Sic Semper Tyrannis (21 page)

Erik's eyes gradually adjusted to the light.   He blinked back the pain and was able to see a figure across a small table from him.  The man was dressed in a Russian officer's uniform—at least, that's what Erik assumed, since he had no idea what a Russian officer's uniform should look like.  The man certainly
sounded
Russian.

"Ah, there we are—better,
da
?" the man said in a thick accent.

Erik stared at the Russian, not quite sure what to say.   He looked down and saw that he was tied to a wooden chair as he’d thought.  His hands had been securely strapped to the back and his feet to the legs.  "Why am I tied to this chair?" he asked.  He wiggled again in his restraints to no effect.

A voice chuckled in the darkness behind his…captor?  Interrogator?  Adversary?

"You seem confused," the man said with an eyebrow raised.  "Surely you would expect no less if you were to take me captive as prisoner of war?"

Erik stared at the man in disbelief.  "Prisoner of war?"

The Russian laughed.  He slapped the table so hard the papers that were on it shuffled a bit.  "For you are funny!  Yes, very funny!"  A snorted laugh echoed from the darkness behind him.  He glanced over his shoulder "Yuri, you see?  These Special Forces types are all alike.  Always making light of the situation.  Just like
spetsnaz
."

"Special forces? 
Spetsnaz
?"  Erik gasped.  "Wait—wait a second!  You think I'm in the Special Forces?"  Erik could feel the nervousness begin to grow inside his stomach like a balloon.  This was
not
good.  "Trust me, I'm not even really a soldier!  I'm just a grad student!"

The laughter died in the Russian’s throat.  His face grew stern.  He stared at Erik for what seemed like an eternity before speaking again.  "You killed one of my best men.  With this…" he said lifting one hand from under the table.  In that hand was Erik's
katana
.  The Russian gently placed it on the table, almost reverently.  "It is beautiful, no?  The sword.  Such elegance, such simplicity, such lethality.  A finer weapon man has not created in thousands of years, would you not agree?"

"Okay yeah, it's a nice sword.  I like swords.  That doesn't make me special forces!" said Eric.  His voice was rising in time with his heart rate and the sweat prickling the back of his neck.  The ropes seemed like they were even tighter around his arms and legs, now.  His throat was trying to close up.  Another thought hit him.  "Where is my wife—where's my friend's family?"

"The…how do you Americans say it?  Exotic. 
Da
.  The
exotic
woman whom you claim as your wife.  Yes.  She is quite attractive, for one of your CIA operatives,
nyet?
”   The Russian stared at Erik.

"What the hell are you talking about?  Brin is my
wife
, nothing more!  She's a sales rep for—she’s not working for the CIA…"

The Russian slapped the table with such force that it actually caused Erik to jerk his head back in surprise.  "Enough lies!  We know you were sent here to help raise the local population against us!  We know you are Special Forces, we know your tactics—we've studied your country and your military for generations!  You cannot fool me!"  The Russian adjusted the collar and the trim of his coat primly before continuing in a calmer voice.  "I apologize for that outburst.  My emotions will be getting the better of me—it will not happen again."

"Look," Erik said.  He tried to put as much innocence in his voice as he could.  "I'm telling you, Mister—whoever you are—my wife is
not
a secret agent for the CIA.  She's a traveling sales rep for one of the largest companies on the planet.  I am not a Special Forces officer.  I'm
not
a soldier.  I am a teacher, who got caught up in all of this mess and was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

The Russian cocked his head and stared at Erik like a cat.  A smile played halfway across his lips.  One corner of his mouth curled up.  "The teacher you say?"

“Yes!"  Erik sighed in relief.  "When everything hit the fan, I was trying to write a thesis so I could get a graduate degree in history!"

"So," the Russian said, looking down at the paperwork before him.  Erik tried to take a glance, but it was all in Cyrillic.  It could have been a recipe for
borscht
, for all Erik knew.  "A simple teacher,
da?
"

"That's what I'm trying to tell you," Erik replied.  He could feel sweat start to trickle down his forehead. 
I don't know what the hell I'm doing
, he thought.
I don't know why I decided to join up with Captain Winters!  Why did I do this?  Joining up has caused nothing but trouble for me and Brin…and now Ted's family is… Who knows where.  Oh God, please get me out of this!

"When you were captured, there was another man.  Sergeant Pinner."

Erik tried to lean forward but was backed by the restraints on his arms.  "Pinner?  Is he alive?  Is he okay?"

"I am sorry,
nyet
."  The Russian looked up from his paperwork, and Erik thought he detected an actual note of sadness—the man looked very sincere.  "Your man did not survive.  However, he was not completely useless to us.  On his body we found certain devices that are not available to regular soldiers.  When we scanned our databases—and they are very thorough—we found that your Sergeant Pinner has been an active member in the special forces community of the United States Army for the last five years."

"
What?
” Erik blurted.  Pinner was special ops?  “I…I don't know what you're talking about!  When I signed on with Captain Winters," Erik began, "I had no idea who he was—"

"So you admit then, that you are a soldier?" said the Russian, leaning forward stare at Erik, pen poised to strike on a sheet of paper.

Erik shook his head.  "Look, I told you, I'm not a
real
soldier.  Captain Winters—"

"
Da
. Captain Winters.  Tell me about him.  Your commanding officer, is he not?  He is the leader of your Special Forces unit?  Where can I find him?"

Erik looked down at the plane table.  "He's dead for all I know."  He glanced up.  "He was at our forward command center, or headquarters, or whatever the hell they call it in the Army."

“Ah!  Now we get somewhere!  Good, this is good.  Please continue, tell me how you are
not
Special Forces.  Are you in the Marines?  Perhaps a Navy porpoise?" prompted the Russian.

"What?  You mean a Navy SEAL?"  Erik said with a shake of his head.  He frowned as the Russian scribbled something on his paper and muttered to himself.

"You're not paying attention, Boris!" Erik said.  "I already told you—I'm not in the Special Forces.  I was recruited by Captain Williams," Erik said very slowly to be sure that the Russian make no mistake about what he was about to say.  "To act as a
scout
for the soldiers that were retreating north from the Russians—from you—in the south.  In Miami."

The Russian folded his arms across his chest and looked down his nose at Erik in disbelief.  Erik could tell that the man did not believe him.  "So," the Russian said, "you wish me to believe that you were just an average citizen, going about your business when the Army showed up and forced you to join their ranks?"

"Well," Erik said trying to hide his nervousness.  His voice betrayed him, and cracked.  He winced.  "No.  They
asked
me to join with them.  But I didn't want to!"

"Oh, really?" the Russian said leaning forward once more.  "You were
drafted
then?  Ah.  That is very interesting."  He began writing again and when he had finished, looked up.  “Please, go on.  I am most interested to know how the Army drafted you into its special forces so easily."

Erik rolled his head back and closed his eyes in frustration.  "Like I already told you, I'm
not
in the special forces!" he said to the water-stained ceiling tiles.  He looked down at the Russian again and said: "They offered me two choices.  One, I could take my wife and head north with a pass to get me as far as I wanted through any areas held by our military.  Two, I could join Captain Winters in the Florida National Guard and assist them in scouting their retreat.  When my term of service was up, we would be free to go with all of the supplies we could carry."

"And you, already being a Special Forces soldier, decided to take option two.”

“No—”

“I see…go on…" said the Russian with a wave of his hand.

“You're not listening to me, dammit!  I
told
you,
I am not in the Special Forces!
  I don't know how many times or how many ways I can say this.  I have no special training!  I was given a gun, a uniform—even a vehicle—and told to range out ahead of the retreating American forces to secure safe passage for our troops as they fled
your
advance!  I was given Sergeant Pinner as my aide-de-camp because Captain Winters knew I wouldn't survive more than a day or two out in the real world as a soldier!  Sergeant Pinner was there to keep me alive…to keep me from doing something stupid!  Because… I… am…a…
teacher!
Not a soldier."

The Russian sat there looking at him for another long moment.  Erik counted 15 blinks of the man's eyes.  Other than his slow, relaxed breathing, the Russian moved not a muscle.  When Erik was about at the point where he could no longer stand the silence any longer, the Russian spoke. 

"That is an intriguing tale.  It would explain many things, but not all."

Erik slumped forward in his seat as far as his restraints would allow him. "I don't know what else to tell you—I don't know any secrets, I don't know any tactics, I don't know any strategies.  I am nobody but a teacher who joined up in this fight to help out a friend."

"A friend?  Tell me about him.”

Erik didn't bother lifting his head.  He could feel hope slipping away from him like sand through an open hand.  "Oh, his name's Ted.  He was my commanding officer.  When we made it to that strip-mall—where your men captured us—wait a minute.”  Erik looked up.  “I never saw Ted after he…"   He narrowed his eyes at the Russian, who allowed a slight smile to spread across his face.  "I don't know…
Erik said quietly.  “I don't know what I'm supposed to tell you.  I don't know if I'm supposed to tell you
anything
.  I may have told you too much."

The Russian laughed.  "Now that is the answer of a special forces operative.  Very funny!"  Another chuckle rumbled out of the darkness behind them.  Someone spoke in a deep voice in rapid-fire Russian.  Erik could understand nothing but the tone.  Urgency. 

"
Da
, Yuri.  This is true.”  The Russian turned back to look at Erik.  He cocked an eyebrow, as he gently gathered up the paperwork and close the manila folder in front of him.  He rested his hands on top of the folder and smiled at Erik.  "I think we are done for today," he said simply.  The man nodded, then started to stand up, the feet of his chair scraping across the linoleum floor.

"Wait!"  Erik said.  He tried to stand up but found himself still restrained to the chair and sat down heavily, causing the chair to squeak under his weight.  He looked around in desperation.  With clenched fists he said, "Where's my wife?  Is she okay?  Can I see her? 
Please
…"

The Russian considered Erik for a moment, and looked down at the folder on the table.  He turned to leave, then stopped.  With a quick glance over his shoulder, he said "You hear that?  Through the walls?"

Erik concentrated.  For most of interrogation he'd only heard the Russian’s voice and the pounding of his own heart in his ears.  He tilted his head and turned an ear toward the darkness behind him.  There.  He could just barely hear what sounded like a high pitched squeal.  Then silence, then a muffled thump that echoed through the wall.  Another scream.  His heart begin to race and a fresh sheen of sweat broke out over his body.

"There, you have heard her.  She is alive.  For now.  How long she stays alive is up to you."

Erik was so angry he couldn't speak.  Fear and rage battled in his chest for full rights to grip his heart to a stop.  He watched in impotent fury as the Russian took two steps and disappeared into the darkness beyond the table.  A door opened, flooding the room in the soft afternoon light of an autumn day in central Florida.  The door led outside.  He could see in the few seconds it took for his captor and the other man that had been in the back of the room to exit that they were somewhere off the beaten path.  Instead of blacktop or sidewalk or concrete buildings Erik saw only sandy soil, a few scraggly weeds, and some pine trees in the distance.  He also spotted what looked to be the corner of a long, nondescript building.  There was a brown roof and a wooden sign in front proclaiming—

The door shut with a solid thump and the light was switched off, dowsing Erik in complete and utter darkness.  He closed his eyes and screamed in rage. He struggled with his restraints and could feel the mixture of sweat and blood soak his fingers as he rocked back and forth and pulled on the ropes tied to his wrists and ankles.  The chair squealed and groaned in protest but held firm.  He hung his head down, exhausted and spent.