She was standing naked in the cell. The temperature in the room hovered just above fifty degrees. No one said a word to her as they uncoiled the hose. She was getting used to the silence; no one had said so much as two words to her since she arrived a little over thirty seven hours ago. The first two hours she was left to sit in an interrogation room, alone, her wrists handcuffed to the desk in front of her. Then, just as soon as she felt her bladder was about to burst, one of the agents who had picked her up came in to free her wrists and allow her a brief trip to the restroom. She was then whisked off to a damp room a few levels below the interrogation room where she had been stripped of her clothing and ordered to put on a pair of white oversized cotton pants and a matching sleeved shirt. The bullet wound to her wrist was glanced at and bandaged and she was once again left alone, the room smelling of mold and age. Forty minutes later she had been transported to another cell, strapped down, her face covered with a heavy cotton towel, making it hard to breathe. Her heart rate had quickened, certain she knew what was to come next; she had been taught this interrogation technique in her training. She had used it only once and the thought of it being used on her was terrifying. But they had refrained and instead left her there for nearly two hours, knowing the psychological torture of not knowing when it was going to happen was probably much worse so early in the game.
They had taken her back to the damp cell afterward, speaking to each other in low tones, ignoring her completely. They locked her back up in her cell wordlessly, leaving her to silently count out the passing minutes in darkness. It was just ten minutes ago they had come for her again, escorting her down two more levels and ordering her to strip. One agent, one she recognized but had forgotten the name of, collected her clothing and handed it to an awaiting agent just outside the cell door. She had worked with him briefly in Oslo just after 9/11. He hadn't looked her in the eye since they had come for her in her original cell, but he wasn't deliberately avoiding her gaze, either.
Gooseflesh crept along her skin. The agent, the one she recognized, blonde and tall and slowly losing the battle of the bulge, connected one end of the hose a faucet located nearly directly across from her. Two other agents watched her, expressionless. The wound to her wrist ached and the muscles in her legs began to twitch in response to the cold. The blonde familiar slowly turned the handle of the faucet until water began rushing out the other end. The water would be cold, she knew, but this wouldn't last much more than forty minutes. Forty minutes. That would be all she'd have to hold out for.
He finally met her eyes without a hint of recognition as he turned the water on her. The cold water cut deep almost instantly. She cried out and turned instinctively away from the blast of water. Once she was soaked, the water stopped. She stood, trembling, her hair hanging limp from her head and dripping ice cold droplets onto her chilled skin. Her jaw clenched when another blast of water hit her. She screamed, and threw up her hands at an attempt to ward off the water. The water stung as it struck her skin, piercing through to the bone. Her lungs no longer seemed able to expand and she couldn't catch her breath. A steady stream began to run from her nose and her eyes pricked with tears.
Not a word said.
Not a question asked.
Yet they continued with enhanced interrogation techniques, only supposed to be used when the line of questioning was met with resistance. So far, there hadn't been a line of question to which she could have been resistant. It seems someone was still a bit angry with her.
A break in the flow of water. Quickly followed up by another dousing. It continued on for what seemed like hours, but realistically couldn't have been more than thirty minutes. By the time they had finished, she had collapsed to the floor, her head tucked in her arms, her body shivering uncontrollably. Without a word, she was pulled to her feet and dragged, naked, down the passageway toward her original cell. She attempted, in a haze, to force her legs to move and regain footing, which only caused her to stumble and nearly tumble to her knees. Grips tightened around her arms and she was roughly righted, without a slowing of pace.
A few moments later, they opened the door to a room, not her cell as she had thought, but another interrogation room, heated comfortably and well lit. She was handed a towel and her clothing before once again being left alone. Her fingers barely gripped the towel, her body still shuddering, as she ran it over her skin. Still not completely dry, but too tired and worn to care, she quickly dressed and took a seat at the table just a few feet from her. She jammed her clenched hands between her knees, feeling the heat in the room and wishing it would start to penetrate the chill.
The only door to her room opened and a wiry man of about five eight or nine and not much more than one forty five joined her. He had an open and friendly face, his red hair was cut in what she noticed was a standard issue cut for most men in any para military organization, and his blue eyes looked almost apologetic when he saw the sad state she was currently in.
She attempted to sit up straight, found her body unwilling or unable to cooperate and had to settle for staring right back at him, her emerald eyes never leaving his. He was alone at the moment, with a silver briefcase in one hand and a camcorder with a tripod in the other. He finally broke her gaze and set up the tripod, mounting the video camera on top before switching it on. The lens of the camcorder was focused directly on her face. He set the briefcase down by his feet. She remained silent until he chose to talk.
"Ms. Norreys." The red haired man didn't smile, but the softness was still there. She continued to stare. Her body continued to shake violently. "I'd like to talk to you." She stayed silent. The man looked her over before taking seat across from her.
"You're a hard woman to track down, Ms. Norreys."
She finally spoke. "Obviously not too hard. You found me." Her words slow and sluggish.
"That we did."
"So, what do you want?" The red haired man cleared his throat and paused for what she figured was dramatic effect. Get her squirming just a bit, even if he knew she wasn't the type to squirm.
"Ms. Norrys, I want to warn you these past hours have only been the beginning. I'm sure you know and understand that. However, cooperation from you will save you a whole lot of pain that is in your future." The red haired man leaned across the table, his fingers intertwined and resting lightly on the metal, surprisingly still cool to the touch despite the warm air inside the room.
She shrugged, apathy settling in.
"One thing." The red haired man was saying. "That's all I want to know. You tell me, you get a hot meal, a long bath, and a ticket out of here."
"Sounds almost too good to be true." She muttered dryly, her eyes still staring into his. "What do you want?" She finally asked after he remained silent for several beats.
"Where is James Bond?"