That earned him a full-blown punch to the face. ‘How was that?’
‘Fucker!’ He jerked against his bonds, making the chair rattle.
‘Enough!’ called the irritated Irton.
‘Oh, sorry, am I interrupting your call?’ shouted the Englishman. ‘I’ll leave if you want!’
Irton scowled, then stalked through an exterior door, closing it behind him. Eddie looked back at the other two men. ‘Now he’s gone, you can play with your dollies in peace.’
Berman raised a fist, but Raddick patted his comrade’s shoulder. ‘Hey, hey, he’s just trying to yank your chain.’
‘Yeah, I guess.’ Berman moved reluctantly away, but gave Eddie a nasty look as he retreated. ‘You and me, we’re not finished.’
‘Can’t wait,’ Eddie replied, trying not to let his concern show. He had managed to withstand everything Irton and the others had inflicted upon him so far, but it had taken all his reserves of strength and willpower, and after more than a full day in painful captivity, he honestly didn’t know how much more he could take. So far he hadn’t been subjected to anything that would cause permanent injury, but if his kidnappers took things up a level to force Nina to cooperate…
That was possibly the only thing keeping him alive. They needed him to make Nina do something for them. Without him, they would lose their hold on her. Was there any way he could turn that to his advantage?
Before he could think any more about it, Raddick checked his watch. ‘I’m gonna get something to eat. You want anything?’
‘Chicken wings and fries,’ Berman answered.
‘I’ll have a burger if you’re going,’ Eddie piped up.
Raddick ignored him and headed for the exterior door. He had a brief exchange with the man outside, then a car started up and drove away.
Irton still seemed to be on the phone. If he kept talking…
‘Chicken, eh?’ Eddie said to Berman. ‘Isn’t that cannibalism? You’re kind of a chickenshit yourself.’
The blond rounded on him. ‘What did you say?’
‘You heard me. Fucking coward. You’ll slap someone who’s tied to a chair, but when it comes to an actual fight, you’d shit yourself so hard your ribcage’d implode.’
Berman stepped up to him angrily. ‘Screw you, Limey. I was in the United States Army. I’m no coward, I’ve seen action.’
Eddie snorted sarcastically. ‘Yeah, right. I bet it’s a non-stop adrenalin rush in the fucking typing pool.’ He put on a bad, nasal American accent. ‘If we don’t get that toner cartridge changed in the next five minutes, there’ll be hell to pay!’
‘Shut up.’
‘I got a paper cut, give me a Purple Heart!’
‘Shut up!’ Berman’s hand cracked across his face.
‘That the best you’ve got?’ said Eddie, giving him a sneering grin. ‘My niece could hit me harder than that. When she was six.’
The hand clenched into a fist. ‘You wanna see the best I’ve got?’ growled the American, slamming it against Eddie’s jaw.
The Englishman’s head snapped back, blood squirting from a split lip — then he convulsed, mouth gaping as choking gurgles came from it. Berman stared dismissively down at him, only for his expression to change to concern as he realised his captive couldn’t breathe.
‘Oh, shit. Dammit, shit, shit!’ he hissed, panic rising at the thought that he might have killed a vital prisoner. A glance at the door, but he didn’t call to Irton, instead pulling the struggling man upright in a desperate effort to clear his airway.
It had no effect. Eyes wide, Eddie shuddered, tongue squirming… then fell limp in his seat, head lolling to one side.
‘Shit!’ Berman hesitated, then checked Eddie’s neck for a pulse. He moved his fingertips across the skin, not sure of the result. Another look towards the door in fear that Irton might choose this moment to return, then he leaned closer to listen for the other man’s breath—
Eddie lunged at him and sank his teeth into his throat.
Berman tried to scream, but the Englishman had clamped his jaw around his Adam’s apple with the frenzied determination of a terrier, crushing his windpipe shut. He lashed and clawed at his attacker’s face, but the teeth only dug in harder—
With a final growl of fury, Eddie forced his jaw shut. A horrible crunch came from Berman’s neck, and he lurched backwards, a ragged, gore-spouting hole where his larynx had been. Eddie spat out a revolting hunk of torn tissue as Berman fell to the filthy floor, blood gushing down his chest.
The wounded man opened his mouth to cry out, but the only sound that emerged was a wet wheeze. He rolled on to his front, dragging himself towards Irton’s torture equipment.
Eddie realised his intention. Berman wasn’t trying to find a weapon, but something he could use to make a loud noise and alert his boss.
He threw himself from side to side, the chair’s frame creaking in protest. His previous attempts to break loose had been halted by his captors, but with nobody to stop him, it only took seconds before metal cracked. The frame shifted beneath him, but the chair was still chained to the floor.
Eddie rocked forward to put his weight on to his feet. He strained with all his might, trying to stand. The underside of the chair’s back dug into his bound arms. He felt something give, a bolt or screw breaking loose…
Berman reached one of the cases—
The seat back ripped away.
Eddie sprang upright. But his ankles were still tied to the chair’s legs. All he could do was fall bodily on to the other man.
The landing knocked the breath from him — but Berman came off worse as his face was pounded against the dirty concrete. Eddie twisted, kicking at the broken chair as it strained against the chain. One of the ties slipped from the bottom of the tubular leg. Partially freed, the Englishman rolled and scrambled to his feet.
Berman raised his head, spitting blood. His fingers clawed at the case of torture gear—
Eddie’s foot slammed against the side of his skull. Berman fell limp as a last bubbling exhalation gurgled from the gruesome rent in his throat.
Regaining his balance, Eddie slid the other restraint loose and booted the chair away. His hands remained cuffed behind his back. He had to get free, fast; if Irton had heard the scuffle…
He still had blood in his mouth. Hoping it was all Berman’s, he brought his arms to his right side as he leaned his head back over that shoulder and spat the liquid over the cuffs. Then he pulled them as far apart as he could and bent down, straining to force them over his hips.
The metal bracelets bit savagely into his wrists. But the pain was nothing compared to what Irton had already put him through. His blood-slicked forearms slithered over his jeans as he writhed to work them lower, every millimetre of progress a battle. The handcuff chain reached his hip bone, but his arms were stretched to their limit.
He pushed harder. A burst of pain — then suddenly the chain jerked past the obstruction. He breathed hard, but knew the worst was over. His military training had taught him how to escape from numerous forms of restraint, although he found himself wishing for the flexibility of his younger self.
He dropped to a crouch, then rolled on to his back, drawing up one leg to bring his foot over the chain. The metal links rasped over the ridged sole of his boot, catching for a moment… then popping free. Eddie gasped in relief. Getting his other foot out was considerably easier. He jumped upright. His wrists were still cuffed, but he was almost infinitely more capable — and dangerous — now that they were no longer pinned behind his back.
Berman had stopped breathing. Eddie gave him a cursory glance that contained zero sympathy, then checked the case. The unnerving collection of CIA-approved torture implements shone in the cold lamplight. None were of any use to him right now.