They chomped out of the wash basin….probably that’s the best way to define it.
Out there stood a guy, tall, well built, looked like a bull with great strength, only short of a matador to send it to slaughter house. Well, it might be the that the bull sends the matador to the slaughterhouse instead, the strength oozed from his eyes.
“Doped?” I whispered.
Rocky nodded, “seems like.”
“Well, Mushy this is a small team here….” Marco was interrupted as he flipped through his tablet.
“Ms. Reasha Markonikoff alias Reasha Romanikoff, Julius Rocky Sengengwe and Martin Andrew Jones.”
“Wow! You impress me all the time.” Marco clapped as I stood wondering if he knew my whole story.
We passed through his surveillance monitor and once on the other side, walking through the barbed electrified fenced tracks, I asked Marco.
“How much does he know?”
“Nothing more than ten years of your life. The world had no cameras & no hidden sound recorders, no mobiles, no spies working for their own countries behind lay men then remember.” Marco whispered.
“Rocky, you move ahead of us.” I instructed.
“Reasha can you please remember I am Martin, instead of the usual names you keep calling me. It’s slightly embarrassing.” Martin beseeched. I understood it from his tone since being shorter than him with the globe sitting tight on my head and his, I could not see more than his eyes which were now smaller with pleading.
“Okay. I will remember.”
“Where are we heading? It seems to be an unending barbed fence.” Far down, a tiny dot was now visible and it seemed like a man.
“Over there, our tryst ends.” Marco pointed out with his fingers.
Cameras lined up the whole wall through tiny holes which walked with us as we moved.
I walked past each imagining how we looked in those cameras.
“Don’t worry, they are mute. Only your moves are studied. Unless the siege is broken. They don’t talk. There are no thought readers though, but once you are in, make sure you know what you think.” Marco blabbered.
“Boss, I am turning blank and Martin turns his thoughts manipulative, is that fine?”
“Fine. These very garments might be recording us, relax.” I pointed out.
“Hello! What brings you here Lucas? We are though always pleased to have you and your friends.” The man was ordinarily lean, his specks spoke how less he could probably see far or near, whatever.
“This is Jerome. He is in charge of what belongs to you.” Marco’s second name was Lucas.
“This is Ms.Reasha. Oh! My Jesus, I am so glad to meet you.” Without a word he flanked my arm and shook it longer than I have ever imagined anyone could probably shook those firm hands.
“What belongs to you Boss?”
“I am yet to find out…..we don’t know what Marco thinks and talks.”
“Why? Is he insane or something? In that case are we in the right place?” Martin looked around, there was no escape. It was as high as probably a hundred storey building, remodelled probably coz a hangar is usually lower. We all had started whispering our thoughts.
“No, coz he does poetry and no one really can guess a poet’s thoughts. It might be one at a point antagonising it in the next. Precisely thought readers and lie detectors don’t do much well with such people. An innocent may think like a criminal for his poetry and prose and vice verse.”
Martin gulped down, the shrill tone at the end of each statement died for him. His voice became more base.
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