Agent #2: What the hell is that?
(Sounds of a struggle, followed by labored breathing. Tape turned off, then turned on again.)
Agent #2: Get … that thing away from me.
Agent #1: Goddamn it they’re tough bastards. Even I forget sometimes. Okay, put it on the tape. Doesn’t really matter, does it?
Agent #2: You want to ask it the questions?
Subject: I will [answer] no questions.
Agent #1 or #2: Shut up.
(Loud slap. Sound of a chair falling down?)
Agent #2: Be careful. Be careful. It hasn’t even started talking yet.
Subject: Long and painful for you … your insides will explode, your lips and cheeks split open. Your brains feed the birds.
Agent #1: Cheery fucker, isn’t he? And they’re all like that.
* * *
Subject: I do not know the answer to your questions. Your question sounds like a [question]. It does not sound like an answer. Do you have an answer?
Agent #1: What were you doing when we caught you? Simple question.
Agent #2: Oh, do it right. Do it right … For the record: Subject was intercepted and brought to this location after stepping out of a strange door. Like a secret panel or something, which closed up after him.
Agent #1: You stupid fucking mushroom. Answer the question. Answer now and save yourself.
Agent #2: For the record, the Subject drew a symbol on the table. In some sort of golden dust. Kind of a half circle then a circle then a line with another line across it. Then two more half circles at the end. I’ll draw it later.
Agent #1: More bullshit. Shove some more water into it. Only thing that works.
(A sound like water being poured from a jug. Splashes. Sounds of gasping. A cracking sound. A shriek. Silence for a long time, but no cut in the tape.)
Agent #1: Can you hear [me]? I know you can hear me.
Subject: I hear [you]. [You will] all die. I will myself see you afloat in the canal. Cultured. You are not—
* * *
Agent #1: Just more water then.
Agent #2: It’ll die.
Agent #1: Don’t care.
Agent #2: Don’t you think Stark should—
Agent #1: The hell with Stark. He’s been here, what? Three seconds?
Agent #2: Record shows [name redacted] authorized additional water torture on the Subject.
Agent #1: Shut the fuck up and help with this.
(A gurgling, thrashing sound. Spluttering. Silence.)
Agent #1: Now, once again, where’d that door come from?
* * *
Subject:… been where you were not. But you’ll never read them. Not before we finish the towers.
Agent #1: What is behind the door?
Subject: Nothing for you. Too late.
Agent #2: Now I’m getting impatient with this. Maybe this will help you. Remember.
(Long, prolonged scream. Not human.)
Subject: Don’t do that again. Don’t do that again. Don’t do that again. Don’t—
* * *
Agent #2: He doesn’t [know] what he means. I should just kill him now.
Agent #1: Not yet. Not yet. Tell me, mushie, about this gold. Where’d it come from?
(From here on, Subject’s words are more garbled, as if its mouth had been damaged. Accuracy of transcript compromised.)
Subject: Not a [filo] left. Not one. What [indecipherable] would take me like this?
Agent #2: What about the gold?
Subject: Yes, lots of gold there. Lots of gold other places, too. Gold is everywhere. Gold and green. The light, the water …
Agent #1: Do you mean the door? Or do you mean real gold?
Agent #2: Should we start on his legs? Fucking thing [smells] like shit. I think he’s rotting.
Agent #1: Other places? What do you mean, other places?
Subject: Someday we will move other places but you will still only be here.
Agent #2: Give it up. He’s hallucinating.
Agent #1: Just wait. Mushie—tell me just a little more, and maybe we’ll let you go. Back underground where it’s safe. Would you like that?
Subject: No place is safe. For you.
* * *
Subject: No more. No more. You, maybe if you [know] what it says there. Maybe you will not [indecipherable gray cap word].
Agent #2: We’ll let you go if you just tell us—what is this weapon the rebels have?
Subject: [stream of gray cap swear words]
Agent #1: What about this address, then? The chapel at 1829 Northwest Scarp Lane. This rebel safe house. Ring a bell? Has it got something to do with the weapon? Our sources say it has something to do with the weapon.
Subject: Make me sleep. Burn me. Take me back to where I was.
Agent #2: He doesn’t know anything about it. That much is clear.
Agent #1: Start on his legs.
(Prolonged screams.)
* * *
Agent #1 (panting): It’s done. It’s over.
Agent #2: Where do you think you’re going?
Agent #1: He’s not going to say anything else. If he is still alive—and I doubt that—kill him and throw him in a canal. No, wait, cut him up. Dump him somewhere they won’t find him for a while.
Agent #2: And what the fuck will you be doing while I’m doing [that]? That’s going to take me a long fucking time.
Agent #1: I’ve already got plans. And they don’t include waiting around here. We’ve gotten all we’re going to get.
Agent #2: You’re staying. Stark’s orders. I’m telling you—
(Sounds of something heavy falling over.)
Agent #2:… Not dead! It’s got a hand free.
Agent #1: Shit. Get that other light on. Get it on quick.
(Banging on the door. Calling out to some third agent.)
Agent #2: Open the fucking door! This isn’t funny. I don’t see it now. It was here just a second ago. Is it in the fireplace? Dammit, at least throw a gun back in here. And unlock the fucking door. I can’t see a fucking thing.
Subject: But I can.
(Screaming for three minutes, then tape cuts off.)
6
Finch stared at his desk for a while after he’d read the last page. A kind of primal horror rose even as he tried to tamp it down. Mixed up with a question: What does Stark want me to take from this? How does it help him for me to have this?
Wyte finished. Handed the pages back like they had been dipped in poison. “How’d they think they’d get away with that?” he said. Voice haggard. “Killing a—”
“Don’t say it.” Finch stood. “Let’s go for a walk.” Took the file with him. Wyte trailed behind. Down that emerald carpet, past the crumbling marble tables at the front that once served as cover for receptionists. Through the massive, worm-riddled double doors, gold leaf long since peeled off and sold. Along with the inlaid iron bars.
Walked out into the light. Onto Albumuth Boulevard. Above them rose a sharp finger of red bricks, jutting. Only sign the building had ever had five stories instead of two. Ahead, the rough stone barricades that discouraged suicide bombers. Lichen sensors in purple-and-green dotted their surface. Beyond that, the dirty street. Just a few people in gas masks walking past. Huge black insect eyes. Trench coats. Gloves. Hunched over. Not looking in their direction.