53

It’s just the two of us, Jack,” Barnes said to Rafael. “You and me.” He sat down, facing him. “I’m sure we’re going to have a very productive conversation.” The place was shadowy, like a scene in a movie. Two chairs; a versation.” The place was shadowy, like a scene in a movie. Two chairs; a square, dark wooden table, old and worn; and a hanging ceiling lamp casting light over the two seated men.

“Where are we?” Rafael asked.

“Jack, Jack, Jack, it seems you haven’t quite understood your place.” Barnes didn’t let up on his sarcasm when he got up from the table and walked around. “I’m the one asking the questions here.”

“Go to hell, Barnes. I’m no fucking idiot. Don’t give me your usual treatment. I’m not going to pee my pants just because you’re here. You don’t scare me.”

The answer was a punch in the face that sent him crashing to the floor.

“Get up,” the fat man ordered. “Get up,” he yelled again, seeing that he wasn’t being obeyed.

Rafael got up at his own pace, not saying a word or showing the slightest sign of pain. Then he straightened the chair and sat down, putting his hands in full view on the table.

“Don’t think you can fool me, Barnes. I know we’re in the United States. I just want to know where exactly,” Rafael continued, calmly. In spite of his difficult situation, he was attempting, as much as possible, to control the chain of events. Nonetheless, he knew he was at a clear disadvantage.

“What makes you think you’re in America? You could be anywhere.”

“That many hours on the plane tell me we’re in the United States. London was only two and a half hours away. So we’re either in Washington or New York, right?”

“We’re smack in the middle of hell, Jack. What difference does it make? Or were you planning to go sightseeing?”

“Not a bad idea.”

Another punch, not so hard this time, hit him squarely in the face, splitting his lip.

“Do you have any idea of what she’s going through right now, Jack? Can you picture it?” Barnes changed tactics. “Such a pretty, sweet face, spoiled by a brute like me.”

Rafael, of course, could imagine it. The two punches he had received were nothing, compared to what could be on the way.

“Are you going to tell me where the papers are?” Barnes asked in a more condescending tone.

“You know very well I’m not. First, because I don’t know. And, second, because if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”

Staughton’s sudden appearance interrupted the interrogation.

“Mr. Barnes,” he called from the doorway.

“Come in, Staughton.”

He approached, and whispered something in his ear.

“Are you sure?” Barnes asked in his usual loud voice, not liking the news. He thought silently for a moment.

“Right, give me a few minutes,” he said finally, dismissing Staughton. On his way out, the agent closed the door, once again leaving Rafael at Barnes’s mercy.

“I’ll give you one more chance, Jack, for old times’ sake.” Barnes returned to the chair facing him. “Where are the papers?”

“The last time I saw them,” Rafael said, thoughtfully, “they were stuck in your mother’s ass.”

Barnes froze, his face turning red. Rafael was crossing the line. Barnes got up again and headed for the detainee. Standing close, he whispered in his ear.

“Why are you wasting my time, Jack?” As he spoke, his saliva spattered Jack’s face. “Don’t you get it, that I’ve got the woman and don’t need you? Maybe you won’t talk, but she’ll cackle like a parrot. So can you please explain to me, what could it possibly be that keeps me from killing you?”

“What I know, that she doesn’t know,” Rafael declared firmly.

“And what do you know that she doesn’t?”

“I know that she only received two pages out of a total of thirteen.”

“Go on.”

“I know where the other pages are,” he said, arrogantly, casting a line and hoping Barnes would take the bait.

Barnes observed him for a few seconds, weighing his words and trying to read his mind.

“You’re lying,” he said finally.

“You wanna risk killing me? What if I’m not lying?”

“I’ve got the daughter and the father, Jack. I can do quite well without you.”

“You’d be making sense if you weren’t wrong.”

Barnes could barely contain his wrath. He wanted to crush this bastard. He shook him, grabbing his lapels.

“Don’t tempt me, Jack. I can finish you off in a second.”

Bound up as he was, Rafael still defied him with his look.

“It’s not in your hands, Barnes.”

The latter tightened his grip even more.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that the great Geoffrey Barnes could have bashed in my brains long ago. You haven’t done it because it’s not up to you. Not that you don’t want to-I can see it in your eyes-but there’s a motherfucker above you who won’t let you pull the trigger.”

“Shut up,” the big man yelled, shoving him against the wall. Infuriated, he punched him in the stomach. Rafael collapsed to the floor, but Barnes didn’t let up, and started kicking him amid an avalanche of insults. Suddenly a strong pair of hands pulled him back.

“Hold it. Right now,” an elegantly dressed man ordered, grasping the still-raving Barnes. “What are you doing?”

“I’m gonna kill this son of a bitch,” Barnes roared, glaring at Rafael, who was struggling to stand up.

“Get a grip,” the man shouted.

Staughton and Thompson poked their heads in, to see what was happening.

“Take him out of here,” the man ordered Staughton and Thompson. Obeying quickly, they started dragging Rafael between them.

“Not that one, this one,” the newcomer corrected, keeping a firm hold on Barnes.

The fat man simmered down, taking several deep breaths and recovering his composure.

“Okay, I’m fine,” he said. “I’m fine.”

“I’m taking over as of now,” the other man announced. “Go have something to drink and settle your nerves.” Then he turned to Staughton and Thompson. “Take this gentleman over with the others. The Grand Master’s already here.”

His orders were immediately followed. Barnes went through the door without looking back. “Fucking bastards,” he mumbled. The other two were supporting Rafael, who couldn’t stay on his feet.

The man who’d restored order in the room readjusted his Armani suit. The time had come.

54

The four men were walking through a long, dimly lit hallway, with closed doors dotting both sides. The place was cold, dilapidated, but not abandoned. There was no dirt or cobwebs. These quarters seemed to be used only sporadically.

Rafael walked with Staughton’s and Thompson’s help. The man behind them in the Armani suit didn’t allow any threats or punches. There was an intense light coming out of an open door. Voices could be heard. The pair walked the last few feet almost dragging Rafael.

“This fucker keeps getting heavier,” Thompson complained.

“He’s doing it on purpose,” Staughton remarked.

Staughton wasn’t far from the truth. Rafael pretended that his condition was getting worse, just to make their task more difficult. He wanted to irritate them, and didn’t expect to gain anything. Even so, he felt a slight ache in his chest. Could be a broken rib, making it harder to breathe. But he would have to worry about his health later, after this nightmare ended, if ever. This hallway could well be his death walk.

While being dragged along, he thought of Sarah. Was she having to endure the same abuse? Rafael had been trained for it. Barnes’s wrath, his uncontrolled punches, were minor disturbances for him. It was a different story for Sarah, though she had demonstrated her courage in their brief amount of time together. Despite the tension, she held herself together again and again. And what she did with the papers, knowing they were their only bargaining chip, the only card they could play, spoke volumes about her character.