They thought they could break me in the Albanian prson camp. The solitary. The beatings on the soles of the feet. Hard labor as the harsh winds tore into our flesh.
In my fitlth-strewn cell I kept my sanity by whistling Bach's Fourth Brandenberg Concerto in G major, from beginning to end. And after I made contact with my handler, before I was airlifted out, I recorded my rendition in the commanders office. It was the one thing I left in the splinters of his desk.
The same tune I whistle now in the presence of the current sheriff. Just on the off chance that he should forget which of us is master.