Page 65 of The Big Fix

Her? The man’s slip wasn’t lost on me.

Silently, I marshaled my courage, steeling my mind against the fear that already had me by the throat. Not for me, and not for anything that would happen to me. Owen was the one I was worried about. Suwan had him working on a project, and once it was done, he was dead, and there was nothing I could do about it. I was utterly powerless. Suwan spoke of torture and death as if he were casually reciting a weather report. He didn’t care. He was carrying out orders, nothing more. And clearly, whatever Owen was doing had to do with the money, the capitalist part of the equation. He didn’t want my money, he wanted whatever Owen was getting him. I couldn’t bargain; there was nothing Suwan wanted from me. I had to hope, as Owen had, that help was coming.

“Now, Colonel”—Suwan smiled at me as several men came into the room—“shall we begin?”

Suwan’s men came straight for me, and I got to my feet as they closed in, but it was six against one. Those odds were not great unless you were Bruce Lee, and I was not him. I slugged two guys, kicked a third into the wall, but two grabbed ahold of me. My right arm was seized from behind and shoved up behind my shoulder blade in a painful arm lock. Fang stepped in front of me and hit me hard, twice, his fist crashing into my jaw, then into the side of my head. The darkness was immediate.

TWELVE

Which of the senses came back first, crawling up from the dankness of unconsciousness, was different for every person. For me, it was my sense of smell that told me I was still alive. The odors of urine and blood slid into my nostrils, along with musty dampness. The blood was mine. I wasn’t dead, just tenderized.

My brain began to work a little faster. I was in a cellar—had to be the one Suwan promised earlier. His little chamber of pain and despair. It was a cold, Spartan room. No furniture, and a single low-watt bulb on the ceiling barely illuminating the place.

“Not even close to five stars,” I muttered, slowly dragging myself to my feet.

Maybe this was what it was always going to come down to? Maybe dying a particularly gruesome death without knowing who was killing you or why they wanted you dead so badly was how it turned out when you worked with Army Intelligence and the CIA. Not everyone got a B and B in Maine or a beautiful house overlooking the water in Massachusetts. If life was truly some sort of cosmic karmic scale, I certainly deserved my fate.

And yes. I’d killed many in the service of my country, but only when I had to. I never enjoyed it. I was never sent on a whim. If I showed up at your door, you’d done something horrible. Something unforgivable. But still, that didn’t give the agency the right to be judge, jury, and executioner. I realized, back in the day, that by association, the CIA was turning me into a monster. I left it behind before I had nothing left of my humanity. And of course, by then, there was Owen to consider, newly back from college at twenty-four, wanting to work with me and be a part of helping others as I’d helped him. Creating Torus had been my dream, and he’d been there for the creation. He’d been there for me in so many ways, and now I was powerless to free him.

My heart hurt just imagining letting him down. It was very possible that I was going to die here, and the why haunted me. This would be a slow and torturous death at the hands of gangsters over some unfinished business.

The Army had trained me to withstand torture at the hands of my enemies. But pain was the great equalizer, and every interrogator believed that as long as the subject didn’t die, anything was possible. I had a high tolerance, but everyone had a breaking point. I asked myself how much more could I take under constant agony.

The waiting, of course, was the worst.

It was hard to focus on survival, to remain at constant readiness, when nothing happened. It was why people dropped their guard. There was no way to stay terrified or alert long-term. The human body didn’t work like that.

My thoughts turned to my friends. Jing would certainly move heaven and earth to make sure I was safe; she’d already shown her resolve by calling in Isaak. Dante would put himself in danger to save me, without question. Darius as well. They were coming. It was just a question of when.

I gritted my teeth at the sound of heavy footsteps outside the cell door, tensing as soon as I heard the scraping sound of the lock’s mechanism being turned. At the clank of the bolt being thrown back, I steeled myself, preparing my mind for the ordeal my body would face today.

The door swung open, and Fang walked into the room. He was accompanied by two big, muscular guys with no necks. I was in agreement. I could have skipped this as well.

I was tall, six four, but all of them were taller than me. It did not bode well. I cataloged one with narrow eyes and a three-inch scar that sliced down the side of his right cheek, and the other, slightly shorter, had a bald head and an unpleasant gold-toothed grin on his craggy face, that looked like it had seen its share of fights.

The moment of truth had arrived, and I found myself disappointed in Fang. He’d proven he could take me down alone, but he’d brought friends?

“Three against one? Are you overcompensating for a personal shortcoming?”

“No. Today you get to fight back.”

“How sporting of you,” I spat.

“Are you ready to begin, Colonel?”

“Are you serious? Just get on with it.” As if I had a choice.

“Your bravado does you credit, Colonel, but it will not save you.”

I remained silent. Let them do their worst. Take it like a soldier.

“Very well,” Fang sneered.

Against so many, I was outmatched, but I didn’t give a damn. I’d wanted my fighting chance, and now I had it. If I was going to die, this was far better than systematic torture. I relished the idea of inflicting even a small amount of pain on the men who had devoted themselves to hurting me and others. At least this way I could possibly take one or two of these bastards with me.

I could feel the surge of adrenaline and willed myself to stay calm. I had so much pent-up anger for these men, but now wasn’t the time to get sloppy. Precise, calculated counter moves and attacks were the only way I would survive.

“Attack!” Fang commanded, hanging back as the two men moved in.