Read Online JET - Escape: (Volume 9) by Russell Blake - Free Book Online
Authors: Russell Blake
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unflinchingly.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Franco said, his tone calm.
“You do, and you’ll tell me. The man and woman escaped from the monastery. They had to have assistance. I think you helped them or know who did. If I’m wrong, I’ll repeat my interrogation with every one of your brethren until I get it out of you. Do you understand?”
“I understand that you believe something that isn’t true.”
Fernanda sighed. “Let me tell you a story. When I was just a little girl, I had a brother. His name is unimportant. What is important is that he was a beautiful spirit – generous, kind, friendly. When he was nine, he began his service in our town’s church, as an altar boy. A year later he was found hanging in the outhouse, where he’d rigged a noose out of wire and strangled himself by stepping off the toilet.” Fernanda paused and studied Franco’s face. “His last moments had to be excruciatingly painful, because his neck didn’t break – the wire sliced through his flesh and he bled to death.” She stepped nearer. “He killed himself because of the shame and self-hatred that consumed him, because of what was done to him by the town priest. Stories circulated after the good father was transferred elsewhere – other little boys with horrific accounts of their own – but by that time he had escaped the townspeople’s revenge, spirited away by his superiors.”
“I’m truly sorry for your loss, but what does that have to do with me?” Franco asked.
“I mention it because I want you to know that, unlike everyone else who has interrogated you, I’m not impressed by your position in the Church. If anything, it makes it easier for me to do what I must in order to drag the truth from you. Because, in a way, I’m doing it for my brother, not just for expedience.”
“I want a lawyer.”
Fernanda smiled, and the effect was blood-chilling. “You misunderstand your circumstance.”
“I’m not saying another word until I have my lawyer.”
“Oh, you will talk. You’ll beg to talk, but only when I allow you to. First, I get my revenge for my brother. Only after I’m tired will I give you the opportunity to speak.” Fernanda nodded, and Ramón slipped a knotted rag around Franco’s head, forcing the knot into his mouth and tying the loose ends behind his head.
When Ramón was finished, Fernanda studied Franco with cool detachment and moved to the toolbox. “I’m afraid I didn’t have time to gather all the instruments I would have liked. I originally conceived of your questioning as a perfect opportunity to use some of the more popular techniques from your organization’s infamous inquisition period, but circumstances didn’t deliver a rack or a Judas chair. Do you know what a Judas chair is?”
Franco’s eyes widened.
“It was popular in obtaining confessions from the particularly stubborn. It’s a chair with a sharp, pointed pyramid for a seat. The victim is seated on it, naked, with the point inserted into an orifice, and then as questioning progressed, lowered inch by inch. That sounded perfect for what I intended; but alas, there are none to be found nearby and we’re in a bit of a rush.”
Franco struggled against the bindings.
“Another popular technique was called the strappado. That’s where the victim would be suspended from the rafters by his wrists shackled behind him. The muscles in his arms would rip from the weight, and then the ligaments in the shoulders, and then, as he was bounced by the interrogators, his shoulders would break. It sounds excruciatingly painful, doesn’t it? Leave it to the Church to innovate convincing ways to extract information.” She looked at Ramón. “Unfortunately, the overhead beams don’t look like they’ll support your weight – they’re too old – and I’d hate to pull the building down on top of us. So I’ll have to make do with more modern techniques, which I promise you are every bit as painful, if
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Franco said, his tone calm.
“You do, and you’ll tell me. The man and woman escaped from the monastery. They had to have assistance. I think you helped them or know who did. If I’m wrong, I’ll repeat my interrogation with every one of your brethren until I get it out of you. Do you understand?”
“I understand that you believe something that isn’t true.”
Fernanda sighed. “Let me tell you a story. When I was just a little girl, I had a brother. His name is unimportant. What is important is that he was a beautiful spirit – generous, kind, friendly. When he was nine, he began his service in our town’s church, as an altar boy. A year later he was found hanging in the outhouse, where he’d rigged a noose out of wire and strangled himself by stepping off the toilet.” Fernanda paused and studied Franco’s face. “His last moments had to be excruciatingly painful, because his neck didn’t break – the wire sliced through his flesh and he bled to death.” She stepped nearer. “He killed himself because of the shame and self-hatred that consumed him, because of what was done to him by the town priest. Stories circulated after the good father was transferred elsewhere – other little boys with horrific accounts of their own – but by that time he had escaped the townspeople’s revenge, spirited away by his superiors.”
“I’m truly sorry for your loss, but what does that have to do with me?” Franco asked.
“I mention it because I want you to know that, unlike everyone else who has interrogated you, I’m not impressed by your position in the Church. If anything, it makes it easier for me to do what I must in order to drag the truth from you. Because, in a way, I’m doing it for my brother, not just for expedience.”
“I want a lawyer.”
Fernanda smiled, and the effect was blood-chilling. “You misunderstand your circumstance.”
“I’m not saying another word until I have my lawyer.”
“Oh, you will talk. You’ll beg to talk, but only when I allow you to. First, I get my revenge for my brother. Only after I’m tired will I give you the opportunity to speak.” Fernanda nodded, and Ramón slipped a knotted rag around Franco’s head, forcing the knot into his mouth and tying the loose ends behind his head.
When Ramón was finished, Fernanda studied Franco with cool detachment and moved to the toolbox. “I’m afraid I didn’t have time to gather all the instruments I would have liked. I originally conceived of your questioning as a perfect opportunity to use some of the more popular techniques from your organization’s infamous inquisition period, but circumstances didn’t deliver a rack or a Judas chair. Do you know what a Judas chair is?”
Franco’s eyes widened.
“It was popular in obtaining confessions from the particularly stubborn. It’s a chair with a sharp, pointed pyramid for a seat. The victim is seated on it, naked, with the point inserted into an orifice, and then as questioning progressed, lowered inch by inch. That sounded perfect for what I intended; but alas, there are none to be found nearby and we’re in a bit of a rush.”
Franco struggled against the bindings.
“Another popular technique was called the strappado. That’s where the victim would be suspended from the rafters by his wrists shackled behind him. The muscles in his arms would rip from the weight, and then the ligaments in the shoulders, and then, as he was bounced by the interrogators, his shoulders would break. It sounds excruciatingly painful, doesn’t it? Leave it to the Church to innovate convincing ways to extract information.” She looked at Ramón. “Unfortunately, the overhead beams don’t look like they’ll support your weight – they’re too old – and I’d hate to pull the building down on top of us. So I’ll have to make do with more modern techniques, which I promise you are every bit as painful, if
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