Page 191 of Black Reign

My hands are bound behind the chair.

Plastic bites my wrists.

My ankles are secured too.

Concrete floor.

Concrete walls.

No windows.

One industrial light overhead.

Fantastic.

I lift my head.

A man sits across from me.

Forties.

Maybe fifty.

Close-cropped gray hair.

Heavy shoulders.

A face that has been broken before and healed badly.

Russian?

Ukrainian?

The accent will tell me very little even if he speaks.

Borders move.

People move more.

A second man leans against the door.

Younger.

Both armed.

My coat is gone.

Shoes too.

My wig sits on a metal table beside every device I carried.

Phone.

Two transmitters.

Emergency drive.

Watch.