Authors: Rob Sinclair
I was beginning to lose my mind. I could no longer tell what was real and what was a dream. If I’d been further down the line, at least I’d have been so damaged as to no longer realise there was a reality and a non-reality. Unfortunately I still knew there was a difference – I just could no longer tell them apart.
I thought I was lying in my cell, the faint sensation of cold concrete beneath me. My eyes were shut, but I didn’t think I was sleeping.
I heard the key turning in the lock of my cell door.
Two men walked into the cell. I saw their feet moving toward me, those same leather boots as always. I didn’t look up at their faces. I didn’t have the strength.
One of them bent down, stuffed something in my mouth. Food? No, I wasn’t that lucky. It was a linen gag. The other man taped it in place. The sack came next, over my head.
They pulled me to my feet, dragged me out of the cell. My legs were too weak to walk. Instead, I let the men pull me along, my feet and ankles scraping across the cold, hard stone floor. They took me down corridors, a left turn, then a right, then two more lefts. The same pattern as always.
We arrived at the room that I had now been to countless times before. Not the questioning room. An altogether more sinister place. They hauled me up onto the table and secured my
ankles and wrists so that I was lying flat.
Suddenly the table was tipped at an angle. My head was pointing downwards. I began to struggle against the restraints. Weak, pathetic attempts. I don’t know why I bothered, simply an instinctive reaction to what I knew lay ahead.
The men carried out their well-rehearsed duties in eerie silence. I imagined them moving around me like doctors and nurses over an operating table – each fully aware of the others’ roles, gliding with a rhythmic precision.
Moments later, without a single word spoken, water gushed down onto me, covering my face and soaking the hood, which clung to my nose.
I tried to breathe but my brain was stopping me. An automatic reflex to stop me inhaling the water. I writhed and struggled against the ropes, more power in my body now, my brain calculating and responding to the risk that I faced. The ropes cut into my wrists and ankles, quickly rubbing away the scabs from my previous visits, which had yet to fully form. Blood poured down my legs and arms from the wounds that once again opened up.
But no matter how much I struggled, there was no way out.
The water seemed to go on for an age. My lungs were aching for air. I couldn’t hold out much longer. I’d been subjected to water torture countless times before. The instinct is for the brain to believe you’re drowning, even though you’re not. And I’d already rationalised that they were trying to break me, not kill me.
But it was going on too long this time.
They might not have been trying to kill me, but if they didn’t stop and give me a chance to breathe, I was toast.
After holding out for as long as I could, I took a quick breath – I had to. As I did so there was nothing to stop the water pouring into me, filling my nostrils. My throat. My lungs.
And that was when I started to panic. Because I didn’t know
whether I could stop it. I had to keep breathing. But with the water still pouring, I was drowning.
My body writhed violently against the restraints, desperately trying to break free. No use. I couldn’t move.
I gulped, swallowing the water that was pooling in my throat, then inhaled again through my nostrils. More water poured in. Nothing to stop it now.
Then, when it seemed like I was on the brink, the water suddenly stopped.
I immediately took heavy breaths. My nostrils hurt from the force as I tried to replenish my lungs with fresh air.
The soaked bag was taken off my face. I opened my eyes, my vision blurry, my eyes darting around frantically, trying to find something to focus on. But all I could see was the glare of the spotlights.
From somewhere out of view, a hand came towards me. The tape was ripped off my face, the gag pulled out of my mouth.
I breathed even harder, spluttering and retching as I tried to clear the water that I imagined was sloshing around inside me.
After five deep breaths, I opened my mouth to speak. But before I got the chance to say a word, the wet sack was placed back over my face.
And the water began to pour again. Heavier and faster than before.
I pursed my lips, as tight as I could. I tried to resist, tried not to breathe, but after a while I couldn’t stop it. I opened my mouth. I swallowed the water once more, gagging and gasping to try to stop it filling my lungs.
I didn’t know how much longer I could take it. It went on for even longer than before.
I was dying. I was certain of it. I was drowning and I was helpless to stop it.
They were torturing me. I had seen it done before. I had been
on the receiving end before. But it had never lasted this long. Surely I was dying?
Why wouldn’t they stop?
I tried to moan. To scream. A signal to let them know it was going too far, that I couldn’t take it any more. That I was on the brink. But I could do nothing to stop them. My lungs were almost filled right up. No room left for air. I struggled some more. One last attempt to stay alive. I kicked and bucked, my bound body worming up and down on the board.
And, as if in answer to my desperate, feeble protests, the water finally stopped and the bag was taken away from my face.
I coughed. I spluttered. Water and vomit came out onto me. I didn’t care. I filled my lungs with air. Big gasps. It felt so good to be alive.
I wanted to speak out. To tell them that I could take no more. But I didn’t have the strength.
I took in more breaths, my heart pumping so fast it felt like it would explode. I felt the rush of blood in my body. The oxygen diffusing into my brain. I was breathing too fast. Hyperventilating. But I couldn’t stop. I had to breathe to stay alive. Had to be fully stocked before they started the water again.
I kept on taking heavy breaths. But the water didn’t come, and my frantic breathing was too much, too soon.
Unable to stop myself gasping for more and more air, my terrified brain soon left me and I drifted away from that place.
The next stop was scheduled at five minutes to four. I hadn’t been trying to count it out but my head told me the time was somewhere just before that when I felt the train begin to slow. I knew the next stop must be only a few minutes away.
I got up off the bunk and pulled on the grey insignia jacket and the thick woollen overcoat that stretched down almost to my knees. On the man it was made for it would have gone a few inches past them, but I was a good half-foot taller than him. The sleeves stopped two inches short of my wrists but it fitted just fine around the chest and waist – it was made to be worn over bulky clothing.
I waited until the train had slowed right down before opening my cabin door. As I stepped out I did a double-take at the figure standing a few yards off to my left, down the corridor. Mary. Her head was resting against the side of the carriage. She looked wide awake and alert.
‘Good morning, Carl,’ she said without looking.
‘Good?’ I said.
‘Figure of speech. You going somewhere?’
‘Just stretching my legs.’
‘Yeah. Same thing,’ she said, looking down at my coat. ‘Must be cold in your cabin.’
‘I’m going for a breath of fresh air while the train stops.’
‘That sounds great. I’ll go and get Chris.’
She tootled off down the corridor, away from my cabin. Her jovial mood riled me. I was sure she was doing it just to aggravate me.
I trudged off to the opposite end of the carriage. The train had already pulled to a stop when I reached the door. I stepped down onto the platform. It was still dark outside; probably would be for a few hours yet. The temperature was as cold as it had been the night before in the woods. It gave me a chilling reminder of the feeling of isolation I’d felt out there and a fearful shiver coursed through my body.
I looked over to the right. Mary was already on the platform edge, wearing a bright-red puffer jacket, hat and scarf. She was facing the train, her eyes darting along the open carriage doors. She spotted me, waved, then turned back to the door that she was standing by and ushered Chris out. She obviously didn’t trust me, had been waiting to make sure I was really getting off before signalling to Chris.
And she was probably right not to trust me. I had no intention of being babysat all the way to Omsk, whoever the hell these two were.
Chris stepped off the train, lugging a large suitcase. Part of their tourist front, no doubt. I ignored them and walked along the icy platform towards the station building. It was a tiny place, somewhere I had never heard of before. The station had just two tracks; one for eastbound trains, one for westbound. The terminal building was conveniently adjacent to the westbound platform where we’d got off. It was an old structure, ornate even, with a high roof, polished floors and wooden benches. The only amenities were a set of toilets and the ticket booth, which had four windows, only one of which was open. At least it was warm. The heating system was rattling away noisily, taking the temperature up towards the low teens. Certainly bearable compared with outside.
I walked over to one of the wooden benches and sat. The train outside began to pull away. I wasn’t bothered. There would be another. I was happy to sit and wait in the warmth for a while. I doubted there would be much outside the station anyway. Probably just a town with a few thousand people. Nothing to do or see. Particularly at four in the morning. And that wasn’t why I was there anyway. I hadn’t got off to acquaint myself with small-town Siberia. I was there to lose the two goons.
Chris and Mary shuffled over to me on the bench.
‘Now what are we supposed to do?’ Chris snapped. His pissed-off tone made me feel just a little bit better.
‘I guess we either walk to Omsk or we wait for the next train,’ I said, trying not to sound smug. ‘Which do you fancy, Mary?’
Mary smiled at me, but then quickly stopped when she saw Chris scowling.
‘What are we doing here, Logan?’ Chris said. ‘You trying to lose us or something?’
The use of my real name made me wince. I found it strange to hear it from these people whom I didn’t know but who were claiming to know me.
‘Well, if I am, I’ve not done too well so far.’
‘Maybe you just didn’t think we’d be watching you, and you could get off without us realising.’
‘Why
were
you watching me?’ I said.
‘For this very reason. We’re supposed to bring you in. We’re not to let you out of our sight.’
‘Bring me in? Have I done something wrong?’
‘I didn’t say that,’ Chris snapped. ‘You know how this works. You’ve been away for a long time.’
‘Thanks for the reminder. I’ll come in. But it’ll be on my own terms.’
‘That’s the point,’ Chris said. ‘It won’t be. It’ll be on
our
terms. As well as one hell of a debrief, you need to undergo a full psych evaluation for starters. For your own benefit as much as anyone else’s. Isn’t that obvious?’
‘You make it sound like I’m not trusted any more.’
‘That’s not it at all,’ Mary sighed, the good cop to Chris’s bad. ‘We just want to get you back home quickly and safely.’
‘I’ve handled three months of being locked up. I think I can handle a train journey just fine.’
‘Then why have you just jumped off?’ Chris said.
‘I jumped off because of something you said to me at the bar.’
Chris looked at me, waiting for me to finish. When I didn’t he shook his head, gesturing that he wasn’t there with me yet.
‘You said it had been easy for you to find me. And that
they
would’ve been able to find me easily enough as well.’
‘So?’
‘So I got off. And when I did, I got a good look at every other passenger who got off with me. There weren’t that many. Place like this doesn’t get many visitors. Most people get
on
at the westbound side, heading for the big cities. They get off on the eastbound on their way home. From our train, just eight people got off. Including you two and me. And the other five didn’t look to be much of a threat to me. Plus they’ve all headed out of here already.’
‘Maybe whoever is after you didn’t know you were getting off,’ Mary interjected.
‘Then they’re really stupid, aren’t they? They track me from my cell all the way to Taishet without me ever suspecting they’re there and then fail to spot me getting off the train in the middle of nowhere?’
‘Why are you trying to convince yourself that no-one’s
after you?’ Mary said.
‘I’m not. I think there are people after me. I’m just trying to figure out
who
they are. And the way I see it, the only people who got off that train who even remotely looked like they were interested in me is you two.’
‘So you think we’re with the Russians?’ Mary said. ‘The FSB?’
‘I haven’t ruled it out. Otherwise where the hell are they? Why
aren’t
they after me?’
‘What?’ Chris said. ‘You’ve lost it, Logan. We’re here to
help
you. When are you going to stop pissing around?’
‘What’s in the suitcase?’ I asked, deliberately changing the subject. I didn’t want to dwell on who or what these two were. It really didn’t make a difference to me. I didn’t trust them and I didn’t want to do what they told me.
‘Clothes,’ Chris said. ‘We’re tourists.’
‘You’re a pretty similar size to me, Chris.’
I had noticed that as he followed me over to the bench. But he didn’t seem to catch on to my point.
‘Do you think you could give me a change of clothes?’ I said. ‘I’m not loving this mock security guard shit.’
Chris sighed. ‘Yeah. There’s probably some jeans. A jumper. Haven’t got any shoes, though, or coats.’
‘This coat’s fine. The boots too.’
Though in truth I was disappointed I wouldn’t be getting out of the boots. My bleeding, blistered feet could have done with some respite, something more cushioned.
‘I’ve got plenty of socks and underwear as well, if you need it,’ Chris said, sounding more accommodating.
‘That would be great. I haven’t got
any
right now,’ I said.
Mary couldn’t contain her smile at that and I reciprocated in kind. Chris, though, remained deadpan. He pulled the suitcase over, unzipped it and lifted the lid. He began to
root around inside.
‘Have you got any cash as well?’ I said. ‘Or maybe a credit card I can use? I’ve used up virtually everything I had.’
‘No, sorry,’ Chris said, without looking up from the luggage. ‘If you need anything, food or whatever, you just need to shout and we can get it for you.’
‘Trying to keep me on a short leash, are you?’
‘Well, we wouldn’t want you wandering off from us, would we?’
‘So you’re not denying it?’
‘Denying what?’
‘That you’re looking to keep me on a leash. You’re not the first person to have likened me to a dog, you know.’
‘I never said anything about dogs. You mentioned leashes.’
Chris pulled up from the suitcase, dumping a pile of clothes in my lap: a pair of faded blue jeans, a black roll-neck jumper, thick socks and jockey shorts. A tiny part of me felt elation just at the sight of these regular, washed clothes. They felt soft to the touch and I could smell the cleanliness. Such a simple luxury that I had been long deprived of.
‘I’ll go and get changed,’ I said, standing up.
‘I’ll come with you,’ Chris replied, getting to his feet to follow.
I turned to face him. He gave me a smug smile. I didn’t bother to protest.
‘Okay. But no peeking.’
I walked over to the toilets, Chris in tow. The toilet door led into a single cubicle with a toilet and sink. A small window, head height, was above the toilet. Less than two feet wide and about one foot tall. I turned back to Chris.
‘You’re not coming in here with me,’ I said to him. ‘You can wait outside, ear against the door or whatever you want to do, but you’re not coming in.’
He craned his neck, looking over my shoulder into the toilet, gauging whether or not he would allow me out of his sight.
‘Fine,’ he said eventually. ‘It’s not like I want to see your ugly backside.’
‘Liar,’ I said, winking.
As I closed the door, I noticed him signal over to Mary. She got up from the bench and started to walk quickly over to the double doors that led to the platform. Going around to stand guard by the window, no doubt.
I shook my head in an over-the-top manner and tutted loudly as I pulled the door closed and locked it.
‘It’s for your own good!’ I heard Chris say. I ignored him.
I sat down on the closed toilet seat and began to take the boots off. The pain was excruciating. It felt like my skin was being peeled off as the leather was pulled across it. Both of my feet were a mess. Blisters, cuts, chafes: they were red-raw all over. I tried my best to ignore the pain. On the train I had already washed and showered in my cabin, but I’d had no option but to return to my dirty clothes and inadequate boots. At least now I had clothes that were clean and would fit.
I got to my feet and plugged the sink and filled it to the brim with lukewarm water – as hot as I could get it. Wetting a wad of paper towels, I dabbed at the wounds on my feet. At first it sent shock waves right through me. But a few seconds after, I enjoyed a more pleasant warming sensation as the blood rushed through my chilled feet, encouraged by the temperate air around them. I pulled off the rest of my clothes, then emptied the sink and washed my face under running water before dressing in what Chris had given me. The new clothes felt good. The socks in particular were a godsend.
I stood for a few moments, looking in the mirror, contemplating my next move. I knew that if I wanted to, I could fit through the narrow window. Mary would doubtless be stationed somewhere on the other side. But what was she going to do? Shoot me? I could bulldoze through her in a second. If I wanted to get away from them, this was a good opportunity. They were split up. One was on one side of the door, the other outside. Tackling one would be far easier than two.
But where would I go? I would just end up running around a small town in the middle of Russia, being chased by two people who may or may not be there to help me. I didn’t want to be stuck in a place I didn’t know and had nothing for me. I wanted to be in Omsk. But I wasn’t going to go there in tow with Chris and Mary. I needed to leave them behind, to lure them away so I could get on the next train.
I unlocked and pulled open the door. As I stepped out I spotted Chris standing about ten yards away, halfway between the toilet and the doors to the platform. He looked surprised as I emerged. Obviously he had thought the window would have been my route of choice.
‘What are you doing all the way over there?’ I said, mocking him. ‘I thought you would have been keeping guard on the door in case I tried to do a runner.’
He didn’t answer. But as I walked back over to the wooden bench, I saw why he was there. It was the nearest he could stand to the toilet and still be able to see Mary outside. That way they both would have been able to signal each other and react the second I tried my escape. Well, it looked like I’d saved them some effort. Not that either of them thanked me.
The three of us sat back down on the bench. Other than the grim-looking teller at the ticket booth, we were the only people in the building.
‘Next train’s in just under two hours,’ I said, looking up at the board.
‘Yep,’ said Chris.
‘Well, let me know when it’s here. I’m getting some rest.’
And with that I shut my eyes.
But I had no intention of sleeping. I was already busy planning my next move.