The only light came from the cracks around the steel door, which did not have a keyhole on the inside. Her wrists were bound by manacles, a twenty-four-centimeter chain between them, and another, longer one, attached to the ring in the wall over her shoulder. She had gone through the worst of the terror at her situation, and it had subsided to a cold dread, which at least allowed her to think clearly. The Turk had questioned her for a little while, intimidating her, but not hurting her. They still thought she was Veronica, and trusted to the abject fear she would doubtless feel to get the truth out of her. But she hadn’t been able to tell them anything useful, and sooner or later they were going to get impatient. Then they’d start hurting her. Manikin didn’t know what she’d say then. The cell was cold and damp, and she shivered, though it might not have been the chill that caused it. FX would be going out of his mind right now. Scope would be a bit more removed, trying to think it out.
