.sing out when I hear footsteps.
A group of guards led by the one with the square nose and big chin enter the room with a woman. The woman cries out and rushes toward me, grabbing hold of me and hugging. It's Heather. I dip my face into her hair, kissing the top of her head. The smell of perfume and female sweat is strong. I feel a small flicker of hope, thinking she's here to get me out, but this is dashed as they pry her away from me and hold her as she struggles. This is beyond sick --- they're going to force her to watch as they torture me. But no, this isn't true either. They pull her dress off, stripping her down to her bra.s.siere and panties. Then they force her down into the electric chair and begin strapping her in.
”No!” I shout. ”No! Stop this! Stop! I want to talk to Cooper!
Bring Cooper in here!”
”Shut him up,” says square nose.
One of the guards obligingly steps over and lays a hard punch right into my upper stomach, and I go limp, hanging from my arms and making gasping, wheezing noises. The place I've been punched makes it hard for me to breathe. It makes it impossible to talk. I fight it, struggling to tell them to stop, but all I can do is shake my head at them and gasp.
Heather is beyond crying, she is whimpering. She's terrified. There's about twenty different straps and even a gag that goes in her mouth, and then they all step back and one of them reaches for a switch on the wall. I manage to grunt out a long, agonized ”NOOO!” as the switch is thrown.
Heather's eyes bulge and her body trembles. Each one of her fingers dance with a rhythm of its own. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d keeps the switch on for fifteen seconds, then flips it off. Heather's eyes close and her head sags forward, and her lungs let out one long sigh. Jesus, she's dead. I stare at them in horror --- how can they do this? What did she ever do to them? What's worse, they're grinning.
”Filthy f.u.c.king murdering b.a.s.t.a.r.ds!” I gasp, barely able to talk.
They only glance at me for a moment, then return their gaze at her. Her head lolls about, and square nose leans forward.
”How'd you like that, sweetheart? That was the lowest setting. Do you want to try ten volts more?”
Her eyes still closed, she shakes her head. I feel relieved that she's still alive, but this relief is short-lived. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d changes a setting behind the chair and throws the switch again. I close my eyes, unwilling to watch. When it's over, there's a puddle of urine under the chair. Heather is making weak sobbing sounds.
”You b.a.s.t.a.r.ds! You f.u.c.king filth! Leave her alone!”
”You hear that?” square nose says. ”Your boyfriend just told us to raise it up another ten volts!”
”No! Wait! Stop, I'll tell you my source! Stop it----!”
They jolt her again. This time I don't close my eyes. I stare, watching the electricity rape every muscle of her body, letting it burn into my memory. I promise myself that I will somehow kill each and every one of these people. No bullet through the brain, either --- but long, slow horrible deaths.
Cooper walks in on the tail end of this last jolt. His face is impa.s.sive as he stands there and waits for it to end. After this one Heather once again looks dead, so much so that Cooper reaches out and feels for a pulse in her neck. ”Poor girl,” he says. ”Another ten volts will probably stop her heart for good.”
”You treacherous b.a.s.t.a.r.d,” I say to him. ”You primeval f.u.c.k.”
”Set it up another ten volts,” Cooper says.
I wrench at the chains holding me, wis.h.i.+ng that just once I could be Superman and pull them apart. The sad fact is I'm as weak as a sick dog. ”No, Cooper . . . please. No. She has nothing to do with this.”
Square nose sets the dial for another ten volts and steps back over to the switch. ”If you've got something to tell me,” Cooper says, ”you'd better tell me now.”
”Alvin Laurel.” I blurt it out like a bubble, and like a bubble the name seems to float there in the air.
Cooper seems taken aback. ”Alvin Laurel?”
”Alvin Laurel told me everything. He showed me the four-dimensional prism and the cube he made from straws. Everything I know I learned from him.”
He thinks about it for a moment, then says, ”No. You're lying.
Shock the girl.”