Black Camelot by Suninfo

Author:Suninfo
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Bright Dart
Published: 2012-04-25T11:43:07+00:00

CHAPTER TEN

The room was lined with rubber. Floor of rubber, walls of rubber, a door of steel heavily padded with rubber. Only the ceiling, fifteen feet above his head, was plain; it was whitewashed, and the bulb-holder which provided the only light was set deep into it, and covered with a wire grille.

Rasch, naked, had to sit on the floor, for there was no table and no chair; yet he looked at the room with a certain defiant satisfaction. It was a place for lunatics, or those with suicidal urges, and his incarceration there represented a small victory.

His capture had been shattering; he had always sworn to himself that he would never be taken prisoner, that if the moment ever came, he would have one round in his pistol for himself. He was still angry and puzzled that in Dublin, when he had had the pistol, his fury at Conway had in some way overridden that resolve.

His fury remained, but now was walled away in his mind, to reappear upon summons. At the moment of capture, and in the hour following, it had been uncontainable and he had not stopped fighting. In Dublin he had been subjugated only by physical force.

He had fought three men and hurt them all, might have beaten them all if a blow on the head had not made him unconscious.

He had woken to find himself strapped hand and foot, in some kind of windowless van. At Belfast, when there had been light to see, he had found he was in a straitjacket, and despite its restrictions, had fought and kicked as they carried him to the plane; aboard it, in the air, he had tried to kick a hole through the skin of the aircraft’s fuselage until a rope was slipped round his feet and they were drawn up, clear of the floor.

He had fought as they lifted him out of the plane, as they loaded him into another van, as they carried him to a cell.

In the cell they had injected something into his arm, and when unconsciousness came, must have taken off both the straitjacket and his clothes because he had awakened naked. He had also awakened without moving, a habit he had taught himself as a soldier, coming to consciousness with eyes closed, sensing the air around him before either moving or looking. There had been a man in the cell; Rasch had sensed his presence, then heard his

108 BLACK CAMELOT

breathing and glimpsed shoes through a slitted eye. Rasch had struck instantly, expertly and lethally, killing as he intended with a single upsweep of his flattened hand against the man’s throat, hearing the crunch of the crushed windpipe, the great gasp of agony.

He had stood, then, and watched the man die, the contorted face red and then blue, writhing into stillness, as Rasch stood over him, tense with adrenalin, daring others to come to him.

They came, but later. Firearms would have done them no good and they must have known that Rasch,

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