Ross sat with her legs crossed. The flimsy robe covered her as long as she held it shut, but added little to her modesty. Movement meant exposure and exposure meant Walter would win. So, she remained frozen in the same position, eyes locked on the agent’s dowdy flap of hair. Ten minutes into the conversation, her lower back screamed for relief. Five minutes later, her legs were numb from lack of circulation. It was hard to judge time in the windowless cell, but she’d always had a fairly accurate internal clock. As best she could tell, she’d been without sleep for at least a day and a half.
Dizzy with fatigue, she burned a great deal of energy just trying to control her terror. It took Ross half an hour to realize she was sitting in a specially designed interrogation chair. Though nearly impossible to tell from looking at it, the front two legs were almost an inch shorter than the back ones. Unlike Agent Walter’s chair, this one had no padding and the seat had been polished to a high gloss. Even in the chilly cell, stress and fear induced great droplets of sweat to roll down Ross’s back and buttocks, adding to her embarrassment and slicking the stainless-steel chair. With her legs crossed, all her weight was on one foot against the floor in order to keep from sliding out of the seat.
Forty minutes into the questioning, she couldn’t help herself and planted both feet on the ground. Hiding behind clenched eyes, she arched her back to relieve the pain. She jumped when she heard the door buzz open.
The two men in coveralls had returned. Flanking the door, they stood at parade rest and waited for instructions.
Agent Walter bent his neck from side to side, groaning as if he was the one in pain. He closed the folder and dropped it in his lap.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
She stared at him, fearing he was only going to toy with her again.
“You’ve lost a considerable amount of weight, but I assume you still enjoy food.”
“My stomach couldn’t handle anything right now,” she whispered, staring at the tiny hairs on her thighs. She, who would have tugged the hem of her skirt down if even an inch of her knees peeked out, was talking to this man while looking at the hair on her thighs. The world was a very strange place.
The faint click of shoe leather on tile caused her to look up as the two men took up positions on either side of her.
She followed Walter’s gaze to the rusty bedsprings against the wall. She’d wondered when he’d get around to them.
“Are you familiar with the word parrilla?” he asked. He gave a cursory nod to the men, but they seemed to know already what to do.
Ross began to hyperventilate as they grabbed her cruelly by each arm and dragged her on her heels to the springs. She’d never seen one in action, but could only imagine what the man had in mind for the metal frame. Time seemed to unhinge in her head. Oddly, she was more concerned that her robe had fallen open than she was about the rusted metal. She watched in horror as Walter rose from his chair and walked toward her. The men held her arms, but her legs were free. She wanted to kick out, to smash her heel into Walter’s smirking teeth, but her feet felt anchored to the concrete floor.
“Parrilla is Spanish for grill,” Walter said. Methodically, he handcuffed her wrists to the rough corners of the bed as it leaned against the wall. Stepping back, he waited while the men did the same to her ankles. She turned her face away and shut her eyes, fighting the urge to scream.
“Pinochet found grilling with electricity on a parrilla such as this to be quite effective in getting his point across,” Walter explained as though they were walking through a museum. “I believe agents of your own black ops department employ something similar from time to time — unofficially of course. Crude but very effective.”
Ross caught her breath. “You haven’t asked me anything important.”
Her eyes darted around the room, looking for an electrical outlet. The cell spun as she tried to make sense of what was about to happen.
“I have a small generator when the time comes,” Agent Walter said, reading her mind. He reached inside the pocket of his suit jacket and produced a small syringe. It was white, with an orange cap like the ones used by diabetics for insulin. Ross turned her head as he brought it to wave under her nose. A tiny bit of amber fluid formed a drop at the end of the needle. She caught a whiff of vinegar.
Heroin.
Agent Walter sighed. “I made a little stop on Fourteenth Street on the way in to work today,” he said. His face was close enough now that she could smell the odor of cheese on his breath. “Did you know dealers give their product brand names?”
Ross gagged.
“The stuff I brought you is called White House, as a matter of fact. Funny, eh? Amazing what ten dollars buys you these days. They say it’s five percent pure…”
Ross struggled in vain against the metal cuffs, wrenching a knee and jerking at her arms until she thought they would rip out of their sockets. The men stood back and let her thrash, faces impassive as if they were waiting for a car to finish filling up with fuel.
She sank against her restraints, her body sagging on the metal frame. “We both work for the same government.…”
Walter reached to touch her neck, stroking it tenderly, and then pressing a thumb against her flesh to get the vein to bulge.
“What do you want?” Ross sobbed, though she knew the answer all too well. It was only a matter of time before she gave in. Everyone did.
She felt a sharp prick of pain as Walter slid the needle into her neck.
He released his thumb. “It’s time to relax, Virginia. You will find this part more pleasant than anything you could possibly imagine.”
White-hot liquid coursed into her bloodstream, pooling, it seemed, behind her eyeballs. Tremors of euphoria flowed down her shoulders, shooting through her arms and pulsing in her hands. She was keenly aware of each individual toe, ringing like tiny bells. Her knees, her elbows, her ears, and even her hair crackled with static warmth.
There was a muffled sound of the cell door opening, then footsteps slapping the tile. Ross was vaguely aware of a new voice speaking in hushed tones.
“When?” she heard Walter say.
“They’ll be here within the hour,” the new voice said.
Ross gave a fleeting thought to opening her eyes, but decided it was just too much effort.
Agent Walter erupted in a flurry of violent curses, roaring at the newcomer.
“How long have you known about this?” he screamed. “Would it have killed you to get off your ass and tell me before I shot her up?”
Virginia Ross took a deep breath, feeling the cozy warmth course through her body, causing her belly to pulse as if she was in the passionate embrace of a lover. She realized she was naked and rough men stood over her, one of them screaming about something. She couldn’t remember who he was, and found she no longer cared.
Chapter 54
Quinn had no conventional weapons since he was on a commercial aircraft — but he didn’t intend to work empty-handed. He’d watched an older gentleman a few rows ahead of him stow a wooden cane in the bin over his seat and asked Carly to take Natalie with her and borrow the cane. Waiting for them to return, he sat down on the leather sofa by Mattie and thought about what he’d do with her. It set his nerves on edge to even think of letting her out of his sight again, but bringing her with him while he walked up and down the aisles looking for a killer was not an option.
She’d seen him fight before, so that wouldn’t be the worst of it. Fights rarely went as planned. He was fairly certain he’d be able to take gain control quickly, but in the close confines of the cabin, there were simply too many variables — especially if Mattie was just a few feet away.