Dembe regained consciousness.
First he was aware of his physical discomfort. The ache in his cheekbone, ribs and knees on the squalid concrete floor and the ache in his shoulders from the way his wrists were bound behind his back. The second thing he was aware of was that he had company. His captor was sitting on the floor with one knee bent and the other leg stretched out in front of him. There was a white handkerchief between his arse and the concrete. He was close enough to him that Dembe's field of vision stopped at his chest. Close enough to touch.
'Good morning. You were down for longer than I expected.' His voice was at once crooning and dangerous. 'I don't think I introduced myself to you before. My name's Matias Solomon and I'll be your host for the foreseeable future.'
The veneer of hospitality only served to highlight the power he had over him. It was proprietorial and something deep inside Dembe trembled in remembered fear. He'd been here before. In squalor, lying prone on the hard floor with his hands bound behind his back. Under the power of men who thought they owned him. Thought they were entitled to use him in whatever way they wanted. Dembe craned his head off the concrete so that he could look his captor in the eyes. Solomon's own head was canted to one side, and was that lasciviousness hiding behind that mask of affable geniality, or just plain maliciousness?
Dembe told himself that he was older than he was then. Stronger too, emotionally as well as physically. Then Solomon pulled a woman's stocking out of the bag resting by his side and stood before dropping several billiard balls into it. He swung the makeshift torture device through the empty air a few times. Dembe was glad; this was a sort of pain he could deal with.
'Do you like it?' Solomon asked. 'I find that the downward momentum and the weight of the balls gives a nice, solid thwack each time. And the bruises that it leaves behind are just lovely.'
Dembe didn't reply but it seemed that Solomon didn't expect him to.
'I won't use them on you just yet. I, too, am a man of honour and I won't touch you until after the antidote has been given to your granddaughter.'
Dembe saw that Solomon was gloating. It appeared that he was so sure about his ability to cause physical pain that he didn't think twice about giving up the added fear of uncertainty. And why bother with the pretence of the antidote? They both knew he was probably bluffing and would not hesitate to use her as leverage over him again once he tired of torturing him.
'Here's how it's going to go. I'm going to hurt you, and you're going to talk eventually. Reddington isn't going to save you. Just because you'd risk your life for him does not mean that he would do the same for you.'
Dembe spat on the floor, creating a wet splash on the concrete below his chin. Solomon had no idea. Of course he would risk his life for Red but not because he was paid to. He'd given his life to Red years ago. In turn, Red had given him his soul.
Solomon was right about one thing, however. He couldn't rely on Red to save him.
Solomon had no way of reaching Red with a ransom demand even if he was inclined to, and if everything went to plan it would be three weeks before Red realised anything was wrong. They weren't due to make contact again until after Red and Liz arrived in Spain. He would have to free himself. And quickly, before Solomon got it into his head to make him choose between his daughter and granddaughter or Raymond and Elizabeth.
Solomon had just finished putting away the billiard balls and the stocking when his mobile rang. He picked it up and talked into it.
'Oh, really?' He said, chuckling. 'Well, that is a stroke of luck. I know just what to do with this.'
Solomon hung up and turned back to Dembe.
'You'll never guess what's happened. Elizabeth Keen handed herself over to the Russian embassy and announced herself as a KGB sleeper agent! Now all we have to do is get one of our men to arrange her transport to Moscow and we'll be able to dispose of her just like that.'
Dembe's heart constricted.
Later, after they're reunited, Dembe will gently rib Red about the mess he'd made of his exit strategy. He'll ask him how he missed that Lyle's sister was staying with him and why he didn't give the Troll Farmer content for Liz ahead of time. Red will shrug amiably and comment on the way everything looks far clearer in hindsight. Later, they will sit companionably for a snatched moment of peace while they plan their next move on the Cabal.
But in that moment Dembe was flooded with fear on Liz's behalf, and Red's. Red might have given him his soul but his life belonged to Liz. Red's sense of purpose, his sense of self-worth – such as it was – were completely bound up in her and Dembe knew that if Liz was killed it would be practically impossible for him to cope.
It occurred to Dembe almost as an afterthought that if they both died then Solomon would have no further use for him and would likely kill him as well.
Dembe kept himself calm and still. There was nothing he could do. He would just have to hope that Red would find a way to save Liz as he always had before.