BANJO STIRRED. HE SQUINTED, allowing just a fraction of light to get through to his retinas. The light wasn’t too strong, so he opened his eyes wider.
The windows were boarded, blocking most of the sunlight. He groaned weakly and palmed his head with bound hands. It was throbbing like hell. He surmised that Henry must have gassed them.
His body ached all over, especially his ribs. Someone had given him a good kicking while he was unconscious. His mouth was parched; his tongue and teeth felt furry.
Disorientation got the better of him. What the hell is this place? He looked around. As best as he could ascertain it was a workshop of some kind. Abandoned. Dusty. Dingy.
Someone was whistling a terribly out-of-tune version of ‘Every Breath You Take’ from a distance – how distant he could on
