thread. I want to talk to Eddie before I do anything else.’
‘You want to talk to him? All right.’ There was a nasty undertone that immediately put her on alert, but he tapped at the pad. The wall of screens lit up, showing the same elevated angle of Eddie as before. He was either asleep or unconscious, his arms and legs still secured. ‘There he is.’
‘Eddie!’ she called. ‘Eddie, are you okay? Eddie!’
‘He can’t hear you,’ Cross said. ‘I haven’t turned on the microphone yet.’
‘Then do that. You want me to cooperate, you want me to find your damn angels? Then let me talk to him.’
He sneered, then ran his finger over a slider. ‘Okay.’
‘Eddie, can you hear me?’ she said.
For a moment there was no response, then her husband raised his head. ‘Nina?’ he croaked.
‘Oh, thank God. Are you all right?’
He tried to move, only to let out a sharp gasp. ‘Ow! No, my arms are fucking killing me. These bastards left me cuffed to this fucking chair all night.’ He rolled both shoulders, trying to ease the pain in his stiff muscles. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yeah.’
‘And the baby?’
‘Fine, it’s fine. They haven’t done anything to hurt me – yet.’
‘Wish I could say the same.’
‘Me too. But I’m going to do everything I can to get you out of there. They’re trying to find the angels in the Throne and Synagogue of Satan—’
Cross stabbed at the pad again, cutting her off. Only one end of the link had been muted, though. ‘Nina?’ said Eddie with growing anger and alarm. ‘Nina, what’s happening?’
‘You’ve spoken to him,’ Cross said to Nina. ‘Now, this is what happens if you make another demand of me.’ Another swipe at the slider. ‘Mr Irton? Proceed.’
‘No!’ cried Nina, but he had already cut the mic. Irton stepped into frame, holding a couple of large, thick cloths.
Eddie struggled uselessly against his bonds. ‘You get away from me, you fucking—’
Irton punched him in the stomach, leaving him gasping. Two more men came into view. One went behind the chair, releasing a chain that was holding it to a metal ring on the floor, while Irton wrapped both cloths tightly around the Englishman’s head.
Nina realised what they were about to do. ‘God, no!’ she cried, jumping to her feet, but the bodyguard pushed her roughly back down. ‘Don’t, please!’ She grabbed her notes and waved them at Cross. ‘I’ll tell you what I’ve found out!’
His response was a look of cold dismissal. ‘I warned you, Dr Wilde.’ He worked the volume control again. ‘Do it.’
The cloths were secured. Eddie jerked in the seat, straining to draw in air through the stifling material. The two other men hauled the chair and its occupant a foot off the floor, then tipped it until the back of Eddie’s head thumped against the concrete. Nina cringed, knowing that he was about to suffer even more – and that she was utterly helpless to prevent it.
Irton had moved out of sight while his companions lifted the chair; he now returned holding a bucket of water, which he held over Eddie’s head . . .
And started to pour.
The water splashed on to the wrapped cloth. The weight of the sodden material pressed it down on to Eddie’s face, revealing its contours – and his mouth opening wide as water filled his nostrils. He tried to cry out, but all that emerged was a gargling moan as Irton kept pouring.
Nina stood again, but was shoved back into her chair. ‘Stop it! Stop! Let him go!’ she screamed at Cross. ‘You bastard, you’re killing him!’
‘He’ll live,’ he replied. ‘British special forces, wasn’t he? He’ll have had SERE training; he can withstand being waterboarded. For a while, at least. Nobody can hold out for ever.’ He looked back at the screens, where Eddie was squirming as the water flowed over his head. ‘The CIA didn’t teach us these techniques so we could resist them. They taught them so we know how to use them.’
She
‘You want to talk to him? All right.’ There was a nasty undertone that immediately put her on alert, but he tapped at the pad. The wall of screens lit up, showing the same elevated angle of Eddie as before. He was either asleep or unconscious, his arms and legs still secured. ‘There he is.’
‘Eddie!’ she called. ‘Eddie, are you okay? Eddie!’
‘He can’t hear you,’ Cross said. ‘I haven’t turned on the microphone yet.’
‘Then do that. You want me to cooperate, you want me to find your damn angels? Then let me talk to him.’
He sneered, then ran his finger over a slider. ‘Okay.’
‘Eddie, can you hear me?’ she said.
For a moment there was no response, then her husband raised his head. ‘Nina?’ he croaked.
‘Oh, thank God. Are you all right?’
He tried to move, only to let out a sharp gasp. ‘Ow! No, my arms are fucking killing me. These bastards left me cuffed to this fucking chair all night.’ He rolled both shoulders, trying to ease the pain in his stiff muscles. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yeah.’
‘And the baby?’
‘Fine, it’s fine. They haven’t done anything to hurt me – yet.’
‘Wish I could say the same.’
‘Me too. But I’m going to do everything I can to get you out of there. They’re trying to find the angels in the Throne and Synagogue of Satan—’
Cross stabbed at the pad again, cutting her off. Only one end of the link had been muted, though. ‘Nina?’ said Eddie with growing anger and alarm. ‘Nina, what’s happening?’
‘You’ve spoken to him,’ Cross said to Nina. ‘Now, this is what happens if you make another demand of me.’ Another swipe at the slider. ‘Mr Irton? Proceed.’
‘No!’ cried Nina, but he had already cut the mic. Irton stepped into frame, holding a couple of large, thick cloths.
Eddie struggled uselessly against his bonds. ‘You get away from me, you fucking—’
Irton punched him in the stomach, leaving him gasping. Two more men came into view. One went behind the chair, releasing a chain that was holding it to a metal ring on the floor, while Irton wrapped both cloths tightly around the Englishman’s head.
Nina realised what they were about to do. ‘God, no!’ she cried, jumping to her feet, but the bodyguard pushed her roughly back down. ‘Don’t, please!’ She grabbed her notes and waved them at Cross. ‘I’ll tell you what I’ve found out!’
His response was a look of cold dismissal. ‘I warned you, Dr Wilde.’ He worked the volume control again. ‘Do it.’
The cloths were secured. Eddie jerked in the seat, straining to draw in air through the stifling material. The two other men hauled the chair and its occupant a foot off the floor, then tipped it until the back of Eddie’s head thumped against the concrete. Nina cringed, knowing that he was about to suffer even more – and that she was utterly helpless to prevent it.
Irton had moved out of sight while his companions lifted the chair; he now returned holding a bucket of water, which he held over Eddie’s head . . .
And started to pour.
The water splashed on to the wrapped cloth. The weight of the sodden material pressed it down on to Eddie’s face, revealing its contours – and his mouth opening wide as water filled his nostrils. He tried to cry out, but all that emerged was a gargling moan as Irton kept pouring.
Nina stood again, but was shoved back into her chair. ‘Stop it! Stop! Let him go!’ she screamed at Cross. ‘You bastard, you’re killing him!’
‘He’ll live,’ he replied. ‘British special forces, wasn’t he? He’ll have had SERE training; he can withstand being waterboarded. For a while, at least. Nobody can hold out for ever.’ He looked back at the screens, where Eddie was squirming as the water flowed over his head. ‘The CIA didn’t teach us these techniques so we could resist them. They taught them so we know how to use them.’
She
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