by Sina

Created on: February 05, 2009

"On the Road to Damascus"
It's a particularly bleak afternoon, overcast and unusually cold for a November day on the Levant. Saul sits in the office in the building, looking out and observing the city of Damascus. He watches the city, team and toil, watching the city at sunset giving the city a distinctly red chromatic scheme and a hellish tint.
Saul is an agent of agents. A dog of war. Throughout the better part of the last twenty years he has been involved in every war, conflict, and insurgency in the Middle East. Killing Arabs, Israelis, Americans, Muslim, Christians, Jews, it didn't matter so long it was in the interest of country. A Syrian among Syrians. A devil among men, a saint among killers. .

"Sir, the American is ready."
Saul lets out a breath, "I'll be right down."
He gets up, straightens his suit, touching the nexus of his scars that run from cheek to cheek from forehead to the top of the chest.
The interrogation rooms are in the basement. Each with their own temperature control, CCTV camera, bugs, and stereo; the spy is in interrogation room one. The room's themselves are windowless cement cells. The spy has closely cropped black hair, green eyes, fairly fit, and sweaty. He is handcuffed and ankle cuffed in a chair in the center of the room.
"The hell do you want from me?"
Saul ignores the comment, continues prepping for the interrogation in meticulous order. First taking off his jacket, unbuttoning and rolling up his sleeves revealing muscular, tattooed forearms. Second, he picks up his knife, examines and sheathes it on his forearm. Third, he picks up a 9mm Beretta, picks a clip in, and cocks the weapon. He turns to the American and smiles. Saul walks to the corner of the room, looks up at the camera, he reaches up unplugging it. Then he turns and hits play on the stereo and turns up the volume. Elvis' "Viva Las Vegas" plays.
He drags his chair close to the spy. He lays the gun on his lap. He digs out a note pad and pen out of his back pocket and turns it to the spy. On the first page it reads, "I know who you are." The man's eye's show no reaction. On the second page it reads, "I want out." The man's eyes dart across the page, analyzing, thinking about the message. On the on third page, "I'm going to undue your handcuffs." Saul tucks the gun in the back of his pants, leans in and opens the cuffs. He detaches the three pages, crumples them, and hands the pad and pen to the American. The spy considers Saul and writes on the first page, "How?" On the second page he writes, "Why?" On the third page, "How are you going to get me out of here?" Saul writes, "I've seen the light."
Saul closes the spy's cuffs, leans in and whispers, "I'll get you out. You just need to trust me." Saul cracks his knuckles, punches the American hard in the nose, snapping the bridge. Blood flows from the break like a river coming down a mountain, with the water sheds forming estuaries, covering the better parts of the man's face with crimson. Saul then lands a hard punch to the left eye, causing it to instantly puff and rise up. Saul frees the man, stands him up and whispers, "Follow my lead." Saul with a cuffed spy leaves the interrogation room.
Saul snarling to his men, "What the hell were you thinking bringing me a tourist!?! He isn't a spy. He is just a damn tourist. Clean him up."

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