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2
ALIK
Fifty rats squeal over one another while they fight for their next meal, some smart enough to use their brothers as ladders to reach the juicy meat that drips blood onto their snouts. They appear starved and desperate, their teeth aching to latch onto something, and if I was a pitying man, perhaps I would pity them.
“I have a family,” Agent Cullin sobs as he tries to lift his feet away from the rats. We’re in the basement of this abandoned building, and he hangs by his wrists from a chain wrapped around a beam on the ceiling while the other end is attached to a crank for me to control how high he is suspended. His bloodied feet are just out of reach from the hungry little predators, all of his toes missing. Already, the rodents have devoured the nubs I tossed for them.
“Please, I have a wife and child.”
So do the rats. What am I to do,starvethem? Deprive them of the meal I literally dangled above their noses? Am I supposed to pity Agent Cullin, a man who lied to my Pakhan, to my family, claiming to be one of us while having the sole mission of sending my brothers to prison, but not the helpless rodents who did me no harm?
I clipped off all ten of his toes with gardening shears without blinking, and he still doesn’t get it. I don’t pity spies… I don’t pity anyone.
“I need the identities of the other moles.”
Cullin hangs his head while he sobs. “I don’t have them.”
My eyes dropping to the rodents, I turn the crank to lower him within their reach while he shrieks and tries to jerk his legs up. It doesn’t work. I’ve already taken out his kneecaps.
His head whips back and forth while he screams out his pain, countless sets of teeth gnawing at his flesh. They’ve covered his feet, so it’s hard to see what damage they’re doing, but damn, they’re really going at it.
“I’ll tell you everything, just make it stop!” he cries. “Make it stop.”
No.
I keep staring. Keep watching the spectacle. It’s hard to look away from it.
“Alik! Please!”
My gaze finally moving to Cullin’s agonized face, I rotate the crank to lift him. The rats violently protest with their squeaking while he weeps.
“Answer my question, Agent.”
His face contorts while he cries harder for a few seconds until the pain seems to fade from his face, replaced by resignation. They all hit a point in this process when they stop begging to live and start wishing for a merciful death. He’s approaching it.
“You’re just a weapon for them,” he says, his voice barely audible over his friends. “You should hear the things they say about you behind your back.”
They.
So vague. Such a waste of words.
I put my hand on the crank but pause when he whimpers and opens his mouth. “Anna Colgrita, Peter Lebedev, Ashton James, Reece Moore, Igor Popov.”
It must be in my head, but the rats seem to quiet. I let my hand fall off the crank then walk to stand closer to Cullin.
“They’re all undercover?” I ask, my voice cold as ice.
He nods.
How did the DEA manage to get that many people by us?
That’s … a lot. Many more than I thought there would be. I thought it was possible there was one more. Maybe none besides Cullin.
Five?
That doesn’t seem right.
“Is there anyone else?”
