It took them a little under an hour to drive back to Cyrus' compound. That was the best word to describe the camp that he called home. It was surrounded by a menacing fence that was garnished in barbed wire, and was likely hooked up to a generator as well just for an added electrical touch. Inside the fence were several large houses, all of which were connected underground which was the biggest marvel of Cyrus' crib. There was a compound twice as big as any house underground that was the location of Cyrus' main operations. He didn't do anything illegal, but was a mercenary for hire for almost any job. A lot of his thugs kept busy with the bounty hunter business, but he also was for hire for security as well as an assortment of other jobs for a man of his talents. Edgar knew that he also took jobs from other countries, but was careful to do nothing that would piss off Uncle Sam. It was evident from the manpower and size of the compound that business was good for Cyrus and he was prospering rather well. He was taking a big risk bringing him and his prisoners to his home, but there was a chance that this was likely the safest place for them to be right now anyway. It would take a small army to penetrate the gates of this place, let alone find the underground hideaway. For now, it was perfect.
Mrs. Johnson was shown to Cyrus' personal house and welcomed by his wife. The women chattered up a storm and seemed alright to leave alone for the time being. Edgar was more interested in his prisoners and what intel they might be able to retrieve from them. Both agents were frisked for any kind of devices and then escorted to a holding cell that was located in the belly of the underground compound. Both Edgar and Devon had expressions of awe as they realized how advanced this place really was. The rent Edgar was going to pay to stay there for a while was going to be worth it. He was going to be able to get a lot of work done from this very secure location. Cyrus opened the door to his cells, and gestured for everyone to walk through first.
"All the comforts of home." he said with dry sarcasm as both agents were escorted into the area.
One of the agents fought a bit and struggled, but was dragged into the area. Edgar whispered some instructions to one of Cyrus' men and he immediately complied, tossing one of the men into a cell and locking the door. The other was dragged to a different room and then tied down to a chair. Devon had been looking forward to this for a while, and Edgar who really didn't like to get his hands dirty was more than happy to let Devon take over from here and get things underway. With the younger agent taped to a chair and clearly unable to move, Devon closed the door behind him to give them a little privacy. Edgar and Cyrus were behind a one way mirror in the hallway watching with interest.
"Should we order a pizza?" Edgar said, trying to ease the tension of the moment.
"Gail's has got something special planned for tonight. It's not often she gets to cook for guests." Cyrus said as he tossed a cold beer over to Edgar. They both watched with eager anticipation as the interrogation began.
While eager to have his hands on one of the people that might have connections to the people responsible for the death of some of his crew, Devon wasn't going to rush this one bit. He casually walked closer to the table and took off his coat. He changed in the back of the truck while on the way to the compound and was no longer wearing the brown delivery boy outfit and was very comfortable and ready to start. He causally strolled over and tore the piece of duct tape that had been keeping the agent silent this whole time. The agent gave out a yelp of pain to having the tape torn off and was about to say something, but Devon held up a hand to cut him off.
"You've had some time to think during our ride over here." Devon said pacing around the room, "But I want you to think a little more. Think hard about what you say here because the words you speak will determine whether or not you're going to get out of this hole alive. The more you co-operate with me, the less likely I am to lose my temper. The less likely I am to lose my temper, the better chance you have of not leaving this compound in a body bag."
"You can't do this to us!" the young man screamed, "I work for the government!"
"Really?" Devon said, eager to explore that a little more, "What agency are you a part of?"
The young man didn't respond, so Devon continued.
"We checked your wallet and combed through it for any kind of identification, but found none." Devon continued, "You claim to be a federal agent when you tried to arrest me, but have no legal identification. Who do you work for? F.B.I? C.I.A? Secret Service?"
The agent didn't answer again. He was stone cold silent and not participating in this line of questioning. Devon was having a little fun, but his patience was beginning to thin just a little bit at this point.
"Your honor," he called out sarcastically, "Permission to treat the witness as hostile."
Edgar paused for a moment. He didn't want to go this far, but it was obvious the young man wasn't going to give any information without a little coaxing. He softly tapped very slowly on the glass twice, the soft tap indicating to Devon that he was to treat his guest very gently during this part of the interrogation. With permission granted, Devon quickly turned around and whacked the young agent on the side of the head with hard open handed slap. Before the prisoner could get a chance to breathe, Devon slapped him again with another open hand across his other cheek, leaving a sick read hand print on his face.
"These are just love taps, brother" Devon said as slapped the agent again upside the head and then he quickly grabbed an hand full of the agent's hear and pulled his head back, "It's going to get a lot rougher very soon if you don't start talking! Spill it! What Agency do you work for?"
The agent didn't expect things to get rough so quickly, but if this was how much his hand hurt when open, he didn't even want to think about how bad it was going to feel when he started to close it.
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"I don't work for an agency." the young agent finally said, "I was recruited out of Treasury, likely because of my record. That's how they get their numbers, through various agencies, with promises of more money and a chance to get a head of the other peons. We're never told what branch we work for and are told very little, if anything."
"What exactly is your job? What do they pay you to do?" Devon then demanded as he let go of the agent's hair.
"Right now I'm a part of relocation program." The kid answered, "Our job is to watch specific residents and make sure they live regular lives and not try to make any contact with their past. We work pretty much like the FBI program, only more secretly."
"Where do these 'residents' come from?" Devon asked, trying to dig a little deeper. They had a good idea what he was doing, but wanted to hear it from him.
"I don't know." the agent replied.
"Don't even think about lying to me, piggy." Devon snarled, with a look that gave the young agent every impression that he was going to beat him silly. He then startled the kid but dropped a fist into the table, denting it.
"I'm not lying." he retorted, "I'm never given details over who I watch. They just give a name and an address. From there I just do what I'm told."
Devon got some answers, but not the ones he was looking for. He paced around again for a few moments, "Let's try something you would know. How long have you been working for these people?"
The agent tried the silent treatment again, but Devon grabbed his hair and yanked his head back.
"How fucking long!" he screamed with a fist up in the air ready to strike with a closed fist for the first time.
"Eight years!" the agent called out, "That's actually not long compared to many of the people there, they don't recruit anymore these days unless absolutely necessary."
It was at this point when the door opened and Edgar walked into the room. He strolled over to the table and sat down in the chair across from the agent, "Eight years? That's a long time to be a part of an agency you don't know anything about. But this also means you were working for these people when the big event happened."
"I don't know what you're talking about." the agent responded.
"Don't lie to me you sniveling little maggot!" Devon said and he slapped the agent in the head with another open hand, "Everyone knows where they were that day. I want you to recount that day for us, minute by minute, right fucking now!"
"I don't remember." the agent said as he split out a little blood as it seems that he bit his lip when Devon slapped him around.
"Now I know you're lying." Edgar replied as he leaned back into his seat, "Everyone remembers were they were that morning. I could go upstairs and ask everyone up there and they'll spit out it like it happened yesterday. I remember where I was when it happened, and my memory is shit. That morning I was sleeping in because I had been up the night before. My wife was eating breakfast and looking for the weather network. What caught her attention while surfing for her channel was that a lot of channels were showing the same thing at the exact same time, so she stopped on one of the channels to see what the fuss was all about. This is when she saw the second plane hit the north tower, live on network television. She was stunned for a few moments, but then went to the bedroom to wake me up. I remember her shaking me awake that morning. I was grumpy and was demanding to know what the hell was going on to justify waking me from my slumber. She tried to explain that a plane hit the World Trade Center and the first thing I thought was she must have meant a small two-seater plane or something. She corrected me and said it was a passenger jet liner and that the building was on fire. From there I scrambled to my feet and went into the living room to see it for myself. We both sat there and watched it all happen and then kept watching the news for the rest of the day in stunned silence, not saying a word to each other. I know where I was that day, I'm sure he does too. Where were you?"
The agent was silent again, and Devon slammed a hard fist into the table to loosen his tongue, "I was in Washington." he said rather casually.
"And what were you doing in the capital that day?" Edgar asked, moving along.
"Man, for you guys that day must have been like the friggin' Superbowl. I want to know where you were and what you were doing that day. Spill it!" Devon screamed as he made a gesture that gave the agent the impression that more pain was on the way.
The agent made no sound and was preparing himself for another hit. Edgar held Devon back for just a moment, "We know one thing. That lady up there that we took with us today, her name is on this list." Edgar pulled a piece of paper from his jacket, "Her name is on this manifest, which is the official list of all passengers who were on Flight 77 that allegedly crashed into the Pentagon. How is that you're pulling guard duty for a woman that was declared dead on Nine Eleven?"
The agent said nothing, and for his silence Devon rewarded him with another solid punch in the ribs. The agent groaned and moaned for a moment but still said nothing. Edgar was getting a little tired of this. He took Devon by the hand and walked over to the corner of the room, "Dinner is in about fifteen to twenty minutes from now. Try to get some more Intel for the next five to ten minutes and then clean up for supper. We'll bring him something after and try to be nice to him next. Alright?"
Devon nodded in agreement. Even though he had been rough with the agent, he was actually holding back the aggression he had for the person who was likely a part of the group that took his people out. Before he moved away, Edgar grabbed his arm again.
"Don't hit him," Edgar whispered. "Take a temper tantrum, make him think he's about to make his maker but bluff. Scare him into thinking you're about to snap, but don't harm him. Ok?"
"Oh, come on. How about a rib or two?" Devon begged, hoping for a break. Edgar knew that Devon was holding back his real rage over the men he lost at the fire. Didn't take a fool to realize a little arm twisting would be necessary to get the details the needed.
Edgar wasn't a fool. He realized a long time ago that in order to get some of the information both men wanted to get, a little force was going to be needed. Even if you can't be charged for torturing a man who doesn't exist, he didn't like the idea.
"I know this guy could be part of the group that hurt our people and a hell of a lot more people in Washington," Edgar explained, "But that doesn't condone torture. We've already crossed the line too much already. Just because these guys did something wrong doesn't give us a blank cheque to toss stuff like compassion, respect and even the Geneva Convention out the window. We're better than that. Understood?"
Devon knew he was right and he nodded. Edgar padded him on the back and let him go back to work. As Edgar left the room he could hear Devon scream and roar, but no sounds of smacks or hits. It was a good bluff but if it didn't work, Edgar was hoping his good cop would after supper.Even if Devon did get carried away, which he was sure he wouldn't since Devon followed orders most of the time, Edgar didn't feel too bad about what was going on as he went back up to the ground floors to join Cyrus and Mrs. Johnson in the main house.