Part II: Days of Torment

Prisons are hellish place intended and designed to let one reflect on one’s wrongdoing. For a prisoner of the law, they would repent, at least theoretically, on their crimes; for a prisoner of war, prisons are used either as a tool for detention or to change their loyalty.

In the case of Daniel Gillian, none applied to him.

In the dark and humid room, Daniel was blindfolded, unaware of his surrounding. To him, that did not matter- he was a captive. The less he knew, the less fear he had. After all, it was knowledge that instills fear.

The humidity, the silence and darkness triggered the sleepiness in him. He had virtually no sleep at all since he knew he was here, perhaps a day or two, maybe three. There was also nothing to do- he could not move. His hand was cuffed onto the metal chair; his legs were tied together. He could only think. Think about life. Think about what was coming.

Daniel Gillian had no idea of the date and time. He was forced onto this position even before he was conscious. He no longer had a sleeping pattern on any sort. Worst of all, aside from his long pants, he was naked. It was not enough to battle the coldness of the room. It was as if his tormentors had intentionally turned off the radiator, if there was one around. The simplest method of torture.

He heard the sound of a metallic door being opened. “What are these suckers up to?” Daniel muttered to himself as the heavy footsteps of the Ukrainian Army Boots knocking against the concrete floor. Then, a metallic object was slammed onto the table of him.

“Daniel Gillian, British, D506…” Name, nationality, passport number.

He never had a chance to finish. His head was plunged into the cold and icy water before him, unprepared.

Daniel tried to use whatever strength he had at his neck to jerk back above the water. His lungs screamed for oxygen. His hand moved, but it never got an inch from the chair. Every muscle in him clammed, ordering him to get out of the water. But he could not. He was a lamb, tied on rope and slowly dragged onto the road to the butchery. He was dying, as water rushed into his lungs. Every time his lungs tried to cough out the water, only more flowed into it.

The time became still as he desperately screamed and wrenched to move out of the water. Slowly, he lost him strength. His body became numb.

But it was at this very moment that his head was dragged upwards again. A hand slapped onto his back. His body responded by coughing out the water quick and loud, then gasped deeply, indulging the sweet oxygen.

Next, a pail of water was thrown at him without warning again. All of a sudden, his dry body was dripping wet. The cold, which a moment ago was mild, now was ten times worse. It made him wondered what was next.

The footsteps moved again, this time became softer and softer until it ended with the metallic bang again. Then, silence. Daniel sighed in relief. It was over, for now.

Daniel was all alone again. Alone to battle to the cold and silence with his now-shaking body. As soon as it had begun, it had ended.

***

“General Krushnev.” The corporal threw a snappy salute as the general walked pass him. The General saluted back without looking back, then descended the stairs readied for him to join the officers awaiting him on the ground.

Major General Ilya Krushnev was a 48-year-old, still considered a greenhorn among his peers, but he was among the youngest general around. He started his carrier the ordinary way- a private, then worked his way up. By chance and ‘hard work’, he was quickly promoted to commissioned officer and moved up the ladder faster than most officers. No one knew how his rapid ascension happened- no one bothered too.

The general was a sophisticated man. No one could ever predict what he had in mind by looking at the steely blue eyes or the emotions on his squarish face. And unlike most officers of his rank, he was still slim and fit. The five-feet-seven knew he still had a long way to go in his carrier.

“Good Morning, general…” The colonel in charge saluted, along with the others.

“General Krushnev, and you are?”

“Colonel Dmitri Karpov. Welcome to Base Harkiv.”

“Stand down.” The others quickly put off their hand. “I would be using this place as my base of operation as the temporary Director of The Committee, so let’s drop this formality crap. Now, colonel, you claimed the Spetnatz got the stalker who eliminated the Expedition Team?”

“Indeed. But he spoke English only, sir. We could not communicate with him, and we do not understand whatever he had said. I ordered the normal 'stalker handling' procedure.”

“Good. Get me the Psy Corps, an English speaker. And a cup of coffee too.”

“Right away sip” The colonel was about to move away when he paused. “Do you like to see the prisoner?”

The general thought. “Yes, I want to meet him… personally.”

The first thing The General saw through the thick glass was a battered man in blindfold, shivering in cold. Poor lad, the general thought as he saw the muscular body under the dim ceiling menthol. He should have stayed where was he before, instead of coming to The Zone..

When General Krushnev entered the room, he walked straight towards the prisoner. “Hello”

“Daniel Gillian, British, D506731.”

“Impressive.” The general quipped. The trained P.O.W response. “But that would not work here. You are under military custody for illegal trespassing AND killing government VIP, in a Special Force base. What makes you think that your country would be here to fetch you?”

“Have you considered that anyone here can be…”

“A spy? Not a chance. Everyone here had no outside contact at all. Here, nobody speaks English, let alone work for one. I can see you are ex-military. SAS?”

Daniel was silent.

“Since you refuse to speak fine. But remember, I know you British. I am a Sand Hurst graduate. I know how you think, how you would react. You better start cooperating soon or else…” The general had a menacing tone in his voice before he walked out.

“Hey, it will be more impressive if you are a Hereford graduate, mate.” Daniel retorted, but the general ignored him.

“What do you think of him?” The colonel asked as The General closed the door.

“Stubborn, but breakable. I am sure of it.” It was then a corporal approached.

“General, your call in the office.”

After General Krushnev laid back comfortably onto the red leather chair, he picked up the phone.

“General Krushnev.”

“General, it had been confirmed. You are now promoted to The Director of the Chernobyl Zone Defense and Response Committee. General Badin was removed due to…”

“I know, Colonel Kulasky.”

“That’ll be all. The president and the Commander heartily congratulate you.”

“Thank you.”

As he put down the phone, The General smiled to himself. The Director. He had full power now. Officially, he owned The Zone. His effort paid off.

***

An hour later, General Krushnev hold his black army cap as the wind from the Hind-D rotors waved through the air. After the chopper touched down, a lanky young major rushed out with his duffel bag and a few suitcase.

“Major Boris Zhukovsky, I presumed?” He looked at the boyish young face.

“Yes sir. Good morning, general. I was told I’d be here for sometime.”

“Yes, I have a stubborn prisoner who required your persuasion.” The general studied the major. “I thought the Psy Ops was suppose to be big and strong?”

“No sir. We Psy Ops play with the mind. The ordinary soldiers do the physical work. And size don’t intimidated prisoners anymore these days liked they did in the old days.”

“Your experience?”

“So far, not yet. I learnt my English, then sent for training by The Government to the United States via the ‘Partnership for Peace’ program. Major in interrogation and psychological warfare.” The Americans were supposed to be the enemy, the general thought. So much for Mother Russia, at least then, before independence.

“Anything that might be useful, sir?”

“The man is a stalker. Caught in Military Restricted Area, captured with the body of 12 scientists and 18 escorts.”

“He did all that?” The major asked ludicrously

“Yes, he did. He refused to admit it, so this is where you come in…”

“General, you have to understand something about my trade. If he did it, he would admit it easily enough- call that sense of guilt. But if he did not do it, it will be foolhardy to try, especially if he had training.”

“I suspected he did, major. He is British, secretive. Might be SAS.”

“Then general, you better hope he is not. SAS are...”

“I know. Spare me the details.”

“But enough of talking. When can we get started?”

“Anytime you’re ready. He is not going anywhere.”

“Excellent. Put him in a soundproof room- you don’t want to hear the effects. The room must be fully lighted-white light, florescence lamp preferably. And leave this bottle open in the room.”

Taking a sniff, the general said, “This would not kill him, would it?” A second later, he regretted. “Hell, Bromine!”

“Correct. You still remember you chemistry.” The major smiled. “Imagine your captive having that for an hour.”

“Hell, where did you learn all that?”

“That’s what you get from American training, my dear sir.”

“Well, what you requested could be arranged.” The general was still panting from the mistake he just made.

***

An hour later, the major slowly went into the room with a gas mask, for he himself could not stand the piercing smell of the halogen. Of course, if everyone could stand it, would the technique still be in used? He smiled while he walked in. As he slowly closed the door, the major stared in astonishment at the captive. He was still breathing shallowly, not hallucinating by the lack of oxygen.

“Interesting.” He said to himself. According to the book, the man should be unconscious, vomiting, or hallucinating. But had no fear, he told him: they wouldn’t make it from here.

“And you are?”

“Daniel Gillian, British, D506731.”

“Now, let’s get started with the basics. What is your former occupation?”

Silence.

“I am most sorry to do this, but unfortunately, I must. Don’t blame me.” He motioned to the mirror at the side of the room. “Since you refuse to co-operate, I presume you know electrolysis? Trust me, it can break you.” He spoke with two soldiers rolling in a transformer, wires and two clips. “There is always time for turning back.”

“Now, I ask you again. What is your former occupation?” He was impatient as he clipped the wire onto the prisoner’s ear. It was only silence that greeted him, again.

Frustrated, he pressed a knob on the transformer. The prisoner responded by jerking up and down, writhing and screaming in pain.

“I ask you again. What did you do before you came here?”

When the major finally emerged from the room, slamming the metal door shut in the process, the general rushed to meet him.

“Any luck?”

“Sir, you saw it yourself. He did not break to the last minute. I am most confident he had training- either he was a Christian Missionary, a Buddhist Monk or a Special Force. Which,” he smiled, “the latter is in question.”

“Yes, I saw your work. Any other plans?”

“Music Therapy. Get three speakers and a CD player, all facing the prisoner.” The Major smiled. “Music had such a calming effect, don’t you think?”

The general shrugged. “Works for me. Come, join me for tea. It is four already.”

***

Daniel raised his head wearily as three military personnel rolled in speakers and a CD player. He was exhausted after the electrocution. Right now, he could really use some sleep, but not in this hanging position from a wall. After those men were done, they left.

“What do these suckers had in mind? Tchaivosky?” The stalker smirked.

His interrogator appeared, this time with the reflective side of a CD in his hand.

“Trust me, you are going to like this. Don’t worry, it’s in English.” The major spoke as he delicately placed the CD to its rightful place and left. “Enjoy it.”

When the music starts, Daniel almost burst out in laughter. It was a cheap rock song from T.A.t.u, a Russian group during his sophomore years. He even knew the starting lyrics: “All the things you said, running through my head…” He smiled to himself. What can this do?

But after a while, the music was not as comfortable anymore. His heartbeat became faster, then erratic as the song replayed several times .The bass beat irritated him, as his bloodshot eyes flickered with the rhythm. He could not think properly. His ears felt like stuffed with cotton from the echo that moved around the room.

That was only the beginning.

Soon, his blood pressure rose, causing a banging migraine, as if his head wanted to explode. The sharp white lights began to stunt his tired eyes. He wanted desperately to close his ears, but his chained hand never got an inch near his head. His vision blurred. Everything started to go in circles and topsy-turvy for him.

Worse, the equipment was arranged in such a way that it was only a few meters away from him, yet he could not do anything to turn it down. It was meant to create a sense of helplessness, and it was succeeding.

At the last stage, Daniel could not take it anymore as the song repeated for the 30th time. He started jumping restlessly, trying to reach for the stereo’s switch. The migraine and the CD player made Daniel numb to the wounds from the pricked handcuff that had caused painful wounds to his hand. But no, that was not possible. He just could not reach the stereo.

In the end, Daniel collapsed in exhaustion from trying. He fainted from his tired mind. Even though his body was in an unfavorable position, he rested on - his drained body was too tied to care as he slumped forward unconscious with the last line of the song “Yes, I lost my mind” echoed into the empty space, then restarted again.

***

An hour passed.

The major walked into the room to turn off the player, his ears muffled and a pail of water with him. Surprised to see Daniel sound asleep, he raised an eyebrow. Although getting chances to use his expertise was uncommon, his training told him that this should have worked- the prisoners should be begging to be freed, theoretically. But this man in front seems to go against everything he learnt.

The major sighed, then threw the content of the pail at the prisoner. The inmate was jerked awake by the sudden cold.

“I trust you enjoy the song?” Silence.

“Now, would you tell me what did you do in the UK before you came here?”

“Daniel Gillian, British, D506731…” The weak voice went through the silence.

The major stormed out of the room.

“Sir, your prisoner is one tough son of a bitch.”

“Ah, now you are beginning to realize the seriousness of this situation, my dear major.”

“Why don’t you just jail him? Save both of us a lot of time.”

“No, I am going for execution. That’s why I need his confession. So, any other plans?”

“Well, I do have two more tricks that might work in my sleeve. But I need your phone first, sir. In the mean time, throw him in a cell, a dark one. About time we tried to negotiate our way into his mind.”

***

A weak Daniel stared wearily at two big thugs who were coming into the room. But before he could comprehended what was happening, both of them started to beat him, punch and kicked him as if he was some kind of punch bag. Worse of all, every shot hurt- they were professionals after all. After a few times, someone took a big potato sack and covered it onto his head. His hand and legs were tied.

Daniel could only know that he was being dragged like a cow onto the cold corridors of the base by them, then thrown in somewhere dark and humid.

It was cold again, this time worse then his previous encounter. A rotting smell loomed in the air, and it was the smell that was intolerable.

Soon, he heard rats.

As he struggled to move, the rats crawl all over him. There was this feeling when a rat stepped over one’s body- it felt itchy, but when the mind knew it was the doing of a rat, the body would move in response and tried to shake them off.

His cell opened again. This time, someone threw in bread-he knew the smell. But the rats got it first. And as a normal human being, he never ate anything eaten by rats. So he starved on.

Next, he heard a door opened next to his room, and a body being thrown in, then the door bang shut.

“Hello?” Daniel shouted.

“Who are you?” Even though there was a wall, the noise made it through.

“A stalker.”

“Look likes I am not the only one here. And where are you from?”

“United Kingdom.” Something was not right here- the man was too friendly.

“How long have you been in here?”

“A few days.”

“Then how could you… ah! Rats!” The voice sounded frightened. “How could you have last that long here? These bastards are animals!”

If his interrogator wanted to get something out, this wasn’t the way.

Before he could speak, the cell door threw opened. “NO! Please, no!” The voice shouted as the sound of beating came, then the noise of a body being dragged on the ground in front of his cell. “Please, don’t do this to me!” The noise became softer as the noise of a limp body being forcefully dragged could be heard. Poor lad, Daniel thought. Looks like another fellow stalker was caught for real.

A distance away, the distinctive screaming was drumming inside Daniel’s ear.

***

In another room, the General ate his meal of steak prepared specially for him. On his opposite was the Major.

The noise of a screaming rummaged through the air.

“For God sake, Boris, must you do this while I am eating?”

“Sir, that is only a recording. Since interrogation fails, let see if we can negotiate our way into him.”

“Oh?” The General stopped on his meal and raised and eyebrow.

“Yes, sir. In his situation, he is extremely lonely. This ‘new captive’ would be a ‘friend‘ to him, and via this connection we may manipulate him into we doing what we want him to do.”

“Would not it be easier if we put in a hooker and some crack?” the general joked.

“I doubt he would talk, sir. And in our country, the hooker would probably take the crack first instead of him.” They laughed.

“Come, join my dinner.”

“No sir, I have to be dragged back by your soldier into the hell hole again.” The major checked his watch. “And inform me when the shipment arrives.”

***

Daniel waited for a while before the door of the cell next door opened again, the man thrown in.

“You ok, buddy?”

“Yes,” came the weak reply.

This time, his cell door opened again. Daniel cringed at the white lights of the corridor that pierced through the darkness.

“Please, just give them what they want,” the noise said as several thugs walked in and started kicking him, then dragged him out onto the white corridor.

Minutes later, a limp Daniel was tied onto a chair, inside a dark room again, his eye now taped with tapes to prevent it from closing. This time, 3 spotlights suddenly were shown at him. He tried to turn, but the spotlights were everywhere. There was no escape.

“Daniel Gillian.” A shadow said behind the spotlight in front of him.

“Daniel Gillian. British, D506731.” Daniel replied weakly

“Just want to know what your former occupation is. Is that really that hard? Let’s make a deal. You tell me what you do, and I change you to a better cell, no rats, no darkness, with mattress and food. What do you say? Is it good enough? Now tell me what I want to know.”

“Daniel Gillian. British, D506731.”

“Come on Daniel, I already know what is your name, nationality, and passport number. Tell me something different. Is it really that hard?”

“Daniel Gillian. British, D506731.”

“Daniel, Daniel. This is your last chance. Tell me something different, something that I want to know.”

“Daniel Gillian. British, D506731.”

“You blew it. Guards, take him away.” It was then his tape was forcefully pulled out from his eyelids. While Daniel squirmed in pain, the guards attacked him again and dragged him back to his cell.

After he was thrown into his cell again, the voice talked to him.

“What do they want from you?”

“My name, nationality and passport number. They are deporting me.” Daniel lied to see whether the voice was a fellow stalker, as it seems.

“Who are you trying to bluff? It is not that easy.”

“Why don’t we talk about you? What is your name?”

The voice paused. “Adam Smith.”

“And mine’s John Smith.”

“I thought yours Daniel Gillian?”

“When did I mention my name was Daniel?”

The reply never came. It was someone trying to play Psy Ops with him, someone trying to befriend him and extract information from him, probably his tormentor. Daniel smiled.

***

“Damnit, sir. I blew it.” The major answered to his superior.

“You should have been more careful.”

“I was. Somehow I slipped. To say that I have no experience in this.”

It was then the call came. The General heard, and hung up.

“Major, you shipment had arrived.”

“Excellent. He refuse to take the soft way, we’ll take it to the hard way.” The general, hearing this, smirked. “Give him some place with mattress and a toilet. This is forbidden by international laws, but let’s see if this works”

“Why the sudden change of heart?” The General asked curiously.

“Sir, I doubt you want to clean up the result. He will need it.”

“I am waiting to see what’s the result.” The general looked at his Rolex and intentionally yawned. “It is 3 o’clock in the morning. Perhaps I should sleep now.”

“Perhaps sir, but at 3 o’clock, the human will is the weakest. It is proven by research.”

“And my will to not to sleep is the weakest too.” The General smiled. “Unless there is anything important, don’t wake me up.”

***

When the guards opened his cell again, Daniel automatically turned to a cringing position. He knew what was coming.
After the monotonous beating, Daniel was dragged to another dark cell, almost similar to his last one. Except that this time, there was no spotlight and chair, but a tungsten light bulb that lighted the room yellow.

The room looked like a storeroom to him, perhaps even a penalty cell for undisciplined guards. But one thins it was no designed for was to keep prisoners like him. There was no chains, no observer’s mirror, no torturing guards, no rats, no darkness. Why the sudden change of heart? The room even had a toilet and mattress. Perhaps they wanted to ‘bribe’ him with these? Daniel smiled. They should have put black caviar.

Daniel was still weak from his previous encounter, so the pail of water sitting on the concrete appealed to him. Slowly but determined, he crept towards the pail of water, then drank like a fish with every mouthful. The water was sweet, as sweet as the freedom given to him now. He was no longer blindfolded or going through any sort of torture.

But as he lied on the mattress to sleep, his body was going through a tremendous change.

Unknown to him, hi devilish tormentor had doctored his water. They put in no sugar or flavoring. Instead, they put in Vibrio Cholera. The Cholera bacteria. The worst was yet to arrive.

Within an hour, he woke up with pain panging his stomach. A sickening feeling crept towards his throat. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead as he cringed to his body to hold back the pain, resisting the pain. It was then, he realized what the toilet bowl was for.

“Fucking Ukrainians!” He shouted as he struggled towards the toilet bowl, trying to be there in time. Next, he vomited into the toilet bowl, then struggled to sit on the toilet bowl as the watery faeces flowed out of his bowels. The process repeated itself.

It was everyone’s worst nightmare. It was a bad case of cholera.

***

Some times later, Daniel was on a stretcher, carried by the guards into a lighted office and onto a couch. For once, he was lying onto something comfortable. But the worn-out stalker no longer had any strength to care. The incident had left him weak.

Major Zhukovsky slowly approached from the other side of the room, his gloved hand preparing a syringe while he walked towards the stalker.

“This would cure you. Antibiotics.” Major Zhukovsky felt sorry for the lad in front, who looked more like a weak war refugee then a robust stalker.

But Daniel was too weak to reply. He was battered sick, and dehydrated. He could no longer put up any opposition of any sort at all. Just like what the major wanted.

“Now I would like to ask you again. What was your job? Was you in the SAS?”

“No” A weak, but clear reply came out of the mouth of the captive.

It was progress. Daniel had been broken.

***

“For God sake, Ilya, did he kill them? Yes or no?”

The General balked. It was five-thirty in the morning, and the Commander was calling about the case. The ballistic report on his mahogany table stated that the fatal bullet wounds consisted mainly of 7.62mm and 9mm, as he expected to be. 5.56mm were found on a dead mutated wild boar, and it matched the FN2000 rifle found. Whoever saw the report would know that the stalker was merely at the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Yes, he did. He was caught there. What else could he be doing there?”

“I don’t know. You are supposed to find out.”

“So, sir, when can I execute him after I found out what happened?”

“When did I mention death sentence, Ilya? He is going to jail! If the British found out we kill him, the President is not going to be happy.”

“Damnit, Commander, he took out a whole team! He must die! This is…”

“Justice? Shut up, Director. Why are you asking for it? Shut up and do you job.”

“I am sorry, commander. I will brief you on any progress.”

“You do that, director.” The line was cut.

The distraught general slammed the phone down. The stalker must take the blame, then executed. He may be the only possible witness to the atrocity he committed to make his ascension. The sly general knew he could no take any chance- if by any way the commander got a hint of what happened on that place that day, he, and the rest of the Alliance would be prosecuted. He had no intention on letting that happened.

No, the stalker must die.

The phone rang again.

“General Krushnev.”

“Good evening, Major General.”

“Cut the crap, Andrey. I am not in a great mood.”

“Ok, Ilya. My mole inside the British Immigration got your guy…”

“And?”

“He’s a taxi driver; the British database told us so. No army background.”

“What?” The general’s jaw dropped down in surprise, then struggled to hold his surprise. “Never mind, Thanks, colonel.”

“Anytime, sir.”

A knock on his door. “Come in.”

“General, I have broken him. He’s not SAS.” The major shouted excitedly

The general tried to hide his surprise for the second time, although he was not in the mood to celebrate. A taxi driver lasting that long against the torture?

“That’s good news. When can we proceed?”

“Now, sir. He can’t resist us, sir.” He chucked. "We're too cute."

The two ran to the office where the stalker was in.

“Now, I want you to made him admit that he killed the Ex-team.”

“Did you kill the scientist?” The major turned to the fragile thing on the couch.

“No, I did not.” Daniel replied weakly, but audible for the two. “I did not kill them.”

“Sir, he’s not ly…” The major was surprised by the truth that was everything reverse to what the General had just said.

“I want you to make him say he did it!”

“But…”

“Do it, or else…” The threat of court martial loomed in his sharp reply.

The major had no choice. He had two options: obey, or disobey and face a military court. He did not look like he had a chance. The latter did not seem to be a good idea if the 28 year-old was to get married next Saturday, his mind told. Like it or not, he had to do it.

Slowly, he walked to a suitcase, took a new syringe and vial of sodium pentothal and proceeded to prepare the needle. “This should do it. But sir, he is innocent. Take his word for it.”

“Are you telling me what to do? When did I ask for advice?” The general had a stern look on his face. From the humor men that the general once was, he was now a monster of his own temper. It was clear that he was obsessed to frame the subject as the killer, Boris thought. Being a Psy-Ops man, the Major knew the general was willing to do anything now. Anything.

The major promptly inserted the needle into the captive’s neck. A minute later, the stalker stared blankly upwards. Boris knew its effect- his higher brain function would be impaired, and adding his fatigue and dehydration to it, the stalker was checkmated even before he began. He would only think now, not the future

“Daniel, listen to me. You had killed the Expedition Team. You have killed them all inside the Chernobyl Fallout Zone. Is that true?” He stopped to make an effect. "If it is not true, we are going to beat you... badly."

Daniel starred at him blankly, then nodded.

“That’s it. Do it quickly sir, before he lost conscious.”

The general took out a recorder. “Prisoner, what us your name?”

“Daniel Gillian, British, D506731.” The stalker replied slowly but clearly.

“Did you kill the Expedition team?”

There was a tense silence in the air as they wait for the reply. Then, “Yes, I did. I shot them all inside the Chernobyl Fallout Zone with my rifle.”

“And when did you do it? Was it 15th August 2010?”

“Yes.”

“Please repeat your identity.”

“Daniel Gillian, British, D506731.”

“Thank you.” The General off the recorder, sounding a little happy over his triumph.

“That did it, sir.” Major Zhukovsky said, but somehow his tone bear a tone then said that he was not very proud of what he was doing. “Took us four days in total.”

However, General Krushnev had other things in mind. He thought broken meant the stalker was willing to admit what he did in return for a better treatment. It turned out he was wrong, and now there was someone new who knew the truth by accident, the monumental fact that the stalker was innocent.

As he smiled at the major in response, his ever-crafty mind hatched a plan.

And Major Boris Zhukovsky could tell from the way the eyes had moved. The general was planning something, and it was not good.

To be continued