The Secret Enemy (A Steve Carradine Thriller) by Glasby John

Author:Glasby, John [Glasby, John]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Endeavour Press
Published: 2016-03-28T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIVE

THE FOURTH DEGREE

The harsh light, glaring redly even through closed lids, brought Steve Carradine back to consciousness. He did not move. Keeping his body completely still, he waited while all of his senses came alert like those of an animal. Eyes closed, forcing the lids to remain motionless, knowing that if he was being watched, this would give him away at once, he listened to the noises that went on around him. There was a vague murmur of conversation off in the distance, a sound like a beetle drone that faded and then approached in an oddly disturbing manner, although he guessed that this was due to his physical condition more than to anything else.

He forced himself to recall the events that led up to him being there. He remembered moving along that stone passage with Nerim close beside him. Then that glaring light which seemed to have come from nowhere and his being hit on the back of the head. After that, there was nothing.

A bolt of water, icy-cold, struck him in the face. Coughing and retching, he tried to move now, found that his arms were anchored tightly behind his back. Slowly, his eyes and brain cleared. The musty, decaying smell of the deep dungeon hit him forcibly; yet the harsh, glaring light was oddly out of place in this world of dim shadowed walls and age-old antiquity.

A voice, flat, uninterested, coldly ominous, said from the back of the harsh, actinic light: “Now you will tell me the truth. Who are you? Who sent you here? How much do you know?”

With an effort, he forced his eyes to take in what lay behind the glare. He saw the indistinct shape that sat a few metres away, blinked his eyes as the water ran into them from the hair plastered over his forehead. Straining the muscles of his neck, he lifted his head. The quick look around him made the throbbing at the back of his temples hurt even worse than before. Dimly, he made out the shapes of various implements about him, of light shining off rusted metal and twisted leather straps.

“Do you think you could turn that light in the other direction?” he said, forcing evenness into his tone. “I don’t think too well with it glaring into my eyes.”

“Ah, how inconsiderate of me.” The light suddenly swung away from Carradine’s face and he was able to make out details more clearly now. The man who sat in the chair a short distance away was short, stubby, a large moon face set above a thick-set neck. He sat bolt upright as though on a judge’s bench addressing some felon in the dock and there was a faintly mocking smile on his thick, rubbery lips.

“Thank you.” Experimentally, Carradine felt the bonds that tied him to the chair. They had been pulled tight, giving him no play at all, the knot evidently having been made by an expert.

“Now, to get back to the all-important point,” went on the other smoothly.

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