Now that I’ve gone down the rabbit hole, it’s time to find out what sort of trouble is waiting. It might be hot in the desert, but I think it’s going to get hotter in the underground lair.
“We can do this the easy way or the hard way, your choice.”
There was always a choice, I’m sure, but at the end of the day, it always ended up bring the hard way.
It had been a long, and somewhat sleepless, night, pondering the whys and wherefores of what just happened.
I’m guessing I was supposed to die, like the pilot, now I was a thorn in their side.
The two men sent to collect me were purposefully selected for terror value, a sign that if I was contemplating anything other than full co-operation, these were the sort of men I would have to deal with.
The reality, on the other hand, was sometimes completely different.
I still hadn’t got proof that this was an enemy, or rogue, unit, so no point panicking yet.
“Let’s try the easy way first,” I said, getting off the stretcher and standing.
One remained outside the room, the other, after unlocking the door, ventured as far as the doorway. He seemed disappointed at my choice.
I walked between them further into the labyrinth until we reached another doorway, this with an opaque glass window, and though it I could see there was someone already in the room.
He opened the door, ushered me in, giving that little push in the back that was to remind me of the controlled force he had and would unleash. A nod in the direction of the room’s occupant, he withdrew and closed the door.
The occupant was an older man, in his 60s, the sort one would mistake as a university professor, but on reality was a master torturer in the guise of an interrogator.
We had them, I’d heard about them, but this was a first.
“Sit, Mr. James.”
All this politeness was a front, it had to be, designed perhaps to take me off my guard.
There was a table on one side with two chairs opposite each other. It wasn’t much of a table and the chairs looked cheap and uncomfortable, for both of us.
There was nothing else in the room and nothing on the table. The discussion no doubt would be recorded, or perhaps the man had a very good memory.
To make a good first impression, I sat.
For five minutes I could feel him looking at me, trying to make me feel uncomfortable. It was disconcerting, but I had decided to speak when spoken to.
What happens next, not even I know.
© Charles Heath 2019