Bill Pepper still sat in the uncomfortable wooden chair, and the light coming through the closed shutters on the window told him that the sun was well up; his stomach was telling him it was near lunchtime. Colonel Croft kept leaving the room and returning and asking the same questions all over again.
Colonel Croft now returned again and took his seat at the desk. “Mr. Pepper,” he said, “I am growing weary of your intransigence.”
“Colonel Croft,” Pepper said, “I have repeatedly answered every question you have put to me; there is no intransigence on my part.”
“Mr. Pepper, go to the door there and open it.”
“Colonel, I have already seen your display.”
“Do as I say immediately.”
Pepper got up wearily, went to the door and opened it. Everything was as before, except that Annie Pepper was seated in the torture chair, blindfolded.
“Return to your chair and sit down,” the colonel said.
“Annie,” Pepper said, “don’t worry, honey; everything is going to be all right.” He closed the door and returned to his chair, this time frightened, but furious.
“Now, Mr. Pepper…” the colonel began.
“No, Colonel,” Pepper replied, cutting him off. “Not now, not ever. I demand to see an official of the American Embassy at once, and if you so much as touch a hair on the head of my wife, I will take it upon myself to see that you will spend the rest of your days regretting it. And if you don’t think I have the juice to do that, you are very much mistaken. This interrogation is at an end.”
The colonel rose from his chair, opened a desk drawer and removed what appeared to be a riding crop. He strode around the desk and stopped in front of Pepper. “Now, Mr. Pepper, we will see how much influence you have.” He drew the crop back so far it was over his shoulder.
Irene Foster was pushing her grocery cart down an aisle at her favorite supermarket in Markstown, thumping melons and sniffing cheeses, when her basket collided with that of another woman.
“Oh, I’m so sorry; I…”
“Irene?”
Irene peered at the other woman. “Margaret Tiptree? I don’t believe it.”
“I don’t believe it, either,” Mrs. Tiptree said. “What on earth are you doing in St. Marks?”
“I retired here earlier this year,” Irene replied. “Is Jim based here?”
“He’s the cultural attaché at the embassy,” Margaret replied, winking.
“Of course he is. What a plum assignment!”
“It’s a great way to ride out the three years until his retirement,” Margaret said. “We like it here so much, we’re thinking of staying.”
“Well, you must come to dinner, soon. It would be good to see Jim again; it’s been years. His work must be boring, though.”
Margaret came closer and lowered her voice. “Not today, it isn’t. Colonel Croft has got Bill and Annie Pepper in his jail, and Jim is worried sick. He’s over there now.”
“I remember Bill Pepper,” Irene said, “but I don’t know his wife.”
“He’s undercover in one of the offshore casinos, and we don’t even know why he was picked up.”
“That’s bad news,” Irene said. “That Colonel Croft is a throwback to the Middle Ages; there’s no telling what he will do.”
“Well, Jim’s all over it, so I’m hoping for a good result.”
The two women chatted a bit longer and made a dinner date for the following week. As soon as they had parted, Irene went to an isolated corner of the supermarket and dialed a cell phone number.
“Yes?”
“Teddy, it’s Irene.”