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Description
Demands

The leader took another step toward Reilly. "Who are you? Why are you here?"

"I could ask you the same questions."

"But I am not your prisoner. Who is this?" He gestured toward me.

"A comrade."

He surveyed me head to foot.

"Where is your other...comrade?"

"You'll never find him."

"We found you."

"But it was hard, wasn't it?" It hit me that Reilly wouldn't have been captured if I hadn't blundered into that trap. He could have left me there, gotten away- yet he'd come back...for me, who I couldn't believe was worth that much to the agents.

"You did make it hard for us. But it was only a matter of time." He turned; walked past Reilly, hand on his chin. He paced back, turned on his heel near me, and stopped back in front of Reilly.

The commander stood staring at Reilly in the moonlight, palm-shadows playing over his features. He had shoulder-length dark hair, a short beard, a powerful physique. He wore military fatigues.

"Are others coming?"

"Others?"

"More following you to this island."

"Why would others come? We were just passing through; we didn't ask to land here, but the storm forced us off course."

"Did you tell them what you found?"

"Tell who?"

"Your superiors. They told you to come here, gather intelligence."

"All we want to do is get off this island."

"But you came armed." He took Reilly's rifle from the man beside him, ran his hand over it. "Government-issue. It's seen some use...According to some of my men, you're a pretty good shot. You meant to shoot Ahmad in the shoulder. You could just as easily have killed him.

"Your agency sent the best, didn't it? They ordered you to land here, gather intelligence, and get out. How did it find out about us?"

Reilly looked away, toward the ocean, like he'd lost interest.

"You work for the CIA, don't you? Or is it the FBI?" He moved to about a foot away from Reilly. "When are they coming?" He grabbed Reilly's chin, turning his face toward him. "When are they coming to pick you up?"

"Two o'clock a.m."

The leader glanced at his glowing watch. "It's four o'clock. Try again."

Reilly leaned his head back against the tree, grinning.

"Are you buying time until they come? Or haven't you contacted your superiors yet?"

"How do you know I even have superiors?"

"Who is the other one—the taller one? And who's this?"

He stepped in front of me and I wished I could shrink down into the palm trunk.

"Who are you?"

I looked up into his face, his forehead about three inches above mine. He inspected me with dark eyes under sharp slashes of eyebrows. He had a young, serious, patrician face with a carefully trimmed beard, and a scar tracing the left side of his jaw.

"You're no agent. Why are you here?"

I looked at Reilly. He shook his head slightly. The leader grabbed my chin and forced me to look at him. My throat went dry. I didn't think I could say anything even if I wanted to.

"Where are you from? Are you American?"

I nodded.

"Can you tell me who your companion is?"

I shook my head.

He smirked. "Do you know who he is?"

I'm not sure, I thought, but dared not say anything. How did I know how much Reilly wanted me to say? He didn't seem to want them to know he was FBI.

"He doesn't know anything," said Reilly. "I'm the one with information."

"But you won't give it to me."

"Exactly."

"I see... I normally am more patient. But tonight I need information as soon as possible."

He motioned to some of his men, who emerged from among the trees to stand beside him.

"If you would submit, it would be easier for you. But like all infidels, when you resist, you give us no choice. Allah's will is law."

"How do you know you are doing his will?"

"I have his Word. Your country will see the Truth, when it is on its knees."

"That day will never come."

The terrorist leader nodded to the tall man on his left, who led the other three in a semicircle around Reilly.

"When are the others coming?"

"I don't know—"

The tall man smashed his fist into Reilly's stomach.

"Who do you work for?"

"Myself."

A man with blond hair slammed his fist into Reilly's face. And again, ramming his head back against the tree.

"Where is your comrade?"

"Which one?"

The tall one kicked Reilly's knee savagely, yelling something in Arabic. Reilly sagged against the ropes for a moment, then stood straight again.

"How much do your superiors know?"

"Quite a lot."

"About--?"

"A lot of things."

A man with a black ponytail punched Reilly in the mouth. And again making blood pour over his split lip.

"Tell me what I want to know."

"I will never give in to terrorists. I will fight you with my last breath-"

With a growl in Arabic, one whirled forward, kicking Reilly in the stomach.

I watched, paralyzed. Hoping they wouldn't notice I was over here, yet longing to shout at them to stop. Feeling sick and terrified.

The attacks on Reilly kept on –the questions, the beatings, the questions. Finally the leader called off his men and Reilly sagged against the ropes, head hanging, tangled hair falling in front of his face. His skin glistened with sweat and blood, and he breathed in hard gasps.

The leader stepped toward me.

"You've seen what we can do. If you give us what we want, you won't have to go through what he did."

I doubted I could hold out that long. I wouldn't just give in though!

"I won't tell you anything." My voice shook.

"You've never experienced an interrogation, have you?"

That depends... "No."

"Your friend has had training, but he will give in. You, on the other hand, who have had no training..."

He motioned two of his men over.

"Who are you?"

"No one in particular."

The man with stringy blond hair pulled a knife from his belt.

The leader nodded.

The man leapt forward. Cold steel touched my cheek. Then the blade slashed across my cheekbone with blinding fire.

"Who is this man?"

My cheek pulsed with pain.

"Who...?"

The one with the black ponytail stepped close to me. I could smell his unwashed body; see a black tattoo snaking up his neck. With a snarl, his fist flew into my stomach. Pain ripped through me.

"Why are you here?" I heard him somewhere in the distance, but mostly I was trying to catch another breath.

Blond hair streaked into my blurred vision. The knife sliced through the rope. I fell forward onto my face, my bound hands unable to catch my fall. I saw nothing for a moment. Then I lay my head against the dirt and dry leaves. A man—Ponytail—was working on something with swift fingers next to one of the trees. He stepped toward me, his black boots planted in the grass in front of my face.

A swish whirred above me and something tore into my back with searing claws.

"Who does your comrade work for?"

'FBI' flashed across my mind. But no, I couldn't say that, could I...? Don't say anything, I told myself. Don't...

Another whistling swish above and the whip ripped across my shoulders, slashing into the shoulder that had hit the rock earlier. I bit my lip to keep from screaming. I tried to struggle away but the whip thwacked down again--

"Stop..." A soft, broken voice. Reilly. "Leave him alone. He knows nothing."

"Would you rather we returned to you?"

"If you will leave him alone."

Footsteps crunched in the dry palm leaves. The men converged around Reilly, who I could see out of the corner of my eye as I lay on the ground.

"Will you tell me what I want to know?"

"Not—easily." I heard the smile tingeing his voice.

The tall man unwound the ropes binding Reilly's chest and legs. Then he swung a kick into Reilly's side and he staggered to the ground. Blondie and Ponytail picked him up, forced him to his knees facing the tree. They pulled his hands above his head and tied a rope around his wrists and around the tree. Blondie took his knife and slashed through Reilly's shirt at the back. Then he ripped most of his shirt away, tossing the shreds to the ground.

"Who are you?" said the leader.

"No one really."

"Why are you here?"

"No reason."

"When are the others coming?"

"Never."

The leader grabbed from Ponytail's hand what looked like a makeshift whip of reeds and thorn branches—probably the one they'd used on me. With all his strength he lashed it into Reilly's bared back.

The leader stepped closer to Reilly. "Give in, infidel." He grabbed a handful of hair and pulled Reilly's head sideways. "You cannot win. Your sick nation will wither and die. We will claim our right to rule–give the world its true religion. Your efforts will collapse—Allah will not tolerate your blasphemy any longer. Do you understand? Your faithless regimes will fall. You cannot do a thing against us! Why go through this? It's futile to protect your government. Just tell me what I want to know."

The whip slashed across Reilly's back again and again until it was a mass of blood, and the whip was torn to shreds.

The rope had slipped lower on the trunk and Reilly lay on the ground against the tree, his hands hanging above his head, his breath coming in wheezing moans.

The leader was breathing hard; sweat darkened his shirt. He motioned to his henchmen and they cut the rope and picked Reilly up, turning him to face the leader. He hung between their arms, swollen face drooping.

"Do you want to die?"

"Not...particularly," gasped Reilly.

The leader cupped Reilly's chin in his hand, lifting it. "Would you rather watch this man die?" He gestured to his men and they pulled me from the ground and propped me up against the tree, my back raging with pain.

"Then tell me what I want to know."

The leader ripped out his pistol and aimed it at my head.

Description
Demands

The leader took another step toward Reilly. "Who are you? Why are you here?"

"I could ask you the same questions."

"But I am not your prisoner. Who is this?" He gestured toward me.

"A comrade."

He surveyed me head to foot.

"Where is your other...comrade?"

"You'll never find him."

"We found you."

"But it was hard, wasn't it?" It hit me that Reilly wouldn't have been captured if I hadn't blundered into that trap. He could have left me there, gotten away- yet he'd come back...for me, who I couldn't believe was worth that much to the agents.

"You did make it hard for us. But it was only a matter of time." He turned; walked past Reilly, hand on his chin. He paced back, turned on his heel near me, and stopped back in front of Reilly.

The commander stood staring at Reilly in the moonlight, palm-shadows playing over his features. He had shoulder-length dark hair, a short beard, a powerful physique. He wore military fatigues.

"Are others coming?"

"Others?"

"More following you to this island."

"Why would others come? We were just passing through; we didn't ask to land here, but the storm forced us off course."

"Did you tell them what you found?"

"Tell who?"

"Your superiors. They told you to come here, gather intelligence."

"All we want to do is get off this island."

"But you came armed." He took Reilly's rifle from the man beside him, ran his hand over it. "Government-issue. It's seen some use...According to some of my men, you're a pretty good shot. You meant to shoot Ahmad in the shoulder. You could just as easily have killed him.

"Your agency sent the best, didn't it? They ordered you to land here, gather intelligence, and get out. How did it find out about us?"

Reilly looked away, toward the ocean, like he'd lost interest.

"You work for the CIA, don't you? Or is it the FBI?" He moved to about a foot away from Reilly. "When are they coming?" He grabbed Reilly's chin, turning his face toward him. "When are they coming to pick you up?"

"Two o'clock a.m."

The leader glanced at his glowing watch. "It's four o'clock. Try again."

Reilly leaned his head back against the tree, grinning.

"Are you buying time until they come? Or haven't you contacted your superiors yet?"

"How do you know I even have superiors?"

"Who is the other one—the taller one? And who's this?"

He stepped in front of me and I wished I could shrink down into the palm trunk.

"Who are you?"

I looked up into his face, his forehead about three inches above mine. He inspected me with dark eyes under sharp slashes of eyebrows. He had a young, serious, patrician face with a carefully trimmed beard, and a scar tracing the left side of his jaw.

"You're no agent. Why are you here?"

I looked at Reilly. He shook his head slightly. The leader grabbed my chin and forced me to look at him. My throat went dry. I didn't think I could say anything even if I wanted to.

"Where are you from? Are you American?"

I nodded.

"Can you tell me who your companion is?"

I shook my head.

He smirked. "Do you know who he is?"

I'm not sure, I thought, but dared not say anything. How did I know how much Reilly wanted me to say? He didn't seem to want them to know he was FBI.

"He doesn't know anything," said Reilly. "I'm the one with information."

"But you won't give it to me."

"Exactly."

"I see... I normally am more patient. But tonight I need information as soon as possible."

He motioned to some of his men, who emerged from among the trees to stand beside him.

"If you would submit, it would be easier for you. But like all infidels, when you resist, you give us no choice. Allah's will is law."

"How do you know you are doing his will?"

"I have his Word. Your country will see the Truth, when it is on its knees."

"That day will never come."

The terrorist leader nodded to the tall man on his left, who led the other three in a semicircle around Reilly.

"When are the others coming?"

"I don't know—"

The tall man smashed his fist into Reilly's stomach.

"Who do you work for?"

"Myself."

A man with blond hair slammed his fist into Reilly's face. And again, ramming his head back against the tree.

"Where is your comrade?"

"Which one?"

The tall one kicked Reilly's knee savagely, yelling something in Arabic. Reilly sagged against the ropes for a moment, then stood straight again.

"How much do your superiors know?"

"Quite a lot."

"About--?"

"A lot of things."

A man with a black ponytail punched Reilly in the mouth. And again making blood pour over his split lip.

"Tell me what I want to know."

"I will never give in to terrorists. I will fight you with my last breath-"

With a growl in Arabic, one whirled forward, kicking Reilly in the stomach.

I watched, paralyzed. Hoping they wouldn't notice I was over here, yet longing to shout at them to stop. Feeling sick and terrified.

The attacks on Reilly kept on –the questions, the beatings, the questions. Finally the leader called off his men and Reilly sagged against the ropes, head hanging, tangled hair falling in front of his face. His skin glistened with sweat and blood, and he breathed in hard gasps.

The leader stepped toward me.

"You've seen what we can do. If you give us what we want, you won't have to go through what he did."

I doubted I could hold out that long. I wouldn't just give in though!

"I won't tell you anything." My voice shook.

"You've never experienced an interrogation, have you?"

That depends... "No."

"Your friend has had training, but he will give in. You, on the other hand, who have had no training..."

He motioned two of his men over.

"Who are you?"

"No one in particular."

The man with stringy blond hair pulled a knife from his belt.

The leader nodded.

The man leapt forward. Cold steel touched my cheek. Then the blade slashed across my cheekbone with blinding fire.

"Who is this man?"

My cheek pulsed with pain.

"Who...?"

The one with the black ponytail stepped close to me. I could smell his unwashed body; see a black tattoo snaking up his neck. With a snarl, his fist flew into my stomach. Pain ripped through me.

"Why are you here?" I heard him somewhere in the distance, but mostly I was trying to catch another breath.

Blond hair streaked into my blurred vision. The knife sliced through the rope. I fell forward onto my face, my bound hands unable to catch my fall. I saw nothing for a moment. Then I lay my head against the dirt and dry leaves. A man—Ponytail—was working on something with swift fingers next to one of the trees. He stepped toward me, his black boots planted in the grass in front of my face.

A swish whirred above me and something tore into my back with searing claws.

"Who does your comrade work for?"

'FBI' flashed across my mind. But no, I couldn't say that, could I...? Don't say anything, I told myself. Don't...

Another whistling swish above and the whip ripped across my shoulders, slashing into the shoulder that had hit the rock earlier. I bit my lip to keep from screaming. I tried to struggle away but the whip thwacked down again--

"Stop..." A soft, broken voice. Reilly. "Leave him alone. He knows nothing."

"Would you rather we returned to you?"

"If you will leave him alone."

Footsteps crunched in the dry palm leaves. The men converged around Reilly, who I could see out of the corner of my eye as I lay on the ground.

"Will you tell me what I want to know?"

"Not—easily." I heard the smile tingeing his voice.

The tall man unwound the ropes binding Reilly's chest and legs. Then he swung a kick into Reilly's side and he staggered to the ground. Blondie and Ponytail picked him up, forced him to his knees facing the tree. They pulled his hands above his head and tied a rope around his wrists and around the tree. Blondie took his knife and slashed through Reilly's shirt at the back. Then he ripped most of his shirt away, tossing the shreds to the ground.

"Who are you?" said the leader.

"No one really."

"Why are you here?"

"No reason."

"When are the others coming?"

"Never."

The leader grabbed from Ponytail's hand what looked like a makeshift whip of reeds and thorn branches—probably the one they'd used on me. With all his strength he lashed it into Reilly's bared back.

The leader stepped closer to Reilly. "Give in, infidel." He grabbed a handful of hair and pulled Reilly's head sideways. "You cannot win. Your sick nation will wither and die. We will claim our right to rule–give the world its true religion. Your efforts will collapse—Allah will not tolerate your blasphemy any longer. Do you understand? Your faithless regimes will fall. You cannot do a thing against us! Why go through this? It's futile to protect your government. Just tell me what I want to know."

The whip slashed across Reilly's back again and again until it was a mass of blood, and the whip was torn to shreds.

The rope had slipped lower on the trunk and Reilly lay on the ground against the tree, his hands hanging above his head, his breath coming in wheezing moans.

The leader was breathing hard; sweat darkened his shirt. He motioned to his henchmen and they cut the rope and picked Reilly up, turning him to face the leader. He hung between their arms, swollen face drooping.

"Do you want to die?"

"Not...particularly," gasped Reilly.

The leader cupped Reilly's chin in his hand, lifting it. "Would you rather watch this man die?" He gestured to his men and they pulled me from the ground and propped me up against the tree, my back raging with pain.

"Then tell me what I want to know."

The leader ripped out his pistol and aimed it at my head.