She was sitting on the edge of the bed staring at me with her arms, elbows locked, supporting her. Her legs were splayed. That was a good sign. A very...good sign.Herbert Brooks was hanging by his wrists in the interview room, which is what I call the dungeon at my hidden warehouse suite. Mica and Donnie were babysitting him.Herbie was naked and they'd stretched him. His feet were off the ground a few inches, with his legs spread about three feet apart, and attached to the floor. His arms were. He threw back the sheets to see mobs of people shouting. He opened window. "WE WANT WAR! WE WANT WAR! WE WANT WAR!" This mantra was cried over and over again. He hurried to the bathroom. Relieved himself in the crapper, shaved, dressed and raced out to find that the crowd wasn't dispersing, instead it was growing."What is happening?" he asked a man with a walrus moustache."We're at war," the man answered."War! We declared war on Germany?" That's right, sir. They violated Belgian. More

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