swab.
“Please,” Henry wept. “I just wanted some rice. I was so hungry. I was tired of the ache in my stomach.”
“Ah,” said the officer, as he stabbed the needle into Henry’s neck. The man pressed the plunger, squeezing the solution into Henry.
“All right!” shouted Henry. Spit flew from his mouth as he said, “I shot the militiaman. He killed the teenager. I had to do something.”
“Excellent,” the officer said. “It is most healthy that you admit to the truth.” He reached up for a drill, much as a dentist once had done, and lowered it toward Henry’s face as he sat down on a stool.
“What else do you want to know?” Henry asked, squirming to free himself.
“Many things,” the officer said. He tied a cloth over his mouth and nose, set aside his hat and slipped on a doctor’s cap. He flipped a switch and the drill began to whine. “First, Henry Wu, do you work for the CIA?”
“What?” Henry asked, bewildered.
“Open your mouth,” the officer said coldly.
Instead of opening his mouth, Henry clamped his jaws shut.
The two Mongolian operatives moved to the chair. They used thick fingers, prying open Henry’s mouth. One inserted a bracer to keep his teeth apart. The other inserted a tongue suppressor, to keep it out of the way.
“You will talk to me, Henry Wu. You will tell me what I want to know.”
An hour and twenty-four minutes later, it was over. The small officer switched off his recording device. Then he used a cloth to wipe the bloody specks from his hands. “Dump the body in the incinerator. Then give me several minutes before you bring in the next patient.”
“Sir?” asked the larger Mongolian.
“Hmm, is that too imprecise for you?” asked the officer. He took off the mask and sipped from a water bottle. “Make it fifteen minutes. Afterward, bring in the next one.”
The two operatives unbuckled the straps holding down Henry Wu’s contorted corpse. Each grabbed a shoulders and hip, lifting the corpse out of the chair. They carried Henry Wu to the mobile Security Incinerator they had brought along for the task. It looked like it was going to be a long day before they were through. At least the position paid well, and they were able to eat enough to keep their normal weight. Not everyone could say that these days. Therefore, they went about their task with quiet resignation, looking forward to tonight’s meal.
Meanwhile, the small officer who had interrogated Henry sat in his chair. He stared into space and smoked a cigarette. For his brief fifteen minutes, he blanked his mind, trying not to think about anything.
-3-
Plans
ANCHORAGE, ALASKA
Two old friends in their early forties played ping-pong downstairs in a basement. They’d first met in college many years ago, both of them highly competitive at intramural sports. They had double-dated then and ended up marrying their girls. Both had stayed in Alaska where they had gone on many hunting and fishing trips together. They were like brothers, and even in their early forties, they were competitive.
Stan Higgins was a high school history teacher. He supplemented his sparse income as a captain in the Alaskan National Guard. His nickname was Professor, and he had read far too much military history for his own good.
Besides being a pastor, the second man, Bill Harris, was a sergeant in the local Militia. The Militia was a recent development due to limited Federal funding and the continuing shrinkage of the U.S. military. The Militia was voluntary, the men paying for their own weapons and uniforms. They mustered under their State’s control and had National Guard drill instruction every summer for those who wished for advanced training. Bill was one of those. The States with the largest Militias per capita were Texas, New Mexico, Arizona and Alaska. The three southern States had large Militias due to the proximity of the Mexican border. Alaska did because so many of the State’s population were hunters and
“Please,” Henry wept. “I just wanted some rice. I was so hungry. I was tired of the ache in my stomach.”
“Ah,” said the officer, as he stabbed the needle into Henry’s neck. The man pressed the plunger, squeezing the solution into Henry.
“All right!” shouted Henry. Spit flew from his mouth as he said, “I shot the militiaman. He killed the teenager. I had to do something.”
“Excellent,” the officer said. “It is most healthy that you admit to the truth.” He reached up for a drill, much as a dentist once had done, and lowered it toward Henry’s face as he sat down on a stool.
“What else do you want to know?” Henry asked, squirming to free himself.
“Many things,” the officer said. He tied a cloth over his mouth and nose, set aside his hat and slipped on a doctor’s cap. He flipped a switch and the drill began to whine. “First, Henry Wu, do you work for the CIA?”
“What?” Henry asked, bewildered.
“Open your mouth,” the officer said coldly.
Instead of opening his mouth, Henry clamped his jaws shut.
The two Mongolian operatives moved to the chair. They used thick fingers, prying open Henry’s mouth. One inserted a bracer to keep his teeth apart. The other inserted a tongue suppressor, to keep it out of the way.
“You will talk to me, Henry Wu. You will tell me what I want to know.”
An hour and twenty-four minutes later, it was over. The small officer switched off his recording device. Then he used a cloth to wipe the bloody specks from his hands. “Dump the body in the incinerator. Then give me several minutes before you bring in the next patient.”
“Sir?” asked the larger Mongolian.
“Hmm, is that too imprecise for you?” asked the officer. He took off the mask and sipped from a water bottle. “Make it fifteen minutes. Afterward, bring in the next one.”
The two operatives unbuckled the straps holding down Henry Wu’s contorted corpse. Each grabbed a shoulders and hip, lifting the corpse out of the chair. They carried Henry Wu to the mobile Security Incinerator they had brought along for the task. It looked like it was going to be a long day before they were through. At least the position paid well, and they were able to eat enough to keep their normal weight. Not everyone could say that these days. Therefore, they went about their task with quiet resignation, looking forward to tonight’s meal.
Meanwhile, the small officer who had interrogated Henry sat in his chair. He stared into space and smoked a cigarette. For his brief fifteen minutes, he blanked his mind, trying not to think about anything.
-3-
Plans
ANCHORAGE, ALASKA
Two old friends in their early forties played ping-pong downstairs in a basement. They’d first met in college many years ago, both of them highly competitive at intramural sports. They had double-dated then and ended up marrying their girls. Both had stayed in Alaska where they had gone on many hunting and fishing trips together. They were like brothers, and even in their early forties, they were competitive.
Stan Higgins was a high school history teacher. He supplemented his sparse income as a captain in the Alaskan National Guard. His nickname was Professor, and he had read far too much military history for his own good.
Besides being a pastor, the second man, Bill Harris, was a sergeant in the local Militia. The Militia was a recent development due to limited Federal funding and the continuing shrinkage of the U.S. military. The Militia was voluntary, the men paying for their own weapons and uniforms. They mustered under their State’s control and had National Guard drill instruction every summer for those who wished for advanced training. Bill was one of those. The States with the largest Militias per capita were Texas, New Mexico, Arizona and Alaska. The three southern States had large Militias due to the proximity of the Mexican border. Alaska did because so many of the State’s population were hunters and
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