The Nostradamus File

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Nick opened his eyes. He was dizzy. The room moved, his vision blurred. He was lying on his side on carpet. His hands were bound with duct tape. Something sticky had trickled down over his ear. Pain pounded behind his eyes. He was in one of the hotel rooms. It was dimly lit. He could see four legs in long pants and two pairs of feet, two sets of brown shoes with thick, quiet rubber soles.

Suckered. His hands felt numb. The tape was cutting off circulation. Why didn't I sense them?

"He's awake."

"Get him in the chair."

American accents. How long has it been? The others will be looking for me.

The chances they would find him weren't good.

Someone grabbed him under his armpits and lifted him onto a straight back wooden chair. Duct tape went around his body, pinning him to the chair. His vision cleared. The headache got worse, like nails being pounded into his skull.

The man who had taped him to the chair was short, stocky, with a face that looked like it had been in more than a few bar fights. Nick could smell his breath, loaded with garlic and something unpleasant. He spoke with the sound of the street.

"He don't look so tough," he said.

"You're not getting paid to think about how he looks." The voice was cultured and came from behind him. Nick had heard it somewhere. Then he remembered. Anderson, the attaché at the Embassy.

As if reading his mind, Anderson stepped in front of him, letting himself be seen. It meant they were going to kill him. Nick's adrenaline kicked in.

"You're thinking your friends will find you in time," Anderson said. "That isn't going to happen."

"What do you want?"

"Come on, Carter, you know what I want. Where is the Ark?"

"I don't know where it is. If I did, I wouldn't be here, would I?"

Anderson squatted down in front of him and looked Nick in the eyes. "Let me tell you what's going to happen. You're going to tell me what you know. We can do it the easy way or the hard way."

"You don't have a better line than that?"

"This is Willy," Anderson said. He gestured at the other man. "Willy likes to hurt people. Right, Willy?"

"Yes, Mister Anderson."

"The first thing he'll do is break your fingers."

"Fuck you, Anderson."

"Now who needs a better line?"

They hadn't bound his legs. Nick ducked his head and launched himself at Anderson, still squatting in front of him. The back of the chair caught him over the nose. It was a satisfying sound. Anderson went down like a stone. Nick rolled over him and slammed into Willy's legs. The man fell down, flailing. Nick tried to get up, but Willy was quicker. Nick saw the shoe coming at him but couldn't get out of the way in time. Everything went black.