Mr Sheen's desert boots squeaked towards me. He stood to my right, ready to beat the shit out of me if I moved. Fuck that, I wouldn't give him the pleasure. The only thought in my head was that Phase One sounded better than Phase Five and a whole lot better than Phase Ten.
He gobbed off in Serbo-Croat. Top Lip moved behind me and grabbed my wrists for Mr Sheen to plasticuff together. They continued chatting, as if they'd suddenly got some spare time on their hands, and couldn't quite make up their minds how best to use it.
The mouthful of saliva that hit my cheek took me totally by surprise. They reached down, pulled me off the chair and rotated me 180 degrees. I opened my eyes, but I didn't need to. I'd already seen the Yes Man's happy snap.
A tabletop with the legs removed had been bolted to an oil drum to make what looked like a party-size see-saw. Two buckets of water stood next to it, beneath a tap set into the wall. A huge roll of clingfilm lay on a pile of empty hessian sandbags.
The only difference between this and the picture was that a sack was already soaking in one of the buckets, ready for action.
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I knew all too well how this worked. The gag reflex was an automatic reaction. I knew there was nothing I could do to stop it. All I could hope was that they knew what they were doing. That they'd take me to the edge, not push me right over it.
They shoved me, face up, on to the tabletop, my plasticuffed hands beneath me. They threw a thick webbing strap over my waist and pulled tight. My legs were clamped.
I kept my eyes closed. My chest heaved as I fought to fill my lungs with oxygen.
Water poured from the soaking hessian as Mr Sheen lifted it from the bucket. I managed one last big breath before it was pulled over my head. The wet sacking clung to my nose and mouth.
I fought it. I couldn't help myself. I blew hard from my mouth to try to get the stuff away from me.
The tabletop tilted and my head went down. A bucket of cold water was tipped over the sacking.
I couldn't breathe.
I told myself to keep calm. You're not drowning! You're not drowning!
But water poured into my nose and mouth and my body told me otherwise.
Take it easy! You'll be able to breathe again soon!
The seconds ticked by. I needed so badly to take a big breath. My reflexes took over.
I gagged.
Another bucket . . .
My body went ballistic. I tried to kick and buck. My hands scrabbled frantically at the plasticuffs. I was tearing holes in my own skin.
Another bucket . . .
Neither body nor brain could help me now. I gave in. I tried to breathe, and the more I tried to breathe, the more water I took in. I knew I could swallow it but I didn't; I kept trying to expel it, and then I ran out of air. My body jerked like I was being tasered again.
The tabletop see-sawed the other way and my head swung up. They pulled off the sack. I vomited water and bile and struggled to fill my lungs with air. Water poured out of my nose and mouth and snot streamed down my face. I'd never felt such relief.
They know what they're doing. They won't fuck up. They won't let you die. Everything's a reflex. Control t!
I screamed at them: 'I don't know anything!'
Nobody was listening. One punched my face and the sack went back on.
The table tilted again. And so did the bucket.
I was going to die. I wanted to blow out but I couldn't. I had nothing in my lungs to blow out with.
My strength drained like someone had thrown a switch. I had nothing left to fight with. I knew that death was just seconds away.
The table tilted but the sack didn't come off this time. I coughed and spluttered, puking up water and more bile.
Then, a miracle . . .
The straps were released. I slid off the table on to the floor. More freezing water was thrown over me, but I didn't care. The two of them kicked me against the wall. They didn't talk; they didn't need to. When it came to this kind of performance, the Serbs were best-in-breed.
I curled up with my face to the wall, hands still locked behind me. More