The Negotiator

Captured

The undertakers were about a mile from O’Rourke Inc. It was one of those garish buildings the Americans love so much. All chrome, glass and glitter. A huge illuminated sign by the highway proclaimed the name “Final Sunset Peace Parlour”

I sat in the car in the late afternoon sun about fifty yards down the highway watching. God alone knew what I was expecting to see. As the afternoon drew to evening A hearse arrived. That was to be expected, of course, but this hearse held a coffin that was draped in the green, white and gold Irish tricolour. The coffin was an ordinary sized one and a few flowers decorated it. Clearly not a rich person’s funeral. I watched as the hearse drew to a halt outside the main door as two guys got out of the car. They slid the coffin onto one of those collapsible trolley things and wheeled it in.

I drove up behind them. I climbed out and went into the plush reception area. A young woman, soberly dressed and with a serious manner approached me ‘Would you mind waiting just a moment sir until Mr McNamara has been taken through?’

I nodded and went to sit on a nearby chair my head hung in solemn respect. She was back in a couple of minutes ‘This way please, sir’ she led me through the back to where Mr McNamara, late of this world, was laid in his open coffin. He was a small, thin man who was barely five foot two inches tall. ‘Oh dear,’ I said to the young woman, ‘I think there must be some confusion here.’

She smiled ‘No sir, for the Journey to the old country, he will be re-coffined in something much more appropriate.’ She gave me a professional smile ‘will you be travelling to Ireland for the internment sir?’

‘Sorry, sorry but this is not my relative.’ I stuttered.

Her face reddened ‘Oh sir, please forgive me, we are expecting his son to pay his last respects. I thought you… I thought. Oh, dear.’

I saved her from further embarrassment ‘There’s nothing to forgive’ I said, my American accent as good as it ever was, ‘I called to make enquiries, that’s all.’

She recovered fast ‘How may I help you, sir?’

I hesitated for a moment ‘I may be a bit premature’ I said, ‘but my uncle is in a hospice, and is not expected to last much longer, although I realise one cannot be certain about these things.’

‘And you would like to make arrangements for him? I see, that is not an unusual request, sir.’

‘The thing is,’ I went on, ‘he is of Irish decent, a staunch Catholic, and he has expressed a desire to be buried back home, as he calls Ireland. We are not a wealthy family, ma’am, but we were wondering how much it would cost to fulfil his last wishes.’

Her smile was sweet and sympathetic. ‘Mr Elton and Mr Connelly have gone home for the night sir, we usually close at five, but I stayed behind to receive Mr McNamara. They will give you a price sir, and it won’t be as much as you might think The ship sails in two days, after that in around another two weeks.’

‘I see,’ I said’ ‘I shall tell the family, may I take a brochure please?’

Outside, I walked to my car. Glancing back, I saw her on the reception desk phone. She could have been calling a cab to take her home or anything, but there was something about her body language, an urgency in her manner that rang bells. I drove off, my mind working on what to do next. I called Harriet and told her what I’d found out. She advised me to stay away and not to put myself in danger. She was still working on her American contact. I went back to my hotel my mind again buzzing with ‘what ifs.’ If evidence was needed, then evidence must be obtained, I thought.

The great thing about America is that you can buy anything most times of the day or night. I went to a local shopping mall and bought a camera. I familiarised myself with it and loaded it with film. I then went and had a light dinner. It was going to be a long night again.

At midnight I got my haversack of burglary implements together again and left the hotel. The same cheery receptionist called ‘walking again, sir?’

I nodded back and smiled ‘You bet.’

The drive to the Final Sunset Peace Parlour was easy, the roads quiet. I found a place to park behind the building. I’d seen no sign of a security system whilst I was there, but to be on the safe side I gave the place a thorough checking over before approaching. Well, who the hell would break into a funeral parlour anyway? A sophisticated security system might well arouse curiosity and if you were smuggling arms that is the last thing you’d want.

I approached the double back doors which would accommodate two hearses simultaneously, business must be brisk. I made my way to the doors, my senses twitching, and examined the lock. One door would be bolted to the floor and upper framework, the other closed too it with an old Yale type lock. I worked on the lock for a couple of minutes then let myself quietly in.

The place smelled of embalming fluid and other chemicals I couldn’t identify. I switched my torch on and looked around. I saw the batch ready for disposal later that morning. Eight of them were draped in the Irish tricolour. I made my way over to them, my senses nagging me. The picture of the receptionist on the phone came to mind just before the lights came on, flooding the place as bright as day.

I was dazzled for a moment then a familiar voice ordered me to stand still and raise my hands. It was Hanrahan.

My spirits sank as I did as ordered, I knew the bastard would shoot me as soon as spit. He came from behind, a huge colt .45 in his hand. ‘So, Mr fuckin’ Murphy, or whatever your real name is, you’ve got some questions to answer.’ He motioned me over to the coffins with a wave of his pistol, he had a self-satisfied smirk on his face. ‘I believe you’re looking for arms for my freedom fighters? Well, here they are clever bastard.’

A man I took to be O’Rourke’s nephew stepped from behind me and lifted the coffin lid to reveal the late Mr McNamara lying at peace, his tiny corpse taking up about half of the huge casket. O’Rourke lifted him easily and dumped him unceremoniously on the floor. With a jerk, he lifted the fancy bottom of the box and there lay two sniper’s rifles and several boxes of ammunition. Packed around them was a consignment of C4 plastic explosive.

Hanrahan stayed at a distance from me, his gun never wavering, whilst O’Rourke restored McNamara’s cadaver to its resting place. He sneered ‘You see, Mr smart arse, you’re not the only bright kid on the block. Mr O’Rourke knew he’s been burgled. Although you did a good job, it was not good enough, you disturbed a tell-tale in the invoice drawer plus the window you forced had slight indentations where you’d used a crowbar.’ He laughed obviously enjoying himself ‘as you’d seen the invoices for the burials, it was a fair bet you’d turn up here.

I shrugged ‘I guess you don’t win ‘em all.’ I said. I sounded resigned, but my head was working the angles, constantly looking for a way out of this situation. There wasn’t a chance as things stood.

‘I know a certain Libyan gentleman who is very anxious to meet you my friend’ said Hanrahan, his pleasure evident. ‘He’ll pay me a pretty penny to be put in touch with you.’ I felt an almighty thump on the back of my head and the lights went out.

*********

When I came to there were bright lights and people standing over me. They sat me up. My legs were strapped together, and my hands cuffed in front of me. I was given water and a foul-tasting bun that might have passed for a burger to a starving vulture. I spat it out

‘You should eat Murphy, you’re going to need all your strength soon’ said Hanrahan who was standing behind me, presumably with a gun trained on me. ‘Your old Comrade General Anwar is on his way even as we speak. Jaysus is he anxious to be reunited with you! He’s bringing a specialist interrogator, a man with twenty years’ experience of loosening tongues in Libyan jails.’

If Hanrahan was trying to scare me, he was doing a bloody good job. The thought of meeting Anwar again filled me with dread. I glanced furtively around my prison, looking for possible weaknesses. It was windowless, and the walls and ceiling were covered in that eggbox soundproofing material. In racks against the rear wall was bondage gear. There were leather masks, chains, collars, handcuffs, whips and a load of stuff I had no idea about. There were also ropes in neat coils and some poster-sized photos of girls tied up in what looked like excruciatingly uncomfortable positions, some with gags in their mouths. On the wall opposite the door was a bench-like plank protruding from the wall with straps attached.

O’Rourke caught my attention with a slap to the face ‘That’s just my little hobby’ he said ‘it’s all harmless fun. The real equipment is next door, you’ll be seeing that soon enough.’

After I refused the so-called burger, I was fitted with a waist restraint and the other straps were removed. I was pulled into the middle of the room to the sound of electronic buzzing. A shackle of some sort was attached to the back of the restraint and the buzzing started again. I was hoisted off my feet, my legs kicking uselessly as I swung painfully by my waist. I heard Hanrahan laughing then I was lowered again, the chain carried on descending then stopped. O’Rourke then fitted my legs with hobbles, slapped me hard across the face again and spat on me.

Hanrahan spoke again ‘The general wants you as fresh as a spring daisy. The hoist you’re attached to is on a rail that runs the length of the room. There’s enough chain to allow you to reach that bucket in the corner should you need to s**t yourself. There is a table in the other corner with water and a meal.’ He laughed, ‘well, with some stale bread should you feel hungry. The general will be here by late tomorrow, in the meantime, we’ll leave you to your happy thoughts.’ Then he had an afterthought ‘Oh yeah, the power to the hoist will be switched off. Hanrahan replaced his huge colt .45 in his shoulder holster then they both left. The lights went out immediately after that. There was no sound of their departing feet, nothing. Just total blackness and utter silence. The torture had begun.

When one is in a situation like this the demons come for you. The mind has nothing to focus on, so it turns in on itself, conjuring up all sorts of terrors.

I was better placed than most to deal with this. For a start, I’d been trained in the art of torture and made to have a taste of it, too. The British Army has a policy that, if your doling it out, you had better have an idea what it feels like. My mind went back to basic training and the CS gas chamber. We young soldiers were made to wear our gasmasks and go into a chamber filled with CS gas. After walking about breathing normally for while you got to trust the mask. Then, before they let you out, you had to remove the mask and recite your number, rank and name to the NCO in charge of the door. I got mine out all in one breath and the bastard said ‘Pardon? Say that again.’ No way would anyone get out without getting a damned good dose.

Later, when I was undergoing spook training, the SAS had me in the stress position for hours. I had mild electric shock treatment, too. Then there was advice on psychological techniques and how to resist. They taught me what sort of questions to expect, and the Mr Nice and Mr Nasty ruse to open a fearful, delicate mind. Those guys were realists though, they told us everybody talks in the end. The human being can take only so much, and the hard men were usually the ones to crack first.

Another thing I had going for me was my meditation, this was probably my strongest asset. I found the bench again after some stumbling about and sat down. Now I had to empty my mind completely, to forget the fear and go deep inside myself. I stayed in this state for longer than I usually did. Despite my situation, I was at peace. My philosophy is that the only time we ever have is right now. Outside of now, nothing exists. Yesterday is gone beyond recall and tomorrow has yet to arrive and when it does it will be now.

This works well in ordinary life, but when one is facing a long, slow cruel death it is almost impossible to be philosophical. I finished my meditation, my mind much calmer, and lay down to think. Harriet would know something was wrong by now because I hadn’t rung in. She’d think I was either dead or captured, but what could she do about it? She was three thousand miles away and had no idea where I was being held. She told me she had a personal contact in the States, but would they be able to help? Would they even want to help some Limey spook who’d got his arse in the mincer? And how would they find me anyhow? It didn’t look good for sure.

I got off the plank bed and followed the wall until I came to the bucket. I took a piss, at last hearing a sound. I then traced my way to the other end of the dungeon, counting as I went. My dungeon was twelve paces long and eight wide. The door was at the bottom end nearest the bread and water table. I chewed some of the bread and drank some water there was no point in getting dehydrated.

I went back to the plank and tried to sleep but I found it impossible. Despite my training and what I knew of fear, fear started to grip me with all sorts imagined tortures.

After what seemed long hours nature called. I found the bucket and took a dump. It occurred to me that if I moved the bucket near to the door one of those t***s might trip over it. I picked up the bucket and started counting steps. It took a little locating but at last, I found the door and placed the bucket where I thought it might do some damage. I know it was futile but even a small victory was to be relished.

How long I dozed for I had no way of telling, my head was full of strange dreams about Harriet. At one time she was taking off her clothes, seducing me then she was cursing me. ‘You murdered Frank you bastard’ she screamed in my face. ‘You expect me to f**k you after that?’

I knew it wasn’t reality, but I couldn’t stop it. Then Frank was there laughing at me ‘They are going to screw you up good Jack, why don’t you end it all? The silly bastards have left you enough chain, wrap it around your neck and jump off the plank. Join me you murderous bastard.’

After loads more stuff that I cannot remember, I awoke in a cold sweat shivering with fear. I sat up and rubbed my neck. It was stiffer than a rutting stag’s c**k. The torture, I knew, would be unbearable, maybe I should take Frank’s advice and top myself?

I didn’t want to die. I wanted to seduce Harriet and hear her say she loved me, I wanted to see the sunlight again, to feel the wind and hear birds singing. I was twenty-eight years old for god’s sake. I wanted to be a father, to take my kids to feed ducks in the park on a Sunday, to hear them laugh and call me daddy, and a thousand other impossible things a man like me has no right to expect.

I didn’t relish the idea of slowly choking to death on the end of a chain if I failed to snap my neck first go, but it would be a damned sight quicker and more merciful than what those sadistic bastards had in store for me. What happened to the fighting spirit? I asked myself.

Then a voice in my head said well it is fighting in a way. It seemed like a logical thing to do. I must have sat for ages thinking, trying to build up the courage and resolve to do it. Finally, I slid off the platform and stood close to it. It was about three feet high. Not high enough to guarantee a quick death but it would be a lot quicker than being tortured to death.

If I killed myself not only would I escape terrible pain, I’d deprive them of a lot of sensitive information, too. That would really piss them off. Anwar might even kill Hanrahan in his anger.

Slowly I pulled the chain towards me gathering up what I thought was the right length, it was impossible to tell in the dark and having cuffed hands didn’t help. I climbed up onto my plank bed. I stood up. Wrapping the chain around my neck with my hands cuffed was also hard. At last, I stood wobbling precariously. I paraphrased Shakespeare in my head ‘If it were to be done, better it t’were done quickly.’ I stepped off the platform.

I don’t remember the fall, just the jolt as my feet hit the floor and I fell forward to be stopped short by the chain, my neck was wrenched painfully, but I was still alive. I had miscalculated, I’d left too much chain in my anxiety to snap my neck cleanly instead of slowly choking to death.

I screamed my frustration into the darkness, then I screamed again, this time in anger. ‘f**k you, Frank, f**k you to hell’ I yelled. ‘I’ll fight these bastards with everything I’ve got.’ Foolish words, fuelled by fear and anger. I climbed back onto the platform and unwound the chain from my neck, tears of frustration pricked my eyes and I turned my face to where I knew the wall was and sobbed like a child.

I don’t know how long I lay there feeling sorry for myself, but it seemed like hours. Then the bastard in my brain started to rebel against this attitude.

The voice in my head was now that of my old basic training sergeant, Sergeant Graham: ‘For f**k’s sake Belthorn’ he roared at me one day when I was struggling with some task or other and telling him I couldn’t do it. ‘Stop whining and start shining. Use your initiative fer Christ’s sake.’ I had wanted to yell back at him, to curse him for a heartless bastard. Instead, I calmed down and started thinking. Shortly afterwards I solved the problem.

My fury turned cold now. Didn’t I see ropes on the wall with that Bondage stuff? If I could get my hands on it, make a loop and wait behind the door for them to come, then just maybe I could get it around the neck of the first of them and garrotte the bastard. If I was garrotting one of them with my legs and everything wrapped around him then they’d have to shoot me. As thoughts go it wasn’t my best one but it was all I could come up with. I found the rope and managed to tie a loop in it, I went behind the door but at this point, the chain wasn’t long enough to allow me to sit down so I stood, waiting, hour upon hour the hatred burning my soul.

Then the door opened silently I knew it had opened because a rush of cool air hit me. Then the light came on, a burning searing light that scorched my eyeballs and rendered me sightless.

There was a laugh and the rope was snatched from my grasp. ‘What were you going to do with that? Try some bondage? Hanrahan chortled with what sounded like genuine mirth. I rubbed my eyes, but it was no good, I couldn’t see a thing.

Then I heard a metallic clunk as someone’s foot caught the piss pail, followed by a curse ‘oh, for f**k’s sake’ O’Rourke’s voice was full of disgust ‘Oh Christ, it’s all over my fuckin’ feet.’

‘I couldn’t help but laugh ‘welcome to my home shitty shoes.’ I said now able to see blurred outlines as my eyes started to make the painful adjustment from total darkness to brilliant light. I was rewarded by a punch to the side of my head which put me down. This was followed by a kick in the ribs that took my wind away. It was a pyrrhic victory, yes, but it was still a victory, and that, somehow, was important to me.

Then I heard the voice I feared most. General Anwar was the blurred blob on my left ‘Very droll Mr Murphy or Salt or whatever your real name is, we’ll see if you’re still laughing this time tomorrow.’

There was another figure standing behind him, tall and broad. Anwar said ‘this is Mr Saeed, late of the Libyan prison service and now seconded to me. You and he will be getting better acquainted tomorrow.’ He closed with me ‘you are going to tell me everything you’ve done since you were born, Murphy. By the time I’ve finished with you, you’ll be begging for death.’

I shuddered inside, I knew he meant every word of what he said, and my blood ran cold. I was bloody scared. They took the hoist control down off its hook and shortened my chain until I was bolt upright, my toes barely touching the floor. They left then, leaving the bright arc lights on. I spent many painful hours suspended like that before finally, they came for me.

I could see fine now, Anwar, Hanrahan and the big bastard Saeed came in carrying chairs. They sat down as Saeed advanced on me. He leaned into my face, a twisted smile on his lips. He looked as happy as a vulture with fresh road kill. He drew a long thin-bladed knife, the type they fillet fish with. ‘Now we begin’ he said, and started to cut my clothes off. The razor sharp knife made short work of it, then he picked me up bodily and threw me on the bench. Holding me down like I was a child he strapped my feet down then my waist. He went to Anwar who produced a long thin cane and smiled and nodded as he handed it to him.

Having the soles of your feet caned by a strong man with a thin cane is excruciating. I screamed my guts out as the waves of agony swept through me. Each blow fell always on a different part of my feet. It seemed to go on forever. I was at the point of fainting and nausea was overtaking me when he stopped. There was a pause whilst Anwar crossed the room and examined my feet. He tut-tutted. ‘Saeed, you clumsy fellow, you have made Mr Murphy’s feet bleed. Cauterise the poor fellow’s wounds at once.’

Saeed smiled and bowed and moved to the table. He came back with a blow torch and lit it with deliberate care, ensuring I saw exactly what was coming. ‘Oh Christ, I moaned, no, please no.’

Saeed simply smirked and when the blowtorch was up to heat, he presented it before my face, smiled, then applied it to my soles. My hands were still cuffed before me and I tore at my own hair, screaming the agonies of the damned. I fell back as I smelled my own flesh cooking. ‘Christ please stop, please’ I screamed, but the agony went on. It lasted maybe only a couple of minutes, but the pain was unbearable. Even when the scorching stopped my blistered feet were a sea of fire. I flopped, moaning on the board. Then Anwar was above me.

‘You see how we treat treacherous bastards, Mr Murphy? And this is only a taste my friend, we have the whole day ahead of us. He leaned down to the level of my ear ‘Are you prepared to talk yet?’

I nodded, anything to stop the pain. ’Yeah,’ I managed.

He gave an evil chuckle, ‘I bet you are. The thing is I’m not yet ready to listen Murphy, not yet anyway.’

He turned and nodded to Saeed, who grinned and left the room. He was back moments later pushing what looked like a welding machine with thick cables attached. I was unstrapped from the table and my feet forced on the floor. More pain speared through me from my blistered feet and I cried out again.

The winch chain was run out until there was enough to hook my handcuffs. I was hoisted a couple of feet off the ground. The handcuffs bit into my wrists and my arms ached supporting the weight of my body. Then Saeed was back. I looked at him and saw a man without a soul. His eyes glinted pure evil, his face held a twisted smile. He looked at me and rubbed his crotch, the bastard was getting off sexually on this. There no point pleading for mercy with this man or confessing anything. He was not through with me yet.

He showed me two large electrode crocodile clips. One of these he attached to my scrotum, the teeth digging in painfully. The other he attached to my ear. ‘Now you feel pain first class, bastard’ he said. He walked to the machine and switched it on. It made an ominous low humming sound. He then started to turn a dial.

There may be a devil somewhere and place called hell, but I doubt they could inflict more pain on human flesh. The jolt of the current sent me into spasms my balls felt like they were being crushed and burned at the same time. My head felt like it was being crushed under a great weight whilst being pierced by a screwdriver. I writhed and twisted, my feet thrashing in my manacles, shrieking in agony, praying he would over-do it and kill me. No chance. Saeed’s expertise was tuned to a fine art.

I was about to pass out when it stopped, and I was left hanging there. O’Rourke appeared with a tray of tea. He glanced at me once, then hurriedly turned his face away, busying himself with arranging the tea on the table. He scurried out without a word. This man who was into bondage hadn’t the stomach for real torture. Saeed poured the tea in a slow ritualistic manner, offering a bowl of sugar to Anwar. They now sat chatting amiably, Anwar lit a foul-smelling cheroot. They were putting on a show for my benefit. After about fifteen minutes, they finished their tea and returned their attention to me.

Anwar walked up, inspecting me like a piece of meat in a butcher’s window. He smiled, ‘there now, Mr Murphy, wasn’t that a pleasant interlude? I’m sure you’re quite recovered, no?

Deep within me, something stirred. My hatred for this man hardening into a cold contempt. I managed to mumble ‘f**k off.’

He smiled and, turning, signalled Saeed.

The shocks started again this time in short jolts at random intervals. My nerves screamed for relief. I was terrified, whimpering, awaiting the next jolt. Each jolt, when it came, was slightly greater than the last. This went on for over an hour until I was reduced to a gibbering wreck.

Then suddenly Anwar gave an order in Arabic and I was lowered and placed on the plank bed. Water was poured into my eager mouth and Anwar spoke. ‘Fortunately for you, Murphy, I have an engagement I must attend that will take the rest of the day. You get a good rest now because tomorrow Saeed wants to practice his dentistry skills. He is a bit clumsy I’m afraid, but he is hoping to improve.’

Then they were gone, leaving the remnants of their tea. A moment later I was plunged into darkness again. I lay there in agony turning this way and that on the plank bed, but no position offered any relief. I started shivering as shock set in. I hoped I would die of it before they returned.

How many seemingly endless hours passed in this condition I had no idea, but it seemed like an eternity. I tried to think but no thought would stay long in my pain-wracked brain. The only plan to end it was to goad them sufficiently to make them kill me. That was a faint hope and must have been tried innumerable times by other desperate victims of these sadistic bastards. Clearly, Anwar was enjoying himself and in no hurry to bring his pleasure to an end. I groaned and started weeping with utter despair. I lay there and pissed myself, passed caring anymore.

They came again, this time carrying a strangely shaped stool with a high back. I reckoned it must be another day by now. I was strapped to this stool by the waist, arms and head. I remembered what I was told in training, no one makes it past day two of a committed torturer. I believed them then and I believed them now. I was eager to move on to the questioning, at least I would have a respite from this suffering whilst I gave them my cover story. It was not to be.

Saeed levered my mouth open and inserted a kind of dental clamp. He then produced a small drill. It looked like something an engineer would use to drill small holes in difficult to reach places. The head turned at right angles and it gave a high pitched whine. I shuddered.

He turned and looked at Anwar who nodded. The drill was lowered onto a molar and instantly pain filled every fibre of my being. In the distance, I heard blood-curdling screams. They were mine.

Saeed drilled two more of my teeth until I wanted to scream for mercy, but the clamp made it impossible. He stopped at last and I sagged forward against my straps. I wondered if there really was a god somewhere and if so would he be merciful enough to send me a heart attack.

I had reached the end of any hope of resistance. Hanrahan was stood by the door a look of deep satisfaction on his face. ‘This is what happens to cunts who screw other men’s women’ he sneered.

I looked at him with deep loathing, he sparked something deep within me, something spiritual I never knew I possessed. Rather than spill my guts with the truth, I’d use my cover story.

Anwar signalled Saeed to continue the torture. He lifted my head and looked into my eyes. I was shivering violently. He took my wrist. He looked at Anwar and shook his head muttering something in Arabic. Anwar nodded and began to question me.

Who are you? What’s your real name?

I told him.

‘Who do you work for?’

‘MI6’

‘Who specifically?’

I remembered the name of the director of MI6. ‘Sir George Marcus.’

‘Directly for him?’

‘Yes’

A series of questions followed that I managed to answer. I noticed a large tape recorder working on the table.

‘How did you destroy the boat with the arms?’

I shook my head ‘not on the boat then. Left in Morocco.’

‘Liar’ he screamed and thumped me in the guts.

Don’t volunteer unasked for info, answer the question, nothing more. That was my training. I don’t know how I managed to keep lying. The pain in my body was excruciating.

I only knew I hated these bastards and that I’d do anything to thwart them. I’d be dead soon anyway and I didn’t care.

My defiance now was something akin to spiritual, something I still can’t explain. My physical body had no resistance left, my mind was defeated and there was no reason to go on lying. Logic said to tell them what they want to know and end it…and yet, and yet…. that something that I didn’t know I possessed said f**k ‘em. If I could leave them with a pile of crap info, so much the better.

He continued to ask questions like ‘How did you get to Morocco?

I told him I was afraid the crew would kill me once we got to Ireland, so I turned on the galley taps and left then running all night, so we’d have to stop for water. I managed to jump ship.

‘How did I get home from Morocco?

I weaved him a tale of bribing my way, finally reaching The American embassy.

He asked one final question then he sat back and clapped. ‘Excellent performance Mr Belthorn, but I happen to know MI6 have no operative by the name of Belthorn. You are displaying all the signs of a man trained by the SAS. They train their people to concoct a cover story to be dragged out of them during torture.’ He sighed, you are wasting my time. Continue Saeed.’

‘No, please, no’ I begged. I’ll tell you the truth, I swear.’ I meant it, too.

Anwar Smiled, ‘yes, yes you will’ he said calmly, then he waved to Saeed. I was given more electric shocks and more dental drilling. I was beside myself now, on the very edge of insanity. It finally stopped when I fainted again. there’s no point inflicting pain on a man who can’t feel it.

The bastards administered smelling salts. After an interval, Anwar resumed his questioning. This time I spilled my guts, the whole truth. Everything. After I’d finished Anwar got up and switched the tape recorder off. He left the room with Hanrahan then, leaving only me and Saeed. My torturer threw me on the plank bed, his face expressionless, then sat in a chair by the door, sipping tea, oblivious to my moans.

After a while, Anwar returned and said something to Saeed in Arabic. The man got up and crossed the floor. He lifted my eyelids, then I think he took my pulse. He turned to his boss and shook his head.

Anwar addressed me ‘It seems you will need a little rest before you make your confession on film.’ He asked Saeed a couple more questions, then spoke to me again. ‘You will be given food and water and a mattress.’ He turned and left.

A little while later Saeed came with some warm soup. It stung like hell in my mouth as the holes in my teeth absorb it. I winced but gulped the soup down anyway. I couldn’t eat the bread he brought due to his dental handiwork. He spoon-fed me the soup and forced hot sweet tea down my throat. Later, after he’d taken the soup bowl and teapot away, he came and threw a mattress on the floor then left without a word.

I sank onto the mattress and closed my eyes although I was still in pain blessed oblivion overtook me.

It seemed like only a few minutes before I was kicked awake. Saeed picked me up and stood me on my blistered feet. Pain shot up my legs and I moaned. He propped me up and walked me out of the door and into the next room. It was a matter of a few feet only as it was a mirror image of the torture chamber, the doors only about five feet apart. This room had the same soundproofing but no bondage equipment. There was a small desk behind which was a sixteen-millimetre camera set up on a tripod. Anwar was sat behind the desk in a leather chair. I became aware of another person in the room. Sat to one side in the shadows behind a spotlight was Hanrahan. He was in his shirt sleeves, his huge colt .45 in a shoulder holster. I wondered vaguely why he thought he needed it I was a wreck, no match for anyone. Then again, Hanrahan thought himself a big-time gangster.

Saeed sat me in a chair facing Anwar who looked at me with a triumphant smile, he too was in shirt sleeves as the room was hot.

‘You need cleaning up’ he told me ‘we can’t have your moment of stardom spoiled by a careless appearance.’ Saeed then shaved my stubbly face and sponged the foam off me. He then carefully combed my hair over my badly burned ear where the electrode had been. He had a look of intense concentration on his face like he was caring for an elderly relative. Finally, he helped me into a crisp white shirt and fastened a red silk tie around my neck. He slapped my face lightly and pinched my cheeks. I was ready.

Anwar presented me with a foolscap sheet ‘this is your confession, which you will read into the camera. Read it through first, I want you to speak clearly, no mumbling or Saeed will get annoyed. Do you understand?

‘Yes.’

‘Good, then proceed.’

It’s strange the odd things that go through your mind when under stress. I realised that the room had been made hot to put a little colour in my cheeks, that my face had remained undamaged and my hands, although sore, were able to function. It was important to them that I looked as normal as possible for the camera. What the hell use that realisation was to me I didn’t know.

I read the confession through. It was the usual propaganda bullshit. Does anyone truly believe s**t like this, I wondered?

‘Well?’ Anwar looked impatient ‘are we ready?’

I nodded, and he switched the camera on whilst Saeed trained the spotlight on me then retreated across the room. I began reading: I, Jack Belthorn, wish to make this, my freely given confession by way of apologising to the noble people of Libya.

I admit that I have committed crimes against the Libyan people and the sovereign state of Libya. Working on behalf of the Imperialist British government, and against the interests of the Libyan people, I entered your country on forged documents, using bribery. I did so with the purpose of spying and sabotage.

I have murdered five Greek members of a ship’s crew and nine Irish freedom fighters who were working to support the just cause of the Irish and Libyan people against the imperialist British aggressor.

I have sabotaged a shipment of food aid given by the Libyan people. These crimes are now a burden to me as, at last, I have come to recognise the wickedness and corruption of the British government that employed me. I hereby submit of my own free will, and under no duress, to the justice of the Libyan people.

I finished and looked up. I was tired now and knew I would die soon. I was past caring, I only hoped they’d make it quick.

Anwar switched the camera off and smiled broadly. ‘Very good Jack, a most sincere delivery, and now you must sign that document and print your name beneath it.’

He took a pen from his pocket and clicked it. ‘Straight after the last line, leave no gap.’

I took the pen, it was made of steel and bright red, one of those promotional ones, it had a logo and the words O’Rourke Inc. Imports/export specialists. Why the hell I noticed such trivial detail at a time like that I didn’t know. I signed as bid and he snatched his pen back.

‘Very good, and now…,..’

‘Just a minute General’ said Hanrahan ‘is there any film left in that camera?’

Anwar looked annoyed at being interrupted but kept his voice even ‘Yes, plenty. Why?

‘Because I would like to make a similar film general, with your permission of course’ he added obsequiously.

Anwar nodded ‘Ok, but please be brief, I have a flight to catch.’

Hanrahan plumped himself down in Anwar’s chair behind the desk. He sneered at me and began writing on a sheet of foolscap. After a few crossings out, he appeared satisfied.

‘OK, Mr smart arse, you read that to the camera just like you did before.’

I looked at his smirking face with loathing. Anwar was an evil bastard, yes, and Saeed was a soulless torturer, but of the three people in the room with me I hated Hanrahan most. He was a slimy, hypocritical, sanctimonious bastard. A wife beater, a murderer, a criminal posing as a peoples’ champion simply to line his own pockets. Something akin to defiance began to spark within me.

He handed me his finished work which I read without surprise.

‘So, read it’ he snapped ‘I haven’t got all day.’

I looked down at the paper again and started reading aloud stuttering and hesitating as I went.

‘No, no, no’ he cried ‘that’s crap, he stared at me for a long moment ‘are you doing that on purpose you bastard?’ His voice dropped to a deadly whisper ‘The General here wants to end your life by driving you out into the countryside with a couple of gallons of petrol and burning you to death before Saeed buries you. If you read this for me as well as you read the last one, I promise you a quick bullet to the head.’ He patted the colt affectionately.

I nodded ‘I’ll do my best’ I said. I didn’t have to act scared, the thought of such a terrible death rekindled terror in me.

The words f**k you, you bastards came into my head then. Die I would but on my own terms, not theirs.

I began to read: ‘I, Jack Belthorn, an officer of the British Army Intelligence Corps, do freely admit to spying on the Irish people whilst attempting to thwart their rightful claim of independence from the British colonialist government.

‘I have committed acts of murder and sabotage on behalf of that government to the detriment of the cause of the Irish people.

I confess to the r**e and murder on November the twenty-third 1976 of Mrs Patricia Hanrahan in London and of throwing her body into the river Thames.

I give this confession of my own free will and ask the pardon and forgiveness of the freedom fighters of the Provisional Irish Republican Army and of the Irish people. I hereby submit myself to justice.’

A smarmy smile spread across Hanrahan’s face ‘That was much better, now sign.’ He slid the same promotional pen across the table only this one was green. I took it and allowed myself to flop over the table drawing the pen under me. He lifted my head ‘Stop f*****g about and sign’ he snapped.

‘Where?’

He leaned right over, tapping the paper with an impatient forefinger ‘there you f*****g idiot.’

I had pushed the pen’s square base into the heel of my thumb, my forefinger along the barrel, my thumb wedged the pen barrel tight, the rest of my fingers curled into a fist.

I launched myself at him across the table, my left hand flying around his neck pulling him on as I thrust the pen point deep into his right eye.

As he screamed and reeled back I grabbed the colt and thumbed off the safety. I heard a startled yelp from Anwar as he reached for his weapon, but surprise had been complete, he was way too late.

As his gun came clear of his waistband I shot him through the right shoulder, the heavy slug throwing him backwards out of his chair screaming. I rolled over.

Saeed was running at me, his knife raised. I pointed the gun at his chest and he realised he’d never make the three paces still between us. He dropped the knife and threw up his hands ‘No shoot, no shoot’ he cried ‘I no gun.’

I pointed to my leg irons ‘get ‘em off’ I ordered. He drew a key from his pocket and, with shaking hands, knelt before me and obeyed, my gun jammed into his skull. I sent him back a few paces.

‘Please, please’ he pleaded, ‘Saeed not bad man. Anwar, he make me do bad things.’

I mimicked his accent ‘Yeah, Anwar, he make me do bad things too’ I told him then I lowered my aim to his crotch and double tapped his manhood out the back of his pants in a blast of blood and gore. ‘f**k you, you bastard.’

Saeed fell to his knees shrieking in pain and horror. My burnt feet, that had been so painful moments ago, were now painless as adrenaline surged through me. I was seeing through a red mist.

Hanrahan was clutching the remnants of his eye and screaming like a wounded pig and Anwar was groaning, propped in the corner, his weapon a long away from him. I went and retrieved his pistol. Next, I picked up Saeed’s knife and turned to Hanrahan hatred raging through me.

Hanrahan’s true colours showed now, the yellow bastard started pleading with me ‘please, no, it was Anwar who insisted Jack.’

I placed the knife carefully and put his left eye out. His screams were hideous as he thrashed about on the floor, blood and gore running through his fingers and down his cheeks.

Saeed’s shrieks had now subsided to a strange keening wail as he tried to stem the blood flow from his groin.

Anwar had started crawling towards the door, his wounded shoulder making his progress slow and painful. I put a bullet behind his right knee. His screams rose to shrieks of agony as he rolled on his back clutching his shattered knee.

An idea now occurred to me. No way was I going to give these bastards an easy death.

In the torture chamber I lowered the chain of the hoist as far as it would go, there was plenty of it. Next, I took two pairs of handcuffs from the collection of s*x toys and returned to my prisoners dragging the chain.

Using my cuffs, and the new ones I had brought, I handcuffed all three. I then threaded the hoist chain through them all and put the hook around the chain.

I went back to the torture chamber and pressed the hoist button. The motor’s note changed as it took the strain and the three were dragged in screaming and pleading.

I continued to hoist until they were suspended a foot above the ground. Anwar was howling in agony as his wounded shoulder took his weight. What is it about bastards who love dishing out torture that they can never take it themselves?

I had to work quickly now, I didn’t want my torturers bleeding to death before I could give them a dose of their own medicine. I took the knife and cut the clothes off their lower bodies.

Next, I took the cables from the welding machine. I attached the first electrode to Anwar’s balls and the other to Saeed’s ear, he didn’t have a scrotum anymore. All three bodies were touching so they’d all get the benefit. The machine’s dial said four hundred volts. I didn’t know how long it should be done for, and I didn’t give a damn. I threw the switch. All three of them started writhing, their screams were music to my ears. It was like a macabre contest to see who could scream the loudest.

I switched off the current when I spotted the funny drill on the table that they’d used on my teeth. I lowered them down a little starting with Hanrahan. His mouth was open as he moaned. I chose a molar and drilled. His head jerked back and his howls were a joy to hear. The drill came away as his jaws clamped shut. No problem, I just drilled through his jaw and into the root of a molar. His high-pitched screech filled the room and my spirit danced, rejoicing. ‘That’s for Patricia you evil bastard’ I told him although I doubt he heard me.

Next, I turned my attention to Anwar who was hanging silent, trembling, his head had fallen forward. His wounds were bleeding profusely now. I took the blow torch and lit it then set it to one side while it got up to heat.

Taking Saeed’s knife, I stuck it behind his wounded knee, I pushed and twisted it. How many people had this sadistic bastard had tortured to death? How many innocents were lying in a desert grave? I pushed the knife slowly all the way through his wound, twisting as I went until it emerged dripping blood. All the time I was doing this his screams were deafening in my ear. ‘Not so fuckin’ hard now eh, General, sir?’ I said.

The blowtorch was ready now, and three pairs of feet were seriously burned. The stench of burning flesh filled the room, filled my nostrils, their agonised screams filled my ears and their cries for mercy filled me with joy. Their dancing feet, filled my eyes with the utmost pleasure, especially from Hanrahan. Christ, I was enjoying this. Of the three, Saeed the torturer took it best, although he suffered as much as any.

I was panting now; the effort had been enormous. I staggered to the table and took a long drink of water. I turned, propping my arse on the table’s edge, to view my handiwork. All three were issuing moans and groans, their heads hung forward, a great puddle of piss on the floor. Hanrahan had s**t himself, his turd streaked legs were steaming with it. I gathered my strength for one last effort. These bastards were still dying too easily but my strength was ebbing, and O’Rourke was still unaccounted for.

I picked up Saeed’s knife again and went back. ‘General, can you hear me?’ I asked. he groaned and nodded ‘I’m going to castrate you now, General, a small token payment for the pain you have inflicted on others, me included.’

He let go a sort of terrified whimper ‘Please Jack, please, we can do a deal, I can make you a very rich man. Please, cut me down.’

‘A promise from General Anwar, eh? I said with as much sarcasm as I could muster ‘Now there’s something I can go to the bank with.’

I took his genitals in my hand and squeezed, His voice rose to a high-pitched wail, ‘Please, no, no.’

I slowly sliced his manhood away, watching his face. His eyes bulged, horror, pain and sheer terror etched in every line of his face. As he shrieked in the throes agony I was ecstatic.

Next, I turned my attention to Hanrahan ‘I hope you heard what you have coming, you slimy bastard.’ He must have fainted for he only groaned. I needed to get his attention, so I slashed the soles of his scorched feet. That did the trick.

‘Jesus, please, please, no more. I’m sorry, Christ almighty, I’m sorry’ his voice rose in hysterical, wild arsed panic ‘Jesus, please!’

‘Sorry eh? Not as sorry as you’re going to be you evil bastard’ I said, ‘I’m going to castrate you slowly, you understand?’

He understood alright and started babbling for mercy ‘I didn’t mean to kill her, honestly, it was an accident. Oh, Christ, please have mercy.’ I took his genitals in my hand and let him feel the power of the knife with a small cut. ‘Oh, Jesus Christ, Mary, mother of God, have mercy, please.’

‘Why? I asked him ‘why kill her?’

‘She was supposed to take you upstairs and go to the bathroom to remove the wire then f**k you senseless.’ He couldn’t get the words out fast enough, ‘afterwards, when you were sleeping, she was to tell those two idiots to come up and let them in to drug you. A private ambulance would have taken you to the Libyan embassy for questioning.’

I cut a bit more. Poor Patricia, she had found herself unable to go through with it and had paid with her life.

He was babbling again ‘I was just punishing her, but she laughed at me and said she loved you. I went too far, I’m sorry, oh, Jesus, Jack, I’m sorry.’

‘So you should be’ I told him, then I slowly sliced his tackle off, his blood gushing over my hands, his screams filling my ears.

The three of them were dying now from blood loss and shock and the adrenaline was wearing off me. Suddenly I felt dog tired, too weary to move. My feet were burning, every fibre of my body was filled with pain and my strength drained away. I staggered to the wall and slid down. In the distance, I heard shouting then someone dashed into the room shouting ‘CIA, freeze.’ I keeled over into blessed darkness.