Tom Clancy's op-center_ acts of war - Tom Clancy [109]
The man stopped with his back to Sondra. "I am the commander," he said in a rich, thinly accented voice. "Your name does not matter to me. If you die, it does not matter to me. All that matters is that you tell us everything you know about the operation of your vehicle. If you do not do so quickly, you will die where you are and we will move on to the young lady. She will suffer a different punishment"--he looked at her again--"a far more humiliating one." He looked back at Rodgers. "When we are finished with her we will move to another member of your group. If you elect to cooperate, you will be returned to your cell. Though you murdered one of our people, you did what any good soldier would have done. I have no interest in punishing you and you will be released as soon at it can be arranged. Do you wish to tell us what you know?"
Rodgers said nothing. The man waited only a few seconds.
"I understand you withstood a cigarette lighter in the desert," the man said. "Very good. So that you will know what to expect this time, we will burn the flesh from your arms and chest. Then we will remove your trousers and continue down to the bottom of your legs. You will scream until your throat bleeds. Are you sure you don't wish to speak?"
Rodgers said nothing. The commander sighed, then nodded to the man with the blowtorch. He stepped forward, turned it toward Rodgers's left armpit, and brought it forward slowly.
The general's jaw went rigid, his eyes widened, and his feet jumped from the floor. Within seconds, the smell of burned hair and flesh made the thick air fouler. Sondra had to breathe through her mouth to keep from retching.
The commander turned toward Sondra. He covered her mouth to force her to breathe through her pose. He was simultaneously pushing up on her jaw so that she couldn't bite him.
"It has been my experience," said the man, "that one member of a party always tells us what we wish to know. If you talk now you can save them all. Including this man.Your people were oppressed. They are oppressed still." He removed his hand. "Can you not sympathize with our plight?"
Sondra knew she wasn't supposed to speak to her captors. But he'd given her an opening and she had to try reason with him. "Your plight, yes. Not this."
"Then put a stop to it," the commander said. "You're not an archaeologist. You're a soldier." He nodded toward Rodgers. "This man has been trained. I can see that. I feel it." He stepped closer to Sondra. "I don't enjoy doing this. Talk to me. Help me and you help him. You help my people. You will save lives."
Sondra said nothing.
"I understand," the commander said. "But I won't let dozens of women and children die every day because others do not approve of our culture, our language, our form of Islam. Hundreds of my people are in Syrian prisons where they're tortured by the Mukhabarat, the secret police. Surely you can understand my desire to help them."
"I understand," she replied, "and I sympathize. But the cruelty of others doesn't justify your own."
"This is not cruelty," he said. "I would like to stop. I have been tortured. I have suffered for hours with electric wires threaded inside my body so there would be no bruises. A dead animal hung around your neck in a steaming-hot cell leaves no marks. Nor do the flies it attracts or the vomiting it induces. My wife was raped to death by an entire Turkish unit. I found her body in the hills. She was violated in ways which I hope are worse than you can imagine." He looked back at Rodgers. "Other nations have made halfhearted efforts to help us. The United States special envoy tried to bring together the feuding Talabani and Barzani factions in Iraq. He had no budget, no arms for them. He failed.