Chapter 4

Sam was utterly mad. During the trip back to the Paladin he didn't unclench his teeth and gripped the doorhandle so tightly that his right hand was white, but he couldn't relax. Kestrel had really been arrested, and he hadn't been able to prevent it. And that fucking Zeller asshole had treated him and his team like shit.

They still knew very little about all this, only the scraps these CIA bastards had handed them with contempt, but Sam wasn't satisfied at all. The CIA was defying him and his team? Then so be it, he thought. They would soon learn who was Fourth Echelon.

In the car, silence was thick as maple syrup. Sam knew his team was seeing his fury, and maybe they were afraid of sparking things off. He couldn't blame them. He had a really nasty temper when angry, a lot like Kestrel in fact, but it seemed his ops had worked hard on it. Thinking about Kestrel and the interrogation awaiting him in the CIA's headquarters made him want to yell and punch wildly, but he had to focus. Kestrel needed him to prove his innocence.

When Briggs parked in front of the Paladin's hangar, Sam hopped out of the van and headed straight for the training room. He needed to let the steam off. And wisely, nobody followed him. He punched Kestrel's special punching bags for a good fifteen minutes before feeling better, and went for a shower. He chose to have cold water, as to help him focus and sharpen his wits.

When he came back to the control room, the team was already at work on their computers. But he went behind Charlie and asked him:

_ Do you think you can obtain that recording?

_ I'm on it, Sam, the tech answered seriously. But it's bloody difficult. I'll take me two days at best to bypass all their security and alarms.

_ Do better, Sam told him. The less we let Kestrel in their clutches the better. What about you, Briggs?

_ My old friends are avoiding me like a plague, his ops grimaced. And the two that are still talking to me don't know anything about the intel we're looking for. They'll investigate quietly, but it'll take time.

_ Grim? Sam asked with a last hope.

_ I'm trying to find the intel by contacting our moles in the foreign agencies, she said darkly, but like Briggs they don't know anything about it. I'm sorry, Sam, but we need time.

Sam banged his fist on the nearest desk in his rage, then strode out of the room. He headed towards the kitchen, wanting to cook lunch to calm himself. The faint smell of Kestrel's oladi still hung in the air, which didn't help him relax. But he concentrated on his meal, choosing a long and quite difficult recipe on purpose to allow his mind to focus on something else.

He set to work and made beef ravioli with a creamy sauce, and a pecan pie for dessert. Then he called his team, and they gathered in the dining cabin. But when Sam saw Kestrel's chain and photo still on the table, he snapped.

_ We must do something! he yelled violently, making his team jump. We can't let him down like that! I want data, and fast!

_ We're working on it, Sam, Grim said calmly, putting a hand on his arm. We don't like the situation anymore than you do. Please give us more time.

Fuming, he wanted to overturn the table, but he breathed deeply and said:

_ You're right. Forgive me.

She swiftly kissed him and sat. He drew a long breath again and went to fetch the dishes, but his mind was with his ops, at the CIA's headquarters, hoping against hope that Kestrel would withstand the pressure.

Kestrel was almost asleep on his chair, in spite of Tomlinson and another clown called Jonathan Dawson yelling in his ears. It was roughly 8 pm, and he hadn't opened his eyes once or made a single movement. As he had guessed, he hadn't been offered anything to eat or drink, but he had no intention of having anything anyway. In Russia he knew the meals and drinks were often "spiced" with drugs, and maybe the CIA would do the same since he wasn't talkative.

So far the two agents shouting had only asked him how he did to obtain the intel and pass it to Kossiak, but as he was playing the statue they didn't make very efficient interrogators. Twice he had felt a fist brushing his head, but he hadn't flinched. On the contrary, he had almost laughed twice already at their self-restraint. Those agents were wet cardboard compared to the executioners who had handled him in Koltsovo. So the circus went on, and he dozed off, staying still on his chair, until a very disgruntled Tomlinson told him to get up and walk to his cell for the night.

Kestrel opened his eyes at once and stared at Tomlinson while getting up, neutral expression on but shooting daggers at him. He was smaller than the CIA agent, but the latter looked a little impressed and worried at Kestrel's face. Then the ops turned round and followed agent Dawson out of the room, where two armed guys were waiting for them. He calmly followed them to a cell, where he was frisked, and agent Dawson took his wallet away. Fortunately he had left his OPSAT in his cabin, so he had nothing else on him. Then all the people left except Tomlinson, who told him quietly:

_ You'd better cooperate, agent Loskov. Staying silent won't help you.

Kestrel stared at him blankly, then deliberately turned his back on him and settled himself on the cot, lying down and closing his eyes. He felt the agent's presence for a few more seconds before he left, and heard the door slamming shut and the locks bolting. His cell was now pitch dark, but he didn't mind. He knew that soon he would be awakened abruptly and brought back in the interrogation room. The agents would try to disorient him by messing up with his internal clock. But he was used to it, he was no rookie. So he smiled softly and fell asleep instantly.

As expected, he had slept for about three hours when the two armed guys opened the door of his cell with a bang, hoping to startle him. But he had a supernatural hearing, so he had heard them approaching on tiptoe, and was sitting on his bed when the door opened, not flinching. He almost smiled at their surprise, but kept his poker face on. He had a role to play. He calmly got up and followed them, back in the small room where two new agents were waiting for him. And the show went on.

Things became harder for Kestrel on the third day. At least he thought it was the third, since he had no clock. He hadn't eaten or drunk anything since his breakfast at the Paladin, in spite of Tomlinson's stubbornness at bringing him meal trays. And that was starting to affect him, but he masked it and stayed motionless as always. Zeller himself had come to interrogate him, but Kestrel had ignored him like everyone else.

So Zeller had decided to intimidate him, and sent in the room two gorillas armed with baseball bats. Kestrel ignored them but surveyed them from behind his eyelids. As long as they were only threatening him he would be okay. But after several minutes of swinging his bat under Kestrel's nose, one of the thugs lost patience or obeyed an agreed order, because he stepped forward and swung his bat, aiming at Kestrel's head.

Swift as a snake, Kestrel jumped to his feet and rose his arm, blocking the blow. The thug clearly hadn't expected it and dropped the bat. He backed away when he realized Kestrel was staring intently at him with his cold eyes, and the ops felt satisfaction in him. He still could be intimidating, then, in spite of his strength decreasing. The other gorilla was hesitating, as he hadn't the right to attack a prisoner on purpose. And as Kestrel sat back on his chair, not threatening him, he had no choice but to back away too, and they both exited the room. Kestrel forced down his smile when he heard Zeller's angry voice from behind the two-way mirror.

_ This Loskov is tough! We're getting nowhere! He hasn't eaten since three days and he still can do things like that! Do something, Tomlinson! We need a confession for tomorrow evening! The president has ordered me to give the recording to Fourth Echelon tomorrow afternoon! We can't waste anymore time!

_ I'm sorry, boss, but I can't see how we'll make him talk. He's way too strong and has steel nerves.

_ Wait till he's very feeble, then ask the doc to inject him some drug with an IV.

_ But...

_ Do it, Tomlinson! I take full responsibility of this, don't be a wimp!

Kestrel heard a door slamming, and exhaled slowly. One more day to wait, then Sam would wring these bastards' necks. He had to hold on until then. But he knew it would be hard. Hunger and thirst were tormenting him, and his forces were declining. One more day to go, Kestrel, he told himself silently. One more day.

Approximately twelve hours later, Kestrel was still on his steel chair on the interrogation room, eyes closed, trying hard to resist as a meal tray with soda and a hamburger with fries was taunting him on the table in front of him. He was so hungry and thirsty his head was starting to spin, but he concentrated hard on his goal, shutting down his primordial needs. He knew the huge mental effort he was making would make him weaker more quickly, but he wasn't going to give in. He was tough, he knew it, and he would resist and stay silent at all costs.

The door opened once more, and he recognized Tomlinson's pace. The agent was very professional and intent on making him talk, but Kestrel had sensed genuine concern from him about his weakening state. And predictably, the CIA guy said:

_ You still won't have anything, agent Loskov? I respect your stubbornness and force of will, but you're endangering your life. At least drink a little, please.

Kestrel opened his eyes briefly, shooting him a contemptuous glare, before closing them again. He heard Tomlinson sigh deeply, then say:

_ As you wish. I'll escort you back to your cell.

Kestrel got to his feet, but staggered. His head was spinning fast, and for a second he was afraid of losing consciousness. But he forced his mind to focus and walked out of the room, flanked as always by two armed guards. Tomlinson was right behind him, and Kestrel knew he was closely watched as to assess his state.

When they reached his cell, Kestrel ignored the guards and the silent agent as always and went to his bunk. But he collapsed on it rather than sitting, and he wondered how much time he had before being completely dehydrated and dying of thirst.

Tomlinson went next to him and said:

_ As soon as you speak, agent Loskov, we'll leave you alone. You don't have to do this. I see you're not feeling well. If you want a doctor, just ask. We'll help you.

Kestrel kept his eyes closed and ignored him. The agent waited for about twenty seconds before leaving him, closing the door. Kestrel sighed deeply in hunger and soon fell asleep out of sheer exhaustion, hoping that Sam and the team would soon clear him.

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