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Authors: Declan Conner
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the source of my embarrassment. The maid laughed, picked
up my clothing from the floor and breezed out of the room.
The shower felt good, and I wished it could
go on forever. When I removed the bandages from my feet, I saw they were far
from healed.
‘Enough,’ someone called out.
Stepping out of the shower, I wiped the
steam from the cabinet mirror and rubbed myself down with a towel. The
reflection staring back at me looked like a stranger. The swelling had almost
gone from my upper lip, but both lips were raw and split. The gash on my nose
sat at the top of a bend that said my nose was probably broken. Black casts in
the skin around my bloodshot eyes reminded me of just how much of a beating I
had taken.
‘I need a shave. Is there a razor?’
Two of the guards looked at each other,
puzzled. I made the gesture of shaving, as they clearly hadn’t understood a
word I had said.
‘No shave,’ one of them said, and grabbing
me by the arm, he pulled me out of the en-suite and pointed his rifle at the
clothing on the bed.
The bright-orange garment was a one-piece
overall. There was no underwear, so I pulled the overall on over my legs, stood
to finish dressing, and fastened the buttons. One of the guards pushed me back
onto the bed and picked up the wristwatch-type object. On closer inspection, I
could see it was an offender tracking bracelet that he clasped around my ankle.
As the fastener clicked into place, the bracelet started to emit a flashing
green L.E.D. He stood back and threw a pair of flip-flops beside me. I glanced
at my feet and then the flip-flops and back again. Shrugging my shoulders, I
looked at the guard nearest me and pointed at my feet. He talked on a radio and
shortly afterwards, the maid re-entered carrying bandages. She knelt in front
of me and bandaged each foot in turn.
Glancing up at me, she whispered, ‘Do
everything they ask. You may be worth something to them, but they’ll shoot you
like a dog if you don’t give them what they want.’
She stood and walked over to the clothes
closet and opened the door. After fishing inside, she turned and tossed me a
pair of slippers. ‘Try these.’
The guards hauled me to my feet, led me out
of the bedroom, down the stairway and through the large doors in the foyer into
a dining room. There was a long oak table with a dozen chairs. A gray-haired
man of slight build sat at one end of the table, with his head bowed, studying
papers. The canvas bags we had brought on our journey sat to one side of him,
with one of them open.
A guard forced me to sit to one side,
halfway down the table. My host’s head remained buried in the file on the table
and he began to read aloud.
‘Kurt Rawlings, drug enforcement agent. El
Paso. Age thirty-four. Date of birth, December fifth, nineteen-seventy four.
Wife, Mary. One son and one daughter, Craig and Claire. It says here you passed
on promotion to stay with your existing team, following the recovery of
twenty-five million dollars’ worth of cocaine. Black belt in judo and karate.
Top scores in marksmanship, et cetera, et cetera.’
He closed the file, raised his head, and
gazed at me over half-rimmed spectacles.
My heart sank and a cold wave washed
through my body. He knew exactly who I was.
And looking at him, I now knew exactly at
whose mercy my life depended.
Chapter 11
Devil in Disguise
It was hard to
believe that I was sitting at the table with our department’s very own Ace of
Clubs. A sigh escaped my lips, catching his attention, and without moving his
head, he shot me a penetrating stare over his glasses. Averting my gaze at
first, I glanced back to see him reading papers.
His appearance was that of a genteel,
amiable professor, rather than a potential dictator. Only the abnormality in
his brow, giving him a Neanderthal ridge, created a primal signal that behind
the mask might lurk danger. If I thought I had reached despair before, knowing
who sat at the head of the table took events to a new
up my clothing from the floor and breezed out of the room.
The shower felt good, and I wished it could
go on forever. When I removed the bandages from my feet, I saw they were far
from healed.
‘Enough,’ someone called out.
Stepping out of the shower, I wiped the
steam from the cabinet mirror and rubbed myself down with a towel. The
reflection staring back at me looked like a stranger. The swelling had almost
gone from my upper lip, but both lips were raw and split. The gash on my nose
sat at the top of a bend that said my nose was probably broken. Black casts in
the skin around my bloodshot eyes reminded me of just how much of a beating I
had taken.
‘I need a shave. Is there a razor?’
Two of the guards looked at each other,
puzzled. I made the gesture of shaving, as they clearly hadn’t understood a
word I had said.
‘No shave,’ one of them said, and grabbing
me by the arm, he pulled me out of the en-suite and pointed his rifle at the
clothing on the bed.
The bright-orange garment was a one-piece
overall. There was no underwear, so I pulled the overall on over my legs, stood
to finish dressing, and fastened the buttons. One of the guards pushed me back
onto the bed and picked up the wristwatch-type object. On closer inspection, I
could see it was an offender tracking bracelet that he clasped around my ankle.
As the fastener clicked into place, the bracelet started to emit a flashing
green L.E.D. He stood back and threw a pair of flip-flops beside me. I glanced
at my feet and then the flip-flops and back again. Shrugging my shoulders, I
looked at the guard nearest me and pointed at my feet. He talked on a radio and
shortly afterwards, the maid re-entered carrying bandages. She knelt in front
of me and bandaged each foot in turn.
Glancing up at me, she whispered, ‘Do
everything they ask. You may be worth something to them, but they’ll shoot you
like a dog if you don’t give them what they want.’
She stood and walked over to the clothes
closet and opened the door. After fishing inside, she turned and tossed me a
pair of slippers. ‘Try these.’
The guards hauled me to my feet, led me out
of the bedroom, down the stairway and through the large doors in the foyer into
a dining room. There was a long oak table with a dozen chairs. A gray-haired
man of slight build sat at one end of the table, with his head bowed, studying
papers. The canvas bags we had brought on our journey sat to one side of him,
with one of them open.
A guard forced me to sit to one side,
halfway down the table. My host’s head remained buried in the file on the table
and he began to read aloud.
‘Kurt Rawlings, drug enforcement agent. El
Paso. Age thirty-four. Date of birth, December fifth, nineteen-seventy four.
Wife, Mary. One son and one daughter, Craig and Claire. It says here you passed
on promotion to stay with your existing team, following the recovery of
twenty-five million dollars’ worth of cocaine. Black belt in judo and karate.
Top scores in marksmanship, et cetera, et cetera.’
He closed the file, raised his head, and
gazed at me over half-rimmed spectacles.
My heart sank and a cold wave washed
through my body. He knew exactly who I was.
And looking at him, I now knew exactly at
whose mercy my life depended.
Chapter 11
Devil in Disguise
It was hard to
believe that I was sitting at the table with our department’s very own Ace of
Clubs. A sigh escaped my lips, catching his attention, and without moving his
head, he shot me a penetrating stare over his glasses. Averting my gaze at
first, I glanced back to see him reading papers.
His appearance was that of a genteel,
amiable professor, rather than a potential dictator. Only the abnormality in
his brow, giving him a Neanderthal ridge, created a primal signal that behind
the mask might lurk danger. If I thought I had reached despair before, knowing
who sat at the head of the table took events to a new
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