Condemned to Slavery by Bruce McLachlan Read Free Book Online

against her trammels. “It’s in my passport, check it!”
    The man threw her head forward and stepped back, leaving her in shock and riven with indignation at this barbaric treatment.
    “A forgery to hide your true identity,” proposed the enigmatic interrogator.
    “What?” she blurted without thinking, the ridiculous nature of his words inspiring further outrage. “Of course its not, why would I need a—” she began with turbulence in her voice, and as the man at her side took a step forward she wilted, cringing in anticipation of another slap and lowering her tones to a meek whisper.
    “Why would I need a forgery?”
    “To conceal your nature as a spy for a foreign power,” came the insipid retort, the words an imprecation that was delivered with stern earnest, a conviction that was almost laughable because of the absurd nature of the accusations.
    “A spy? Me! You’re insane! This is ridiculous! I demand to see the ambassa—”
    Her order became a bright crack of skin meeting skin as another truculent slap was delivered to her features.
    Lydia lounged in her chair, shaking, her face bruised and battered, her senses scrambled by the physical and psychological assault. Soft sobs of misery escaped her quaking lips and she trembled with fright.
    “If you are not such an agent, then explain these pictures,” he offered, and her attacker presented glossy portraits for her perusal after retrieving them from behind the blazing light source. They were hers, the pictures still with the pungent scent of developing fluids about them.
    The man ran through the selection, showing her the snapshots of military might. Awareness of just how damning these pictures could seem dawned quickly, and suddenly Lydia knew the true gravity of her predicament. With quaking fear starting to blossom throughout her heart and soul, she stammered and urgently offered her excuses.
    “They aren’t what they seem. I was just taking a few photos to prove I was here, to impress my friends.”
    “A convincing enough lie, but one we have seen through,” answered the hidden officer.
    “Its not a lie!” she yelled.
    A pause followed as the man at her side took a long cylinder from the darkness. He held it as a club, ready to beat her, but instead he merely moved the tip inward towards her shoulder. It was then that she spied the two tiny prongs at the end, the nodules humming with power. Before she could object, they touched her skin and a keening yowl exploded from her throat as she jerked against her bonds, the voltage making her entire body burn.
    The shock passed, leaving her to slouch back down, loose and drained by the mordant session.
    “What is your name?”
    “Please, stop,” she croaked weakly, barely able to lift her head.
    Rigid life returned to her body as the prod was applied again, sending agony thundering out through her entire system before leaving her an indolent wreck.
    “What is your name!”
    “What do you want me to say?” she wheezed slowly, wishing only to escape the torture, her physique shaking from the scrambling of her nervous system.
    The twin prongs jammed against her breast, sending lightning ripping back through her body, returning her to unendurable plateaus of searing torment where she launched herself against her restraints, jiggling and jolting as her features remained locked in a twisted howl. Her shriek filled the room almost as a physical force, the rigid face of her torturer unmoved and unaffected by her travail.
    “Who sent you?”
    They wanted answers and she had none. The only way out was to invent what they wanted to hear. Sagging against her bonds, breathing via deep sobbing gasps, her body pounding with residual mayhem, she swallowed for strength and formulated a hasty response.
    “The…the…CIA?” she uttered, the words having a distinct lack of conviction.
    “What?” growled the voice, clearly skeptical as to the declaration of allegiance.
    “KGB?” she wept, hoping to be