The Americans believed him. And no one spoke. But, quite suddenly, the door to the main cell block opened, and the main lights were switched on and flooded in on the American crew members.
The guard lieutenant who had shot Skip Laxton stood halfway down the passage and announced, “We are now beginning the process of separation and interrogation,” and he walked back to the first cell, ordered one of his men to open it, and shouted, “Lieutenant Commander Bruce Lucas and Lieutenant Commander Cy Rothstein…step outside IMMEDIATELY!”
Instantly Judd Crocker was on his feet pushing his way forward and screaming at the guard lieutenant, “Where are you taking these men? Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you, you murdering little bastard…”
He half-expected to be beaten to the ground for his trouble, but Judd thought it was important to let his men know he was still in fighting order. He was, however, quite surprised at the Chinese officer’s calm, smiling reply.
“Captain Crocker, I admire your spirit as the leader of these men. But it would do you well to remember, you are not on board Seawolf at the moment. Here you are just another criminal, and you may face trial a long time before I do.”
Then he walked slowly to the next cell and demanded the immediate presence of Lt. Kyle Frank, who was dragged out protesting. But like everyone else he was still handcuffed, essentially powerless in the face of six armed guards.
The three Americans were then marched along the passage and out the door, the roars of Judd Crocker bellowing out behind them: “WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU TAKING THOSE MEN, YOU LITTLE FUCKER? YOU’LL ANSWER FOR THIS, I SWEAR TO GOD, IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO THEM…”
Before he closed the door behind him, the guard lieutenant looked back inside and said with a wide smile, “Captain Crocker, please be quiet. You have been completely abandoned by your government. They, too, understand your criminal, unauthorized acts. They have given us permission to treat you as we would any other criminal. Good night.”
And the captain felt upon him the melancholy chill of loneliness such as he had never experienced before. He could not believe what the lieutenant had said, but in his weakened state, starving, parched with thirst, his wrists throbbing from the chafing of the handcuffs, he had, for the first time, doubts. What if the Chinese were telling the truth? What if the U.S. Navy was furious with him for being detected? What if they believed it was he who had wrapped the prop around the towed array? Maybe the sacrifice of him and his crew was the only way out for the American government, save for some kind of war with China? “That little bastard sounded pretty damn sure of himself…Jesus Christ!”
Bruce Lucas, Cy Rothstein and Kyle Frank were marched across the courtyard through the warm rain and into the big, deserted building in the southwest corner of the jail complex. Inside there was one room to the right-hand side through which they could see a half-dozen Chinese guards. To the right was a long, brightly lit corridor down which they were directed. At the end were three or four rooms, each brightly lit, each containing two or three chairs. Each of them was disgustingly filthy, the walls and floor stained a deep ocher brown, the unmistakable marks of blood.
And now the Americans were separated, each of them ordered into one of the rooms and told to sit until further notice. Thirty minutes later the door to Cy Rothstein’s room opened and through it came Commander Li, in company with two guards, carrying only their machine guns and dressed just in dark blue uniform shorts and shirts, with white socks and black shoes. A fourth man wore a white laboratory coat, and he carried with him a large sheaf of papers.
He and the commander occupied the two chairs, while the guards took up station in the corners of the room in full sight of Cy Rothstein.
“Now, Lieutenant Commander,” said Li. “You are the combat systems officer of the submarine Seawolf, I believe?”
Cy said nothing.
“Silence is futile. We have plainly examined all of the ship’s documents. We know you are the combat systems officer…please, do not be foolish.”
Cy still said nothing, at which point Li ordered one of the guards to remove the American officer’s handcuffs.
“Now listen to me, Lieutenant Commander. We are both adult officers of great national navies. You and your colleagues have transgressed all the normal rules of behavior on the high seas. Your own government has accepted this, and they have given us permission to put you on trial like any other international terrorist. Because, you see, that is what you are. Disowned by Washington, reviled by the peace-seeking Chinese people…you are entirely at our mercy.
“Lieutenant Commander…I am offering you a reasonable compromise. Help us, we help you. If you and your senior colleagues are prepared to give us the information we need concerning the. working and running of Seawolf, there will be no trial. You and all of your colleagues will be set free and returned to the United States…probably in your own ship. No one will ever know what you have told us…certainly not from our side. No one admits anything, no one will ever know what you said in this private room.”
For the first time, Cy Rothstein spoke. “I’ll know,” he said.
And so the two men sat on either side of an unseen line, Cy Rothstein wondering if he had the courage to take the physical beating he knew must be inevitable in this torture chamber, Li wondering about the wisdom of actually torturing a helpless American naval officer.
Commander Li decided to try one more time. “Lieutenant Commander,” he said, “let me give you an example of the very simple questions we need to ask…TLAM-N…we know the range is about fifteen hundred miles, but we have questions about the inertial navigation system.…Also, we are uncertain of its speed through the air. We want you to tell us the circular error probability. Our scientists think Seawolf carried two versions, one of them the TLAM-C/D.…Does this missile have added GPS backup or can it work just on its own inbuilt system?…Come, Lieutenant Commander, think how much easier it will be for all of us if we just sit here and have a talk…Why not tell me now a little about that high-explosive warhead…What is it? Four hundred kilograms? Maybe five hundred…why not tell me and make it easy on all of us?”
Cy Rothstein said nothing. He stared directly ahead, at which point, Commander Li stepped over the unseen line, and nodded to one of the guards.
Cy Rothstein saw him coming, slowly, a half-smile on his face, just to his left side. They say a soldier never sees the bullet that kills him, and the lieutenant commander never saw the vicious punch that slammed into his mouth, splitting open his lower lip and dislodging his two upper front teeth.
Stunned, unprepared for the pain, he briefly closed his eyes and gasped for air through his bleeding lips. He thus did not see the butt of the guard’s gun come slashing into his ribs, fracturing two of them with one blow.
He fell sideways off the chair, crashing to the floor, feeling the crunch of the guard’s boot raining kicks into his righthand ribs, feeling the staggering blow to the back of the head, which mercifully robbed him of consciousness. The lights went out in his mind, as well as the cell, as Commander Li left, in company with his two henchmen and the visiting scientist.
Out in the corridor there were now loud recordings being played of men screaming in agony. Linus Clarke had never been so afraid. And now his door crashed open, and Commander Li, with the two guards, made a swash-buckling entrance, all business. They siezed ropes from one of the three chairs and bound his legs to the legs of the chair. Then they bound his manacled hands to the bar across the backrest of the chair.