Free Cross Country by James Patterson

cement corridor before they stepped in and became shadows themselves. Seconds later, one of them played a flashlight over us.
    It caught me in the eyes and hung there for several seconds.
    I felt sure they were here for me, but they grabbed the man two down from me instead. The one who had said he was a journalist.
    They pulled him roughly to his feet. Then one of the guards unholstered a pistol and pressed it to his temple.
    "No one talks to the American. No one," the guard told the room. "You hear me?"
    Then, as I watched in disbelief, the man was pistol-whipped until he was unconscious. Then he was dragged out of the holding cell.
    The reaction of the other prisoners around me was mostly silent acceptance, but a couple of men moaned into their hands. No one moved; I could still hear snoring from a few of them.
    I stayed where I was, holding it all in until the vicious guards were gone. Then I did the only thing I could, which was ease back down to the floor, where every shallow, rapid breath produced another slice of pain through my chest.
    What kind of hell had I gotten myself into?

Chapter 40
    I WISH I could say that my first night in the prison cell in Kirikiri was a blur and that I barely remember it.
    It's just the opposite, though. I will never forget any of it, not one second.
    The thirst was the worst, on that first night anyway. My throat felt like it was closing up. Dehydration ate at me from the inside. Meanwhile, oversize mosquitoes and rats tried to do the same from the outside.
    My head and torso throbbed like a metronome all night, and a sense of hopelessness threatened to overwhelm me the minute I let my guard down, or, God forbid, slept for half an hour.
    I'd read enough from Human Rights Watch to know something about the conditions in this kind of prison — but the gap between knowing it and living it was enormous. It was possibly the worst night of my life, and I'd had some bad ones before this. I had spent time with Kyle Craig, Gary Soneji, and Casanova.
    As dawn finally came, I watched the single barred window like a television set. Seeing its slow change, from black, to gray, to blue, was as close as I could get to optimism.
    Just when the prisoners around me began to stir, the cell door opened again.
    A wiry guard stood at the threshold. He reminded me of a very tall grasshopper. "Cross! Alexander!" he yelled at the top of his voice. "Cross! Over here! Now!"
    It was a struggle to look halfway able-bodied as I slowly rose to my feet. I focused on the pain of my chest hairs being pulled out where they had fused with the dried blood in my shirt. It was just instinct, but it got me up on rubbery legs and across the floor.
    Then I followed the guard into the corridor. He turned right, and when I saw the dead end ahead of us, I let go of any thoughts I'd had about getting out of the prison.
    Maybe ever.
    "I am an American policeman," I said, starting up my story again. "I'm here investigating a murder."
    And then it struck me — was that why I was in this prison?

Chapter 41
    T HIS DEFINITELY WAS hell. We passed several foreboding, metal doors like the one to my cell. I wondered how many prisoners were kept here, and how many of them were Americans. Most of the guards spoke some English, which made me suspect that I wasn't the only American here.
    The last door on the ward was the only one without a lock. An old office chair sat in front of it, its seat nearly rusted through.
    "Inside," barked the guard. "Quickly now, go ahead, Detective."
    When I went to move the chair out of the way, he shoved it into my hands. Just as well. It was something to sit on besides the floor, and I didn't feel much like standing right now.
    Once I was in, he closed the door and, from the sound of it, walked away.
    This room was similar to the holding cell — except that it was maybe half the size and empty. The cement floor and stone walls were streaked dark, which was probably where the putrefying smell came from.
    There