Free Survivalist - 15.5 - Mid-Wake by Jerry Ahern Page B

major—is it possible they are indeed whom they claim to be? Or are you convinced otherwise?”
    Kerenin cleared his throat. The female officer translated the triumvirate member’s remarks into German. Kerenin spoke now. “I am convinced, Comrade Chairman, that this man and woman lie. Based upon field intelligence reports of Captain Feyedorovitch, it would appear that several persons of the white race have allied themselves with our enemies, the Chinese. Their origin can be only one place. They can only be cleverly placed agents of our enemies at Mid-Wake, Comrade Chairman.”
    Rourke’s mind raced—Mid-wake? Mid-Wake?
    Kerenin, staring at Natalia, then at Rourke, declared, “They must be fully interrogated, Comrade Chairman. With your permission, I would personally wish to under
    take the task.”
    “Then take them away, major.” The three men of the triumvirate, as one, cast down their eyes to study the paperwork on their massive desk. There was no sound for a moment except that of Natalia sucking in her breath.

Chapter Eight
    Rourke had attempted to resist as they were taken from the great marble hall, but a knife—his knife—had been placed at Natalia’s throat and he had submitted.
    They did not return to the artificial sunlight, but were taken down a long flight of stairs, the smell at the base of the stairs a mingling of dampness, sweat, and human fear. Rourke imagined the smell was maintained conscientiously.
    With a knife to Natalia’s throat, Rourke, still bound, was placed on an examining table, his wrists still bound. His legs were spread apart and his ankles were shackled to each side of the table, then the bindings at his wrists were cut and his arms shackled over his head, spread wide to the upper corners of the table, the table of immense proportions and of stainless steel or some similar substance. The female officer who had served as translator before the triumvirate had accompanied them, and her face seemed to be growing paler by the second. Kerenin spoke and she translated his words, expressionlessly. But Rourke watched Kerenin’s eyes.
    “Perhaps you believe that it will be possible to defeat the techniques we shall utilize. You will soon find that you are mistaken. In the interests of being humane, I shall warn you that resistance is futile. You will spare yourself considerable misery if you speak now.”
    Rourke focused his attention on remembering the way to say “Fuck you” in German. He heard Natalia’s voice. Her voice was higher-pitched than normally, but otherwise
    firm. “We know nothing that would interest you. We will be happy to answer any questions, major. It is just that you choose arbitrarily to believe that our answers are lies. Tbey are not.”
    They were, of course. And the lies they told were an integral part of the one faint hope Rourke clung to. That the torture session would be unrewarding to Kerenin and that he would think them incapable of further resistance and for one split second be sloppy enough that he—John Rourke—or Natalia could get to a weapon. And that meant surviving what would come next and clinging to the lies.
    Kerenin had apparently ignored Natalia’s remarks. He ordered her shackled to the second table. Rourke knew that Natalia’s pain would be the hardest pain he would have to endure—and for her, his pain.
    Rourke spoke once more. “We can make up lies, major. But you will see through them. We have only one truth to tell. And we have told it to you.”
    Kerenin spoke, the female officer’s complection slightly green-tinged now. “I somehow feel that both of you have endured such as I offer now before. You believe. But you have never known pain or suffering such as the devices in this room are capable of inducing.” No drugs then, Rourke thought. That was a plus for being able to maintain the lie. To have revealed that he was American and that she was once a major in the KGB but had come over to the cause of freedom would have invited no