No one is in the alley behind their building, or seems to be watching, as Angus and Laurent hustle Campbell out of the car, into the back stairs and up to the apartment. Even an insomniacal nosy neighbour would not see enough to provoke a phone call to the police. Or so Danielle hopes. She follows the men upstairs as Estelle parks the car. When she enters the apartment she feels a little bit better. They are safer now. Discovery is unlikely. They still have to get him out of here, when they are finished, but at least they can pick and choose their own time to do so.

They sit Campbell down at the kitchen table, his hands still trussed behind his back, a dark scarf still wound around his eyes, the ball gag purchased at a sex-toy shop still filling his mouth. He makes a low noise deep in his throat as Laurent expertly ties the chain of his handcuffs to the back of the chair and produces their victim's keychain, anchored by a small black lozenge with the SecurID logo and a liquid-crystal screen that displays six numbers. Laurent drops the lozenge in front of Keiran, who sits at the table's opposite corner, laptop before him, looking like he has eaten, and swallowed, something disgusting. After a moment Keiran types the SecurID number into his laptop.

"Listen," Angus says in a harsh whisper. "We're going to ask you some questions. If you answer them fully and truthfully, you will not be hurt. Understand?"

Campbell doesn't move.

"Understand?"

Campbell nods. Laurent unclips and removes the gag.

"What the fuck is this?" Campbell demands, his voice rising into a shout, his words slurred. Laurent quickly pinches his nostrils shut and reapplies the gag as Campbell breathes in.

"Marvellous," Keiran says. "Bloody excellent. Our subject is too drunk to think. Well done. Full marks."

"Sorry," Estelle says. "He was already half kettled by the time I walked in."

"I'll sober him up," Laurent says.

Keiran snorts. "I don't think black coffee is going to do the trick."

Laurent takes Campbell's nose firmly between his thumb and forefinger and gives it an abrupt, forceful twist. There is an audible snapping sound. The strangled remains of a scream escape Campbell's gagged mouth. He writhes so violently that Angus has to lean on his chair to prevent him from falling over, and blood begins to pour from his nose.

The other four people in the room stare aghast at Laurent.

"Bring a towel," he says to Danielle. "Move! We don't want his DNA everywhere."

Moving numbly, she obeys. He presses the towel to Campbell's face, keeping the blood from seeping onto the table.

"Wait for the blood to clot," Laurent says. "He'll be sober enough by then."

"Fucking hell," Angus says quietly. He seems a little shaken. Estelle, standing next to him, does not.

Laurent looks at him. "If you don't have the stomach for this we should stop now."

"No," Angus says. "No, I'm fine. That was...unexpected. That's all."

The next few minutes seem to stretch out for eons. No one has anything to say. The rasping sounds as Campbell breathes sound like those of a dying animal. Keiran looks like he wants to throw up. Danielle feels the same way. Interrogation, what they called it before it happened, was one thing. Torture is another. But they have come too far now, taken too big a risk already, to even suggest stopping.

"All right," Laurent decides. "We'll try this one more time. Are you going to be loud?" he says into Campbell's ear. "Bear in mind you have two hundred other bones in your body."

Campbell gingerly shakes his head. "Are you certain?"

Campbell nods. Laurent removes the gag. Campbell breathes deeply and gratefully through his mouth.

"You'll answer our questions, won't you?" Laurent asks.

"Yes." It is more a moan than a word.

Laurent looks at Keiran.

"Project Cinnamon," Keiran says. "We need the pass phrases."

"What pass phrases?"

"To open the documents," Keiran says, exasperated.

"I don't, I don't have them. They've all, Mr. Gendrault, the CEO, he's the only one who knows the passwords."

Danielle sags with disappointment.

"I've read your CV," Keiran says harshly. "You're a professional. Do you really expect me to believe that you let the CEO, and only the CEO, encrypt those files without creating a back door just in case he forgot his password down the road?"

Campbell doesn't say anything.

"Do you need further encouragement?" Laurent's voice is dangerous.

"Just a minute," Campbell says, his voice raw. "I don't, it's hard to think. Yes. Yes, there's a back door."

"What is it?"

"PGP encryption. The phrase is Double Nickel Override. Nickel was my dog's name. When I was a kid."

"We don't fucking care about your dog," Angus growls, as Keiran types furiously.

"Got them," Keiran says.

"What are they?" Estelle asks, coming to look over his shoulder. A minute passes as Keiran and Estelle scan the documents.

"No," Keiran says. "These are takeover documents. Letters of agreement, minutes of negotiations, financials, balance sheets. Kishkinda management is in secret takeover talks with some other company, behind Terre's back. Zulu Fields. South African, I presume. Interesting. But nothing like what you're looking for."

"Who are you?" Campbell asks, confused now. "I thought – you're not from Terre?"

Angus slaps him, and Campbell rocks back and moans. "Stop fucking around," Angus growls. "We want the real files. The real Kishkinda files. The real groundwater reports. The real health studies. Accounts of which thugs and politicians you pay off, and how much. We want everything."

"What are you talking about?" Campbell asks. He actually sounds angry. Alcohol has watered down his fear. "We don't do that. We don't pay bribes. No more than every company in India does. There's only one set of groundwater reports. There are no secret files. I know the whole network, I'd know if there was. That's a lie spread by ignorant fucking anarchists like you. We don't poison people and we don't pay anyone off."

"Believe me, sweetheart," Estelle says, "you're not doing anyone any favours by lying. Least of all yourself."

"I'm not lying. We're clean."

"Maybe," Angus says, "just maybe, you actually believe that. But I think you're in this shite up to your neck. And you think we'll kill you if you tell the truth. But we won't. Tell us and we'll let you go as is. That's a sworn promise."

"There's nothing to tell. There are no hidden files."

Angus looks at the other corner of the table. "Is that true?"

Keiran shrugs. "I've downloaded their email archive, but it'll take days to go through. And if I do find anything it will probably be encrypted."

"He'll tell us now," Laurent says. "Won't you?"

"I can't. There's nothing to tell."

"Keep him quiet," Laurent says. He walks to the sink, takes a large porcelain bowl from a cabinet, and begins to fill it from the tap. Danielle looks at him with horror. She just wants this to be over.

"I'll tell you anything," Campbell says desperately. "I'll answer anything. I'm not lying. I can't point you to something that doesn't fucking exist. Please!"

"Quiet," Estelle says, smacking Campbell lightly on the back of the head, almost like a disobedient pet.

Her victim cringes. "Please," he repeats, quieter but no less passionate. "It's true. We're not hiding anything. Or if we are I don't know anything about it. Please. I want to help you. I just can't."

"You want to help us," Laurent says, coming back with the mostly-full bowl of water, putting it in on the table in front of Campbell. "An unlikely story."

"What are you doing?" Angus asks.

"A little incentivization. Don't worry. It's harmless. No permanent marks, so long as you're careful. And I'm always very careful."

Laurent smiles. Then he grabs the back of Campbell's head and shoves his face down into the water.

Campbell tries to fight, but his neck muscles are no match for Laurent's strength. The others watch and do not move. Campbell's desperate writhing starts to subside. Danielle opens her mouth to say something, she doesn't know what, when Laurent pulls his head out of the water, allows him two deep wheezing breaths, and shoves it back in. Campbell kicks his feet pathetically against the floor.

"Other people waste their time with knives, thumbscrews, fire, electricity, genital torture, you name it," Laurent says, speaking slowly and distinctly. "All you really need are restraints and a bowl of water. It doesn't even leave a mark."

He allows Campbell another breath.

"People say drowning is one of the worst ways to die. Of course, you have to think, how would they know? But that's what those who almost drown always say. That it was the worst experience they can imagine."

Another rattling gasp of breath. "Most people have no idea how painful long suffocation can be. Most people can't take more than a couple minutes. Dunk them a few times and they're yours for life. But you, my friend, you seem like a hard case. You'll be here for quite a little while. Maybe you already decided to tell me everything, but I won't even ask you for a good, let's say, five minutes."

Two breaths.

"When I do ask, just remember, if you get the answer wrong, you'll get another ten minutes of this. Maybe I'm doing you a favour, you know? Helping you kick your oxygen habit."

A breath.

"People say physical interrogation doesn't work, but you know what? They're not usually the same people who have experienced it."

"Stop it," Danielle whispers. "Stop. Laurent. Please stop." She tells herself he must be acting. It must be tearing him up inside to do this. He cannot really be the icy sadist he seems right now. He's only trying to intimidate Campbell. But she can't sit silently and watch any more torture. This has to end.

"No names!" Laurent says angrily.

"Stop it. You have to stop. You'll kill him."

"He's perfectly safe. I've done this before." He pulls Campbell's head out of the bowl for two more breaths, then plunges it back into the blood-clouded water.

"I'm not part of this," Keiran says. He folds his laptop and picks it up. "I'll be in my room."

"No," Angus says. "Keiran, mate, we need you. No one else understands the technical side of things."

"Look at yourself. I should fucking give you up is what I should do." Keiran stalks into his room.

"We don't need him," Laurent assures Angus, as he continues asphyxiating Campbell. "Believe me, this man will be more than willing to spell it all out."

"Please stop," Danielle begs. "Please. We can't do this."

"I know how you feel," Estelle says quietly. "But we can't let ourselves feel sorry for men like him. He knows who he works for. He knows they deliberately let thousands of people die for their profit margins. He's not even wilfully ignorant, he's worse than that, there's a legal phrase, 'depraved indifference'. Don't feel sorry for him. Remember that he's a monster. He's the worst kind of monster, the kind that gets to go to parties and talk about his work and pretend he's a normal human being."

"What if you're wrong?"

"You've been to those villages," Angus says. "You think it's coincidence that every village around the Kishkinda Mine has cancer rates a thousand times that of the average Indian population?"

Eventually Laurent says, "I think he's ready," and pulls Campbell's head out for good. Campbell spends thirty seconds coughing up water, his body convulsing as if with powerful electrical shocks. Then he vomits into the bowl and hangs limply in his chair, all strength gone, every slow and laboured breath a moan.

"Tell us where the hidden files are," Laurent says.

It takes Campbell a few moments to muster an answer. "I don't know," he says, his voice so wheezy that Danielle has to strain to hear. "Please. I don't know anything. I'd tell you if I did. I'd tell you anything. I don't know. Please. Please."

Laurent clenches his fist in Campbell's hair and looks at Angus.

"More?"

"No," Danielle demands. "No. You have to stop. He doesn't know."

Angus looks at Estelle, who slowly shakes her head.

"No," Angus says. "Let's get him out of here."

** *

Danielle is already in bed when Laurent returns. In bed but wide awake. She twitches with revulsion when he reaches over and rests his hand on her shoulder. She doesn't know how to react, whether to push him away, or pull him to her so they can try to help each other forget.

"I was so sure," he whispers.

She rolls over to look at him. His eyes are wide and vulnerable. "Sure of what?" she asks, her voice harsh.

"That he knew something. I was so sure he was a monster I turned into a monster myself. I can't believe I did that."

"You said you'd done it before," she says.

"Yes. Twice, in the Legion. To men I'd seen kill with my own eyes. But Campbell didn't know anything. He was innocent. And I..."

His voice trails off. He rolls onto his back and covers his face with his hands.

"You thought you were doing the right thing."

He shakes his head. "You told me to stop. You told me again and again. And I wouldn't listen. I was so sure."

She takes a deep breath. "Listen to me. You made a mistake. We all made an awful mistake. And you...you did turn into a monster. I was, I was scared of you in there, you understand? Not just frightened for you. Frightened of you."

"I'm sorry. Danielle, I'm so sorry, so sorry."

"I know you are." She moves closer, rolls on top of him, so she is resting with her head above his, their eyes just inches apart. "And it can't ever happen again. You understand that? Not ever."

Wide-eyed, he nods. She closes her eyes and breathes deeply with relief.

"You made a mistake," she says. "So did I. Well, if there's one thing I've gotten good at, it's making mistakes. I bet you don't have my experience. So let me tell you. You know what you do with mistakes? You learn from them and you let them pass. We don't pretend it never happened, but we don't pick at it either. We let it scab over and heal. That's what we're going to do. Understand?"

He nods again. She kisses him.

"I don't deserve you," he says, his voice warm but oddly distant. He sits up a little and looks at her as if he is seeing her for the first time. "I don't. I truly don't."

"In the words of Clint Eastwood," Danielle says dryly, "deserve's got nothin' to do with it."

She kisses him with a passion she does not really feel. He doesn't move. She takes his right hand and puts it on her breast, then takes his left and kisses it, takes his thick fingers into her mouth, presses herself against him until she can feel him reacting. He frees his hands and grabs her, pulls her against his hardness as he kisses her harshly, and she sighs, feeling herself react to the inevitable tug of desire, letting herself disappear in it. Her hips start to move almost involuntarily against his. He opens his mouth to say something.

"Don't," she whispers. "Don't say anything. Let's forget about everything. At least until tomorrow."

** *

"I'm going back to London today," Keiran says, over morning coffee and tartines at the Brasserie de la Reine. He does not look directly at anyone else at the table save for Danielle, who gathers she has somehow escaped his wrath, perhaps by protesting, however feebly, last night. "I'm done."

"I understand," Angus says. "But we need you to teach whoever we get to replace you. Give them the files you've found, the network access, everything."

"I'll send you a CD. I'm done. I'm leaving Paris today."

"We all are," Estelle says.

Danielle looks at her. "What?"

"We've got everything we can get here. We're all going to meet with the foundation, back in London."

"The foundation," Keiran says scornfully. "And what can they do for you?"

"Give us direction," Angus says.

"You don't need direction. You need to have some fucking sense knocked into you. You say you want to help the world's poor and you wind up torturing an innocent man. And you're still trying to justify it. You don't know fuck-all about the poor and downtrodden, you just want to fight the powers that be, because you love being a romantic outlaw. You say businesses exploit the Third World, and that's why its people are so pitiable and deprived? You stupid selfish cunt. The Third World is hopelessly poor and sick and ignorant because it's been hopelessly poor and sick and ignorant forever, and its governments are corrupt sociopathic kleptocracies. Free trade, big business, capital investment, globalization, all the things you hate, those are the only fucking hope of the people you say you want to save. What's really going on is that you're exploiting the poor, the sick, the slaves, you exploit them as your excuse to fight the only force that has a real fucking chance of helping them. You make me sick."

"Keiran, mate –"

"Don't call me mate. Our friendship is over. Is that clear?"

After a moment Angus nods. He looks like he has just been punched in the gut.

"I'm on the 3PM Eurostar. Pick a different train. I'm going to pack."

Keiran empties his espresso and exits the brasserie. Angus and Estelle look at one another.

"The foundation," Laurent says. "At last. I hope they're worth the wait."