Two men marched him down a flight of stairs and along a dim corridor. They jerked him to a stop before a metal door with a massive lock. One of the men turned a key in the lock and pulled open the door. Someone cut the ties on his hands. Before he could move, a boot in his back sent him flying. The door slammed shut.
The floor was made of rough concrete. His back spasmed from the kick. He sat up and rubbed his wrists, waiting for circulation to return to his hands.
The cell was narrow and old. The only light came from a small, dim window high up on the wall. A stinking hole in one corner was the toilet. There was no place to lie except on the cold floor. Nick listened. Faint sounds came from somewhere in the building. Someone screamed in the distance. The cry trailed off in a babbling wail.
The light faded. He was in darkness.
Something ran over his leg. He pulled back, a reflex. Something scrabbled across the floor in the dark.
Rats. There were rats. Nick made a serious effort to calm himself. At least it isn't spiders, he thought. Too big to be a spider. Maybe.
He sat for a long time in the darkness and listened to unseen things scuttle in his cell.
CHAPTER 47
When the door opened again, Nick had no idea how long he had been sitting in the darkness. They took him into a room and pushed him onto a hard wooden chair and strapped him down. Two guards stood behind him. A small man sat in front of him, behind a wooden desk that looked like something left over from a 40s movie.
The Cuban had a thin mustache that did nothing to improve his looks or hide a bad complexion. He was dressed in a cheap brown suit and brown shoes. His shirt was a yellowed white under a narrow, black tie. He wore his hair slicked back and shiny under the overhead light.
The man ignored Nick. For several minutes he studied papers on his desk, making an occasional note. When he finally looked up, his eyes were black and dead, as if they had seen things that had extinguished the light in them. They were not good eyes.
"I am Captain Ortiz," he said. "I am going to ask you some questions. You will answer me truthfully. Do you understand?"
His voice was flat and colorless His English was clear, articulate. An educated man, which as far as Nick was concerned made him more dangerous.
"Why have you brought us here?" Nick said.
Ortiz nodded at one of the guards. He began beating Nick with his fists. Nick closed his eyes and tried to make himself tight and small. He could do nothing with his arms strapped to the chair.
"Enough," Ortiz said. The beating stopped. The guard stepped back.
"I ask the questions here," Ortiz said. "Do you understand?"
So that's how it's going to be, Nick thought. He spit blood onto the floor. "I understand."
"You are Nicholas Carter, a spy for the American government." Ortiz held up a file in his hand. Nick saw his picture stapled onto it.
"I never did like that picture," he said.
"You do not deny that you are a spy," Ortiz said.
Nick said nothing. There wasn't any point.
"Why were you headed to Cuba?"
"For medical help."
"Where were you going?"
"Guantánamo."
The mention of Guantánamo seemed to trigger something in Ortiz. He nodded again at the guard. This time, the man took out a foot long length of heavy rope with a knot on the end of it and began beating Nick on his arms and legs. Each blow shuddered through his body. He grunted under the blows.
When Ortiz signaled the guard to stop, Nick felt like he was on fire. He couldn't feel anything except pain. And anger.
"That was for Guantánamo," Ortiz said.
"Guantánamo is the best thing there is on this piss ant island," Nick said.
This time both the guards beat him.
"Stand him up," Ortiz said. The guards unstrapped Nick from the chair, lifted him to his feet and gripped him by each arm. Ortiz got up from behind his desk. He came over and stood in front of Nick. His face was ugly with hatred. He shouted in Nick's face, spraying him with flecks of spittle. His breath stank of garlic and onion.
"My grandfather was killed by the Americans at the Bay of Pigs."
Ortiz reached out and grabbed Nick's left hand.
"Tell me why you are here."
"For medical help." With a quick movement, Ortiz bent the last two fingers of Nick's hand backward. The bones snapped with a dull, thick sound.
Nick screamed. The pain was unlike anything he had ever felt before.
"Now you need medical help," Ortiz said. "You are a Yanqui spy. After I find out why you are here, I am going to send you to a place that makes your prison at Guantánamo look like a holiday resort."
Ortiz was only inches away. Nick head butted him as hard as he could. Ortiz went backward, his eyes rolling up in his head. As he went down, Nick kicked him in the groin.
The first blow from the guards knocked Nick unconscious.
When he came to, he was lying on the floor of his cell. One of his eyes was closed and swollen. His body was a symphony of pain. He moved and sharp pain shot up his left arm from his injured hand.
His hand was swollen and purple. The fourth finger and the pinky were bent to the side at a strange angle. Nick forced himself to look at it. He knew what he had to do. Before he could think much more about it, he took his right hand and pulled the damaged fingers straight.
He screamed and blacked out again from the pain. When he came back, he lay curled up on the rough floor. Then he forced himself over to a corner of the cell where dripping water had collected in a small pool. He picked a dead cockroach out of the water, cupped some in his right hand and drank it.
Weak daylight came through the filthy window. He wondered how the others were doing. He wondered if Selena was safe. He wondered how he could kill Ortiz.
At least he had gotten to the son of a bitch. He wouldn't be pleasuring his wife for awhile. If he had a wife. If any woman would have a snake like him. Nick was sure he was one Yanqui Ortiz would never forget, but that kick in the groin had probably signed his death warrant. There was nothing left to lose. Before Nick slipped back into oblivion, he decided that the next time the door opened he would try to overpower the guard.
CHAPTER 48
Nick heard the lock being turned in his cell door. There was light in the cell but he didn't know if it was the same day. He'd been half asleep or unconscious. Every part of his body hurt. His left hand glowed with pain. He forced himself to his feet. The door opened.
Nick launched himself at the first man into the cell, like a linebacker taking down a fullback. The man grunted as they slammed into the wall. Then something hard hit him on the back of the head. The next thing he was aware of was the sound of voices. He was lying on the floor of the cell. There was something oddly familiar about one of the voices, but he couldn't figure out what it was. He slipped back into unconsciousness.
He was sitting tilted back, a belt strapped across his waist. The seat vibrated gently. He could hear the sound of engines.
A plane. I'm in a plane.
Nick opened his eyes. He was in a private plane, a business jet elegant with accents of wood and leather. Selena was in the seat across the aisle from him. She looked worn and tired, her face strained. She smiled when she saw him looking at her.
"Nick," she said. "You had me worried."