‘Oh he’s sulking now,’ Lauren teased, as James stared down at his plate. ‘Poor little lamb.’
James had made a complete tit of himself and was smart enough to know that anything he said to defend himself now would only put him deeper in the hole.
‘Nice pancakes, sis,’ he said, trying to ignore the giggling and hoping that they couldn’t see him blushing.
‘I wish I had my phone to text Kerry,’ Gabrielle snorfled. ‘She’s going to love this.’
ICE
After a 4,000-calorie pancake breakfast and a shower, James found pillows and a duvet in a wardrobe upstairs and crashed out on a squeaky-framed bed. His body clock had barely adjusted to American time and losing a night’s sleep was the last thing he’d needed.
The sun was bright and the curtains tissue-paper thin. James buried his head but still couldn’t sleep. He ended up putting his earpiece back in and passing three restless hours listening to communications between the exuberant Kazakov and his various teams.
Because the checkpoints had proved so vulnerable to attack from grenades and snipers, General Shirley’s latest strategy was based around snap searches: well armed convoys of open-topped Hummers would halt outside a building, troops would steam inside, force everyone to lie face down on the floor and then search for weapons, radios or any other sign that they were part of the insurgency. This strategy was effective at unearthing enemies and their weapons but the suspicion and rough handling by the soldiers didn’t win many friends amongst the civilians.
‘Everyone’s going down the road to get burgers in a minute,’ Rat said, stepping into James’ room without knocking. ‘You coming?’
James peeked from under the duvet and checked his watch: it was just gone noon. ‘Who’s everyone?’
Rat shrugged. ‘Lauren, Jake, Bethany and me.’
‘Gabrielle?’
‘Nope,’ Rat said, breaking into a smile. ‘Kaz sent her out on some op with Bruce. I heard you’d made a tit of yourself. Is that why you’re looking like a wet weekend?’
‘Along with a few other things,’ James moaned, as he threw off his duvet and grabbed his jeans.
‘What have you got to be miserable about?’ Rat asked.
‘Where to start,’ James said. ‘My anti-terrorist mission went belly up, Dana dumped me, I’ve got a blinding headache ‘cos I missed a whole night’s sleep and apparently every girl on CHERUB campus thinks I’m a dickhead.’
Rat fought back the urge to smile. ‘Not all of them.’
‘I’m ice cold,’ James complained, as he stuffed his feet into his trainers and looked around for the Velcro wallet with his Reaganistan dollars in it. ‘Dana dumped me, Kerry doesn’t want me back, Gabrielle doesn’t fancy me and even the random babe I chatted up in the casino shop started taking the piss out of me …’
‘Yeah right,’ Rat said. ‘You have such problems with the ladies. You’ve had a girlfriend practically since the day you arrived on campus, plus loads more on missions. Thinking about it, that’s probably half your problem.’
‘Eh?’ James said.
‘You know,’ Rat shrugged. ‘Imagine you’re a prospective girlfriend. Everyone on campus knows what you’re like. You cheated on Kerry about six times then dumped her—’
‘It wasn’t six,’ James interrupted. ‘Three... Four tops.’
‘Then you got off with Dana and slept with some random girl the first time you were out of her sight. I mean, a girl like Gabrielle knows your reputation and she’s not gonna be looking at you and thinking you’re great boyfriend material, is she?’
‘S’pose,’ James said. ‘Although why I’m taking advice from someone who fancies Lauren is frankly beyond me.’
‘Fine, ignore me,’ Rat said smugly, as they started heading down the stairs. ‘But I’m telling you, with your reputation you’re gonna have to work hard if you want to get anywhere with any girl on campus.’
‘I’ll have to rely on good looks and charm then,’ James smirked, putting on his watch as they headed into the main hallway.
‘What charm?’ Lauren asked from the bottom of the front staircase. ‘I’ve stepped in turds with more charm than you.’
‘Took your time, didn’t you?’ Jake complained, as he opened the front door. ‘I’m absolutely starving.’
Jake was alarmed by the sight of three Hummers filled with soldiers pulling up outside. ‘Holy shit!’ he gasped, slamming the door shut.
‘Don’t move!’ a soldier shouted over a PA system built into one of the Hummers. ‘Remain calm!’
‘If James hadn’t taken so long we’d have been out of here already,’ Bethany said.
‘Jake, you’re cutest,’ Lauren said, instinctively taking charge. ‘Answer the door, act scared and stall ‘em for as long as you can.’
The house was stuffed with guns and equipment, so there was no way to hide their links with the insurgency. In real life the threat of a dozen highly-trained US soldiers might have brought on a surrender, but as they were only facing simulated rounds the five cherubs pulled on their goggles and prepared for a rumble.
James and Rat bolted back up the staircase. Lauren and Bethany ran into the kitchen to grab their rifles as Jake cautiously opened the front door.
‘Why’d you close the door?’ a major in mirrored sunglasses barked. ‘Who else is in there?’
Jake put on his best scared little boy act. ‘I’m alone, sir. My dad’s out buying cheeseburgers.’
‘Don’t worry, boy,’ the major smiled, resting a paw on Jake’s shoulder. ‘We’ve got a job to do, but we’ll be in and out in a flash.’
Three more soldiers were running up the driveway, while squads of four ran around the back of the house on either side.
‘Come in then I suppose,’ Jake said sheepishly.
Upstairs, James and Rat found their packs. They tooled up with grenades and clipped fresh magazines into their rifles. They had to keep low so that they couldn’t be seen by the soldiers running around the back of the house.
‘I’m counting twelve men,’ James whispered, as he bobbed up to glance out of the window. ‘I’ll cover the staircase, you shoot from up here.’
Lauren and Bethany made similar preparations in the kitchen.
‘You’ve got nothing to be scared of, son,’ the major said calmly, as he nudged Jake down the hallway and through to the living-room. ‘But I need you to kneel on the floor with your hands on your head.’
Three colleagues rushed in after the major with their guns raised. One followed the major into the living-room, one headed back towards the kitchen, while the third started creeping up the stairs.
‘Radio,’ a lieutenant said anxiously, as he spotted someone’s headset on the floor.
The major glanced at it suspiciously, before eyeballing Jake and speaking in a much firmer tone. ‘Does that belong to your father?’
Jake scrambled for an excuse. ‘I was playing outside and found it in the street.’
‘You don’t say?’ the leader said happily, bending over to pick it off the floor. ‘We’ve been on the lookout for one of these so we can hear what our enemies are talking about.’
Jake was on edge, knowing that things might kick off any second. The soldiers all had guns, the other cherubs all had guns and he didn’t fancy being stuck in the middle when the shooting started. His only hope was a pistol he could see holstered under the major’s jacket.
The first sign of trouble was the near simultaneous blast of two paint grenades in the back garden. Lauren and Bethany had pulled pins and dropped them silently through a vent in the kitchen window, before ducking down behind the cabinets.
Four soldiers were hit by the flying paint. As two more stood dumbly and inspected their clothing to see whether they were alive or not, Lauren stood up behind the counter and took them out with well aimed blasts. Bethany spun around and shot the guard who’d come along the hallway.
Upstairs, Rat took aim through a back window and shot one soldier, but narrowly missed the last man standing as he vaulted over a hedge and made a run for it. At the same instant, James poked his rifle between the banister rails and shot the soldier coming up the stairs.
Back in the living-room, Jake made his move. He wailed like the blast had frightened him and wrapped his arms around the major’s leg. By the time the big man realised Jake’s real intentions, the eleven-year-old had already grabbed the major’s pistol and shot him from point blank range.
At that kind of range simulated bullets pack a real punch. The major bawled a torrent of swear words as he crumpled to the floor, clutching at his thigh. Simultaneously, James jumped the entire staircase and shot through the front door, hitting a soldier standing on the front lawn.
Bethany had continued down the hallway and covered Jake’s back, aiming through the living-room doorway and shooting the last of the four men who’d come through the front door.
James was startled by the shot directly behind him and launched a vicious back kick that hit Bethany hard in the stomach. Before she could scream a warning, James spun around and shot her twice in the belly.
‘Ooops,’ James said, as Bethany writhed on the ground clutching her guts with the top half of her body streaming with chalky pink paint. ‘Sorry.’
‘You idiot,’ Bethany groaned. ‘Do I look like a soldier to you?’
‘I think we got them all,’ Jake gasped, as he ran into the hallway. He saw his sister on the lawn and burst out laughing. ‘Oh dear!’
‘Was that deliberate, James?’ Bethany growled.
‘Of course it wasn’t,’ James smirked. ‘Just a happy accident.’
Bethany was tempted to shoot James back, but Mr Kazakov would have her running punishment laps if he found that she’d deliberately shot one of his team.
‘Dead girls can’t talk,’ Jake said, as he pointed at the paint-spattered soldier lying silently on the lawn. ‘See you in twenty-four hours.’
‘Jake, I just saved your butt in case you didn’t notice,’ Bethany growled.
Lauren came out of the kitchen and Rat jogged down the hallway to see what was occurring.
‘Pretty impressive,’ Rat said. ‘Eleven to one kill-ratio against trained soldiers.’
‘Who got away?’ James asked.
‘One bloke scarpered away into the bushes,’ Rat explained. ‘I think he legged it, but we’d better not hang around ‘cos he’s bound to have called for backup.’
James was the senior agent and he had to make some decisions. ‘Jake, Rat, booby trap the inside of the house and the Hummers with grenades,’ he ordered. ‘Lauren, go inside and pack up as many weapons as you can carry. I’ll update Kazakov on the radio, then I’ll be in to give you a hand.’
TREASURE
Bethany headed towards the processing facility to declare herself dead. The dead soldiers walked alongside and they were understandably curious about being taken down by a group of kids with British accents and expert marksmanship.
Bethany stuck to their prescribed back story: ‘Our parents are military staff who live on a British cold-weather training facility in a remote region of Canada. There’s not much to do, so our parents set up a cadet group where we all learn self defence and go paintballing on weekends.’
‘No kidding,’ the major smiled. ‘That little brother of yours had me fooled. Almost shot me in the one place a man don’t wanna be shot…’
As his comrades laughed, Bethany smiled and felt proud of Jake for probably the first time ever.
‘This man Kazakov,’ the major said. ‘Have you seen him? None of us knows what he looks like.’
Bethany smiled coyly. ‘You’ve gotta work harder than that to wheedle information out of me.’
One of the soldiers was dragging behind and the major looked back at him. ‘You OK, Martin?’
‘My stomach,’ the soldier answered grimly. ‘Feels like I’ve got a basketball lodged in my belly.’
‘Know what you’re saying,’ a colleague nodded. ‘I got the same. Must have eaten some bad chow in the mess hall last night.’
*
Jake, Lauren, Rat and James dumped their rifles and equipment back at the apartments before heading off to buy burgers. James dozed through the early part of the afternoon. He woke to find the apartment crowded: Gabrielle and Bruce were back from a sabotage operation, along with Mac and the four SAS toughs who’d been keeping him on the move and guarding him since the beginning of the exercise.
James headed into the kitchen. Everyone crowded around the breakfast bar, listening to a walkie-talkie.
‘What’s up?’ he asked, opening the fridge and downing several mouthfuls from a four-pint carton of orange juice.
‘We’re monitoring the bug in the army command office,’ Mac explained. ‘Looks like your little experiment with the water supply is starting to have consequences.’
James wasn’t sure about Kazakov’s most extreme tactic and was decidedly uncomfortable about sharing the blame. ‘I was following orders,’ he said defensively. ‘Sarge didn’t even tell me what was going on until we were inside the base.’
‘Remember history class? The Nazis on trial at Nuremburg,’ Lauren grinned, before adopting a German accent. ‘I was only following orders.’
‘And the Nazis all got hanged,’ Rat added.
Dark laughter erupted around the breakfast bar. James looked to Mac for some reliable information. ‘So what’s going on right now?’
‘We’re arming sympathisers and making efforts to ambush the snatch squads. Over eighty American soldiers have reported sick already and men from all over are returning to base with stomach cramps.’
‘Sarge told me twenty hours,’ James said, glancing at his watch. ‘So it’s probably just the beginning.’
‘Kazakov’s chuffed to bits,’ Mac nodded. ‘He reckons up to ninety per cent of the American troops will be wiped out with diarrhoea and vomiting by six this evening. He’s got insurgent sympathisers posting fliers inviting the entire population to a free booze-up in the shanty town.’
‘That’s right next to the army base,’ James said, as the full ambition of Kazakov’s plan became clear in his head. ‘There’s a thousand American troops. But over a hundred and fifty have been shot and if ninety per cent of what’s left are sick that’s gonna leave less than a hundred in fighting condition …’
‘We’re talking about full-scale revolution,’ Jake grinned.
A gruff-voiced Welsh SAS officer spoke admiringly. ‘I don’t think the Yanks knew what they were letting themselves in for when they invited Kazakov to do red teaming. He was our main tactical consultant for a decade and I don’t think anyone ever bested him, either in training or on a live operation.’
The youngest of Mac’s guards nodded. ‘The guy’s been fighting wars since before I was born. It’s criminal that they didn’t make him our regimental commander.’
‘Why didn’t they?’ James asked.
‘Protocol,’ the Welshman explained. ‘Kazakov has only ever been a consultant. It would have ruffled a lot of feathers if they’d appointed an outsider. But the man’s a tactical genius.’
As if on cue, Kazakov’s voice came through their walkie-talkies. ‘I need bodies,’ he announced. ‘Thirty-three beer kegs and two hundred bottles of vodka ain’t gonna shift themselves.’
*
General Shirley had started off trying to make friends, then attempted to clamp down with roadblocks after the aerodrome attack. But without the drones providing aerial surveillance the roadblocks were vulnerable to snipers and paint grenades so he’d been forced into using snatch squads.
Casualties were lighter with this tactic. Insurgents were arrested and weapons seized, but with no permanent presence on the streets Kazakov’s insurgents had freedom to move around setting ambushes, blockading roads and recruiting insurgent sympathisers.
War zones in the real world suffer from high unemployment and are filled with bored youngsters. The young men and women inside Fort Reagan were the same, with one TV channel and dwindling reserves of booze.
Most of those receiving the extra twenty dollars a day to support the insurgency were happy to take a rifle and receive basic military instruction from the teams of SAS officers, if for no other reason than that it was something to do. More than a hundred and fifty men and women had been armed and given basic tactical firearms training over the space of a day and a half.
Spies in the shanty town spotted convoys of troops leaving the nearby army base and as the day wore on the SAS officers trained insurgents in more advanced techniques, such as burying paint grenades close to roads and rigging lengths of wire so they’re tripped when a vehicle passes over.
Under Fort Reagan rules any vehicle hit with a spot of paint more than ten centimetres in diameter was deemed to be disabled and the crew inside had to get out on foot.
By 6 p.m. the sun was dropping below distant sand bluffs and ambushed Hummers littered the streets. More than eighty additional troops had been shot for losses of less than half that number of insurgents.
Kazakov sheltered inside a concrete hut in the shanty town, listening to the bug in General Shirley’s command post. The American was suffering stomach cramps and getting increasingly irate as more and more of his troops went down with diarrhoea. He’d even called base commander O’Halloran and asked that the exercise be abandoned because of a possible health scare, but the commander gave him short shrift: you can’t abandon a real war if there’s an outbreak of food poisoning, so why should you abandon an exercise?
In the central square of the shanty town more than a thousand young men and women had gathered to party around a huge bonfire. The thirty kegs of beer hadn’t lasted long, but Kazakov had arranged a plentiful supply of wines and spirits. Rock music blasted, barbecued steaks were served in fresh baps and he’d even brought in a few fireworks.
Almost half the crowd were either armed insurgents or unarmed sympathisers. Normally it would have been unacceptably risky to gather so many poorly trained men and women together less than half a kilometre from a US Army base, but there weren’t enough healthy troops left to take any action.
The only sign of an army presence was an occasional rapid drive-by, with the driver circling the shanty town at his vehicle’s maximum 15 mph speed, while two men in the back surveyed the situation with night-vision binoculars.
James and the rest of the cherubs hung out in a big group just off the main square. Young men were flirting, dancing and joining long queues for the rapidly diminishing supplies of alcohol. Many of them carried their weapons openly and a few of the drunkest even took aim at the fireworks.
‘Need a slash,’ James said, crushing a plastic beer cup and strolling away from the gang.
After the restful afternoon he felt brighter than he’d done all day as he cut away from the square between rows of near-identical huts. The alleyways were crammed compared to the night before when he’d passed through in his stolen officer’s uniform.
He found a staircase cut into the rock, which led up to an elevated area of the shanty town. Three men urinated against the stone sides and a huge lake of piss had collected behind a nearby hut. The residents wouldn’t be happy when they got home, but there was nowhere else to go so James unzipped and joined the fray.
As James strolled back to the party an attractive blonde stepped in front of him and asked if he knew anywhere she could get more to drink.
‘Queues are a nightmare,’ James said, eyeing the girl with her tight fitting shorts and blue and white striped top. Her shoulders were broad and she had a big bust and nice legs; but she looked at least twenty so James figured she was out of his league.
‘I’ve had enough,’ the girl said, stumbling forwards and grabbing James by his arm. ‘I’m horny.’
‘That’s an unusual name,’ James said.
She smiled girlishly and tapped her varnished index finger on her chin. ‘You can call me that if you like, but my real name’s Cindi-Lou.’
‘I’m James.’
‘You’re pretty cute, young James,’ she said, stepping forwards so that her breasts almost touched James’ chest. ‘How about we go and do something your mommy wouldn’t approve of?’
James cracked a huge involuntary smile as the girl put her hand around the back of his neck and pulled him into a kiss. After all the female-related trauma of the past few weeks it was exactly the tonic his damaged ego needed. Lust pulsed through his body as he imagined getting his hands on female flesh.
‘How far’s your hut?’ James asked excitably, reaching across and putting his hand on Cindi’s bum.
‘Not far at all,’ she smiled.
James noticed Bruce heading by to take a pee as Cindi grabbed his hand and started leading him off. Bruce didn’t utter a word, but his expression clearly said you jammy bastard.
‘You remind me of a guy I dated in high school,’ Cindi said. ‘Cute face and a nice ass. I did stuff to that guy that would make your eyes pop out!’
James had an ear-to-ear grin. His cold streak was over. He was still James Adams and there were at least three condoms in the back of his wallet. He could hardly believe his luck as he followed the attractive butt down a cobbled alleyway. Maybe her shoulders were a bit on the manly side, but you can’t have everything …
They ducked through a low door into a gloomy one-room hut.
‘Cosy,’ James smiled.
But Cindi didn’t smile back. A dark figure slammed the door shut as Cindi snatched James’ wrist and twisted it hard behind his back. He struggled but she’d taken him by surprise and pulled his arm into an excruciating lock.
‘You kick me and I’ll break it,’ Cindi screamed.
As the light came on, James’ legs were kicked away and his body slammed face down on to a laminate-topped dining table. He saw two women in army uniform. The oldest one moved in swiftly and locked a set of handcuffs behind his back.
Cindi smiled as she turned James on to his back. ‘I left something out,’ she smiled, suddenly neither horny nor drunk. ‘I’m Sergeant Cindi-Lou Jones, United States Army Intelligence Corps. These other two fine ladies are Corporal Land and Lieutenant Sahlin.’
James smiled and tried to sound cool. ‘So I suppose a shag’s now totally out of the question?’
Sahlin was the oldest and meanest looking of the three soldiers: olive skinned, with a hairy chin. She moved in and punched James in the kidneys. ‘A smart mouth can land a boy in a lot of trouble.’
‘We’ve got rules here!’ James shouted indignantly. ‘You can arrest and interrogate me, but you can’t use force.’
Jones tugged James’ trousers and boxers down with a single violent movement. ‘If you don’t cooperate, boy, we might just be spilling a nice hot cup of coffee down there on your intimate parts.’
‘You let the mask over your face slip and we identified you from the surveillance cams on base,’ Jones explained, as she pulled off her striped top, revealing a sweaty green combat vest underneath it. ‘General Shirley’s looking at a career nosedive if this operation doesn’t start going his way. He’s authorised us to bend the rules if we feel it necessary.’
‘You’d better start talking,’ Sahlin added. ‘Intel-ops officers like me are trained in about a million different ways to hurt little boys like you without leaving a mark.’
‘How come you’re not on the toilet with the rest of the Yanks?’ James asked.
‘The intelligence officers live and eat in a separate building on the far side of the base,’ Sahlin smiled. ‘Seems your Mr Kazakov missed a trick for once.’
Corporal Land was the smallest of the three women. She spoke with a sweet voice like a country and western singer. ‘Ya know what, girlfriends? How about we take James back to all them soldiers, release him in the middle of our base and tell our boys that he’s the one what made ‘em so sick.’
‘For god’s sake,’ James shouted. ‘This is a training exercise. You’re not allowed to do this!’
‘Yosyp Kazakov is making a lot of important people look real bad,’ Land smiled. ‘We don’t like that one little bit.’
James watched as Lieutenant Sahlin pulled a sinister-looking metal probe out of her shirt pocket.
‘Honey,’ Corporal Land said sweetly, moving in close and dabbing James’ sweating brow with a tissue. ‘You’d better start telling us some things we want to hear. ‘Cos when the lieutenant’s little probe heats up and gets shoved where the sun don’t shine, you’re gonna know all about it.’
PATRIOTS
Lauren, Jake, Kevin, Rat and Gabrielle all charged forward into the packed square as Kazakov drove through the crowd, standing in the back of a captured Hummer.
‘The enemy is weakened,’ Kazakov bellowed. ‘Soon the final attack will be upon us. Victory is in sight!’
The crowd didn’t know what to make of this burly man with a weird accent and two days’ worth of stubble.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Kazakov said. ‘You are all Americans. You love America because it’s the greatest country in the world!’
The young and drunk crowd around the Hummer loved this. There were some cheers and rifle shots fired into the air.
Twenty metres back, Lauren turned to Rat and smiled. ‘Now we can add “world-class bullshitter” to “tactical genius” on Kazakov’s résumé.’
‘I know some of you aren’t comfortable with the idea of fighting American troops,’ Kazakov continued, ‘but what we do here this evening will help our army to fight better in future. When the bullets are metal instead of compressed chalk, when the grenades are high explosive not fluorescent paint, American troops will be better prepared.
‘What we do here will save the lives of real Americans fighting against evil all around the world. It’s the patriotic duty of every insurgent to ready your weapons and prepare for the final assault on the army base. Are you ready to kick some butt?’
A moderate cheer ripped through the crowd.
‘Let me also remind you,’ Kazakov went on, ‘you have all signed two-week contracts for this training exercise. If we win this final battle, the exercise will be over and you’ll all receive over eleven hundred dollars for two days’ work!’
Patriotic pride had done its bit, but this appeal direct to the wallet had a much greater effect. Cheers and screams roared through the crowd.
‘Are we ready to attack the base?’ Kazakov shouted.
A blast of yeses ripped through the crowd.
‘Are we ready to kick some butt?’ Kazakov repeated, followed by more cheers. ‘Let’s get up there and storm the base!’
The frenzied crowd started surging out of the square.
‘Don’t forget to wear your goggles and god bless the United States of America!’ Kazakov shouted.
One of the SAS men changed the music playing over the PA system to the US Marine Hymn. A Scotsman punched his fist in the air and started a chant of USA, USA as Kazakov’s Hummer crawled through the crowd towards the edge of the square.
‘Victory!’ Kazakov shouted. ‘Victory!’
The crowd was moving out of the square in several different directions. Many were just here for the booze and headed for home, but the two hundred SAS men and insurgents were emboldened with drink and patriotism and began charging between the lines of huts.
Lauren reached around to grab her rifle out of her pack. ‘Where have James and Bruce got to?’ she asked impatiently.
‘I’m right here,’ Bruce answered, hurrying towards the scene and grabbing his pack from Jake. ‘Ready to bust heads, Brucey style.’
‘So where the hell’s James?’ Gabrielle asked, glancing at her watch. ‘He went for a slash before you did.’
‘I saw him with a piece of tail,’ Bruce said. ‘Hand on her butt. Looked like they were heading off to some hut in the back streets for a bit of fun.’
‘You what?’ Lauren gasped. ‘It’s the final assault!’
Rat grinned admiringly. ‘Can you believe that guy? Was she hot?’
‘Nice T and A,’ Bruce nodded. ‘Bit butch for my taste, but I wouldn’t say no.’
Lauren was irritated at the way they were discussing women and scowled severely at Bruce. ‘I’ll be sure to mention your comments to Kerry when we meet up.’
‘I’m just saying that she was hot.’
‘I hate him,’ Rat said, smiling enviously. ‘I bet James is in some hut right now, bouncing around on top of some bimbo- OWW!’
‘It’s not funny,’ Lauren growled. ‘I’m gonna have words with James. The way he carries on he’s gonna end up catching some disease and having his willy drop off…’
*
James was spread-eagled over the dining table, with his shorts and trousers around his ankles and his hands cuffed behind his back. He didn’t doubt that an army intelligence officer knew how to inflict severe pain if she wanted to. The question was, was Lieutenant Sahlin bluffing? Had General Shirley really got so desperate that he’d authorised his staff to use torture? There were now only two women in the room with him – Corporal Land had been sent out to investigate the loud civilian cheering.
‘Tell us exactly what you did inside the base.’
James turned his head to one side and grinned. ‘Shouldn’t a nice girl like you be home baking cakes and having babies?’