Waking up in the concrete room after a beating became a regular event after that first punch, one I faced with increasing dread and despair.
Any information I came across was added to my mental S.O.S., although I was growing more convinced, nobody was coming to my aid. Despite the hopelessness, which was intensifying, I didn"t want to give up. If I gave up, what else was there? So I continued to broadcast what I knew, uncertain if it would ever be heard by Ripley. Every time I was dragged up the stairs, I took mental note of anything that might be important. I"d begun estimating the number of guards, based on the area of the house to which I was escorted. I had a good eye for faces and could recognize new people as the shifts changed. Each time I saw someone new, I added him or her to my
