Page 47 of Need to Know

I paused for a thoughtful moment; my brain as tangled as a bowl of noodles. How could I communicate everything that had happened to us in the past twenty-four-hours without sounding like a nut job? Special Agent Porter stared at me mutely; a tactic that I knew was used to get interviewees to fill awkward silences. I was keen to oblige.

“We were abducted; Jack and me…pulled off the street, and held overnight at some place outside the city. We were drugged and interrogated. Look at the state of my wrists, and hands. I’ve been restrained, and my face—“ I said gesturing to my split lip, “I couldn’t go to the cops,” I worried a hand through my hair. “The studio lawyers would go nuts…they’re already dealing with the break in at the hotel. The last day has been crazy. I don’t know what to do,” my train of thought was all over the place and I cringed inside at how rattled I sounded, but couldn’t stop talking. “This isn’t the result of a drunken night out,” I insisted, feeling Special Agent Porters silent judgment of me. One of the first things our trainers had taught us—interrogation 101—answer the question you’ve been asked, and nothing more. But my mouth seemed to have a mind of its own and the longer the agent stared at me, the more I rambled.

“I didn’t drink at all, I swear. I don’t remember much, but during the interrogation, the men, they asked me about Curtis Hale.”

What the hell was I even doing? I didn’t know who I could trust. Special Agent Porter hadn’t come across as trustworthy, and the Spook was definitely not a man to trust, so logically, I should be more discrete and not blurt out everything rolling round in my mind. From the disdainful way Special Agent Porter was perusing me, I was unsure if she thought I was a rich asshole who’d partied too hard and got involved with something kinky, or if I was genuinely a victim of crime. I hoped she would give me the benefit of the doubt.

“Take a breath, Mr. Linden. I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves. You flew to Berlin from where?”

I let out a sigh of frustration, she wasn’t listening to me. “Look, I flew from New York to Berlin on a private charter. My movie has its Berlin première on Saturday. Jack Boyd and I arrived in Berlin early morning yesterday…not together, he flew in from London.” I felt like I was floating further from shore with each babbling response, but I soldiered on trying to correct the timeline, telling her the pertinent facts again, hoping they’d trigger a positive response.

“We got a taxi to the hotel. We had breakfast and then did some sightseeing. In the evening Jack took me on a date. We went dancing,” I admitted nervously. Special Agent Porter didn’t bat an eyelid.

“We left our phones in our hotel suite. The club was named SODA,” I added unclenching my hands to show the slowly fading red stamp. At hearing the club name Special Agent Porter’s left eye twitched.

“Why did you choose that club?”

“Jack chose the club. He’s health conscious and…spiritual, I suppose. It’s got a no alcohol, no drugs, and no phones policy,” I explained weakly.

“What happened next?”

“What do you think happened? We danced and had a good time!” I snapped and then regretted my tone. I can’t remember ever feeling so mentally exhausted. The snarky attitude didn’t faze Special Agent Porter at all.

“What happened next?”

“Later, I think it was just after ten, we decided to walk back to the hotel. Soon after that we were approached from behind on the street. A guy put something over my mouth, a wet cloth…and then I couldn’t control my body, couldn’t fight back...it was awful. He pulled me into a vehicle.” I put my face into my hands. The memories of that event, of reaching for Jack and failing to help him, were awful. And the realization that my body wasn’t working as I’d expected, it was the worst.

Special Agent Porter broke the silence. Gently, she asked, “Nate, did the cloth smell of anything?”

I dropped my hands to the table and thought about it. “Sweet, a little solvent and sickly.”

“Did you see the person who did this…or the driver of the vehicle?”

“No.”

“What do you remember next?”

“I woke up beside Jack. We were in a bed, locked in a room. We’d been roofied.”

“How do you know you’d been roofied?”

I held up my hand, ”The ink’s special, it turns a different colour if drugs are in your system. Red means Rohypnol.”

“Okay, continue, tell me about the room you woke up in, anything you can recall,” the agent said flatly.

“There were porthole windows. We worked out it was a cabin on a ship hotel...but not one on the river. It was in a dry dock being renovated at a marina…Jack said it was on the outskirts of the city.”

“Location?”

“I don’t know…I don’t know this city. I don’t know the address. It’s all a blur,” I admitted frustratedly.

“What time do you think it was when you came to?”

“It was just after six…I still had my watch…I don’t understand…they didn’t even take my Rolex.”

“Hmmm,” Special Agent Porter said pensively. “The bruises and split lip…Mr. Linden. This is Berlin, the party capital of Europe. Are you sure you didn’t just take a pill, have a few drinks, maybe get into a fight with your boyfriend?”

I was outraged by the insinuation. “WHAT? No, no, nothing like that! They did this, the men who abducted us, THEY did it,” I insisted my anger increasing. How could she think Jack and I would be violent with one other? Jack was the kindest, gentlest man I knew. Jack had thrown himself in front of a god-damn knife attacker for me in Paris.