Desperate

Chapter Two-1

Chapter Two

Interrogation

“Strip,” was the command. It came from a small, compact and very fit looking young woman who stood in front of both Americans. She was dressed in heavy black mountaineering boots, black stretch tights that fit like a second skin, and a short black leather motorcycle jacket that reached just below the waist. Under the jacket was a white ribbed turtleneck jersey, equally as tight as the leggings. Her waist was belted with a wide black and studded black belt, giving her an excellent hour-glass figure complimented by high, well separated and pointed breasts that thrust the jersey and jacket towards the two men with typical Swiss arrogance. She had dark brown eyes, a patrician nose with a slight upturn at the end, and a tight, thin-lipped mouth that did not smile very often. Bill thought she was probably in her mid thirties but found her attractive in a dominant sort of way. Her dark brown hair was cut short in the type haircut that Bill often called a ‘butch buzz’: clipped close in the back and cropped off the same length all around just below the ear. She wore no makeup except for heavy black eye liner; but both men, if asked, would have said she was very attractive. On the broad, silver-studded black leather belt were three pouches, two on the right and one on the left.

Five people stood in the windowless white room illuminated by dozens of the bright, cool, green florescent lamps typically found in many European institutions. The overhead lights gave the room a slightly sinister glow because they were not as bright or as close to sunlight as florescent lights were in the U.S. The only furniture was a tall, stainless steel floor-to-ceiling cabinet against one wall and two white enamel gurneys covered with white hospital sheets on the opposite wall.

Noting the polished steel rings mounted on the floor and walls, Gus and Bill looked at each other in astonishment. Gus began to protest, “You can’t do this. We have some rights. We didn’t rob the bank, and we want to contact the American Embassy at once. We were pass...uhg, uh...” He stumbled and fell to the white tile floor as a stun baton, pressed into his ribs from behind, sent a strong electrical charge through his body. One of the guards had reached forward and stuck the baton into his ribs. The force of the charge sent him to his knees.

“Strip. Now,” barked the woman in black, as her left hand moved to open the longest of her belt packs and remove a similar short baton which she extended towards Bill, pressing a button on the base. The four-inch stub of a handle sprung to life and became a tapered silver wand nearly two feet long and capped with a small silver stud. She waved the baton slightly in the air, and it made a swishing sound, and the tip passed within inches of Bill’s groin. Both men hastened to remove their winter clothing. The parkas and boots were first, and then socks, sweaters, L.L. Bean chamois shirts and jeans followed.

“Amazing,” hissed Bill, glancing over his bare shoulder at his partner as he hurried to get off his plaid cotton shirt. “They never searched us at the arrest or at the farmhouse. These people aren’t police!” The guards ignored him. Gus, struggling to recover himself and remaining on the floor, moved more slowly, and the guard stepped forward again, ready for another shot with the baton. “Don’t,” Gus blurted. “I’ll do it.”

Bill was undressed even as his friend was gathering himself together on the shiny white flooring, not wanting to experience the same electric motivator. In a few seconds, they were both down to their jockey shorts.

“OK?” Bill stammered hesitantly, looking at the woman in the leather jacket out of the corner of his eye while keeping his gaze on the guard with the electronic baton. Guard number three stood against the left wall, in an “at ease” position, hands clasped behind her back. She wore the same uniform, but her hair was longer and light blond, almost white. She watched the men carefully, somewhat appraisingly, but said nothing. If she was armed, it was not apparent to the men.

“No. Everything,” was the response from the leader. The shorts came off.

Bill was the bigger man, standing about five foot ten in his bare feet and weighing close to 190 pounds, his dark hair in the fashionable long style worn by New York professionals of the time. At 32, he carried the usual beginnings of a spare tire in the middle and didn’t do much about it except swim occasionally at the midtown health club he was paying $14,000 a year to belong to.

Gus was smaller and more compact. He weighed 165; and, while he didn’t work out, he did enough work around his house and with his girlfriend’s horses to keep in good shape. Sherry had gone “veggie” three years ago, and Gus had tried to get into the habit but was still into his steaks and French fries whenever he could talk Sherry into letting him eat them, in their apartment or at a restaurant. Both men had been engaging in ‘illegal’ meals while on this trip, and they knew that, as soon as the girls hooked up with them, the good food would end, and it would be back to fruit, fiber, and ‘fairy food’, as Bill called it.

“Good. That’s better,” said their hostess, waking both men from the momentary shock of being naked in front of total strangers and, worse yet, in a foreign country and being charged with a major felony.

“Hands behind you,” the woman commanded. Both men slowly complied. It was apparently too slow a response for their guard, and each received a sudden and painful shot from the baton. Again Gus went down, and Bill staggered under the impact. Handcuffs were quickly and efficiently double locked behind both men. The guards arranged the men’s hands so that they were palm out, back to back and then checked the fit.

“This is inhumane torture. You can’t do this.... It, it’s against the Geneva Convention...or something like that,” Bill babbled excitedly as he tried to recover his balance and struggled with his hands chained behind him. The guard, who was standing over Gus, reached down and pulled him to his feet by his hair, holding the stun baton close to his face. “You vant zis again?” she hissed.

“No. No, I’ll do what you say,” Gus whimpered, tears coming from his eyes, his hands twisting behind his back. The second guard moved forward and, bending over, attached leg shackles to their ankles. She went to the cabinet and opened the top doors, taking out a cardboard box which she passed to the leader.

“Let’s see,” the woman in black said softly. “You. Vat’s jour shirt collar size. Quickly,” she looked directly at Bill.

“Ah, sixteen, I guess, why?”

“Sixteen. Hummmm. Giff him a 42,” she said to the guard, who pulled out another box, took back the first one, and placed it on the shelf. The leader took a metal collar out of the box and gave it to the second guard.

“Hold still, or it’z more schock,” she said to Bill, and clamped a cold metal collar around his neck. At the back and in the front, the collar had small ‘D’ rings. The collar itself was of springy stainless steel and where the ends met was a heavy lock. The lock clicked closed, and Bill stood stock-still, unable to believe what was taking place. Gus watched in shock and responded quickly when asked his size by the leader guard.

“Und you?” she asked.

“About the same, I guess,” Gus mumbled back. A duplicate collar was selected for Gus and fitted to his neck.

“OK, zat vill do it for now,” the leader said. She stood with her hands on her adequate hips, staring at the two shivering men. “Now you listen. Listen wery carefully. My name is Captain Atella. You vill address me that vay until told othervise. You vill talk only when you are told to talk, and you vill othervise remain silent. Failure to remain silent vill be punished initially mit dee schock baton, then mit a special gag; and, finally, if you still fail to learn and obey, more strict measures. Understand?”

There were two hesitant “yes” responses in the otherwise silent room. Both men looked at the floor as the collars were locked and a chain was attached to the rear ‘D’ ring of the collar. The chains were then led to the handcuffs where they connected to the center chain with a lock and then down and locked to the leg shackles.

Bill looked at Atella. “You didn’t say you were police, but you pretended to be. Who are you, and why have you kidnapped us?”

The second guard was already moving the baton towards him when Atella waved her away.

“Yust this once, I vill allow your question. Next time, you vill pay as I promised. I vill alzo answer the other unstated question every prisoner asks: ‘Where am I?’ First, you are at Schloss Radgatz. Vee are very high in zee Alberg, near za Austrian und Italian borders. Za eight hundred hectares surrounding za schloss are private and closely guarded because vee carry on rezearch for several corporations und governments here. No one enters or leaves unless vee know about it. Za easiest approaches are mined...(sommzing left over from za last war, I guezz). You, and many others here, are our prisoners. You are here, and vill remain here until vee releez you. You have been accused of a terrible crime. Vee are going to address zat at vonce. Forget about help, escape, or the police. In Europe, you vill find that police come in different, ah, flavors.

“As far as you are concerned, vee are your keepers. You don’t need to know any more. But be sure that you know dis: vee have absolute power over you and the others here in dis place. If you do as you are told, vee vill make life easier for you. Failure to obey vill be punished. Later, you vill be closely interrogated, and vee vill learn more about you. For now, you vill be confined alone until vee send for you.”

“But....” Bill began. The baton struck him, this time in the left thigh. He howled more from the surprise than the pain. His leg buckled at the knee, and he almost fell.

“Silence,” said Atella. She took two more chains out of a box on the floor and stepping up to each man so that she was almost touching nose to nose with them, attached a leash chain to the front “D” rings of the collars.

“This iz your leash.” Her sharp breasts jabbed into Bill’s bare chest. “You vill be led by it. You vill go vere you are told and vere you are led. If you are slow or if you resist, the leash vill be pulled harder, and you vill get schocks. There are other, more interesting penalties in store for you if you do not behave. Remember that you are not in America. You have no rights here. Understand?”

Both men looked up, stunned.

“Lee...leash...leash?” Bill stuttered.

“UNDERSTAND?”

“Yes, but why are we being treated this way?” Bill shouted. The baton came up and caught him in the right thigh. He crumpled to the floor, chained hands reaching for the damaged muscle.

“You are being treated like anyone else who commits a major crime,” Atella replied quickly. “Now get up.”

“Can we have our clothes back?” Gus stammered as he ducked the baton and hopped towards Atella. The baton caught him on the left buttock, and he froze in place as the guard delivered a series of shocks to his now twitching behind.

“Ah, ah, arghggg...a eeeeeee...” Gus screamed then went down to the floor alongside his cringing, shivering friend.

“No. No clothes. No talk. The next sound gets you gagged. Now get up and follow your guards. You haff done very badly today, so zere vill be no food, no vater and no shleep tonight. That is all for now. Take zem avay,” Atella commanded, turning on her polished black boot heel and signaling with a chopping motion with her hand that the interview was ended.

The two guards took the leashes and led the men out the door and down the hall to an elevator which was waiting. They shuffled into the car, turned around to face the front, and watched as the car descended three levels. The doors opened, and they were pulled down another brightly-lit hall. This hallway had metal doors on each side. Each door had a viewing slot near the top and another at the bottom. Each had a combination lock keypad on the right of the door. Clearly, these were cells. Behind each door, Bill thought, lay something he had never really worried much about...a world of the incarcerated criminals he had known as a prosecutor and as a defense attorney. But he had never been there, behind such a door, himself. He knew little about the life behind bars. He was about to learn more than he wanted to know.