Free Holding Their Own: The Toymaker by Joe Nobody Page A

read about your training. Impressive.”
    “And you would be?”
    “You can call me Hack,” the toymaker responded. “Most of the locals call me Grandfather. My real name is Schneider.”
    Hack watched as Grissom slowly recovered, eventually helping the man to sit upright on the cot. “I have some questions for you, Sergeant. Now I know enough about Special Forces operators to know you’re pretty tough men. My Native American friends think you’ll require certain painful inducements to answer my inquiries, but I disagree. We’re not at war. I’m not your enemy.”
    Wincing from the pain, the prisoner responded with a smirk. “Given how my head and body feel, you could have fooled me. If I’m not your enemy, I’d sure hate to see how these people greet one.”
    Hack chuckled, “They thought you were some vagabond that had kidnapped a village girl.”
    The statement helped clear Grissom’s thoughts, opening a door for his memory to refresh. “Yes, I remember the girl. We had no idea she was there. So now that we have that all cleared up, why are my hands and feet still bound? Why is there an armed guard… or whatever you call that thing… leering over me?”
    “Because we’re still not sure exactly why you were trespassing on reservation land. Hell, for all we know, you and your friends were some rogue deserters come to loot and pillage the neighborhood.”
    The sergeant shook his head, the painful movement producing another grimace. “No, we aren’t deserters. But just in case I’m lying, why don’t you haul me back to the nearest U.S. military base and let me prove it?”
    Hack ignored the request, producing Grissom’s Geiger counter from his jacket. “And why would a team of Special Forces men be carrying a radiation detector around with them?”
    “That’s classified.”
    Hack leaned back, his cold eyes studying the captive with an intensity that made Grissom want to squirm. “I think that’s a very legitimate question, young man. For all I know, some crazy person has detonated a nuke or made off with a bomb and you’re chasing him. My neighbors and I might be in danger, and there you sit, withholding information that could save lives.”
    “You and the people in this area are in no danger from radiation or any nuclear weapon. That much I can divulge.”
    “So why are you here?”
    The sergeant hesitated, trying to decide just exactly how much he should say to the exotic weirdo that was holding him prisoner. Technically, he could find no reason to withhold information, but some inner voice was telling him that Hack was dangerous… or at least not a friend.
    Seeing his captive pause, Hack decided to up the ante. “Look, Sergeant, I’m not the head honcho around here. That role is shared among the governors and chiefs of the surrounding pueblos. Right now, down in the valley, there are a bunch of grieving widows and mothers who are planning a rather unpleasant demise for a man who butchered their family members. They’re quite creative, I might add. They’ve had thousands of years to refine their tortures,” he paused to allow the captive’s imagination a moment to register before continuing. “Now, I’m not without influence. If you cooperate, I might be able to convince them to spare your life. On the other hand, I’ve seen what these people do to prisoners, and it is most unpleasant.”
    Hack shuddered as he recalled the images and then continued. “They will shove a small knife up your anus a few times, and then stake you down naked on an ant hill. Have you ever seen our desert army ants? They’re the size of my thumb and have incisors that can cut through moose hide. The last trespasser my friends caught… well… I could hear his screams all the way up here. He lasted almost 20 hours, God rest his soul.”
    Grissom, with significant effort, ignored the threat.
    Shrugging, Hack rose from his perch. “Up to you, Sergeant. If you don’t help me, there’s very little I can do