A Rocky Road
a Spooks story
by RoadrunnerGER
Disclaimer: I don't own anything Spooks, the BBC and Kudos do.
Summary: They say that no matter how bad something is, it can always get worse. Long years of Russian incarceration have taught Lucas as much. The latest abuse he has to endure, though, has him teetering on the brink of an abyss.
A/N: Thank you everyone! Genevastar is right, English is not my mother tongue, so I need to forward some of the praise to mandassina. We're complementing each other and I owe so many thanks to her for giving my work the finishing touch! :-*
As it was the trigger for writing this story, I simply had to include one of the most impressive scenes Mr. Armitage has given to us in s7 ep3. I admire his professionalism that resulted in his gut wrenching portrayal of Lucas's anguish surrounding the "Sugarhorse" scene. It's not just a flashback, but whoever wants to skip it won't miss anything plotwise.
After discussing the subject with my beta-reader I decided to stick with T. The show itself is rated 15+ and the story doesn't contain anything overly graphic. Still there are scenes that depict Lucas suffering in prison, including torture. If you don't like reading that, this story is not for you.
Chapter 1 – Forecourt to hell
Panic.
Pain.
Cold.
When an icy gush of water jerked Lucas back to consciousness, he felt disorientated. He gasped with shock and squirmed. His reflexive attempt to get away, though, was thwarted by rope and handcuffs holding him in place where he was tied to a chair.
A groan escaped him.
Shit!
With his returning memory came the fear.
Katya!
Squinting against the bright light directed at him, Lucas tried to assess his surroundings. It was hard to see much and it did not really matter as all cells or interrogation rooms were alike in the end.
Once they had woken him, they made him wait which was worse than beginning straight with the interrogations. This way he had time to think about what they might do to him, and Lucas had a vivid imagination.
He was reasonably certain that he was at the FSB headquarters at Lubyanka Square. The prison there was infamous. Built in the late nineteenth century for an insurance agency, part of the then occupied building was turned into a prison in 1920. Ever since it had held well-known prisoners like Alexander Solzhenitsyn and many men and women whose names would never be known.
Like myself.
Lucas shuddered.
Harry will get me out. He'll arrange for my release. I just need to hold out until he can make a deal with the FSB.
In his current position, though, his confidence felt somewhat forced. Lucas had no idea what awaited him. All he knew was that it would not be anything good.
When finally someone came for him, Lucas could not say that he was surprised either when the elegant man whom he had seen at the library stepped forward.
"Hello, Lucas," he greeted in a conversational tone that belied his dangerousness.
That was a mistake Lucas would not make: underestimating his interrogator. Nobody gained a high position inside the FSB by demonstrating a bleeding heart and lack of ruthlessness.
As Lucas did not respond, the man came up beside him and took hold of his chin to tilt his head back.
"Look at me," he commanded when Lucas would not meet his gaze.
Grudgingly, Lucas complied.
"I have to admit that I was surprised, learning that a British spy was here in Moscow," the man stated. "In times of peace that should not really be necessary, don't you think?"
"I would think so, yes," Lucas replied, and feeling stubborn he added, "Though I have no idea what you're talking about. My name's James Phelps and I'm with Merrill Lynch International."
He expected to get the answer right across his face. The slap, though, did not come. Instead the man chuckled.
"You have spirit, I give you that," he praised, starting to walk around his captive. "Well, Harry Pearce would hardly send an idiot, now, would he?"
Certainly not.
Goosebumps ran down Lucas's spine as it dawned on him that the FSB was too well informed for him to talk himself out of this.
"Aside from that…" the Russian said, "no banker would kill as efficiently as you did." He paused, fixating his captive with a glare that made the spook's hair stand on end. Calmly he went on, "Your name is Lucas North, by profession a spy for her Majesty's Secret Service. You arrived with British Airways flight BA233 at half past three yesterday afternoon at Moscow Domodedowo."
Lucas did his best not to show his surprise. That the interrogator gave away that information so readily was disturbing to say the least, and Lucas felt a very real fear creep up inside of him.
"We have a source, Lucas, a good source," the man went on as if he was reading his captive's thoughts. "We knew you were coming when you had not yet set foot in Heathrow."
The interrogator was right. Lucas was not an idiot. He knew exactly the implication of what he was told.
Someone sold me out?
With the realization came a sickening sensation that spread from his insides through Lucas's whole body until it closed up his throat.
Who? Only a handful of people can have known about the operation. Harry, of course, Malcolm, and Tom… I can't believe one of them would… Bloody hell!
His current situation suggested otherwise, though.
"You're making a mistake," Lucas grunted.
"I do not think that I am the one who made the mistake," the FSB officer stated and stepped up in front of Lucas again.
"Where's Katya?"
"Oh, she is safe."
That could mean anything and renewed fear pierced Lucas. "What have you done to her?"
"Nothing," the interrogator replied in a lilting tone that Lucas had already begun to associate with him. "You see, Katya is a good girl. She was just a little... misguided. She will be interrogated, sent to prison. I will recommend a lenient sentence because she helped us, and if she is well-behaved in prison, she will get out in time to see her children finish school." The interrogator smiled jovially. "You, Lucas, are another matter entirely."
At that a lump formed in Lucas's throat that he tried to swallow unsuccessfully.
"You are a spy, Lucas. You know the dance."
"You can't just hold me here!" Lucas snapped, straining against his ties.
"No?"
It was the simplicity in this single word that chased chills down Lucas's spine. Despite his earlier claim he knew that people simply disappeared in the Russian prison system… he just never expected to be one of them.
"We brought you in for questioning," the man told him matter of factly. "How long that is going to take is entirely up to you."
Questioning! That means that I won't get to see a trial! They'll just keep me! As Lucas did not intend to tell them anything, he guessed that his future was going to be rather bleak. Hope Harry will get me out before I end up in Lefortovo.
"See, Lucas, when Harry sent you to Moscow he knew about the possible consequences… and so did you. Now, we are going to talk and then we will decide. No?"
"Isn't it customary to introduce oneself first?" Lucas growled.
His opposite chuckled.
"Well, as we will be spending a lot of time together, I think it is only fair to answer your question. My name is Arkady Kachimov." Leaning forward he once more tilted up Lucas's head. "Now… do you not want to at least confirm your name? Lucas?"
There was no sense in denial, actually, but Lucas did not offer confirmation either.
"I see, you are very talkative," Kachimov teased.
"Well, that depends on the subject," Lucas wryly replied. "Do you like to cook?"
This time Kachimov downright laughed out loud.
"I like your sense of humour, Lucas," the FSB interrogator declared. "I appreciate a good meal, I really do, but I would rather like to talk about…" with his free hand he fumbled something out of his jacket pocket and held it into Lucas's direct line of sight, "this."
It was the small envelope Katya had given to him at the library. The fake disc. Why's that interesting for you?
"C'mon, Lucas," Kachimov prodded. "We know, Katya gave this disc to you. What were you going to do with it?"
You mean, you didn't give it to her? Lucas was confused. Sure, a misunderstanding was always possible, but he did not think that that was the case here. What should he tell him?
"Nothing," he said, trying to sound nonchalant.
Quirking one eyebrow, Kachimov smirked evilly. "You are risking your life for a whole lot of nothing?" he challenged. "You are a bad liar."
You think?
"You really do not want to tell me?" Kachimov kept insisting.
Lucas shook his head.
"Well," Kachimov drawled in his characteristic lilt, "you should know that I am a patient man, Lucas. I am not so sure about Captain Kuznetsov, though."
Letting go of Lucas's chin, he turned to leave.
The interrogator Kachimov had mentioned did not come right away. Lucas waited for several minutes before a figure appeared beyond the spotlights. Squinting against the brightness, Lucas did not see much of the other interrogator before his chin was hit by a punch that threw his head around. He grunted with pain and had to fight dizziness. The captain did not hesitate to beat him again and Lucas's world dissolved in agony.
xXx
A couple of days that felt like weeks later, Lucas would have happily embraced death if the Russians would have let him. He seriously could not tell how much time had passed and he did not know if he could believe his captors when they said that it was seventeen days either. By now the pain was a constant companion that refused to go away even when he was not mistreated. Lucas did not want to think about what they did to him and it would probably be easier to count what they did not do.
Once it had been so bad that he woke in a hospital bed, restrained by leather manacles on wrists and ankles. Even then Kachimov came to talk with him. It had been a rather one-sided conversation as long as the interrogator expected information about MI-5, but at some point, Kachimov had switched the subject and they had actually talked about cooking. From there they came to sport as well as politics. That was when Lucas became wary. Kachimov had quit then and allowed his captive to rest, but when Lucas woke the next time, the interrogator was already back by his side… or had not even left, he could not tell.
For approximately two days now, Lucas sat in an interrogation room. They hardly granted him any sleep, and even that, he took sitting up in his chair. He had only been permitted to leave his seat a few times to use the toilet or to stand up and sit back in it after one of his interrogators had knocked him out of it. His neck and back and ribs ached, his bum and legs, even his ankles and feet, which had swollen inside his shoes from the lack of mobility and the force of gravity. For the past several hours, he had been suffering intermittent muscle cramps from the strain of just sitting still for so long. He estimated that it was an hour, maybe less, between the sessions that were always led by another interrogator, four so far. Curiously, Kachimov was not among them. Actually, he had not seen him for days, and Lucas wondered why he was not present if he clearly was the head of the operation.
Lucas sat with his head resting on his arms on the tabletop. How long was the interrogator gone now? He had no idea. He was dead beat, though, yet too agitated and in pain to fall asleep immediately. When the door opened, he did not waste the energy to lift his head, assuming that the next interrogator would sit down on the opposite side of the table. Instead guards grabbed his arms and jerked him up from his seat.
Shit!
As much as he ached from sitting still, he could not quite stifle the cry of pain caused by being forced to move so suddenly.
They dragged him out of the room and down the hall to another cell that seemed completely bare. On second sight, Lucas discovered more details, but seeing the wooden pallet on the floor, he planted his feet. Panic hit him full force as he recognized the setting from the training he had received, and though he did not realize it until later, the fear at least drove the pain from the forefront of his mind for a little while. Back then he had been treated to another form of torture, which he was grateful for as he considered the board to be especially horrible. Being confronted with it now a strangled cry escaped him as he tried to break free, but he was no match for the guards in his weakened state. Despite his comparatively fierce struggles they forced him down, coming to lie on his back, and strapped him to the pallet.
In vain, Lucas strained against the leather that was strapped across his ankles, thighs, waist, and chest. More straps tied his hands to the wooden boards. The foot end of the pallet was elevated which made Lucas's position uncomfortable already. Knowing about the agony that was about to come did not make the situation any better. It was cold here in addition. With only a pair of track pants on, Lucas began to shiver and knew that it would become worse once the water came.
Movement beside him caught his attention. The interrogator who towered over him now was female. Lucas recalled seeing her before. During one of the questionings she stood in the shadows of the room and watched. Now Lucas could see her narrow face that was even more elongated by her hair being tied in a tight bun at the top of her head. Maybe that was why he had estimated her to be middle-aged before which was not accurate. Still, her young features did not want to match her stern attire. Out of blue eyes she stared down at him along her long nose. Coldly, indifferently, and Lucas knew without a doubt that he had to expect anything but mercy from her.
She lit a cigarette and took a deep draw. It was a peculiar sight how she folded her left arm under her breasts to put her right elbow onto her hand, holding out the hand with the fag in a perverted ladylike fashion. Looking down at her captive with disdain, she exhaled through pursed lips. The anthracite jacket over a black, round-necked shirt made her look like a governess.
Or a dominatrix. I wouldn't be surprised to see a riding crop instead of the cigarette.
"Rasshazhite mnyeh o tvoiyeh syeti v Moskvye," she snidely said.
"There is no network," Lucas told her firmly.
"Kto chlyen syeti?" she insisted and glanced aside.
Any answer caught in his corded up throat, so Lucas shook his head. Rolling his eyes, he tried to follow the movements of the two guards who still were in the room with them. While one fumbled about with a cloth the other held a big plastic bottle. In theory, Lucas knew only too well what those were meant for and dreaded that those one and a half litres of water that the bottle held would feel like being engulfed by a flash flood.
"Rasskazhi mnyeh pro Sugarhorse," the interrogator demanded.
Sugarhorse? Lucas almost blurted out loud with confusion.
Leaning down to him she blew smoke into his face and demanded again, "Tell me about Sugarhorse."
When Lucas did not answer, she nodded at her helper. Lucas saw him close in with trepidation. The cloth that was put over his face was wet now and the sensation of his breathing being impaired instantaneously put him on alert. He tried to hold his breath for a while, but then he had to exhale… and inhale in turn. The inhalation brought the damp cloth tight against his nostrils which scared the crap out of him. Being unable to suppress it, a strangled cry escaped him which resulted in drawing in water from the cloth into his mouth. He felt how more water was poured down on him. It invaded his mouth and nostrils at once and his gag reflex set in.
More water poured down, though, and renewed panic set in at the terrifying sensation of water flooding down the larynx and trachea as he struggled to breathe. Everything he had heard about this form of intensive interrogation paled in comparison with the real experience. Every cell in Lucas's body just wanted to draw breath, regardless of the fact that there was no air but water. His head seemed to burst and violent coughs shook his body, throwing it into his bonds but only resulting in drawing more water.
I'm dying!
His chest, his lungs, his throat, his head… everything hurt when Lucas started vomiting and his head was released to allow him to throw up. Water sprayed everywhere, got into his eyes and ran out of his nose. Colourful spots danced before his eyes and he gasped painfully for breath.
"Shto takoiye Sugarhorse?" the governess from hell repeated her question.
Coughing was sheer agony and Lucas was hardly able to grasp a clear thought.Hell, what's Sugarhorse? He still was as clueless as before.
"Kto otvyechaiyet za Sugarhorse?"
"I… don't know," Lucas rasped hoarsely.
"Rasskazhi mnyeh pro Sugarhorse!" the interrogator insisted mercilessly with a nod sideways.
A cry of wordless terror tore off Lucas's lips as he saw the bottle above him, water swashing out and splashing onto his face. Turning his head, he managed to avoid it getting into his nose, but it sprayed into his eyes that started to tear up. Blinking, Lucas tried to soothe the burning sensation. He wished he could reach up to brush the water away, but his wrists were tightly bound to the pallet with leather straps. His joints already hurt from his struggles.
"Stop! Just stop it!" he spluttered against the pouring and blew his nose in an attempt to clear his air passages.
"Ladno, nu skazhi!"
"I can't…" he started to beg when another gush of water poured onto his face, running into his open mouth and his nostrils. Struggling against his ties, Lucas tried to lift his head, desperate to avoid the liquid entering his system. His chest hurt as his lungs were invaded which triggered laryngospasm. With his throat sealed against further intrusion, he could not even gasp for breath for a moment. Once more he had to throw up. His first breath then exploded in his chest. Barely conscious he anxiously fought to finish his sentence between coughing, "…tell you… what… I don't know!"
I wish I knew! Really! By now he was ready to tell her anything she wanted, but she just kept asking about the mysterious Sugarhorse. Lucas could only assume that it was the codename for an operation. An operation he was not privy to.
"Tell me about Sugarhorse."
Lucas's answer was rather garbled as he choked it out with breaking voice between desperate gasps for breath, "I… don't know… what… Sugarhorse is!"
Unperturbed the interrogator went on, "What is Sugarhorse?"
A whimper escaped Lucas as he watched the guards prepare their next assault. "I don't know," he pleaded, "I swear! Please, stop!"
As this remained his sole reply the interrogator signalled the guards to go ahead.
Fear robbed Lucas of his breath even before the cloth was tightly held over his mouth and nostrils again. His throat threatened to close as he forced himself not to try and breathe which was futile. The water running down on the cloth first cut off any way of air supply and then filled his head and throat. Squirming in his bonds, Lucas prayed for it to stop.
No more! Please…!
His pleas remained unheard.
The accumulation of carbon dioxide finally forced respiration. Inhaling water, Lucas panicked. Fiery spears shot through his system. His muscles cramped. His body convulsed, rearing in the restraints. Gulping and coughing could not clear his respiratory tract. Spasms shook him uncontrollably. Colourful dots danced before his eyes. His body was shutting down and Lucas went into the darkness with the conviction that he was not coming back.
tbc…
Rasshazhite mnyeh o tvoiyeh syeti v Moskvye, = Tell me about your network of assets in Moscow
Kto chlyen syeti? = Who belongs to your network?
Rasskazhi mnyeh pro Sugarhorse, = Tell me about Sugarhorse
Shto takoiye Sugarhorse? =What is Sugarhorse
Kto otvyechaiyet za Sugarhorse? = Who set up Sugarhorse
Rasskazhi mnyeh pro Sugarhorse! = Tell me about Sugarhorse
"Ladno, nu skazhi! = Then tell me about Sugarhorse!"