Read Echo Six: Black Ops 7 - Tibetan Fury for Free Online Page A
Authors: Eric Meyer
looked up in surprise, "No, how could I? It is just, I can only tell you the truth. I am a simple monk."
"If that is the case, why are the Americans so interested in you?"
"I don't understand."
He looked at his Chinese tormentor, watching, waiting for the next blow. He knew what the Major wanted, but he couldn't give it to him. It would gain nothing and would result in the deaths of many men and women he called his friends. And one man more than any other, a man he had to protect at all costs. They must never know. He repeated his mantra. He'd gone into this willingly and known this moment would come.
I have to have faith, just to survive. Have to! So much depends on it.
"I don't believe you. Do you deny your name is David Campbell? That you are an American?" He held up his hand as the monk went to reply, "I must warn you, America is not the only country to have an electronic intelligence gathering agency. In China, we believe we lead the world in this field, and our people tell us they have picked up signals traffic that point to you, Mr. Campbell. Yes, I know you look Tibetan, but that is meaningless. Did your parents defect to America, or were you born there? And then you thought you would come back here to spy on the Chinese government? Is that the way it was? Tell me, who do you work for, is it CIA?"
"I am a simple monk. My name is Tenzin Davaika. I serve only the Lord Buddha."
Major Xilong nodded to his men. "Continue."
The blows fell, repeatedly. They beat his kidneys, his stomach, his groin, and then started on his arms and legs. It seemed to go on forever, and soon the pain was so all consuming he was able to force his mind to float above it. He was drifting in an endless eternity of warmth and light, the eternity that was the gift of the Lord Buddha. These were mere men, and soon it would stop. If they killed him, he would be reborn. He hoped he had earned a new life better than this one.
There is no pain. Only the whisper of insects in the long grass, the blessed rays of the sun, the sigh of the tree branch in the wind. I am one, with them. I will not speak. I will protect him with my life, and my death.
It lasted thirty-five minutes. When he slumped unconscious, there was no point in going on, so they dragged him back to his cell.
* * *
Brooks stopped speaking as the door opened. Two people walked into the briefing room and both stared around the room. They wore sunglasses, faded combat fatigue shirts tucked into canvas boots, and Afghan scarves looped loosely around their necks. Rovere raised his eyebrows at Talley, Agency mercenaries without a doubt. They seemed satisfied and left the room . A moment later, another two people entered. This time it was a man and a woman. He was very tall. She was short.
The guy was about thirty-five years old, tall, slim and erect. He looked the epitome of the American corporate executive, fit and healthy, and with a friendly smile that wouldn't have looked out of place on a crocodile. The kind of man who would grin and pat your back, while lifting your wallet or stealing your girlfriend. He may as well have worn a badge that said, ‘CIA'. Even his clothes were standard Ivy League issue, Ralph Lauren tough cotton chinos, matching button down and slinky designer desert boots.
The girl was eye candy. She looked like a native of the Himalayas, and Talley assumed she was Tibetan, given their intended destination. Not all Tibetans were beautiful. Many had flat, plain faces and stocky builds, but not this girl. She had a heart-shaped face with smooth, mid-brown skin; skin that any red-blooded man would want to stroke, next to him in bed.
She was slender and graceful, and carried herself with the easy grace and indefinable inner steel of a ballerina. Dark hair, tied in a tight bun behind her head and huge, dark brown eyes that were soft and somehow mysterious. All in all, a trim package that couldn't have been more than five feet tall, enigmatic, probably pureblood
"If that is the case, why are the Americans so interested in you?"
"I don't understand."
He looked at his Chinese tormentor, watching, waiting for the next blow. He knew what the Major wanted, but he couldn't give it to him. It would gain nothing and would result in the deaths of many men and women he called his friends. And one man more than any other, a man he had to protect at all costs. They must never know. He repeated his mantra. He'd gone into this willingly and known this moment would come.
I have to have faith, just to survive. Have to! So much depends on it.
"I don't believe you. Do you deny your name is David Campbell? That you are an American?" He held up his hand as the monk went to reply, "I must warn you, America is not the only country to have an electronic intelligence gathering agency. In China, we believe we lead the world in this field, and our people tell us they have picked up signals traffic that point to you, Mr. Campbell. Yes, I know you look Tibetan, but that is meaningless. Did your parents defect to America, or were you born there? And then you thought you would come back here to spy on the Chinese government? Is that the way it was? Tell me, who do you work for, is it CIA?"
"I am a simple monk. My name is Tenzin Davaika. I serve only the Lord Buddha."
Major Xilong nodded to his men. "Continue."
The blows fell, repeatedly. They beat his kidneys, his stomach, his groin, and then started on his arms and legs. It seemed to go on forever, and soon the pain was so all consuming he was able to force his mind to float above it. He was drifting in an endless eternity of warmth and light, the eternity that was the gift of the Lord Buddha. These were mere men, and soon it would stop. If they killed him, he would be reborn. He hoped he had earned a new life better than this one.
There is no pain. Only the whisper of insects in the long grass, the blessed rays of the sun, the sigh of the tree branch in the wind. I am one, with them. I will not speak. I will protect him with my life, and my death.
It lasted thirty-five minutes. When he slumped unconscious, there was no point in going on, so they dragged him back to his cell.
* * *
Brooks stopped speaking as the door opened. Two people walked into the briefing room and both stared around the room. They wore sunglasses, faded combat fatigue shirts tucked into canvas boots, and Afghan scarves looped loosely around their necks. Rovere raised his eyebrows at Talley, Agency mercenaries without a doubt. They seemed satisfied and left the room . A moment later, another two people entered. This time it was a man and a woman. He was very tall. She was short.
The guy was about thirty-five years old, tall, slim and erect. He looked the epitome of the American corporate executive, fit and healthy, and with a friendly smile that wouldn't have looked out of place on a crocodile. The kind of man who would grin and pat your back, while lifting your wallet or stealing your girlfriend. He may as well have worn a badge that said, ‘CIA'. Even his clothes were standard Ivy League issue, Ralph Lauren tough cotton chinos, matching button down and slinky designer desert boots.
The girl was eye candy. She looked like a native of the Himalayas, and Talley assumed she was Tibetan, given their intended destination. Not all Tibetans were beautiful. Many had flat, plain faces and stocky builds, but not this girl. She had a heart-shaped face with smooth, mid-brown skin; skin that any red-blooded man would want to stroke, next to him in bed.
She was slender and graceful, and carried herself with the easy grace and indefinable inner steel of a ballerina. Dark hair, tied in a tight bun behind her head and huge, dark brown eyes that were soft and somehow mysterious. All in all, a trim package that couldn't have been more than five feet tall, enigmatic, probably pureblood