Justin brought a high-powered signal receiver, making it easy for everyone to listen in on the security guards' radio channels. She also hacked the camp's wireless network, silently taking control of all the surveillance cameras.
The surveillance operation continued for another two days, and by the fifth day, just as Jack was about to request a few more days off from Hotchner and Rossi, the security guards at the drilling camp finally lost their patience.
After a heated argument, Serge Myers couldn't hold back a few of his subordinates.
They split into two groups again—one group stayed behind, while the other got into a car, making a racket as they headed to the town's bar to get drunk. Among them was Jack's target, "Big Mouth" Pete.
When Pete and his companions walked into the town's only bar, Sheriff Ben Shoei, Deputy Sheriff Brant, and two other officers had already changed into plain clothes and were parked on the two streets flanking the bar in their own cars.
Braxton entered the bar first to confirm the target, and not long after, a text message was sent to Jack's phone. Ellia, who had been waiting in the back seat, got out of the car.
Watching her walk into the bar, Jack and Jane, who was in the front passenger seat, also got out of the car, slipped into an alley, and made their way to the bar's back door.
Within half an hour, a drunken Pete, standing under 5'7" and with bowlegs, staggered out of the bar's back door, holding Ellia, who was heavily made up, as they walked into the alley.
"I love you Indian girls the most, but it's a shame I don't see many of you in the town's bars. So, where are we going now? I promised my boss I'd be back before dawn, huh?"
As Pete spoke, he noticed a couple kissing in the alley, and couldn't help but grin.
"Hey buddy, your chick's not bad. Wanna trade?"
"Sure, how about something more exciting? How about we swap?"
Jack's response made Pete tense up. Just as he was about to curse, he felt a sharp pain as Ellia grabbed him tightly in a sensitive spot. Before he could scream, a large hand covered his mouth, muffling his cries.
Jack used his other hand to press down on Pete's carotid artery, easily bringing him to the ground. At the same time, Braxton's Ford Raptor appeared at the mouth of the alley.
"Woof, woof, woof! Ellia, you're amazing, getting this guy out here so quickly!"
Jane climbed into the back seat, her face flushed. Despite someone's claim of having a girlfriend, his actions betrayed him—just one accidental slip of the tongue led to a dizzying kiss.
Originally, Jane was supposed to be the bait, but fearing that Pete's companions might recognize her, Ellia volunteered for the role instead.
Because of this, Braxton had been sulking the entire way there. When he saw Jack toss Pete into the back seat, he turned and threw a solid punch, sending Pete into an even deeper sleep.
Ellia, who had climbed into the passenger seat, used a wet wipe to remove the heavy makeup from her face, then planted a firm kiss on her fiancé's cheek, finally easing his expression.
Half an hour later, in the autopsy room in the basement of the tribal police station, a bruised and battered Pete, now wearing only his underwear, was strapped tightly to a stainless steel autopsy table.
"We don't have much time. They'll notice he's missing by dawn."
Outside the autopsy room, the old sheriff looked a bit worried, while Deputy Sheriff Brant seemed confident in Jack.
"They're the FBI—they have plenty of methods. In Guantanamo, the military would even dress up in suits, pretending to be FBI agents to scare the terrorists during interrogations. It usually works."
Jane's eyes widened, her expression one of disbelief at how capable her own department was.
Jack rolled his eyes in frustration. "Scaring them? That's called framing, and the FBI and the military argued for years over that 'torture' scandal."
"Whoosh."
A basin of cold water jolted Pete awake from his unconscious state. He was horrified to find himself unable to move, surrounded by a chilling atmosphere, with rows of morgue drawers against the wall.
"Pete, right? Hello."
A gentle male voice came from beside him. Straining to turn his neck toward the sound, Pete saw a young man standing next to the autopsy table, looking down at him.
"Who are you? Fuck you! What are you planning to do to me?"
"Don't be so aggressive. I just have a few questions to ask you, about the girls you've hurt." Jack gave him a standard, professional smile, which, under the shadowless lamp, made him look even more like a psychopath.
"I don't know what you're talking about! Let me go! I'm innocent! You've got the wrong person!" Pete struggled desperately.
Jack calmly put on a pair of gloves and picked up a neck brace.
"Don't rush. We at the FBI have plenty of ways to deal with stubborn people. Today, I'll show you one of our 'gentlest' methods."
"Fuck you! What are you going to do to me? My friends will find me, and when they do, you're dead! Fucking let me go, you bastard!"
Pete tried to shake his head, but he couldn't stop Jack from securing it in place.
"Don't be scared. You've got a few days—take your time and enjoy."
Jack tried to recall the mannerisms of the deranged serial killers he had encountered, but he hadn't been with the BAU for long and didn't have much experience.
He pulled an adjustable pipe over Pete's forehead. This pipe, originally used for washing down the autopsy table, had its showerhead removed.
"Have you ever heard of FBI waterboarding? You put a cloth over the face and slowly pour water on it. You'll feel like you're suffocating, desperately trying to breathe."
"But as the cloth gets wetter, the amount of air reaching your lungs decreases, leading to slow suffocation." Jack's voice grew increasingly sinister.
"I don't know what you're talking about! You're dead! What are you going to do? Stop it, you bastard! I'm going to kill you, I swear I will!"
Pete watched helplessly as Jack turned on the water valve, releasing a stream of water.
"Don't worry, I'm not that cruel. Today, we'll try something different. Waterboarding is too harsh; let's go with a gentler method—one drop at a time."
As Jack spoke, he turned off the water valve but didn't tighten it, allowing the pipe to drip at a rate of about one drop per second.
"Do you know the power of a single drop of water? Have you ever heard the story of how dripping water wears away stone?" He positioned the pipe directly over the center of Pete's forehead.
Water droplets slowly fell from a height of about a foot, landing one by one on Pete's forehead.
After setting this up, Jack leaned in close to Pete's ear and whispered, "Take a guess. How long do you think it'll take for these drops to drill through your skull and make a hole in your head?"
___________________
Read Ahead
P@treon.com/Mutter