It was a freezing cold Monday afternoon just after Christmas when they caught me. It had been snowing non-stop for three days and the East Village was almost deserted. I didn’t see a thing. One minute I was scurrying home through the blizzard to my wife and kids, the next I had a gun in my ribs and there was a strange, muffled voice telling me to get into the white van that was parked nearby. Terrified, I clambered in and a small, wiry figure in a black balaclava and black bodysuit sprayed something into my face. That was the last thing I remembered for a long time.
When I woke up I was a prisoner. They’d taken my thick overcoat but I was still wearing the same dark, pinstripe suit that I always wore to the office. My hands were cuffed behind my back, I was wearing a blindfold and my head was incredibly sore. It was hot. There was a primitive fan revolving slowly above my head and I could hear insects buzzing and clicking all around me. God knows where I was but it certainly wasn’...
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