He held her still body to him, held her tightly, unaware of his tears. Unaware of the ring of police. Not even noticing Thurgood-Smythe who stood there as well, blood dripping between his fingers that he had clamped hard about his arm.
The room was white, walls, ceiling, and floor. Unblemished and cheerless. The chair was white too, as was the plain table set before it. Sterile and cold, resembling a hospital in a way, but not like a hospital at all. Not at all.
Jan sat on the chair with his arms resting on the table. His clothing was white; white sandals were on his feet. His skin was very pale, as though it were trying to conform to the all-pervading whiteness. The reddened rings around his eyes were in stark contrast to the whiteness all about him.
Someone had given him a mug of coffee and it rested on the table, still held by his fingers. He had drunk none of it and it had grown cold. His red-rimmed eyes stared unseeing into the distance. There was no distance for the room was windowless. The door opened and a white-garbed attendant came in. He held a blast hypodermic in one hand and Jan did not protest, or even notice, when his arm was lifted and the injection was blown through his skin and into his bloodstream.
The attendant went out, but he left the door open. He was back in a moment with an identical white chair which he placed on the opposite side of the table. This time he closed the door when he left.
A few minutes passed before Jan stirred and looked about, then glanced down at his hand as though aware for the first time that he was holding the cup. He raised it and sipped, then grimaced at the cold liquid. As he was pushing the cup away from him, Thurgood-Smythe entered and sat down in the chair opposite.
“Can you understand me?” he asked.
Jan frowned a second, then nodded.
Good. You have bad a shot that should pick you up a little bit. I’m afraid that you have been out of things for some time.”
Jan started to talk, but burst into a fit of coughing instead. His brother-in-law waited patiently. Jan tried again.
His voice was hoarse and unsteady.
“What day is it? Can you tell me what day it is?”
“That is not important,” Thurgood-Smythe said, dismissing the thought with a wave of his hand. “What day it is, where you are, none of this is of any relevancy. We have other things to discuss.”
“I’ll not tell you anything. Nothing at all.”
Thurgood-Smythe laughed uproariously at this, slapping his knee with gusto.
“That’s very funny,” he said. “You have been here days, weeks, months, the amount of time is unimportant as I have said. What is important is that you have told us everything that you knew. Do you understand? Every single thing that we wanted to know. This is a very sophisticated operation that we run here and we have had decades of experience. You must have heard rumors of our torture chambers — but those are rumors we start ourselves. The reality is simple efficiency. With drugs, training, electronic techniques, we simply enlisted you on our side. You were eager to tell us everything. And you did.”
Anger stirred Jan, stirring him from the lassitude that still gripped him.
“I don’t believe you, Smitty. You’re a liar. This is part of the softening up process.
“Is it? You must believe me when I tell you that it is all over. You have nothing more to say that I want to hear. You have already told us about Sara and your meeting on the Israeli submarine, your little adventure in the Highlands, at the space station. I said everything and I sincerely meant it. The people we wanted to apprehend, including Sonia Amarigho, a repulsive person named Fryer, others, have all been picked up and dealt with. A few more are still at large, thinking they enjoy freedom. Just as you thought you did. I was very happy when you were recruited, and not only for personal reasons. We have plenty of small fry to watch, but they are not important. You led us into more rarefied circles that we wanted to penetrate. And we did. Our policy is simple: we allow these little groups to form these plots to be made and carried out, we even allow a few to escape. Sometimes. So our catch will be larger later on. We always know what is happening. We never lose.”
“You’re sick, Smitty. I just realized that. Sick and rotten and all the others like you. And you lie too much. I don’t believe you.”
“It is unimportant if you believe or not. Just listen. Your pathetic rebellion will never succeed. The Israeli authorities keep us informed of their young rebels who want to change the world…”
“I don’t believe you!”
