Page 71 of Savage Warrior

“Thanks. Keep me posted.” Ethan ends the call and starts keying in another. “While I’m sweet-talking Marius, you lot can work on that piece of shit down in the kill room. Be quick about it. I can’t see him lasting more than a few hours or so.”

Tony comes with me down to the dungeons. There are plenty of advantages in living in a fucking fortress, and having a purpose-built torture chamber at our disposal is one of them. Ethan has added a few mod cons such as electric lighting and running water, but essentially, the underground chambers retain their original macabre ambience.

No windows. No ventilation. No heating. And in the case of our current guest, nothing but the barest of medical care for his injuries. He took a bullet to his gut and one to his knee. We find him lying on the stone floor of his cell, semiconscious.

He hears us entering and opens his eyes, then grunts in pain when we lift him by the legs and arms and carry him out and across the corridor to another room. This is the place we like to use for interrogating prisoners because there are plenty of tools to hand and a useful drain in the concrete floor. We sling our guest up onto the table in the centre of the chamber and secure him in place with leather straps at each corner. It wouldn’t do to have him falling off in the middle of our conversation.

I start by grasping his injured knee and squeezing. He lets out an agonised roar, so I know I have his attention.

“Name?” I snap in Russian.

“Yebat’,” he replies.

“Fuck? That name suits you.” I squeeze harder. “Try again.”

“Leanid,” he screams, clearly coming round to cooperating.

“Last name?” I demand.

“Vasiliev.” He’s writhing on the table and starts pleading for water.

Why not. “Tony, fetch a bucket of cold water, would you? Our friend wants a drink.”

There’s a tap in the corner. It doesn’t take long to fill a pail and dump it on the table next to the prisoner. Tony produces a grubby towel as well.

I dip my hand in and swill away the blood now staining it. The water clouds. It looks disgusting. I scoop some in my palm and drop it into Vasiliev’s open mouth.

He swallows greedily. “Bol’she,” he mutters.

“You want more?” I meet Tony’s gaze and gesture to the bucket.

He lifts it, while I drape the towel over Vasiliev’s head.

He realises at once what’s coming and thrashes wildly as we slowly empty the bucket over his face, taking care to ensure most of the water douses his mouth and nose. I’ve only ever once experienced water boarding. It was part of my training and one of the most awful things ever to go through. It’s like drowning, only worse somehow because you’re on your back and strapped down. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. Well, maybe I would, and right now that enemy is Leanid Vasiliev.

When the bucket is empty, I ask Tony to refill it, while I continue our little chat.

I drag the towel away.

Vasiliev gasps for breath, choking and spluttering. I grasp him by the chin and turn his face towards me.

“Who do you work for, svoloch’?”

He shakes his head, pleading. “Oni ub'yut menya…”

I lean in so my nose is almost touching his. “You’re dead anyway. I will kill you, you piece of Russian shit. Except I’ll do it slowly. Painfully. Is that what you want?”

He shakes his head.

“Then you have two choices. A chance to die quickly, or…not.”

His teeth are chattering. Incoherent sounds spew from his mouth. I toss the towel back over him and gesture to Tony. We need to get on with this before he dies of a heart attack or something.

Tony takes his time pouring the second bucket of water into his mouth and throat. By the time he’s done, Vasiliev is limp. I remove the towel and slap his face. He moans and retches. He’d probably vomit if he had anything inside him to throw up, but I know for a fact the catering down here is non-existent.

“Do we need to go on, Leanid?”

He winces at the sound of running water, the bucket being refilled.

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