Bandits Engaged (Battlegroup Z Book 4) by Daniel Gibbs (novels in english txt) 📕

lead them with wisdom. With a start, he realized he’d offered up a prayer that didn’t involve imminent death. There was a first time for everything.

13

Tehrani stared through a one-way force field barrier into a small interrogation room in the Zvika Greengold’s brig. While she’d allowed Grant to proceed with his interrogation of the prisoner, nothing was left to chance. Two TCMC sentries were stationed outside, and she watched to ensure the Canaan Convention rules in respect to the treatment of detainees were applied.

The bearded prisoner—a rough-looking bear of a man—was hauled in by two masters-at-arms and deposited at the table. With shackles on his feet and his hands mag-cuffed behind his back, the prisoner presented virtually no risk. His head never wavered, however. It was held high, and his jaw stuck out.

Grant had been in the room by himself for fifteen minutes, preparing. “Yiorgos Samaras, welcome. I am Special Agent Grant, Coalition Bureau of Investigation.”

Grant changes identities as effortlessly as I change my uniform.

The man didn’t reply except to stare with hatred in his eyes.

“Under the War Powers Act, enemy saboteurs are subject to summary trial and execution.” Grant spread his hands out on the table. “If you’d like to avoid that fate, I suggest you start talking.”

“I have nothing to say,” Samaras replied. “Except I want my lawyer.” His English was accented, but Tehrani couldn’t quite place it.

Grant leaned back in his chair and laughed. “I don’t think you understand your situation, Mr. Samaras,” he said with mock politeness. “You and your fellows have participated in piracy and sabotage of the Terran Coalition war effort. One doesn’t just request a lawyer after that.” The smile disappeared. “I want answers. For starters, I can’t find a record of Yiorgos Samaras anywhere in our databases. Or I should say a Yiorgos Samaras with your biometric signature.”

“I value my privacy.”

Whoever this guy is, he’s got spunk. I’ll give him that. Tehrani shifted on her feet.

“A real funny man, I see.” Grant put his hands in his lap. “Are you familiar with enhanced interrogation techniques, Mr. Samaras?”

Samaras maintained eye contact and stayed mute.

“There was a time when the phrase meant things such as, oh, pulling off your fingernails one by one. Staging a mock drowning or extracting a tooth with a pair of pliers.” Grant leaned forward. “You need to come to an understanding that I will do whatever it takes to get the information I need out of you. The sooner you comply, the sooner we can ship you off to prison to serve out your debt to the Terran Coalition.”

“Lawyer.”

Grant reached across the table and slapped Samaras. “Not until I get what I want. Who are you? Who do you work for? Where do these so-called pirates come from, and most importantly, who’s backing you?”

Samaras’s face turned bloodred from the slap. “What happened to the great Terran Coalition’s laws on the humane treatment of prisoners, Agent?” A thin smile came to his lips. “More propaganda from the great religious saviors of the universe?”

“Inter arma enim silent leges. In times of war, the law falls silent.” Grant’s one-hundred-watt grin returned. “I wasn’t entirely truthful with you, Mr. Samaras. You see, I’m not with the CBI. I’m actually with the Coalition Intelligence Service, and I’m authorized to use whatever means are required to obtain your cooperation.”

“I will not speak with you. Torture me. Do whatever you like.” Samaras crossed his arms. “I’m done talking.” He glanced behind him. “Guard!”

Grant sprang from his seat and, in an instant, had the prisoner in a choke hold. “I decide when you’re done talking,” he grated out. “Do you understand?” After a few moments, he let his arm go limp.

“I’ll never help you.”

Tehrani stared at the interaction with rapt attention. Something about Samaras was off—most criminals, when confronted by a live, in-the-flesh CIS operative, would lose their lunch. He, on the other hand, acted like it was just another day at the office. I’m sure Grant’s picked up on it.

“You might not want to.” Grant pulled a small case out of his pants pocket and placed it on the table. “But you won’t have a choice. See, the techniques I described earlier are much more fun than technological solutions to making prisoners talk. This”—he gestured to the case—“on the other hand, is the first step in a multistep process to remove the inhibition in your brain that prevents you from answering my questions. By the time we’re done, you’ll have spilled everything.”

What is he doing?

“There’s just one problem. Well, for you. Not for me. The protocol isn’t perfected. So far, it’s left everyone we’ve used it on in a persistent vegetative state.”

For the first time, Samaras’s face blanched as his nose and lips twitched. “You can’t do that to me. It's against your laws.”

“Unfortunately for you, I don’t care about the law, Mr. Samaras.” Grant opened the case and retrieved a syringe. “For the last time, would you care to answer my questions? If not, we’ll just get on with this. Look on the bright side. If you’re lucky, you might survive with basic brain function and still be able to feed yourself.”

Tehrani had thought Grant’s threats so far were just that—threats. But as he raised the syringe and prepared to inject the hapless prisoner, she knew it was more than a mere bluff. Without thinking beyond the next five seconds, Tehrani dashed out of the observation room.

“Open the hatch!” she bellowed at the two masters-at-arms standing guard outside the interrogation area.

The two young men quickly complied, and the door swung open.

“Stop!” Tehrani shouted as she crossed the threshold to find Grant holding the syringe a few inches from Samaras’s arm. “Corporal, secure Mr. Grant and protect the prisoner.” She turned to the intelligence agent.

“Precisely what do you think you’re doing, Colonel?” Grant asked tightly. “This is a sanctioned CIS action. Please return to your duties.”

If Tehrani had had a sidearm, it would’ve been in her hand after his last comment. Barely controlled fury channeled