He turned to see his old snitch Tommy Montoya, broadcasting Latino animal magnetism, his neck swimming in gold chain.

“Tommy!” he called. “Tommy, damn, I’m glad to see you. Hey, I was going to call you. Hey, you got a moment? I got some stuff I want to ask you.”

“Sure, Nicky, no problem, man.”

Nick stepped toward Tommy and in an instant three other men were on him, crushing inward roughly.

“Hey, what the – ”

They went for his arms. He thrashed, thought he caught one with an elbow in the face, but as they crunched in upon him, all their huge weight just pressing against him, there came the prick of a needle through his suit coat into his lower back, and suddenly his legs lost their purchase on the earth, he lurched forward through swirls of light, and had the vaguest idea of sleep and surrender while he knew he was falling. He seemed to fall for quite a while and had only the vaguest impression of a van pulling up.

Nick awoke in darkness on the dirty floor of the van. He could hear the sawing of crickets and somehow he sensed a fetid, overhanging jungle atmosphere.

He tried to sit up but handcuffs had him manacled. His head felt as if someone had hydraulically pumped six tons of plastic waste in through his nostrils.

“Payne-O, he’s come to.”

“Oh, great. Hi ya, Nicky, how ya feel? Man, that sodium pentothal hits like a fucking truck, don’t it?”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Just working stiffs, sonny. Get him up.”

“Right, Payne-O.”

The name Payne-O. It was so familiar.

Rough pairs of hands lifted Nick. A flashlight beam hit him in the eyes. His head throbbed. He could make out the shadows of four men.

“You know what we’ve been talking about? How fast you’d see things our way and cooperate with us. I’m of the opinion that a good scout like you would see the error of his ways and come clean. Tommy here says you’re going to be a stubborn motherfucker, giving us grief the whole night long. But you know what, Nick? It don’t matter. We got plenty of time and no other place to be. And remember this: everybody always talks. Nobody’s a hero.”

“Tommy’s a piece of shit.”

“Nicky, I always liked you.”

“You piece of shit!” Nick yelled.

“Oh, Nick’s a tough boy, ain’t he,” said the heavyset, smaller man. Nick could see a tapestry of blue ink embossed on his thick arms.

He remembered the RamDyne file. Payne-O.

“You’re Payne, right? The Green Beret. You were at the massacre on the Sampul River. Man, you must be real proud of yourself, you piece of shit.”

“Oh, Nick, Nick, Nick. That was a wonderful job of work. We killed two hundred communists that day, so that fat assholes like you could rest in your fat little country, not a thought in their heads.” He laughed an awful laugh. “Nick, that’s what we do. You know, that’s our job.”

“Payne-O, you oughtn’t to tell him – ”

“Oh, we can trust Nick with all our secrets, can’t we, Nick? Nick’s one of the good scouts, right?”

“Fuck you, Payne,” said Nick, liberated by the drunken freedom of the drug still in his system. “You let me out of these cuffs, man, I’ll tear your fucking heart out. Your specialty is machine-gunning kids. I read the file. Let me tell you, motherfucker, I’d like to match you against an FBI SWAT team instead of women and kids in a river. We’d teach you something you didn’t know about rock and roll, motherfucker.” Nick was really screaming.

Payne laughed. Tommy laughed.

Nick looked beyond him and saw the darkness and the stillness of the Louisiana bayou. God knew where they were. Miles and miles beyond civilization. There was no help or mercy. He saw his own car parked just outside. He knew what that meant. It meant they would kill him in some way made to approximate a suicide and the car had to be there to explain how he’d gotten out there.

“Now, Nick, this can go hard or it can go easy. What’s it going to be?”

“Either way it’s fucking curtains for me, sucker.”

“Not necessarily,” said Tommy. “When we make you see how we’re operating in National Security, you may even want to join us. We do what has to be done. You better be fucking glad somebody in this fucking country is. We’re like the fucking Roman centurions, man. We keep the barbarians away. Isn’t that right, Payne-O?”

“He’s got that right.”

“Shitasses like you always say you’re doing something for the country. You’re the barbarians, motherfucker.”

Then Nick spat in Payne’s face.

Something awesome and rhinolike flared in Payne; even in the darkness Nick could sense the surge of naked rage. At that second Payne wanted to rip his eyes out. But he regained his professional control, and wiped the phlegm off his forehead.

“Payne-O,” said one of the other guys, “he ain’t gonna volunteer any info.”

Payne’s eyes narrowed.

“Yeah, shit, you’re right. That stretches it out. But it’s fastest up front. So shoot him up.”

Nick felt his jacket sleeve being shoved up.

“Oh, Nick, have we got a tongue loosener for you.”

He felt the prick of a needle, its long slide into his vein, and the odd largeness as whatever was injected into him filled his veins.

“Okay, Nick, just relax, let it happen,” Tommy said.

Nick tried to fight it.

“It’s very sophisticated stuff. Phenobarbital-B, an advanced compound, state of the art for CIA interrogations. Go ahead, fight it. The more you fight, the more you talk.”

Nick felt nothing. Then he felt everything. Lights were going on, then going off. He felt his will shredding. He felt it going away. In his weakness and terror, he yearned only to please.

“Now Nick,” came the voice from very far away, “Nick, Nick, Nick. Tell us a story. Got the tape going, Pony?”

“It’s on.”

“Nick, how’d you first hear of RamDyne?”

Nick tried to find a way to resist, but the point of it seemed quite ridiculous. Why not give them what they wanted? Everybody did.

“I – I – ”

“That’s right. Go on.”

“I was on surveillance with the Secret Service prior to Flashlight’s visit. Um. One of their agents mentioned that RamDyne exported the big surveillance rigs to Central American governments and I’d been looking for some way…”

And with that he was gone. He talked and talked and talked. He couldn’t shut up. It just came out of him. It was like a purging. All the information he’d stored, all his doubts about Bob Lee Swagger’s guilt, all his fears, his terror, worst of all, of his own inadequacy, it all came out of him. He talked for days, for years. In the end, he wore them out. He beat them by talking.

It was dawn. The crickets had shut up, even, he outtalked the crickets. Outside, the sun was rising, turning the day pale and green. Outside, Nick could see, everything was green. It was a wild driven craze of green, a dangerous green. They were near a river or a swamp; there were trees everywhere. The road was a dirt track. He was tired. He was so tired. Now all he wanted to do was rest.

But they had him up.

“I just want to sleep,” he said.

“Nah. You want to go to the bathroom, right?” said Tommy.

“Nah, I wanna sleep.”

“Shit. Walk him around, okay.”

“You got it all, Payne-O?”

“Hey, can you think of anything I left out? This guy would sing the birdies out of the sky now.”

“Ah, let me see. Let me check the list.”

“It’s all checked off. It’s all on the list.”

“Okay, you know the drill. Tommy, he’s your buddy. You handle it. Pony, you stay with him. We’ll leave you here. You wait till he pisses. Meanwhile, I gotta get the tape back ASAP.”

“You got it, Payne-O.”

Still crushed by the drug, Nick could at least put it together. He had no will and he had no pride.

“What are you gonna do to me?” he asked.

“What do you think, fuck?” said Payne. “You crossed the line. You been a-messin’ where you shouldn’t a been a-messin’, and now the boots are gonna walk all over you. Someone’s still got to do the hard thing, you little shit. You didn’t have to find out about it. It was your choice. But now you’re the hard thing, kid.”