The subterranean interrogation vault beneath the Santoro marine facility in Red Hook smelled of damp stone, ozone from running server racks, and the metallic tang of dried blood. Forty feet below sea level, shielded by reinforced concrete and high-tensile steel, no cellular signal could penetrate, and no screams could reach the harbor above. Tied to the heavy steel chair in the center of the concrete floor, illuminated by a single…
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