Redefining The Future

The First Cracks Begin to Appear

Chapter 35 - The First Cracks Begin to Appear

The needle glinted in the glare of the light. How many times had it penetrated his skin causing agonizing pain to grip at every muscle? The torture was taking its toll. He wasn't sure how long he could hold out. Two hours they had held him captive, tied to his very own chair. Two hours he had resisted their interrogation, refused to answer their questions. His mind was a whirl of memories, information, secrets. These men were relentless and their leader heartless. Each time the fine needle pierced the skin between his toes and he was once again rigid with agony, the cruel laughter of his tormentors ripped through his soul. They even had the nerve to drink his vodka, toast each other between jabs. Despite the burning contractions of every muscle in his body, he couldn't help but hear their cheers, their sick and perverted enjoyment of his suffering.

He knew it had to end soon. There was only so much his body could take. He tried to think of a way he could end it sooner, somehow give them what they came for without betrayal of his colleges. And Sasha. Dear, beautiful Sasha. His golden light who had brought him so much joy. What was to become of her?

The invasion has been deliberately crude. Shattering glass and foolish banging. It awoke them immediately. Telling Sasha to hide in the closet, he had raced down the stairs only to be ambushed and tied to one of his own dining chairs.

"Tell us who killed Anatoly Zhukov?" the leader had immediately asked.

He had been shocked. He hadn't heard that name in over eight years. His mind raced. Who were these men? What was their connection with an arms dealer who had been assassinated nearly a decade ago?

Feigning ignorance, he had looked bemused, confused, stuttering denials in an almost incoherent voice. That's when he first saw the glint of the needle. Sharp and menacing, the clear fluid within the syringe looked almost benign until it penetrated his blood stream. Instantly, an agonizing burn spread through his body, his muscles tightening until he felt like he would suffocate within his own skin. The pain, although lasting only a minute or so, felt like an age. It tore at his composure and forced sounds from his throat he didn't realize he was capable of making.

"Who killed Anatoly Zhukov?" growled the leader once again.

Viggo! Yes he'd heard one of the others use his name. It was Viggo.

As their torture continued, he felt as if he was losing his mind. Imagines swirled around him. Jenny, Gibbs, Paris, Retirement, Sasha, his diner in the dessert. He had told Sasha what to do should anything happen to him. He prayed she would remember.

He was fading fast now. The men were becoming frustrated and careless. The last injection had been deeper, more intense and lasting longer. As his heart beat faster, he felt his chest tighten.

Please, he begged to himself. Let this finish now.

"Who killed Anatoly Zhukov!" yelled the one they called Viggo.

In desperation, he thought of the one name he knew he could use. A name that would warn Jenny and Gibbs that something was not right. That, somehow, they had been compromised.

"Oshimida," he gasped, struggling for air to fill his lungs.

The needle wavered just above his left toe. The hand holding it stilled.

"What did you say?" Viggo asked.

"Oshimida."

Barely audible, his voice groaned out the four syllables.

Then he saw it. The flicker of satisfaction on his tormentor's face. The glint of triumph that flashed in his eyes. He knew it would be quick. Now they had what they wanted, they had no use for him.