me into another part of the building. It was much colder here.
Hands pushed me to the ground, rolled me on to my back and tore off my boots and outer clothes. Something cold and hard bit into my shoulder muscles as a heel pressed against my chest and my boxers were pulled off.
I had no idea of the size of the room I was in, but I was naked and had no control, so the space around me suddenly felt large and I felt very small.
I was hauled back to my feet and swung round. My head slammed against a wall. But fighting back would get me nowhere. I'd only get filled in, and I needed to keep as fit as I could to get us the fuck out of here.
They repositioned me and kicked my legs apart. Then they made me lean forward until my outstretched hands touched the brick.
I breathed long and deeply to slow everything down. I tried to listen, but all I could hear was the sound of the blood pulsing through my head.
My hands went numb, then pins and needles kicked in.
I clung to the only positive thought that came within reach. At least there was a system. I wasn't being kicked to shit – not yet, anyway. I must be in a holding area. I'd probably stay there for most of the time now, between interrogations.
I found the sensory deprivation strangely comforting. Stripped of perception, all I could do was think, and I needed to do that big-time.
One thing was for sure. I'd been totally wrong about Sundance and Trainers. They did travel beyond the M25.
80
I was shivering, and not just from the cold. My muscles trembled from the effort of maintaining the stress position. I dared not move. I didn't want to find out what the punishment was. My sutured arm was aching severely. There wasn't enough blood working its way up there and I wanted to scratch it to death. The pain in my hands had passed the pins-and-needles stage. I knew they'd ballooned. There was going to be permanent damage unless I could relieve the pressure. I moved my left arm a fraction of an inch.
But even that was too much. A massive kick swept my legs from under me. I dropped, knees first, on to the harshly ridged concrete. Pain shot through me. I could feel my skin being forced open by the sharp edges. Unseen hands hauled me up again and slammed my hands back against the wall. I gritted my teeth, tensed my body, waiting for kicks that didn't come. I could feel the blood leaking down my legs.
Some time later they gripped me and pulled me away. They'd been waiting for the last possible moment before something went seriously wrong.
I was dragged off the concrete and back on to a flat, tiled floor. From the smell of cigarettes and kerosene I guessed we were back in the corridor.
We must have come to a door. One set of arms let me go, and the other shoved me between the shoulder-blades. Then both pushed down on my shoulders. My arse and bollocks hit a cold, hard chair.
This place was damp and musty. I could smell it, and feel it on my skin. The floor beneath my feet was hard and wet.
I kept my head down and gritted my teeth. I didn't want anything loose when the punches came.
Maybe a minute went by. They were fucking about, letting me flap.
Then somebody grabbed a fistful of hair and jerked back my head. The goggles and ear defenders were whipped away.
Now it would begin.
A body shuffled behind me. He bent down and shouted, 'Look up!' He was so close I could feel his breath on my neck.
I blinked uncontrollably. The room was lit as brightly as a TV studio. Strings of bulbs hung along the wall opposite me.
Sundance was walking away from me. I watched his brown leather boots and the bottoms of his jeans.
Trainers sparked up. His voice was surprisingly calm. 'You can make this hard or easy for yourself, son. The choice is yours.'
I tilted my head. He was in the far corner of the room, arranging himself a roll-up. Big chunks of plaster had fallen out of the wall behind him. What little rendering was left was covered with grime and various shades of dried blood.
I was sitting on a stackable plastic chair. Dark puddles had gathered across the pitted concrete floor.
My gaze shifted as he brought out his