The gray-bearded gentleman in the expensive three-piece merely nodded as he stepped past his greeter. His blue eyes were gray enough to nearly match his well-kempt hair. Once inside, the door was closed and the two men met in the kitchen. The suited man studied a laptop’s screen which displayed their captive in a somewhat grainy and dark picture. The cups of coffee were for the moment, ignored.

“It appears that he is quite weakened, sir,” the old gentleman commented in his thick Virginian accent. “Sir” sounded more like “Suh” to his compatriate and the usage of the word was polite.
“Well, yes. I’ve given him water about twice a day. A little food,” the subordinate stated flatly.
“He has typed nothing,” the elder stated.
“Correct.”
Turning from the computer on the small table, the gentleman stepped from the room and bid the other follow with a tilt of the head. There was no doubt that the troublesome fellow below them could hear two separate sets of footsteps. It was no matter. The two captors entered an empty bedroom just off the hallway and turned to face each other. Though the first man had gone through the trouble of stuffing thick pillows in front of the vents and had taped them in place, the older gentlemen kept his voice low.
“Of course you shall refrain from using names in front of him,” said William Mickelsby as he held the other’s gaze.
“Yessir,” Jack Beltran confirmed.
“If he hears my voice, our dear friend Marcus will understand everything in clarity,” William drawled. The other merely nodded. “In which case, he will never cooperate and we will be forced to dispose of him.”
Jack stood quietly as Mickelsby stepped about the room, inspecting the taped and covered vents with the toe of an immaculately polished wingtip. After a moment, he sidled next to Beltran and nearly whispered the rest.
“As we speak, you and I are losing many friends as a result of this man’s publication,” William noted the look of concern on Jack’s face and placed a hand on his shoulder to still him. “Now, some are simply being reassigned. Relocated. However, a few are being…well…erased. You understand me, sir?”
Beltran nodded.
“I know Marcus. I can tell by the look in his eye that he is not yet defeated. No, sir.”
Beltran stilled and watched the eyes of his boss drill into his own with a mixture of sternness and fatherly guidance. It was why so many in the bureau remained so loyal to the man.
“You will give him another couple of days of this treatment. If he does not begin to communicate by…say, Friday, we will have to move forward.”
“Yessir.”
“Now then,” William Mickelsby said slightly more loudly. “How about that coffee?”
“This way, sir,” Beltran said with a mild smile in response to his boss’s.