"I had already wondered about that, Lieutenant," Stepano said, his blue eyes flat and cold. "Judging by what Razor, Scotty, and Magic told me when they came in."
"I'd say this one is in your department."
"Yes." Stepano appeared to be studying the prisoner. They had him on the bed, still tied hand and foot, still wearing nothing but his boxer shorts. He did indeed appear to be coming around, moaning and twisting his head back and forth. "Sir… how rough can we be with him?"
Murdock sighed. "Son, that's a hard one, but I'd have to say you can be as rough as you need to be. We've got to know what he knows about the hijacking. The names of his mysterious friends in the DEA. Where he's from. Who he works for. And we've got to get the goods fast. Solomos is probably turning this city inside out right now looking for us, and we probably don't have more than, oh, let's say, six hours. We might have more, but I don't want to stretch it too close."
"Maybe we can scare it out of him," Roselli said, joining them.
"Maybe," Murdock said. "Unfortunately, folks in this part of the world are used to the idea of torture. This guy couldn't be working for the Greek government and not be aware of what would happen if he got caught."
"Shit," Roselli said. "We're gonna torture the guy?"
"We can't," Murdock said. "Even if we wanted to, we can't." He pointed at the room's nearest inner wall. "These walls are only a little thicker than paper. If he starts screaming, we'll have Solomos and his men breaking down the door ten minutes later. Count on it."
"Is possible that we can use the fact that he is from Yugoslav Macedonia," Stepano said quietly, his accent noticeably thicker as he thought about the problem. "And… he does not know us, know who we are. What we are. I think I see way."
"He's all yours," Murdock said. He signaled to DeWitt, who was standing next to the bed. "Two-Eyes? Take everybody out except two volunteers."
"Me," Roselli said.
"I'll stay," Sterling said.
"Also, I need something," Stepano said. "Perhaps Papagos can get some from hotel desk. Or at all-night drugstore."
Papagos nodded. "Right, then," Murdock said. "Let's get this over with. We don't have much time."
After dispatching Papagos on his errand, they bound the still-groggy Stathis Vlachos to a wooden chair, using the handcuffs they'd taken off Roselli to secure his wrists behind his back, then binding his arms and torso to the chair's straight back with a length of nylon line left over from the evening's activities. Next they pulled off his shorts, then tied his ankles to the chair's rear legs, using more rope to spread his knees apart.
Stepano played the role of chief interrogator with the air of a man used to getting the answers he demanded. Roselli and Sterling carried out his instructions with the solemn air of men participating in some dark and mysterious ritual. Once, when Roselli moved a bit quickly while looping the rope around the legs of the chair, Stepano said, "Slowly, Razor, slowly. We want him to think about this, about what we are doing." Then he'd added something in Macedonian, possibly repeating his words for Vlachos's benefit.
When they were done, the man could move nothing but his head. His legs were spread open and tied, his genitals exposed and vulnerable. Murdock watched full awareness returning to the prisoner's eyes, saw a flash of panic there… replaced almost at once by a dark, urgent watchfulness.
They waited then for several moments, the silence in the room growing heavier. There were two quick knocks at the door, and Papagos entered, carrying a brown paper bag.
"Place it on dresser, please," Stepano said. "Thank you."
Papagos did as he was told, then crossed the room to take his place next to Roselli and Jaybird. Murdock considered ordering him to leave, then decided against it. He had a right to see, to know.
God help us, he thought blackly. We're becoming as bad as the sons of bitches we're fighting.
Stepano stepped closer to the prisoner, leaning over until their faces were inches apart. He smiled, a hard, calculating expression. "Kade e Gospogya Kingston?"
The prisoner snarled something back, bared his teeth, and spat. He was brave, certainly, Murdock was willing to give him that. Murdock couldn't imagine himself spitting in the face of anyone if he'd been in the prisoner's place.
The smile fixed rigidly in place, Stepano pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped the spittle off his cheek. "Razor? Gag our friend, please."
Razor tore off a strip from the bedsheet, stepped behind the prisoner, then pulled the cloth taut between the man's teeth, knotting it tightly. Stepano stepped close again, still holding the handkerchief.
Yas sum od Goli Otok," Stepano said, and his voice, though still low, was as hard and as cold as ice. "Razbiram?"
The prisoner's face went death white at the words "Goli Otok," the name, Murdock remembered, of one of the prison islands that Tito's secret police, evidently, had made notorious.
Stepano kept speaking, his voice low, almost gentle as he carefully and neatly twisted his handkerchief into a thick, white rope. Next he looped it beneath the prisoner's genitals, then tied it in a knot, drawing the ends very slowly tight. "Dali ste zheneti, gospodin? Imate li devoyka? Ah! Zhal mi e!"
Throughout all of this, the prisoner's eyes were starting from his head, as wide and as white as the gag in his mouth.
Stepano next crossed the room to the dresser and, careful to keep all of his movements in clear view of the prisoner, slowly produced a can of lighter fluid, the kind used in refillable cigarette lighters. He held it to his ear, shaking it, then nodding approval.
Returning to the prisoner, he showed him the can, uncapped it, then began to pour it, a small dribble at a time, onto the knotted handkerchief. All the while, Stepano kept talking, and four or five times Murdock caught again that dread name of Goli Otok.
Murdock didn't understand the spoken words, but he could certainly imagine what Stepano must be saying… something about this was the way it was done, back at that prison on Goli Otok, and this was what happened to someone Stepano had known. Was the SEAL claiming to be a victim of Tito's torture prison, Murdock wondered, or one of the secret police's torturers? It hardly mattered; the gentle-sounding words coupled with the look on his face as he emptied the last of the lighter fluid onto the skin of the man's penis combined to create an atmosphere of utter and complete madness. The sharp stink of the liquid bit the air. The knotted handkerchief was sopping wet, as was the matted black hair on Vlachos's belly and groin. His genitals lay flaccid in a puddle of the stuff on the chair between his open thighs, and some of it was dripping onto the carpet. He was whimpering through the gag now, a quavering, horrible sound, scarcely human.
When the can was empty, Stepano set it aside, then fished about in his shirt pocket, producing at last a silver cigarette lighter. He held it delicately between thumb and forefinger, so close to the prisoner's face that his eyes crossed as he tried to focus on it.
"Kade e Gospogya Kingston, Vlachos?"
The pitch of Vlachos's whimpering went up an octave, his head thrashing back and forth, his eyes huge. There was blood on the gag now. He'd bitten his lip or tongue.
"if I didn't know better," Papagos said, "I'd swear he's trying to tell us something through that gag."
Deliberately, Stepano flicked the lighter open and struck a spark, keeping the lighter well above the prisoner's groin. Flame danced on the end of the wick, reflected brightly in the terrified mirrors of Vlachos's eyes.
"Jeez, Steponit," Roselli said. "Watch those fumes."
Stepano lowered the flame one inch… two…
"Kade e Gospogya Kingston!"
"You know, Steponit," Papagos said, "in Greece, when you jerk your head up and back, you mean 'no,' but when you turn your head to the side, like he's doing, you mean 'yes.' Is that what you're trying to say, Vlachos? You're trying to say yes, you'll talk?"