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The voice came from the front seat. It was the older pudgeball. "Policeman," Hurley said with open disdain. "If you're cops, what am I being arrested for?"
"For striking a police officer. One of my men has a broken nose."
"You mean the one who was going to crack me over the back of the head with his stick? I have a great idea. Don't bullshit me, and I won't bullshit you."
"Striking a police officer is a very serious matter."
"Yeah ... so is kidnapping, so why don't you just pull over and let me go and I'll make sure no one puts a price on your head."
"Are you threatening us?"
"Just telling you the truth. I make it a habit not to kill cops ... that is, unless they are corrupt."
Hurley doubled over as the man next to him delivered a stinging blow with whatever it was that he was holding. Hurley recovered and said, "I can't wait to tell Petrosian about this ... the first thing I'm going to do"--Hurley turned to his right as if he could actually see the man next to him--"is take that stick of yours and shove it up your ass. Although you'd probably like that, wouldn't you?" Hurley expected it this time and folded his arms up quickly, locking the object between his right biceps and forearm. Then he reeled his head back and smashed it in the general direction of the other man's head. They hit forehead to forehead, like two pool balls. A loud, resounding crack. Despite the pain that Hurley felt he started laughing wildly and kicking and thrashing.
That was when they decided to pull over and put him in the trunk. Not long after that, maybe ten minutes, they stopped, pulled him out of the trunk, and stripped him down to his birthday suit. Hurley endured this part without comment. He had a sinking feeling where this was all headed, and it was bleak, to say the least. He held out hope, though, that Richards had been able to get away. They wasted no time tossing him into the trunk of a second car and speeding off. It was a bumpy ride, and it must have been an older car, because the fumes grew so strong that Hurley started to think he would suffocate. It occurred to him that that might be the best possible outcome. Fall asleep and die from carbon monoxide poisoning. He could skip all of the degradation and take his secrets with him.
Unfortunately, he had survived, and they had dragged him into this dank basement that smelled like an outhouse. They'd switched out the hood that the police had used and put this disgusting burlap bag on his head. Hurley took in shallow breaths through his mouth and focused his mind. Throwing up under this thing would be extremely unpleasant, but then again there was a really good chance that he was about to endure the most repugnant degradation the mind could imagine, so why worry?
The mind, Hurley knew, could only take so much before it simply opened up and let the secrets spill out. They said everyone eventually broke, but Hurley didn't think of himself as everyone. He was a mean, nasty man who might have lost a step, but he was still very much in control of his mind. Under the smelly hood he smiled at the challenge ahead of him. He went through the long, nasty list of the things they would do to him. He committed himself to fighting them every step of the way, and if he was lucky they'd either intentionally or accidentally kill him. And that was a victory he would take in a heart-beat.
Hurley sat there for at least an hour. He was bored, because he knew what they were doing, and he'd just as soon get on with it. Isolation was a standard interrogation/torture technique, and while it worked on most people it was useless on Hurley because of the simple fact that he really didn't like people all that much. There were a few here and there that he'd met over the years who could hold his interest, but most others were either boring or irritating.
There were noises on the other side of the door. Footsteps, some talking, but nothing he could make out, and then the door opened. Hurley tried to count the different steps. His best guess was three or four men. They spread out around him. Someone approached him from behind and Hurley resisted the impulse to flinch. The man grabbed the burlap bag and yanked it from his head. Hurley blinked several times and took a look around the room. An industrial lamp hung from the ceiling, a brown extension cord snaking its way to the door. Hurley looked at the three men he could see. Two were familiar.
"Gentlemen, there must be some misunderstanding here," Hurley announced in an easy tone. "I thought hostilities in Beirut were over."
The two men in front of Hurley shared a brief smile. The older one said, "Mr. Sherman, I have been looking forward to this for some time."
"So have I, Sayyed."
"So you know who I am?" Sayyed asked with a raised eyebrow.
"I sure do. You're the GSD goon here in Beirut."
"And you, Mr. Sherman, are a CIA assassin."
Hurley looked as if he had to think about that for a second, and then he nodded and said, "That would be correct. I kill people like you for a living. In fact, I killed your boss, Hisham."
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Sayyed nodded. This was going to be very interesting. "It really was a shame that you weren't at the embassy that afternoon. We planned the entire operation with the hope that you would be there."
"Yeah ... it was a real shame. Although I've tried to make up for it over the years by killing as many of you assholes as I can."
Sayyed gave him an affable smile. "It looks like your killing days have come to an end."
"Possibly." Hurley surveyed the dank room. "Things don't look so good, but I'm always up for a challenge."
"This is a challenge you will not win, and you know that."
"I'm afraid I don't. You see I'm a fucked-up guy. I'm not okay in the head, and I pretty much hate you limp dicks more than I love life, so this is gonna be a tough one."
"Really, Mr. Sherman, your false bravado is so American ... so Hollywood."
Hurley winced at the word Hollywood, as if it pained him to be associated with the town. "No false bravado here, Sayyed. I am going to fuck with you until I take my last breath. I'm going to feed you so much disinformation, you won't know what to believe. You'll be killing your own people before it's all over. You won't sleep at night, and when you do you'll be dreaming of traitors around every corner. Spies in your own camp. This is going to be a blast."
"Really?"
