Survivalist - 15.5 - Mid-Wake (8 page)

“Michael,” Rourke almost said aloud. His son. He closed his eyes for an instant. Despite Michael’s abilities, and Paul’s as well—despite anything, there would be no help coming. He opened his eyes.

The guards were moving toward him and Natalia and Rourke waited. Thev arestured for them to move ahp.ad.

toward Kerenin and the three seated men. Rourke moved ahead, his eyes focusing on each of the faces in turn. They all seemed piteously alike, dour-faced, balding, paunchy. All that was missing was for one of them to hold his hands over his eyes, the other his ears, the third his mouth. The heels of Rourke’s combat boots clicked on the marble or marble-like floor, Natalia’s boot heels clicking more loudly.

Both of them stopped a yard or so before the triumvirate.

A woman entered from the right, an officer dressed identically to her male counterparts, her hair nearly as short as theirs. She stood at attention. She was told to stand down and to translate both the remarks of the triumvirate and the remarks of the prisoners.

Kerenin began to speak, the woman looking to Kerenin for the assent to translate. He nodded and she began the unnecessary exercise. “You are both charged with multiple counts of murder, espionage, and crimes of intent against the Soviet people. Since the evidence against you is so overwhelming, there is no purpose in entering a plea. Have you anything to say in your behalf?”

Rourke stepped a pace forward. In German, the woman picking up the translation, he began, “My wife and I were walking along the beach. She went on ahead. She was set upon by soldiers under the command of this man. I came to her rescue when I heard sounds of battle. We were subdued, then kidnapped and taken aboard one of your vessels, where my wife and I were both subjected to threats of violence and forced to disrobe for unnecessary and demeaning searches of our persons. We are German citizens on a peaceful mission of exploration in search of remaining pockets of civilization following the great war between the Russian people and the people of America. We come in peace, seeking only knowledge. We were armed only for our own protection against whatever unknown dangers lay before us in our quest.”

He stopped in order that the female officer serving as translator could catch up. He continued then. “We were

both given intensive training in the means of self-defense and in various other skills needed for long-term survival. We encountered the Chinese, whom I presume to be your enemies. They had spoken of warriors raiding their cities, and I presume your people are of whom they spoke. We have no taste for warfare, my wife and I. We have come in peace. You are evidently possessed of great knowledge here. You are fortunate indeed. If you wish to make formal contact with the German people, we would be honored and the contact could serve to the mutual advantage of our peoples. If you do not, we ask only to be allowed to return to the surface, reunite with our few comrades, and continue our explorations in peace, someday returning to our loved ones in Germany, to our colleagues. You need have no fear that by some means any slight knowledge we may have obtained of your civilization here would eventually work to your undoing. No power on the surface of the earth could reach your homeland, nor certainly pose any threat to your homeland whatsoever. Please let us return to the surface in peace.” John Rourke fell silent.

The man at the center of the triumvirate looked to Kerenin as the female officer completed her translation. The man spoke. “Comrade major—is it possible they are indeed whom they claim to be? Or are you convinced otherwise?”

Kerenin cleared his throat. The female officer translated the triumvirate member’s remarks into German. Kerenin spoke now. “I am convinced, Comrade Chairman, that this man and woman lie. Based upon field intelligence reports of Captain Feyedorovitch, it would appear that several persons of the white race have allied themselves with our enemies, the Chinese. Their origin can be only one place. They can only be cleverly placed agents of our enemies at Mid-Wake, Comrade Chairman.”

Rourke’s mind raced—Mid-wake? Mid-Wake?

Kerenin, staring at Natalia, then at Rourke, declared, “They must be fully interrogated, Comrade Chairman. With your permission, I would personally wish to under

take the task.”

“Then take them away, major.” The three men of the triumvirate, as one, cast down their eyes to study the paperwork on their massive desk. There was no sound for a moment except that of Natalia sucking in her breath.

Rourke had attempted to resist as they were taken from the great marble hall, but a knife—his knife—had been placed at Natalia’s throat and he had submitted.

They did not return to the artificial sunlight, but were taken down a long flight of stairs, the smell at the base of the stairs a mingling of dampness, sweat, and human fear. Rourke imagined the smell was maintained conscientiously.

With a knife to Natalia’s throat, Rourke, still bound, was placed on an examining table, his wrists still bound. His legs were spread apart and his ankles were shackled to each side of the table, then the bindings at his wrists were cut and his arms shackled over his head, spread wide to the upper corners of the table, the table of immense proportions and of stainless steel or some similar substance. The female officer who had served as translator before the triumvirate had accompanied them, and her face seemed to be growing paler by the second. Kerenin spoke and she translated his words, expressionlessly. But Rourke watched Kerenin’s eyes.

“Perhaps you believe that it will be possible to defeat the techniques we shall utilize. You will soon find that you are mistaken. In the interests of being humane, I shall warn you that resistance is futile. You will spare yourself considerable misery if you speak now.”

Rourke focused his attention on remembering the way to say “Fuck you” in German. He heard Natalia’s voice. Her voice was higher-pitched than normally, but otherwise

firm. “We know nothing that would interest you. We will be happy to answer any questions, major. It is just that you choose arbitrarily to believe that our answers are lies. Tbey are not.”

They were, of course. And the lies they told were an integral part of the one faint hope Rourke clung to. That the torture session would be unrewarding to Kerenin and that he would think them incapable of further resistance and for one split second be sloppy enough that he—John Rourke—or Natalia could get to a weapon. And that meant surviving what would come next and clinging to the lies.

Kerenin had apparently ignored Natalia’s remarks. He ordered her shackled to the second table. Rourke knew that Natalia’s pain would be the hardest pain he would have to endure—and for her, his pain.

Rourke spoke once more. “We can make up lies, major. But you will see through them. We have only one truth to tell. And we have told it to you.”

Kerenin spoke, the female officer’s complection slightly green-tinged now. “I somehow feel that both of you have endured such as I offer now before. You believe. But you have never known pain or suffering such as the devices in this room are capable of inducing.” No drugs then, Rourke thought. That was a plus for being able to maintain the lie. To have revealed that he was American and that she was once a major in the KGB but had come over to the cause of freedom would have invited no less torture and possibly instant execution. To have revealed the war which raged on the surface between the democratic allies—New Germany in Argentina, the Icelandics, Eden Base in what had been the United States, and the Chinese, the current enemies of these Russians—and the Soviet forces under the command of Marshal Vladmir Karamotsov, Natalia’s husband, would only have precipitated the total destruction of the allies, the final suppression of freedom.

Kerenin spoke once more. “We shall now begin. When you feel compelled by your own suffering or the suffering

ofyour comrade to have the procedures brought to conclusion, all that is necessary is that you tell the truth.”

Blocksof what appeared to be metal were brought to the table by one of the technicians who had been present in the sublevel chamber. The technician placed the blocks on either side of Rourke’s head, two of the guards holding Rourke’s head rigidly in their hands. At the far edge of his peripheral vision, he saw similar blocks being placed beside Natalia’s head. Switches were activated on the blocks, bands of steel or some similar substance rising out of each block, Rourke feeling their coldness against the skin of his temples and forehead. The blocks were moved, then another set of switches worked.

Thetechnician told the two guards they could release Rourke’s head now, the other technician making slight adjustments to the bands which now almost touched at the center of Natalia’s forehead, then giving similar instructions to the guards who held her. Rourke could not move his head, the blocks apparently locked magnetically to the table. Kerenin’s voice sounded almost casual. “You are perhaps not familiar with the use of ultrasonics. Research began centuries ago into the processes by which high-frequency sound waves could be utilized to control the human mind and body. Simply by adjusting frequency and target area in the brain, we can make you do anything we wish. For example. You will now lose complete control of your kidneys.”

Kereninnodded. Rourke remembered how to say “Fuck you” in German and shouted it as the pain in his head started, then fiercer pain still in his back on either side of his spine, Rourke feeling the wash of moisture between his legs, the female translator turning her face away in disgust.

Rourke’sbody was shaking. “The woman you call your wife—why don’t we see how responsive she is to direct sexual stimuli, hmm? Translate, lieutenant!”

Thefemale officer haltingly tried to translate as Rourke, at the edge of his peripheral vision, saw Natalia’s body begin slowly to move. Her eyelids fluttered. Her

lowertorso began moving rapidly now, her back arching. Kerenin laughed. He gave a gesture with his hand.

“Humiliationis even more effective than pain. But we can cause pain.” The female officer translated, the sound of Natalia’s breathing still heavy. Kerenin pointed to both Rourke and Natalia, Rourke barely able to see him. “Hopefully, you both have strong hearts.” Kerenin nodded. This was a well-practiced routine, Rourke realized.

Andsuddenly, he felt it, a terrible headache behind his eyes and then something like a vise beginning to clamp ever more tightly around his chest. They were giving him a coronary occlusion. He tried to control his breathing, to tell his mind that this was all—“Aagh!” Rourke’s body lurched as the vise tightened and his lungs could no longer suck air, his left arm numb with pain. Natalia screamed, her body going rigid, Rourke wanting to shout to them that he was a doctor and that in seconds, he knew, Natalia would die. Her normally pale skin was ashen, her mouth wide, gasping for breath. Rourke’s body shook. He was telling himself these men who were doing this knew their jobs and would know just how far to go before death became inevitable. He was losing consciousness, the numbness in his left arm replaced with pain almost more intense than the pain in his chest. Natalia was screaming. Rourke started to speak—he could only gasp for breath.

Andsuddenly, the pain was gone. His body sagged downward. He sucked air, feeling himself start to hyper-ventillate, a green wash replacing his vision. Was this natural or something induced by their machinery? he wondered fleetingly.

Kerenin’svoice, the no-longer-under-control voice of the female officer translating. “I could have let both of you die, or just one of you. Now—let us see what fears can be dredged out of your minds. I wish to see both of you consumed with fear.”

Thetranslation ended.

Rourkefelt a sudden relaxing of his body, almost a calmness in his brain … He wondered if he were dead. He had read of out-of-body experiences of persons who

hadtechnically died on the operating table. And this was—He was over the chamber where he and Natalia were being tortured. He could see himself, see Natalia, see Kerenin standing almost directly under him, see the frightened and nauseated female translator, see Feyedorovitch in the far corner. Rourke could see the dark stains which covered the thighs of his faded Levis. There was a look of calm on his face, a look that somehow seemed very strange to him. Natalia was screaming, her body twisting, writhing, her face contorted in agony. John Rourke tried to move, to reach down to touch her. He could not move.

Whateverthey were doing to him had stopped. Kerenin suddenly had a blowtorch in his hand. How did he get it? He was walking toward Natalia there on the table. He started moving the blowtorch toward her face. Rourke tried to shout. He couldn’t shout, couldn’t make a sound. He tried to close his eyes for an instant, to think. His eyes would not close, he could not think.

Kereninmoved the torch closer. Natalia screamed and the blowtorch touched at her eyes, and their incredible blueness was gone, flames licking upward, tongues of yellow and orange but tinged still with the blue of her eyes. And suddenly her face was consumed with flames, with flames, and Rourke felt tears welling up in his eyes. And now there were tables beyond the one on which Natalia had—had—had died. He could smell her flesh still burning as Kerenin moved on to the next table. Rourke’s wife, Sarah, was there, her abdomen swollen with the baby he had given her. Kerenin brought the blowtorch toward her and then her clothes were gone and she was lying there on the cold table naked and he could feel her coldness and Sarah screamed as Kerenin touched the blowtorch to her abdomen. Rourke was trying to scream. He could not. Sarah’s body was aflame and he could see the baby, on fire, the fire spreading over her body now, consuming her, consuming her screams. On the next table he saw his daughter, Annie, and her husband, Rourke’s best friend, Paul Rubenstein, this table wider,

theirbodies lashed to it together but their bodies not touching. Paul cursed at them, fought at his bonds. Annie was crying that her mommie and daddy were dead. Rourke’s son, Michael, writhed on the next table, blood pouring from his wrists and ankles as he fought the shackles which held him to the table.