Tom Clancy's op-center_ acts of war - Tom Clancy [39]
All other things being equal, Rodgers wasn't sure whether it was good to be identified as an American. Some Middle Eastern groups wanted the sympathy of the American public, and murder didn't get them that. Others wanted the support of Arab extremists, and murdering Americans won them that. If these were the same people who blew up the dam, there was no telling what they might do.
There was only one thing of which Rodgers was certain. The motorcycle was obviously the first vehicle these men had seen--and because of the flooding, it was probably the only one that would be along. They were going to have to make this situation work for them.
Hasan ignited a cigarette lighter and read the passport. "Kuh-ni-git," he said phonetically. He regarded Rodgers. "Why are you out?"
"I came to Turkey to check on the status of the Euphrates," Rodgers said. "When the dam came down, I was rushed to the area. They want my opinion on the short- and long-term ecological damage."
"You came with him?" Hasan asked.
"Yes," Rodgers said. "The Turks were worried about my safety."
Hasan translated for the man behind him, an angry-eyed soul named Mahmoud. The other man was tending to Seden's wound.
Mahmoud said something and Hasan nodded. He looked at Rodgers. "Where is camp for you?" Hasan asked.
"To the west," Rodgers said. "At Gazi Antep." The ROC was to the southeast, and the general did not want to lead them there.
Hasan snickered. "You have not enough gas in this motorcycle for that ride. Where is camp?"
"I told you, it's at Gazi Antep," Rodgers said. "We left our fuel can at a gas station on the way. We were supposed to pick it up on our return." Since Hasan was not a Turk, Rodgers assumed that he wouldn't know whether or not there was a gas station in that direction.
Hasan and Mahmoud spoke. Then Hasan said, "Give me the telephone number of your camp." He snapped the phone open under the lighter. He looked at Rodgers and waited.
Though Rodgers remained outwardly calm, his heart and mind began to race. His main objective was to protect the ROC. If he refused to give them the number, they would surely suspect he wasn't who he said he was. On the other hand, they knew who Colonel Seden was and hadn't killed him. So they would probably hold him as well, at least until they got out of the country.
"I'm sorry," Rodgers said. "I don't know the number. This phone is for them to call me."
Hasan stepped closer. He held the lighter close to Rodgers's chest, the flame burning low under his chin. Slowly, he began to raise the lighter.
"Are you speaking the truth?" Hasan asked.
Rodgers forced himself to relax as the heat spread across the soft flesh of his neck. Everyone who worked behind the lines in Vietnam was taught the rudiments of surviving torture. Beatings, burning with lighted cigarettes, electric current applied to sensitive areas, standing chin-deep in water for days on end, and having your arms pulled behind you as you're hoisted to the top of a pole. All of those were practiced by the North Vietnamese, and sampled by Special Forces operatives who went over there. The key was not to be tense. Tension only tightened the flesh, stretching the skin cells and exacerbating the pain. Tension also focused the mind on the pain. Victims were told to try to count to themselves, divide the suffering into manageable segments of three or five seconds. They had to think of making it to the next plateau rather than to the end.
Rodgers counted as the heat intensified.
"The truth," Hasan urged.
"It is the truth!" Rodgers said.
Mahmoud spoke harshly to Hasan. The young man switched off the flame and sneered at the American. Hasan handed Mahmoud the telephone and then walked over to Colonel Seden.
The third terrorist was standing behind the Turkish officer. He held a pistol pointing down at the top of colonel's head. Seden was sitting up, his back propped against the terrorist's legs. The colonel's head had been crudely bandaged with a sleeve from his jacket. The other