Having secured her cooperation, the guards dragged Irina back through the labyrinthine corridors and down to the interrogation chamber where she had previously given a false confession. She hoped against hope that her earlier ruse, in which she had attempted to tip off her comrades about her arrest and possible compromise, paid off and that her associates had moved on to a new base of operations.
Her bare, sweaty skin stuck to the cold chair. With her legs and arms crossed tightly to preserve a semblance of modesty, she stared upward at the interrogator. He stood on the other side of the table, making preparations for her confession on his handheld computer.
"Tell us everything you know," he said calmly after a few minutes. "Names, places, plots. The more you help us, the more lenient your sentencing may be when you go before a tribunal."
Irina briefly uncrossed her arms to rub her swollen left eye. She swallowed the saliva that had built up in her mouth.
"I told you the truth before that I was a low-level operative," she said. "I only knew people on a first-name basis... and in many cases, I'm sure people went by pseudonyms. I wasn't privy to any plots. But... I can tell you where we met."
"Anything that leads to the arrest of more terrorists might cause a tribunal to be more lenient," the interrogator said. He almost sounded compassionate... although Irina knew it was insincere.
And yet, she gave up the location of the only base of operations she knew.
The interrogator threw her prison jumpsuit at her from across his desk.
"Go ahead and put it on," he said. "Now let's get you to the medical ward to deal with those unfortunate injuries of yours."
---
Karina Pavlova worked as quickly as she could to load the few remaining items of value in the dilapidated apartment into a pair of large backpacks. Most of her associates had already cleared the area and taken their equipment with them: Computers, maps, explosives, large weapons. All that remained were a few electronics and some ammo. Working alongside Karina was Natalia Markov, a younger operative who had stayed behind to help her with emptying the last of the gear.
Not long ago, a hidden transmitter had been tripped that indicated one of their agents had been compromised. The only operative currently unaccounted for was Irina Savitsky, a rookie who hadn't been heard from after being dispatched on her first solo mission a few days prior. Once the transmission was received, the task of clearing out the base of operations had begun. Everyone else in the organization had moved onto a new location; Karina and Natalia were scheduled to meet with them in a matter of hours.
That all changed when the door to the apartment came crashing open and a platoon of soldiers rushed inside. Before Karina and Natalia could reach for their sidearms to defend themselves, they were knocked to the floor and pinned down.
"You rebel scum are under arrest," said the platoon commander as he stood above the two women, who were now handcuffed and had hoods pulled over their heads. "Take them away!"
---
Mikhail Chernenko, one of the military prison's two interrogators, looked through the one-way mirror into the room where Natalia Markov, age twenty, was being forcibly stripped of her orange, prison-issue jumpsuit. She was screaming. He had heard secondhand that she bawled nonstop throughout the strip search, shower, and rough haircut that were administered to all new detainees brought into the prison. She should break easily.
Although she was a little on the heavy side, the interrogator admired her pendulous breasts, which were now exposed as the guard had managed to pull the jumpsuit down to her waist. She struggled futilely against her captor, who quickly had her jumpsuit down around her ankles and pulled off her feet. She stood, naked and trembling, facing a white plastic table in the middle of the room. Her arms were held behind her back by the guard, forcing her chest outward.
"Maybe later I can stick my dick between those nice tits of yours," the guard sneered. "Bet you'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"That's enough," Mikhail said over the intercom that connected him to the interrogation chamber. "I know Boris is more tolerant of bending the rules, but when you're working with me, we follow strict protocol." Boris had been the interrogator who extracted the intel that led to Natalia's arrest; although effective, his methods were repulsive to Mikhail's by-the-books way of operating. This interrogation chamber contained the one officially-sanctioned device for obtaining answers from stubborn prisoners, and it was the only method Mikhail used.
"Strap her in," he said into the microphone. The guard in the other room nodded and shoved Natalia onto the table, which had plastic restraints fastened to its four corners. He flipped her onto her back and quickly secured her spread-eagle on the table, then quickly left the room and locked the door behind him.
"I'm going to give you one last chance to start talking before I begin," Mikhail said to her. She was silent, her face full of worry yet still defiant.
Mikhail sighed. He took no pleasure in seeing a woman in pain, but he had a job to do. He flipped a small switch on the console before him. Immediately, Natalia let out a surprised yelp and began struggling against her restraints. After five seconds, he flipped the switch off. She stopped struggling. "WHAT THE FUCK?" she screamed.
The device in the room was something that had been invented by the Americans several decades ago. They called it the "Active Denial System" and used it for crowd control; it was a weapon that emitted high-energy microwaves that heated water molecules in the skin, causing searing pain. The microwaves barely penetrated the skin, so there was no damage to the internal organs.
The Russians had re-purposed the weapon as an officially-sanctioned interrogation tool for military prisoners. When used properly, the device caused intense pain in the victim but left no long-term damage or sign of its use. Mikhail saw no need to use anything else, although his fellow interrogator Boris felt the need to be creative. Mikhail would never say it publicly, but he suspected that Boris was a bit of a sadist at heart.
"I'm going to give you an opportunity to cooperate," Mikhail said over the intercom. "If you don't, I'll turn it back on again." Natalia bit her lip and closed her eyes. She could handle this, she thought.
Mikhail flipped the switch again. Ten seconds, this time. Towards the end of the time period, she started moaning in pain.
"GO TO HELL!" she bellowed hoarsely.
Mikhail flipped the switch. Fifteen seconds. She arched her back and squirmed as much as her restraints would allow. This time, she elicited a loud series of screams. He saw tears start to roll down her cheeks as sweat began glistening across her milky flesh. He was close.
"Let me know at any time if you want it to stop," he said casually into the microphone. She was silent, but the tears kept coming.
He increased the duration to twenty seconds. She screamed the whole time.
"Please, please!" she yelled. "No more!"
"If you want me to stop, then tell me something that I want to know," he said. She shook her head back and forth as she sobbed.
Mikhail flipped the switch again. He reached into his pocket for a cigarette, lit it, and took a few drags. The screaming was really getting to him... he hoped she would break soon. But they always did. Still, she was proving to be surprisingly resilient. He had hoped she would be ready to talk after the first "dose."
He had lost track of how long he left the switch on that time. He disengaged it. She stopped screaming, but was whimpering rather pathetically.
"It's not me you want to talk to," she mumbled. "It's Karina. It's all Karina. I'm just a grunt... I don't know anything. She's my superior officer."
Mikhail extinguished his cigarette. Finally, something he could use.
He picked up the phone.
"Boris," he said. "You might want to up the pressure on Karina."
