State Of The Union

“Pitiful,” said Draegar as he delivered an agonizing blow with a truncheon to Lawlor’s groin area, “but to be expected.”

As Lawlor opened his mouth, a whoosh of air burst forth along with a deep groan of pain. Karl was ready for the reflex and shoved two rubber blocks between his teeth as far back as they would go. The blocks caused Lawlor to gag, but nothing he could do would dislodge them. They were wedged in tight, forcing his jaw wide open and fully exposing his teeth.

The blocks set in place, Karl stretched a tight metal band across Lawlor’s forehead, bending his neck backwards, until the band locked into a restraining device on the back of the chair.

Draegar positioned his lamp so he could get a good look into Gary’s mouth and began slowly probing his teeth with one of the sharp dental picks. “Americans take oral hygiene very seriously, don’t they? You have lovely teeth. Absolutely lovely for the most part,” said Draegar as he continued his exam. “But, I am a little concerned with this one here.” He emphasized his point by adding pressure to the pick.

Lawlor’s body involuntarily convulsed.

“Just as I suspected. Do you know much about teeth?” asked Draegar, who waited for some sign from Lawlor. When he didn’t get it, he pressed down with the pick again and watched Lawlor’s body tense against the restraints as if it had been jolted with an electric shock. “You see, inside each tooth is what we call pulp which provides the nutrients and nerves to the tooth. It runs like a little thread right down into the root. When it is diseased or damaged, as yours appears to be, the pulp can die, exposing the nerve. That is the pain you are feeling now.” Once again he pressed down with the pick and watched Lawlor’s body thrash like a man in the electric chair, before continuing. “The obvious course here would be to dig out the pulp, clean out the area and seal it. The procedure is commonly known as a root canal.”

Draegar removed the pick from Lawlor’s mouth and set it on the tray beside him. “You are actually quite lucky that I discovered your tooth problem. Had it gone on much longer, it could have been quite a mess, but I think we may have gotten to it just in time. It is quite painful, isn’t it? In fact, I would imagine that the anticipation of my further prodding has to be just as dreadful as the act itself.”

Lawlor fixed Draegar with a cold, hard stare.

“If you answer my questions, we can be done with all of this. No more pain. No more fear of pain. Tell me what I need to know and it all stops,” said Draegar as he swabbed Lawlor’s damaged tooth with a short-acting topical anesthetic. “Are the same men still involved? Has the team been updated? What is your contingency plan if they fail?”

Lawlor closed his eyes and let his body go limp, as if resigning himself to surrender.

“That’s it,” said Draegar. “Cooperate and all of the pain goes away.”

After several moments had passed, Lawlor opened his eyes.

Draegar smiled. “You are ready to answer me now?”

Though the rubber blocks had his jaws stretched to what felt like the breaking point, Gary steeled himself, opened his mouth even wider and retracted his tongue, providing Helmut Draegar with unfettered access to his tooth.

Through the bright glare of the surgical lamp, Lawlor was able to enjoy a brief moment of victory as he saw the surprised reaction on Draegar’s face. The look was soon replaced by one of sadistic determination as Draegar lifted the old dental drill and pumped life into it via its foot pedal on the floor.

The nauseating smoke from the drill bit burning through his tooth bothered him only for a second. Soon, there was nothing other than a roiling tidal wave of pain.

Chapter 11

EASTON, MARYLAND

B eing an agent of the OIIA had several advantages, not the least of which was access to the vast resources and databases of the Department of Homeland Security. Ten minutes was all it had taken for Harvath to track down the name and address attached to the phone number he had pulled from Gary Lawlor’s house. He was fairly confident that he had never heard Gary mention anyone named Frank Leighton before, but that didn’t mean they weren’t somehow connected. When it came to Gary, Scot was no longer taking anything for granted.

The Leighton residence was one of only a handful of houses along a quiet country lane known as Waverly Island Road, just outside downtown Easton, Maryland. The Cape Cod-style dwelling faced a farmer’s field across the road while its backyard sloped gently down toward the Tred Avon River, one of the Chesapeake Bay’s many tributaries. Though the snow had been falling for most of Harvath’s drive, it began to let up around Annapolis and by the time he had crossed the Chesapeake and had arrived in Easton, it had stopped altogether.