Cast No Shadow, Peter Sharp [books to get back into reading txt] 📗

“Is that who those two students were?” asked Kelly. “I just gave them a lift. I didn’t ask their names. They were on their way to the hills for a picnic. Do you know, I think there might be something between those two. They seemed awfully close.”

“Don’t play with me, Mr Kelly. Where are they?” For the first time the smile had disappeared from the Russian’s face.

“I don’t know,” Kelly answered flatly. “I just gave them a lift.”

“What were you doing in the hills?”

“I was on my way to the American base at Guantanamo and became lost. I am expected. They will be curious to know where I am.” His response seemed to catch Botvinik off guard. The thought of the Americans becoming curious about a lost English agent was worrying. Clearly, thought Kelly, he hasn’t considered that possibility.

Botvinik rose and paced the floor for a moment, then rang the bell and left the room as one of the guards came in to take his place. It was several minutes before he returned, but now he was smiling.

That issue is now resolved, thought Kelly. He didn’t dare dwell on what solution Vladeshenko had suggested, but it probably revolved around him having an accident, which would undoubtedly be traced to the local communists.

“Now Mr Kelly, enough play, I want some answers. Where is the rebels’ camp?”

“Are you telling me that you do not know where it is?” asked Kelly quizzically.

Botvinik looked puzzled. “Of course we don’t know. Why else would I ask?”

“But that means you haven’t made contact with them, which suggests that they do not want to meet with you, which in turn means that your entire mission here is a failure!”

Botvinik’s face changed gradually in aspect and colour. He staggered to his feet glaring down on Kelly. Without warning he started banging the table with his clenched fist, shouting, “SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!”

He’s lost it completely, thought Kelly, as he watched saliva dribble down Botvinik’s face. The door at the back of the room opened just a fraction and Botvinik immediately stopped. Shaking he sat down and wiped his face. The door closed again.

Botvinik sat for some minutes in silence as he battled to regain his composure. He tried to smile again but was only able to offer a ghastly grimace.

“You will come with me, Mr Kelly,” he said eventually, pressing the bell and summoning two of the armed guards into the room. Botvinik spoke quietly to one of the armed men, who indicated that Kelly should follow him. He was taken up another flight of stairs and pushed into a small room, no larger than a cleaning cupboard. The room was completely devoid of any furnishing and had no window. A high intensity bright light beamed down from a recess in the ceiling, on either side of which there were two speaker grills. Kelly knew what was coming.

White noise at a deafening level was suddenly emitted from the speakers. Kelly hunched himself down against the wall using the right angle in the corner to support himself, clasped his hands over his ears and waited. There was no option than to prepare his mind to endure the discomfort until Botvinik wanted to see him again.

Time passed. Kelly had no idea how slowly or quickly. He deliberately didn’t look at his watch, as he knew time would seem to stop if he started doing that. It had been a long night and he was tired. In spite of the intense discomfort he was feeling, he felt himself starting to doze.

There was a crash as the cell door burst open.

A guard stood over him. “Wake up! Wake up!” he shrieked, pouring a bucket of ice-cold water over Kelly. Kelly jerked to his feet and the guard stepped back to the door. Kelly could clearly see another guard waiting just outside the cell door, his small machine gun at the ready. The door slammed shut and he was alone once more, but now cold and wet as well.

He was left alone until he again started to doze when the whole episode was played out again. And again. Kelly was beginning to feel disorientated, unsure whether he was starting to doze or hallucinating. After an eternity, the door crashed open and Kelly hunched himself ready for the iced water.

When none came, he looked up. It was Botvinik with that insane grin all over his face.

“Stand up!”

Kelly complied.

“Where is the rebel camp?”

“I don’t know!” said Kelly resignedly. Botvinik made a signal to the guards, who half dragged, half carried Kelly out of the cell along the corridor and into another room. The room was bigger than the previous cell, but just as stark with no windows and no ventilation. The only furnishing was a metal box, about the size of a large horse trough in the centre of the room. It was filled to the brim with water, and beside it lay a metal lid.

“Get in!” said Botvinik. Kelly tried to resist, but the two guards were joined by two others who manhandled him into the container. The lid was placed on top and fastened down.

Kelly found himself in a metal coffin, immersed in tepid water, in pitch-blackness. He forced his head upwards until his face came in contact with the metal lid of the tank. He had about one inch of air above the water. He fought against his rising panic, forcing himself to stay calm. If he could remain with his head in this position he would at least survive for some time. However, if—as he suspected—because of the total lack of light the container was air tight, then the amount of air trapped in the pocket would not last for too long.

The strain of keeping his head in the air pocket was beginning to tell on his back and shoulders. Kelly took a deep breath and submerged for a while allowing his muscles to relax, then maintained his strained position again. He repeated this manoeuvre several