PRIMAL Nemesis (Book 2 in the Redemption Trilogy, A PRIMAL Action Thriller Book 6) (The PRIMAL Series) (28 page)
Authors: Jack Silkstone
“Are any of you by chance a doctor? I can only release this patient into the custody of a qualified medical professional.”
The guy chewing dipped his head in the direction of one of his team. “Miller here is a medtech, that should cover it. OK boys, let’s get the retard loaded up and get on the road.”
Baker held up his hand. “I don’t think you heard me. The receiving officer needs to be a doctor. It’s standard operating procedure.”
The team leader stared at him for a few seconds. “Look pal, I don’t think you get what’s happening here. The CIA is taking custody of a goddamn terrorist. You can bitch and moan about needing a doctor as much as you want but it ain’t gonna change a thing. This asshole is coming with us.”
Baker made eye contact with the head nurse. She shrugged. “Fine. But I want you to know that I will be lodging a formal complaint regarding this.”
Weddell gestured for his men to grab the patient. “No problem. If I was you I wouldn’t waste the time but if that’s what you want to do, knock your socks off.”
Baker watched as the men moved the unconscious patient onto the steel gurney.
The medic transferred the IV bags to the gurney. He took the paperwork from the end of the bed, folded it half, and stuffed it in his pocket. “We’re ready.”
The leader flashed Baker a broad smile. “Thanks, doc, been good doing business with you.”
They wheeled the casualty into the corridor. Baker followed at a distance wracking his brain for a way to stop the transfer. Something told him if the patient left the hospital he was going into a far worse situation.
***
CAMP X-RAY, GUANTANAMO BAY
Secluded in the furthest corner of Camp X-Ray was a cluster of buildings off limits to all but a select few. A closely guarded secret, the facility was known as the Bin by the men who worked in it, and the Extreme Rendition Site by a select number of senior CIA officials. Even the President and his closest advisors had no idea it existed. What’s more, they wouldn’t want to know what was going on behind its blacked-out fences.
The Bin was small; only a single interrogation room, an office, and holding cells for half a dozen prisoners. However, it wasn’t the size of the facility rather the techniques employed within that made it unique. Unlike Camp X-Ray where interrogation was tightly controlled and monitored, there were no rules in the Bin. All video footage was wiped on a regular basis. When a prisoner was sent there they literally had two options; talk or die.
For Detainee 3459 the journey to the Bin had started with three weeks in the Guantanamo Bay medical facility. Five days after arriving he had come out of his coma thanks to an experimental drug that stimulated brain activity. The doctors had granted him an additional two weeks to recover before allowing him to be interrogated. Despite having no recollection of who he was or where he had come from, the CIA had moved him to the darkest corner of the camp. It was there that he met the Company’s most experienced and innovative interrogator, Aaron Small.
A qualified medical practitioner specializing in the study of pain, Small had been contracting to the CIA since the late nineties. Initially he was a consultant for the Directorate of Science and Technology, however, after 9/11 he’d been brought onto the books full-time.
The Company’s psychologists had labeled him a sadist; a sociopath who took great pleasure in dealing out pain, both physical and psychological. Small saw himself as a professional with a set of skills that some senior CIA directors felt were necessary in the Global War on Terror.
With slick black hair receding to a widow’s peak, dark brown eyes that looked almost black, and a narrow pasty-white face, Small resembled Bram Stoker’s Dracula. It was an image he frequently enhanced with dark eyeliner. The subjects were usually terrified by his appearance, sometimes breaking before he had the chance to employ any coercive techniques. Detainee 3459, however, seemed totally unfazed by Small, much to the veteran interrogator’s frustration.
He’d been working on 3459 for three days and failed to get anything out of him. The horrendously scarred invalid simply did not seem to remember anything, even when juiced up on a cocktail of psychoactive drugs. Small shook his head and leaned forward on his desk scrutinizing a video screen. The detainee was sound asleep in a room filled with white noise and flashing strobe lights.
He glanced down at 3459’s file and flicked through the pages again. James Castle had an impressive record, both with the Marine Corps and the CIA. However, it was the intelligence report contained in the file that was most intriguing. After allegedly faking his death in 2004 Castle had disappeared. The rogue operative had remained off the grid until a month ago when he was found half-dead in Afghanistan.
That was reason enough for the CIA to be concerned. They needed to know exactly what Castle had been doing over that period of time. They also wanted to establish whether his partner, Vance Durant, was alive. The report assessed it was likely the two of them had conspired to assassinate a very influential member of the UAE government. That was another mystery that needed to be solved and Small was yet to produce any answers.
He was actually beginning to think that Castle had truly lost his memory. It was not inconceivable considering the significant traumatic brain injury the man had received. He’d never worked on a detainee that had suffered such severe blast injuries. The cripple had maintained the amnesia story through multiple sessions of waterboarding, electric shock treatment, and even blunt force trauma.
Small had only ever had one other detainee who’d maintained his innocence right till the end. In that case the man’s heart had given out and he died. Castle on the other hand was a hard man. His body had endured and Small had no doubt he could take the interrogation even further.
He rose from his desk, walked down the corridor, and turned into what he called his ‘lab’. It had been built to his exact specifications. In the center of the room was an adjustable chair not unlike a dentist’s, except it had nylon straps on the arms, legs, and headrest. The chair could manipulate a prisoner’s body as he saw fit. He could lay them flat, tip them head down for waterboarding, or sit them up so they could see exactly what he was doing to their body. It was an effective contraption in which he took great pride.
He sat on one of the stainless steel cabinets containing his tools and studied the chair as he planned his next session with Castle. A knock at the door broke his concentration and one of the guards stuck his head in. “Sir, we’ve got trouble.”
“What? More detainees?”
“Ah not exactly, sir.”
Small followed the guard down the hallway, through a security door, and into the front office. On a screen displaying the camera feed from the front gate, Small could see the problem. The Commandant of Camp X-Ray was there with Small’s boss from Langley, Thomas Larkin. “Have all the drives been cleared?” he asked the guard.
“Yes, sir, half an hour ago as scheduled.”
“OK, let them in.”
Small waited in the reception area for Larkin to appear.
The barracuda-jawed CIA officer stormed in with the Army Colonel in tow. He thrust a document into Small’s hand. “This facility is now officially closed, Aaron.” He locked eyes with the interrogator. “All prisoners will be transferred into the custody of the good Colonel here and into Camp X-Ray.”
Small glanced at the paper. “As you wish, sir.”
He stepped aside as a squad of Military Police and medical staff streamed in. It only took them half an hour to remove the two prisoners and search for evidence of torture. When it was over Small sat on a bench outside the fence and smoked a cigarette. His boss joined him and they stared out over the blue water of the Caribbean Sea.
“What now?” asked Small.
Larkin turned to him. “I’ve got something developing and I’ll need someone with your expertise.”
“When?”
“Can’t say right now. I’ve got you a contract back at S&T to cover the gap.”
“Thanks.” Small knocked the ash from his cigarette.
“How do you feel about the cold?” asked Larkin.
Small shrugged. “Makes no difference to me.”
“Good, I’ll call you when everything is ready.”
“What’s going to happen to the cripple?”
“James Castle? He’ll stay here at Gitmo till he decides to talk.”
“If he ever actually remembers anything.”
“Do you really think he’s lost his memory?”
Small stubbed out his cigarette and shrugged. “Everyone cracks eventually but he hasn’t.”
“Well he’s got nothing but time here.”
“Hey, what shut us down this time?”
“Whistleblower. I’m still getting to the bottom of it. Don’t worry; I’ve got it covered. The next one will be even further from the prying eyes of Washington. I’ll call you.”
Small watched the CIA contracting officer stand and walk down the hill to Camp X-Ray. He had known Larkin since he started consulting to the Agency. The man always got the job done. Results were all that mattered to him and if something went wrong he was like Teflon. Nothing stuck to him, the closure of the Bin was evidence enough of that. Whatever Larkin had planned was definitely going to be worth his while.
***
Check out PRIMAL Redemption
here
.
Join PRIMAL
here
to receive notification of upcoming PRIMAL missions.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jack Silkstone grew up on a steady diet of Tom Clancy, James Bond, Jason Bourne, Commando comics, and the original first-person shooters, Wolfenstein and Doom. His background includes a career in military intelligence and special operations, working alongside some of the world’s most elite units. His love of action-adventure stories, his military background, and his real-world experiences combined to inspire the no-holds-barred PRIMAL series, including
PRIMAL Origin, PRIMAL Unleashed, PRIMAL Vengeance, PRIMAL Fury, PRIMAL Mirza, PRIMAL Inception, PRIMAL Reckoning, and PRIMAL Nemesis.
www.facebook.com/primalunleashed
BOOKS BY JACK SILKSTONE
PRIMAL Redemption
