Page 39 of Savage Reckoning

“Fuck you,” comes the response.

Aaron backhands him across the jaw. “Try again.”

No answer this time, so Aaron draws back his fist to have another go. “What’s your fucking name, arsehole?”

The man thinks better of further defiance. “Mitchell. Greg Mitchell.”

We exchange a look.

“You’re English?” Jack snaps.

Mitchell tries to nod, but Aaron’s grip on his hair puts a stop to that.

Jack jerks his thumb at the table. “Let’s get him on there.”

CHAPTER 9

Gabriel

Mitchell puts up a fight, but it’s hopeless. In moments his thrashing, squirming body is slung on the table, his wrists and ankles secured by the straps. Another thick leather band is pulled tight around his waist to keep him more or less motionless.

Jack is leading this interrogation by unspoken consent. He positions himself at the foot of the table to regard the would-be assassin.

“So,” he begins, “shall we start with what we know?”

“You’ve made a mistake. You need to let me go…” Mitchell struggles violently against his bonds. His eyes are wide, and bloodstained spittle drools from the corner of his mouth.

“As I was saying, what do we have so far? One, you tried to inject Aaron here with a noxious substance…”

“I’m a doctor. I was doing my job.”

“Does your job involve injecting patients with ketamine? Enough to fell a carthorse?”

“It was a sedative, to help him sleep.”

“We analysed the syringe. It contained ketamine. A dose so big, Aaron would have been dead within thirty minutes.” Jack pauses. “Any comments?”

“You’re lying. Or someone set me up. I’ve told you, I’m a doctor and—”

“Fuck this bollocks. Who do you work for?”

“I work for that hospital…”

“What hospital?”

“The… The…”

“You can’t even remember the fucking name of the place. Let me jog your memory. Bolt cutters.”

Mitchell lets out a scream of pure terror, while Tony selects the correct tool from the work bench.

He does a couple of experimental snips as he hands the cutters over. “Shoes off?” he enquires.

“Yes. We’ll start with a couple of toes, see how that works.”

Tony tackles the right foot, and I grab the left. We unlace the tatty trainers and drag them off, together with his socks. Jack eyes the exposed feet thoughtfully.

“Big toe first,” he announces. “Hold his foot still. The right one, I think.”

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