“Tell me what you want,” Ryan said.
The wand consisted of a rubber handle, a metallic shaft, and a rubber tip that bore two copper-coloured prongs. Carter set it on the floor. He went back to the other room then returned carrying a bucket of water in one hand, and a packet of table salt in the other. He placed them both next to the battery.
Ryan asked, “What do you want?”
Carter crouched and poured salt from the packet into the water. He lifted an enamel mug from the bucket and used it to stir the solution. When he was satisfied, he stood and splashed salted water across Ryan’s torso. He dipped the mug into the bucket once more, and again threw the liquid over Ryan’s body.
That done, he returned the mug to the bucket. He reached for the dial on the small black box and turned it.
Ryan’s bladder ached. His chest rose and fell in a rhythm he could not master. “Please tell me what—”
Carter lifted the wand and touched its tip to Ryan’s chest. It sparked like a cap gun and felt like a fist rammed into Ryan’s ribcage. His jaw muscles bunched and ached as he held back the cry that tried to escape him.
Carter smiled. “Hurts, doesn’t it?”
Ryan closed his eyes tight. He growled deep in his throat then fought his lungs, slow breaths, even breaths.
Carter touched the prong to Ryan’s belly.
His abdominal muscles flexed of their own accord, a spasm that might have been a knife piercing the flesh. Ryan cried out.
Carter nodded. “That’s more like it. You’ll answer me when I ask you a question. Is that clear?”
Ryan would have answered had there been enough air in the world. Instead he coughed out what little he had left, a string of bile and saliva spilling from his lip.
Carter brought the tip to the billow of hair above Ryan’s groin. Ryan doubled over, his chin almost to his knees, as the pain swelled in his abdomen. He smelled the singed hair as his bladder let go.
Carter stepped back to avoid the weak trickle as it pattered on the floor. Wallace sniggered.
“Now, the question I asked was: It hurts, doesn’t it?”
Ryan forced himself upright in the chair, pushing against the sickening torrents that thundered through his head. Carter tapped his shin with the toe of his boot.
“Answer me.”
“Yes,” Ryan said, the word seeping out through his lips.
“That’s better.” Carter held the wand up before Ryan’s eyes. “You seen one of these before?”
Ryan could not answer.
Carter brought the pronged tip close to Ryan’s face.
Ryan jerked his head back. “No.”
“Didn’t think you would have.” Carter withdrew the wand, took a step away. “First time I saw one was in Korea. The bastards strung me upside down from the pipes in the ceiling. It was a bigger one than this, more power. They didn’t mess about, went straight for my goolies. I lasted twenty minutes before I told them everything. Not that I knew much. I didn’t find out till after it was called a picana eléctrica. They’re popular in South America, places like Argentina and Paraguay, the kinds of places your friend Otto Skorzeny and his sort like to hang out.”
Ryan spat a glob of reddened sputum on the floor. “Skorzeny is not my friend.”
“Really? So you were just sneaking around my house for the good of your health?”
“I was given a job to do.”
“By who?”
Ryan scrambled through his thoughts. They had guessed he worked for Skorzeny, but what else did they know?
“By Skorzeny.”
Carter smiled. “So he just put an ad in a shop window, help wanted, something like that?”
Ryan nodded. “Something like that.”
The smile on Carter’s lips flicked off like a light. He took a wallet from his pocket, let it flap open. Ryan recognised it as his own.
Carter read the identity card aloud. “Lieutenant Albert Ryan, G2, Directorate of Intelligence.” He returned the wallet to his pocket. “So I can assume you were ordered by your superiors to intervene.”
“Yes.”
“How much have you learned?”
“Your name. Captain John Carter. You were SAS. I know his name is Wallace.” Ryan nodded towards the tall man. “He’s either MacAuliffe or Gracey.”
“Tommy MacAuliffe is no longer part of this team,” Carter said.
“He was hurt. He needed a doctor.”
“MacAuliffe was a good lad, but he was no more use to us.”
Ryan looked up at Carter, saw the blank expression in his face. “What did you do with him?”
Carter didn’t reply. He scooped another cupful of salt water from the bucket and splashed it onto Ryan’s groin. He brought the prongs to Ryan’s scrotum.
Ryan screamed and writhed, twisting his body, pulling at the ropes that bound him to the chair. When the pain receded, he slumped, gasping for breath.
Carter leaned over him. “Let’s be clear about one thing. I’m asking the questions, not you. Do you understand me?”
When Ryan did not respond, Carter slapped him hard across the ear, rocking his head to the side.
“Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” Ryan said.
Carter moved away. “Good. So you know who we are. What else?”
“I know you’re after money. Gold. MacAuliffe told me.”
Carter paced. “How much of this have you passed back to Skorzeny?”
“None,” Ryan said. “I haven’t reported to him since I found your house. The rest I held back.”
“Why?” Carter stopped.
“I told you, Skorzeny is not my friend.”
“But you’re working for him. What’s your angle?”
“No angle. I don’t trust him. I wanted to know everything before I decided whether I’d tell him or not.”
“I don’t believe you.” Carter watched him from across the room. “There’s something else. How did you find us?”
Ryan did not hesitate. “Célestin Lainé. He told me where to find you.”
The three men exchanged glances.
“How did he know?” Carter asked.
“He worked it out,” Ryan said. “The railway line and the stadium.”
Carter nodded. “He’s smarter than he looks. So why did he talk to you?”
“I said I’d tell Skorzeny he was the informant. He’s terrified of Skorzeny.”
“With good reason. And how did you figure out it was Lainé?”
Ryan searched for a lie. “Because you let him live. When you killed Elouan Groix and the other man. There was no other reason to let him go. It had to be him.”
“All right,” Carter said. “I’ll accept that. But there’s more. You’re holding something back.”
Ryan closed his eyes, thought of Goren Weiss. “There’s nothing.”
Quick footsteps on the floorboards as Carter approached, then pain exploded in Ryan’s groin, and again before he could scream, and a third blast. The smell of burning skin reached his nostrils. He coughed and gagged, his stomach clenching tight. Pressure ballooned inside his head, pushing against the walls of his skull, the backs of his eyes.
The world tilted, pitching Ryan to the side. The ropes held him to the chair, and the nails held the chair to the floor. A sharp slap to the cheek brought his mind back within reach.
“Who put you in contact with Skorzeny?”
Ryan let his chin sag down onto his chest.
Carter grabbed his hair, pulled his head back up.
“Who put you in contact with Skorzeny?”
“Charles Haughey,” Ryan said.
“The politician? How much does he know?”
“Less than Skorzeny.”