Belly of the Beast
July 7, 2008 SIA Interrogation Room 1706 hours His nose itched. That wouldn't be so much of a problem if his hands weren't cuffed to the table he was seated at. At least then he could have done something about it. Price – Wellman, he corrected himself – sat across the table from him, not looking too good himself. The bullet had missed any major organs and was a straight through-and-through, but Sark knew from experience that bullet wounds hurt, no matter the real damage or lack thereof. "I assume you know why you're here, Mr Sark." Wellman opened. "It's not difficult to figure out. What exactly is it you wanted to know?" "Straight to the point, I see. Very well. We want to know everything you know about current terrorist activity." "What makes you think I know anything about current terrorist activity, Mr Wellman?" "We're not stupid here Sark, and we're not without our resources. We know that you know, but what we don't know is what you know." Sark nodded, wondering just how good their resources were. Good enough obviously to find out his true identity and set up the trap to capture him, but not quite good enough to infiltrate terrorist cells and find out what they were up to. Interesting. "Black Hand. That's the last group I had contact with; they're small, have a few members but are still trying to form a solid base. Currently they are into small attacks on low-security targets while they work up their resources and contacts to be able to move into bigger operations." Gray nodded. "Where is this `Black Hand' group based? Are their operations local or are they an international threat?" "Argentina. Local. They're not big enough to take their operations outside the country. They seemed content to gain fame in their own corner of the world last I had contact with them. Things may have changed in the meantime, of course." "Of course. Tell me: could you make contact with Black Hand if you needed to?" Sark smiled a humourless smile, "I could, if I needed to. But I can't really foresee my needing to any time soon, can you?" Gray didn't smile but sat back in his chair and smoothed a wrinkle in his pant leg. "How's your father's health these days, Mr Sark?" Sark's smile fell off his face at the mention of Alexander Khasinau, his father and former KGB agent. He hadn't missed the inherent threat to his father, who had been unwell of late. He and his father didn't have contact any more, but he kept tabs on him nonetheless. "By your tone, I imagine you already know the answer to that question. I must say I am impressed. My father is a cautious man." "Thank you. He was not easy to track down, but we had some luck a week ago. I trust you understand our need to contact Black Hand, and that you are our best chance to be able to do so." Sark smiled that thin smile again, "Your will is my command, Mr Wellman. I might find it easier to contact who I need to if I weren't handcuffed to a table. I promise not to bite." Gray signalled to a bulky looking man standing outside the room, who saw the gesture through the room's window and moved into the room, unlocking Sark's handcuffs and exiting without a word. "Delightful chap," quipped Sark as he rubbed at his slightly sore wrists, "now, I need a cell phone...preferably a secure one." Gray reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a flip-top cell phone. Opening it, he handed it to Sark, who took it and raised an eyebrow. "Not your personal one I take it?" "Agency phone. Random encryption – it's quite safe." Sark shrugged in acceptance and dialled the number he had been given in case he needed to contact Black Hand for any reason. Before he hit the Send button, he looked at Gray inquisitively. "Was there something in particular I'm supposed to tell these people or is this just a social call?" The dark-haired Brit blushed slightly, "right, yes sorry. Here's what you need to tell them." Sark read the note Wellman had handed him without comment, and hit the Send button on the cell phone. After the usual tones to indicate an international call, the line began to ring. At least they hadn't had the number disconnected. A familiar voice answered the call in Spanish. "Qué." "Diego, es Sark." "Mr. Sark! It has been a while since we last spoke." "Indeed it has, my friend. I have some good news. I've managed to come by some funding for your cause. I happened across a fellow who shares your view on the way things are down there, and has agreed to back you. Not officially of course, his government wouldn't allow that sort of thing. But the important thing is he has promised both money and weapons to your cause. They wish to deliver a small amount personally, to meet the man they are supporting." "Julian my good friend, this is good news indeed. We are very pleased you have managed to pull this off for us. Black Hand will not forget you for doing this thing." Sark contemplated that he was probably very correct about that, though not for the reasons Diego seemed to think. "Diego, it is my pleasure to assist you and your cause however I can. I'm afraid however that I must go, international calls are prone to make the phone bill larger than necessary." The Argentine terrorist laughed a genuine belly laugh at that, "no problem my friend! When shall I be expecting these generous benefactors?" "It won't be for at least another week. I shall let you know closer to the date about a confirmed date." "Sounds good. I look forward to your call!" "Adiós, Diego." Sark closed the flip-top cell phone and handed it back to Wellman. "It's done." Return