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Vlas Sokolov was in hell.
He sat naked on a wooden chair, his hands handcuffed behind him. Every time it fell over while they beat him, they picked it up and began again. He was in bad shape. Both his lips were split and bleeding. Two of his teeth had been knocked from his mouth. He could barely see out of one eye, the other was fully closed and swollen. It felt like something was wrong in his face. It hurt when he breathed. He thought they might have broken a rib.
He no longer knew how long he'd been in the cell with Petrov and his muscular Sergeant, Sergei. Every part of his body screamed at him, begging him to tell them he'd helped Anya contact the Americans. He had sworn to himself he wouldn't betray her, but he wasn't sure he could continue to resist. Sokolov sat in his pain and waited for them to start again, hoping he could endure.
Petrov stood looking at the battered man in the chair and swore. He was getting tired of this. Blood had splattered on his shirt, and he was angry.
"Sergei, bring the generator."
"Yes, sir."
Sergei left the room. Petrov went over to Sokolov and lifted his chin.
"This is your last opportunity to tell me what I want to know," he said.
"Please." Sokolov coughed blood. "I have told you. I don't know what you want."
"I want to know what you and Volkova talked about in the café."
"Chess. I have told you. We talked about chess...old times at the University. Nothing else, I swear. Please, do not hit me again."
Sergei came back in the room, towing a small, hand powered generator and a length of chain.
"Haul him up," Petrov said.
"What...what are you doing?" Sokolov mumbled.
"You'll find out soon enough."
Petrov watched as Sergei looped the chain through a pulley fixed to the ceiling of the cell. He lifted Sokolov from the chair, uncuffed his hands, pulled his arms over his head and cuffed them together. He fastened one end of the chain between them. Then he hauled on the other end of the chain and hoisted Sokolov into the air.
Sokolov screamed. His bare feet dangled a foot above the ground. Sergei tied the chain off to a fitting on the wall.
Sokolov hung, his shoulders in agony. Blood dripped from his toes.
"This is a very effective technique," Petrov said. "The Germans made good use of it in the Great Patriotic War. You see this handle, attached to this wheel? No? Nothing to say? Allow me to explain how it works. Sergei turns the handle and spins the wheel, generating electricity."
Petrov held up wires with large alligator clips on the end of them.
"You've seen these before. The kind you use to jump a car. The faster the handle turns, the more electricity is generated. Sergei, show the professor how it works."
Sergei began turning the handle. The wheel made a metallic, whirring sound as it spun. Petrov held up the two leads in front of Sokolov's face.
"Watch."
He brought the leads close together. A brilliant blue spark arced between them.
"Stop for the moment, Sergeant."
The whirring died away.
"Please...don't do this."
"Only a taste," Petrov said.
He fastened the clips to Sokolov's big toes.
"Sergeant, not too fast."
"Yes, sir."
He began turning the handle. Sokolov screamed and jerked as electricity ran through his body.
"Chess!" he screamed. "We talked about chess!"
"Faster, Sergeant."
Sokolov screamed louder. His body shuddered and twisted.
Petrov held up his hand. Sergei stopped turning the handle.
"He is very stubborn, don't you think, Sergeant?"
"Very stubborn, sir."
"Let's try something a little more tender than his toes. Be careful not to crush them."
Sergei removed the clips from Sokolov's toes and attached them to his testicles. Sokolov groaned.
"Last chance, Sokolov. You won't like it."
Sokolov began sobbing. Tears ran down his face.
"You may begin, Sergeant."
Sergei began turning the handle. As the charge built up, Sokolov convulsed and made a strange, gurgling sound. Suddenly his head dropped forward and he went limp. A thin stream of brown fluid ran down his leg.
"Shit," Petrov said. "Get him down. Quickly."
Sergei undid the chain and lowered Sokolov to the floor. He bent over him.
"He's dead, sir. I think he had a heart attack."
"Stubborn old man."
"Perhaps he was telling the truth. They always talk."
"Perhaps," Petrov said. "Perhaps not. Clean up this mess and dispose of the body."
"Yes, sir."
Colonel Ivanov wasn't going to be happy when he told him Sokolov was dead. There was no use putting it off. He went upstairs to Ivanov's office.
"Well?" Ivanov said.
"It's unfortunate, but the suspect is dead. It appears that he had a heart attack while being interrogated."
"At least tell me you got something from him," Ivanov said.
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"Either he was telling the truth, or stubborn. It happens, sometimes."
"Then there is no evidence against Volkova."
"No, sir. But I'm convinced she is up to something. We need to know what it is. Why else pretend to separate and then meet at the café? They were plotting something, I'm sure of it."
"I agree, it is highly suspicious. But without something more, I'm not going to question her," Ivanov said.
"The surveillance in Stepanov's apartment may provide the evidence we need."
"I would love to find something on that arrogant bastard Stepanov. He thinks he's above our attention."
"May I make a suggestion, sir? Let me put people on her. If she's involved in a conspiracy, Sokolov may not have been the only person she was meeting."
Ivanov considered the request.
"All right, but keep it simple. One man only."
"Yes, sir. Understood."
"We need to exercise caution. She's Stepanov's pet. If he gets wind of our interest, he'll piss all over us."
"Yes, sir."
"Give it a week after Stepanov gets back from Helsinki, then pull the recordings from his apartment. Then we'll see."