I shake my finger at him. “Everybody says that, but in the end, everyone talks eventually.”
“You’re a cop. You’re not gonna torture me. Just call the Bacon Patrol so I can wait you fuckers out for 24 hours.”
I lower my head and stare at him like a predator moving in for the kill. “They’re some things you should know about me. I’m not a by the book cop. Let’s paint a picture here, shall we? You broke into my home, a police officer’s home, armed with a suppressed weapon.” I jam the 9mm against his gut. “I’m well within my rights to shoot you in the stomach and leave you to die in your own shit.”
He lets out a smoker’s laugh. “Do you really expect me to beg for my life? Get the fuck outta here. I am not some street thug you’re intimidating.”
“You’re right. I am going to have to work for it.” I peel a layer of duct tape and slap it over his mouth. I press the gun to his knee. “When I was undercover in the Cartel, I was forced to torture people to get information for them. My only other option was to be the recipient of the torture. At the time, I was horrified, I had to do such things just to survive.” The gun fires into his knee, and he lets out a muffled scream. “But after a while, the screams of agony just become white noise.” I yank the tape back.
He groans in agony and forces a cocky smile. “Oh, I see you’re one of them, psychos, with a badge. Aw, what happened, honey? Did little Johnny stand you up at the prom is that why you went psycho?”
I let out a long frustrated sigh. “What is your name?”
“I can tell you’re cut from a different cloth than your usual cop. To be honest, it’s refreshing.”
“You may as well tell me your name. We have your blood at the crime lab. I’m going to find out either way.”
He winces in pain. “Jacob Holt.”
“Do you work for the CIA?”
“A name is all you’re getting out of me.”
“Fine, be a stubborn prick.” He mumbles in protest as I push the tape back over his mouth. I jam my thumb inside his wound and hisses through his teeth, letting out labored breathes. “Do you work for the CIA?”
His eyes are watering from the pain. “Fuck you!” he screams through the tape.
I lean down into his face. “You better start being more chatty, pendejo. Or I will show you how I interrogated people in the Cartel.” His pained eyes are still burning with defiance.
I stroll to my kitchen while stalking him with my eyes. I kneel down under the sink and pull out a funnel and place it on the bar so he can see it. Next, I grab a bottle of Drano and set it next to the funnel. I grab a glass and pour the cleaner in the cup and stroll over to him, staring into his eyes for a moment. “When I tortured people for the Cartel, one of the things we did was give the person drain cleaner. We would jam this funnel down their throats to make sure they drank it to the last drop. Special Water is what they would call it. When we would give them the Special Water, people would die in terrible agony as the water ate their insides on the way down to their stomachs. A nasty way to go, really.” I yank the tape off his lips. “Last chance. Who do you work for?”
A hint of fear is subduing the defiance he had in his eyes. “I’m not telling you a damn thing, bitch.”
I turn my head to the side, leering at him. “You’re looking awfully thirsty, Jacob.” I lunge at him and shove the funnel in his mouth. His eyes widen “Hydration is the pinnacle of good health.”
“I’ll talk!” he mumbles.
I yank the funnel out of his mouth and slam it on the bar. “What?”
“I said. I will talk.”
“Spill it!”
I was never going to pour drain cleaner down his throat. I just needed a good bluff to scare the shit out of him.
He coughs, trying to catch his breath. “I work for the CIA.”
I sit down in the chair. “Are you the sniper who murdered Jane Barrett?”
He exhales. “Yeah.”
I need the blood results to confirm that otherwise, the DA will say he confessed under duress when he sees the gunshot wound.
“Tell me about the Red Rain program who invented it the CIA or MI6?”
“It’s a joint project invented by the CIA and MI6.”
“Drake said something about a drug regimen of scopolamine your people kept him on. He said the drugs were how you controlled him?”
He shakes his head. “Yes, an enhanced version we call ICX. The scopolamine is just an ingredient in the drug that makes him more susceptible to the brainwashing. The other ingredients make him a stone-cold killing machine who kills without remorse.”
“So, you use the drug alone to control him?”
“No, you have to use more than just the drug. You see, you set them up to be controlled with regular drug use and brainwashing.”
“How does brainwashing exactly work in this program?”
“When you brainwash someone, you have to erase their memories, fragment their personalities.” He groans in pain. “Only then can you turn them into the desired personality you want. And the end result is you can set them off with a sequence of words.”
“Funny. I used to think all this shit was just a hoax and material for government conspiracy talk show hosts.”
“Most people do believe government brainwashing programs are a hoax, but the Smithsonian found documents about the CIA program MK Ultra back in the
