26

'That's the wrong answer – again,' the tall man with the paralysed face snarled. He stepped forward and delivered a stinging backhand blow to the wounded man who sat directly in front of him, his arms and legs firmly bound to the upright chair, his battered head slumped down onto his chest.

Amer Hammad was dying, and he knew it. He just wasn't sure whether the tall man would finally lose patience with him and put a bullet through his head, or if he'd die before that from blood loss.

When the three guards had dragged him back to the house, the first thing they did was call their boss. Then they'd lashed his wrists together and roughly bandaged the gaping wound in his left thigh where the bullet had ripped through the muscles and torn a deep furrow. That had reduced – but hadn't stopped – the bleeding, and Hammad could see a slowly spreading pool of blood on the floor beneath him.

The interrogation was taking place in a small square building in one corner of the compound. The dark stains that discoloured the flaking concrete floor were mute evidence that the building had been used before, for similar purposes.

'I'll ask you once more,' the tall man snapped. 'Who were you with, and what were you looking for?'

Hammad shook his head and said nothing.

The tall man stared down at him for a long moment, then picked up a length of wood from the floor. One end of it had been sharpened to a point. His captive watched him through half-closed, bruised, bloody and terrified eyes.

The tall man rested the sharpened end of the wood quite gently on the blood-sodden bandage wrapped around Hammad's thigh and smiled, the paralysed right side of his face barely moving.

'You probably think I've hurt you enough, my friend, but the truth is I've hardly started. Before I've finished with you, you'll be begging for death.'

As he spoke, he steadily increased the pressure on the length of wood, twisting and driving the end of it through the bandages and deep into the open wound.

Blood spurted and Hammad howled, the incredible pain adding a new dimension to his agony.

'Stop, stop,' he yelled, his voice a blubbering wail. 'Please stop. I'll tell you anything you want to know.'

'I know you will,' the tall man said, pushing still harder.

Hammad's head flew back as a flood of pain overwhelmed his senses, and then he slumped forward, unconscious.

'Put another bandage on his leg,' the tall man ordered, 'then we'll wake him up.'

* * *

Ten minutes later, a bucket of cold water and a couple of slaps brought Hammad round. The tall man sat down on a chair in front of him and prodded his captive sharply in the stomach with the sharpened length of wood.

'Right,' he said, 'start at the beginning, and leave nothing out.'