“I’m an American citizen,” Regina reminded him.
“And I suppose you have papers to prove it?”
Regina produced her passport and handed it to him. He took it, put it in a desk drawer, locked the drawer and put the key in his pocket. “If you can’t pro- duce proof of your American citizenship,” he said deadpan, “you can hardly expect us to believe you. You Reds always try to crawl out from under with some cock-and-bull story like that. We are holding a leader of the Basque underground right now, a rebel Captain who had the temerity to attack Spanish soldiers in broad daylight. He keeps whining he’s an American citizen, too. Perhaps he is.” The Beast shrugged. “But he has no proof.”
“Jose de Galindez!” Regina exclaimed.
“You know him? Then you are mixed up in this business!”
“It has nothing to do with the rebellion. I came to Bilbao to see him about another matter entirely.”
“To ply your trade, perhaps? No, I suppose not. The rebel beggars don’t have that kind of money.”
“I’m not in that line of work any more,” Regina told him stiffly.
The Beast smiled his disbelief.
“Give me back my passport!” Regina demanded.
The Beast just kept smiling.
“I demand to see the American Consul!”
“Now, my dear—” The Beast turned on the old play- boy charm. “That won’t be necessary. You don’t have to convince me you’re a Yankee. I know that. After all, we’re old friends, aren’t we?”
“Well, yes. But then why—?”
“Still, appearances can be deceiving,” the Beast reflected. “It has been some time since last I saw you. Perhaps it would be best to make a positive identification.”
“What do you mean?”
He showed her. He walked behind her, turned around abruptly, bent over, dropped his pants and underpants, and pressed his hindquarters cozily against hers. His unique penis swung backwards and upwards, groping under Regina’s skirt.
She stepped away quickly and turned on him. When he straightened up and faced her, she glared at him defiantly. “No!” Regina said. It was final.
“You are a foolish girl!” He squelchcd his display of anger. “And, unfortunately, I can’t vouch for your identity or your citizenship!”
Before Regina could protest, there was a knock at the door of the Beast’s office. He pulled up his pants, called out “Come in,” and a man entered, closing the door behind him. He didn’t immediately see Regina, Who was standing oft to one side.
But Regina saw him. To her surprise, she recognized him. It was the ATOMICS agent who had come to her hotel room, the dour little Spaniard who had sent her to the bakery to establish contact with the Basque rebel underground.
“I have come for my pay,” he told the Beast respectfully. “I understand that the raid on the bakery went very well.” He spied Regina. “So it is you, Señorita. I warned you that you would come to no good end in Bilbao.”
“Fink!” Regina was furious. “You knew about that raid! You let me walk right into the trap! You never even warned me!”
“But Señorita! How long do you think that I would last as an informer if I went around warning people?”
“You’re supposed to be working for ATOMICS!”
“How does she know that?” the Beast demanded.
“Curse your wagging tongue, woman!” He tugged a forelock humbly to the Beast. “She is in the employ of ATO-—the organization.”
“Is ATOMIC S Working for the Spanish?” Regina was confused.
Her question was ignored. “Caramba!” The Beast was disgruntled. “I suppose they’ll be looking for her.”
“Our mutual employer does seem to be taking a personal interest in this woman.”
“Caramba!” The Beast paid the man and dismissed him. Then he unlocked the desk drawer, removed Regina’s passport and handed it to her. “You are free to leave,” he told her, not sounding happy about it.
“First I Want to talk to José de Galindez.” Regina pressed her sudden luck.
“The gentleman is a maximum security prisoner. No visitors.”
“If I don’t get to see José de Galindez,” Regina said sweetly, “my first stop after I leave Spain will be the London Daily Mirror office. They’ve expressed interest in printing my memoirs.”
“Are you trying to blackmail me, Señorita?” The Beast laughed a nasty laugh. “It is no secret that I like the ladies.”
“Good. Then you won’t mind my revealing your taste for canine copulation. And my detailed description of your doggy dingbat won’t bother you.”
“Now see here—!” The Beast wasn’t laughing any more.
“Of course the Royal Family might feel embarrassed. People just might draw certain genetic inferences from your blood relationship with the Crown Prince. Generalissimo Franco has named him as his successor, hasn’t he? But if you don’t mind the publicity—-”
“What do you want?” the Beast asked through clenched teeth.
“To see José de Galindez. To speak to him.”
“All right. You can see him. But he’s being interrogated at the moment. I don’t think you will find him very talkative, Señorita.”
The Beast led her from his office and down a narrow corridor of the jail building. Several gates were unlocked by turnkeys and relocked as they passed through them. Then they went down a steep, stone staircase and were passed through a heavy steel door which clanged shut behind them. The Beast guided Regina through another door into a dungeon-like room.
Here, two men in Spanish Army uniforms stood over a third man who was strapped to a low, flat bench. A powerful spotlight was angled directly over the prisoner’s face, shining straight into his eyes. A large canteen was suspended over his forehead in such a way as to spill one drop of water on it at a time. The drops fell with an exquisitely slow, steady, monotonous rhythm.
The intense light forced his eyes open, making it impossible for him to avoid watching each separate drop form on the lip of the canteen. This created a horrible suspense as he waited for each liquid bead to pink down on the exact center of his forehead. The drops hit on exactly the same spot every time. The skin was already raw from the process. It was like the erosion of a rock by a small, slow, steadily dripping rivulet. Eventually the skin would be worn away and the drops would strike bare hone.
“The Chinese Water Torture,” the Beast explained. “Old-fashioned, but still effective.”
“He has fainted again,” one of the uniformed inquisitors noticed. “His eyes are rolled back in the sockets.”
“Bring him around,” the Beast instructed.
The prisoner’s face was slapped several times in rapid succession. Finally his arms jerked spasmodically against the leather thongs holding them. His eyes refocused and squinted, trying to relieve the strain of the penetrating light.
“Where is your headquarters?” the first interrogator demanded.
No answer.
“Who is your leader?” the second asked.
No answer.
“Were you in on the Barcelona bank job?”
“What’s your connection with Bernadette Devlin?”
“Who’s your contact with Moscow?”
Still no answer.
“Let’s have him show a little life,” the Beast directed.
The first inquisitor inserted four kitchen matches between the toes of the prisoner’s bare feet. The second soldier lit the matches. They burned steadily and then flared up as the flames reached the heads of the matches in the crevices between the toes. The prisoner screamed.
“Oh my God!” Regina felt sick.
“Where is the Red Bishop hiding?”
“W ho is your Peking contact?”
“Talk, you Basque dog!”
Drip...Drip...Drip...
No answer.
Drip...Drip...Drip...
“Again,” the Beast directed.