Our hero knows he’s in serious trouble.
The problem is, there are familiar faces and the question of who is a friend and who is a foe is made all the more difficult because of the enemy, if it was the enemy, simply because it didn’t look or sound or act like the enemy.
Now, it appears, his problems stem from another operation he participated in.
When I woke up, it was in a whole new world, but not necessarily of pain.
It was a different room, not quite dark, not hot or cold, and looked much like a hospital room layout with a hospital bed, and bright lights outside the doors.
I had no idea if it was daylight or night. Classic disorientation procedure before a different sort of interrogation.
What I also realised, though I was not sure why was that the casts and bandages I had back at the previous base hospital were gone, and everything looked, well, different.
That there was nothing wrong with me.
It’s a terrible thing to realise your own people had basically told you a web of lies about your condition, and how the mind adjusted to those lies. And yet, I would have sworn on a stack of bibles my pain was real.
Drugs. Not only could they do good, but they could also do some very bad things, to the mind and the body. At a guess, I would say it was for Breeman’s benefit. If I’d come back in one piece there would be a truckload of questions.
So, I’d been moved, and kept under the whole time. And if there was nothing wrong with me, why was I still in what looked like a hospital? Maybe it wasn’t. There was only one bed in the room. Perhaps it was a cell for recovering transportees.
My worst fears then, a black site.
My waking must have triggered an alarm because I heard the door open and someone come into the room. The exact position of the door was hidden by a curtain, but I could see the light from outside intensify when it opened and slowly drop ass it closed.
The curtain moved on its rings to show a man in a white coat, perhaps a doctor, but more likely the interrogator or his assistant coming to check the viability of their target.
I had to ask, “Where am I?”
“In a camp, at a location, I’m not at liberty to disclose.”
“When did I get here?”
“Yesterday, late last night. It was busy. We had three new arrivals. You must be on the right side because you didn’t arrive in chains, the other two did.”
He took my temperature, blood pressure and some other tests, and wrote the numbers on a page in a file.
“You haven’t reacted to the serum we gave you. That’s good.” He saw my look of concern. “Oh, it’s only used for transporting injured people from one base to another. It helps to minimise the external forces causing them unnecessary pain.”
“Apparently I’m not injured.”
“No. Not quite sure what happened there, but, whatever happened, it’s above my pay grade. By the way, don’t try to leave this room. There’s a guard outside who had been told to shoot first and ask questions later. I’ve seen the results of her work.”
It had to be Monroe.
That means Lallo would be around soon enough.
© Charles Heath 2019