The Bancroft Strategy by Robert Ludlum Read Free Book Online

sunken cheeks. He exchanged glances with the senior guard. Neither dignified Belknap’s chatter with a response.
    â€œMaybe you don’t speak English,” Belknap said. “I guess that’s the problem. Dovrei parlare in italiano …”
    â€œYour problem isn’t that I don’t understand,” said the senior guard in lightly accented English, tightening his iron grip. “Your problem is that I do understand.”
    His captor was a Tunisian, Belknap guessed from his accent. “But then—”
    â€œYou wish to speak? Excellent. I wish to listen. But not here.” The guard stopped walking for a moment, jerking his captive to an abrupt stop. “In our lovely stanza per gli interrogatori. The interview chamber. In the basement. We go there now.”
    Belknap’s blood ran cold. He knew all about the room in question—had studied it on the blueprints, had researched its construction and equipment even before he had confirmed that Ansari was the villa’s true owner. It was, in plain English, a torture chamber, and of truly cutting-edge design. “Totalmente insonorizzato,” the architectural specifications had stipulated: completely soundproof. The soundproofing materials had, in fact, been special-ordered from a company in the Netherlands. Acoustic isolation was achieved by density and disconnection: The chamber was floated and lined with a dense polymer made of sand and PVC; sturdy rubber seals lined the door frame. A man could scream at the top of his lungs and be entirely inaudible to someone standing outside, just a few feet away. The elaborate soundproofing guaranteed that.
    The equipment contained in the basement chamber would guarantee the screams.
    Evildoers always sought to sequester the sight and sound of their deeds; Belknap had known this since East Berlin, a couple of decades earlier. Among connoisseurs of cruelty, privacy was the invariable watchword; it sheltered barbarism in the very midst ofsociety. Belknap knew something else, as well. If he were taken to the stanza per gli interrogatori it was all over. All over for the operation; all over for him. There was no possible escape from it. Any form of resistance, no matter how hazardous, would be preferable to allowing himself to be taken there. Belknap had only one advantage: the fact that he knew this, and that the others did not know he knew this. To be more desperate than your captors realized—a slender reed. But Belknap would work with what he had.
    He allowed a dull look of gratitude to settle on his face. “Good,” he said. “Fine. I understand this is a high-sec facility. Do what you need to do. I’m happy to talk, wherever you like. But—Sorry, what’s your name?”
    â€œCall me Yusef,” the senior guard said. There was something implacable even in the pleasantry.
    â€œBut, Yusef, you’re making a mistake. You got no beef with me.” He slackened his body slightly, rounding his shoulders, subtly making himself physically less intimidating. They did not believe his protestations, of course. His awareness of that fact was all he needed to keep from them.
    Opportunity came when they decided to save time by frog-marching him down the main staircase—a grand, curving structure of travertine adorned with a Persian runner—instead of the concrete rear stairs. When he saw a glimpse of the streetlights through the frosted window bays to either side of the massive front door, he made a quick, silent decision. One step, a second step, a third step—he jerked his arm from the guard’s grip in a feeble gesture of wounded dignity, and the guard did not bother to respond. It was the hopeless fluttering of a caged bird.
    He turned to face the guards, as if trying to make conversation again, seemingly careless of his footing. The runner was well cushioned with an underlay that snaked along the treads and risers; that would be helpful. A fourth