Ken Follett – Jackdaws

This was the moment when a man might break down, but Gaston did not. “I can’t tell you anything,” he said in a near-whisper. He was scared, but he still had some courage left, and he was not going to give up without a fight.

Dieter shrugged. It was to be the hard way, then. He spoke to Becker in German. “Go back to the cell. Make the boy strip naked. Bring him here and tie him to the pillar in the next room.”

“Very good, Major,” Becker said eagerly.

Dieter turned back to Gaston. “You’re going to tell me the names and code names of all the men and women who were with you yesterday, and any others in your Resistance circuit.” Gaston shook his head, but Dieter ignored that. “I want to know the address of every member, and of every house used by members of the circuit.”

Gaston drew hard on his cigarette and stared at the glowing end.

In fact, these were not the most important questions. Dieter’s main aim was to get information that would lead him to other Resistance circuits. But he did not want Gaston to know that.

A moment later, Becker returned with Bertrand. Gaston stared openmouthed as the naked boy was marched through the interview room into the chamber beyond.

Dieter stood up. He said to Hesse, “Keep an eye on this old man.” Then he followed Becker into the torture chamber.

He was careful to leave the door a little ajar so that Gaston could hear everything.

Becker tied Bertrand to the pillar. Before Dieter could intervene, Becker punched Bertrand in the stomach. It was a powerful blow from a strong man, and it made a sickening thud. The young man groaned and writhed in agony.

“No, no, no,” Dieter said. As he had expected, Becker’s approach was completely unscientific. A strong young man could withstand being punched almost indefinitely. “First, you blindfold him.” He produced a large cotton bandana from his pocket and tied it over Bertrand’s eyes. “This way, every blow comes as a dreadful shock, and every moment between blows is an agony of anticipation.”

Becker picked up his wooden club. Dieter nodded, and Becker swung the club, hitting the side of the victim’s head with a loud crack of solid wood on skin and bone. Bertrand cried out in pain and fear.

“No, no,” Dieter said again. “Never hit the head. You may dislocate the jaw, preventing the subject from speaking. Worse, you may damage the brain, then nothing he says will be of any value.” He took the wooden club from Becker and replaced it in the umbrella stand. From the selection of weapons there he chose a steel crowbar and handed it to Becker.

“Now, remember, the object is to inflict unbearable agony without endangering the subject’s life or his ability to tell us what we need to know. Avoid vital organs. Concentrate on the bony parts: ankles, shins, kneecaps, fingers, elbows, shoulders, ribs.”

A crafty look came over Becker’s face. He walked around the pillar, then, taking careful aim, struck hard at Bertrand’s elbow with the steel bar. The boy gave a scream of real agony, a sound Dieter recognized.

Becker looked pleased. God forgive me, Dieter thought, for teaching this brute how to inflict pain more efficiently.

On Dieter’s orders, Becker struck at Bertrand’s bony shoulder, then his hand, then his ankle. Dieter made Becker pause between blows, allowing just enough time for the pain to ease slightly and for the subject to begin to dread the next stroke.

Bertrand began to appeal for mercy. “No more, please,” he implored, hysterical with pain and fear. Becker raised the crowbar, but Dieter stopped him. He wanted the begging to go on. “Please don’t hit me again,” Bertrand cried. “Please, please.”

Dieter said to Becker, “It is often a good idea to break a leg early in the interview. The pain is quite excruciating, especially when the broken bone is struck again.” He selected a sledgehammer from the umbrella stand. “Just below the knee,” he said, handing it to Becker. “As hard as you can.”

Becker took careful aim and swung mightily. The crack as the shin broke was loud enough to hear. Bertrand screamed and fainted. Becker picked up a bucket of water that stood in a corner and threw the water in Bertrand’s face. The young man came to and screamed again.

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