‘You appear surprised Mr Mathias, that a man, such as myself, could have access to such information, believe me you have no idea of my resources and contacts. Now the operative, what did he give you?’
‘I can genuinely tell you, he gave me nothing but polite conversation.’
Enzi was unusually flustered, and agitated, he adjusted his seating position, but was cautious not to make a hostile movement.
Archer did not see Mr Smith, one of Enzi’s senior operatives in the doorway. With a barely audible waft of air, a tranquilliser gun fired a dart into Archer’s neck. Archer reached for his handgun, another man swiftly disarmed him, and the drug coursed into his neck. Within seconds he was incapacitated.
Enzi beckoned to Mr Smith, a large man over six feet seven inches tall, bulky solid build, barely fitting into his custom suit. Archer was picked up in the broad hands, and placed over Mr Smith’s shoulder in one fluid movement. A four-wheel drive jeep had reversed up; tailgate awaited its fresh cargo. Archer was dumped in the back, alongside some plastic sheeting, his feet tucked in. Smith searched and removed all weapons and electronic equipment he could find.
‘Mr Jones please go to Mr Mathias room and empty it, I want no trace he was ever there. ‘
Within minutes the covert group had departed the Presidential compound, the guards Archer had spent so many hours training not noticing the strange hour of the jeeps departure.
Archer regained consciousness with a sore head, he was unsure if the drug he was given, or his head banging against the floor of the vehicle was the cause. He felt around his surroundings; he was not tied up and had none of his kit. A torch rolled into his face, he was startled but turned it on.
The illuminated space was standard jeep trunk, and a lump of plastic next to him. He pulled it over, and the bloody face of someone looked back. The plastic blurring their remains of their features. The jeep came to a quick stop, slamming Archer into the bodywork, slightly cushioning his impact. He braced himself, aimed his feet at the trunk lid, the intent to push it into the face of any possible assailant. The keys clicked in the lock, and the boot swung up. All Archer kicked was air, two large men stood back from the boot, anticipating his actions.
‘Mr Mathias, please calm yourself, we did not expect you to be awake.’
A second dart hit his chest.
He awoke in a shed, light streaked in through the tin roof and wooden slated walls, the floor a mixture of sand and sawdust, recently added. This time he was restrained, strapped to an old tractor wheel tilted up at an angle, his legs and arms spread so he formed a human X shape upon it. He instinctively pulled at his bonds, but to no avail, his shirt and boots removed, only his combat pants remained.
He could smell a sea breeze amongst the wood and dust, to be near the coast meant he was at least fifty miles from the capital Mabalia City. He had no idea how long they had been travelling but now it was very hot, probably middle of the day. He gathered his thoughts, remembering his training, how to escape. Over near the door was a green rucksack he recognised, his handgun and holster poking out one side, they had removed all his property, not intending him to return. The two guards adjacent to the door ignored his movements, one talking quietly into a radio, the other nodding his head to music from the MP3 player around his neck. The door opened, light streaming in, causing Archer to squint and turn his head, the sun blocked briefly by the bulk of two men entering.
‘Mr Mathias, I am an assistant to Mr Enzi, you can call me Mr Jones. This is my associate, Mr Smith.’
‘Pleasure I’m sure.’
Mr Jones was over six feet tall, slender but robust build, and a baldhead. He was older than Smith, grey spikes showing through on his face as he had not shaved. Jones was not as much of a concern as his colleague Mr Smith was.
Archer had been warned of him, over six feet seven inches tall, large muscular frame, reminded Archer of the character from ‘The Green Mile‘. His skin very well looked after, a healthy sheen, and a disfiguring circular scar on his right cheek. The result of a bullet exiting by his right ear, taking off his earlobe. The man who shot him was never found and no second shot was heard. The rumour was that Smith beat him to death, or ripped off his arms and legs in a rage.
‘Mr Smith is here in case my questions are not answered, we will have to trust his limited experience, as Mr Enzi’s expert interrogator is other occupied.’
Smith moved forward standing directly in front of Archer’s spread legs, Jones to the side, talking calmly in his left ear.
‘Mr Mathias, Archer. You need to tell us what your friend told you. What did Khan say?’
‘Just what lousy taste you have in ties I think.’
‘Very funny Archer. Once more, what did he tell you?’
Archer did not respond. Jones nodded to Smith, who punched Archer in the mouth, a pulled punch as full strength would have rendered him unconscious.
‘Archer, that is just a taste of Mr Smith’s talents; tell me what I need to know and this will stop.’
‘I am sorry Jones, but Khan did not give me any information at our meeting.’
Smith hit Archer again, this time in the chest; a rib snapped immediately, the hot searing pain coursed through his side.
‘You have twelve ribs each side Archer, and we will keep breaking one for every question, how about that?’
‘Jones it does not matter, I cannot tell what I don’t know!’
‘Let’s get more specific, did he say anything to you about the Bow of Yi? Or perhaps he mentioned an artefact?’
‘I told you nothing but polite conversation.’
‘You may think you are strong Archer, I have read you were a decorated US Ranger, an honourable man, brave. Do you think not helping us is brave? Do you think any Ranger is coming to save you?’
‘You can think what you want Jones, and as for was a Ranger, I will always be a Ranger.’
‘I am sure. We will soon discover how well you are trained.’
Jones moved over to Archer, leaning over the tyre so he could speak quietly into his ear, ‘I whisper because I do not want to offend Mr Smith. You see he did not hold back with Mr Khan, as he is with you, and this caused Mr Khan to expire rather quicker than we anticipated.’
‘Well I am sure that Mr Smith regrets his lack of self-control.’
‘Archer, you really should not mock him, he is easily provoked.’
Jones moved over to the chair near the door, opened a file, glanced at pictures and then returned to Archer. ‘These are pictures of people dying of cancer, terrible aren’t they? That is how your mother died isn’t it?’
Archer glared at Jones, pulling against his bonds.
‘I do think that a dedicated Army man resigns just two months after his mother’s death. Are you a, what is the phrase? Mummy’s boy?’
‘I will not dignify that with a response.’
‘That is what your friend Mr Khan said; oh did I mention that we are framing you for his brutal murder?’
He pulled back a blanket, showing Khan’s bloody body wrapped in plastic, the flies attempting to gain a feed.
‘Well Mr Smith will spend some time with you, and then I will return to see if you have changed your mind. You should know that the technique he is going to use was actually approved by your former President, quite ironic.’
Before Jones left, Smith repeatedly punched Archer around the face, chest, stomach and legs, this continued for about five minutes. Archer was battered, the pain in his face head and upper body combining into a throbbing mass even adrenaline could not mask. Smith collected a bucket of water and a towel. ‘You giving me a nice wash Mr Smith?’ Smith did not respond, he placed the towel over Archer’s face, holding it over his nose and mouth with one hand.