Vengeance: A Derek Stillwater Novel (Derek Stillwater Thrillers Book 8) Read Online Free Page B

had just passed.
    Harsh male voices spoke in Arabic. Then his right arm was pulled from the sling. He moaned through gritted teeth as pain exploded in his shoulder.
    Roughly someone pinned his arm and immobilized it with rope around his wrist. He struggled to sit up, awareness shooting through his brain. Hands shoved him back down and a strap was placed over his chest, preventing him from moving.
    Close to his face, Sheikh Nazif said, “What is your name?”
    “I told you. My name is Bill Black.”
    “What country are you from?”
    “The United States.”
    “What intelligence agency do you work for?”
    “I don’t work for any intelligence agency.”
    Something heavy fell over his face. Oh shit. He knew what was coming.
    Water poured onto his face. Derek had experienced waterboarding in a SERE course, but knowing what to expect didn’t make it any more pleasant. At first all he felt was moisture, then, because his head was lower than his feet, water started to fill his nose.
    Thrashing his head, he managed to dislodge the wet cloth, but the bag over his head was now soaking wet. Derek inhaled at the wrong time and he started to cough, choking.
    Hands pressed his head down so he couldn’t move.
    Nazif said, “What intelligence agency do you work for?”
    Still coughing, he sputtered, “U.S. State Department. I answer … ” He coughed again, but managed to clear his throat and lungs and breathe again. “I answer directly to the Secretary of State.”
    The voices went back and forth in Arabic.
    Trying to clear the water from his nose and mouth, he gagged. A hand pressed down on his forehead. “What intelligence agency do you work for?”
    “I don’t work for an intelligence agency. I told you—”
    The weight came down on his face again, more water. He tried to hold his breath, but when he tried, someone pressed down on his chest. Gasping, he involuntarily breathed in. Water trickled through the cloth and the bag over his head and into his nose and mouth. Trying to blow it out, he struggled against his captors. No matter how much knowledge and training you had, the sensation of drowning, the sensation of your nose and sinuses filling with water, brought on an instinctual feeling of panic.
    Waterboarding was not the simulation of drowning. It was slow drowning.
    Hands held his head steady. Heart racing, Derek struggled to control his breathing, to stay calm.
    The wet cloth was removed. Water still dribbled into his nose from the mask he wore. But he was able to turn his head.
    “Why did you come to Syria?”
    “To look for evidence of sarin gas.”
    More Arabic.
    “Your president’s so-called ‘red line.’ Did you find any sarin gas, Bill Black?”
    “No. We got in the middle of your firefight first.”
    “What is your partner’s name?”
    “Steve Smith.”
    Hands gripped his head. The cloth came back down. Water filled his nose and mouth. In his chest, his heart raced. Derek experienced panic attacks. This felt like one. His body was reacting to the environment. He was losing control. A bitter metallic taste filled his mouth. He attempted to thrash his way free, but the hands gripped him, elbows pressed down on his chest and legs, holding
him in place.
    “What is your partner’s name?”
    “Steve Smith.”
    “What intelligence agency does he work for?”
    “He’s like me. The State Department.” A lie, but if he told them John was with the CIA they would be more likely to kill him.
    “What was your mission?”
    “I told you—”
    The cloth went back on. More water.
    It went on and on. Unlike the SERE courses, where your health and reactions were closely monitored for undue stress, this didn’t end. They kept asking questions. Except for the question about John he stuck to the truth. Some of the questions went all over the place:
    “What is the U.S.’s intentions in Syria?”
    “I don’t know. I just gather information.”
    “So you are a spy.”
    “I’m an expert in biological and