TELEPHONE CODE
As he regained consciousness, Tom's eyes fluttered open. Sparks of pain shot through his head. A groan escaped his lips.
"Oo-o! What hit me?" Tom wondered.
He was lying on a sofa in a strange room. Someone was seated nearby, watching him. Tom tried to move his limbs and sit up. Then he discovered that his wrists and ankles were tied with sash cord.
"Better lie still, sonny boy," a gruff voice advised. "You ain't goin' nowhere."
The man who had spoken got up from his chair and came over to the sofa. He was of medium height, very muscular looking, with cold, glittering eyes. Rolled-up shirt sleeves revealed his powerful, hairy arms.
"Where am I?" Tom asked, suddenly remembering the events on the road before he blacked out. "And what's this all about?"
The man said with a mirthless grin, "You're a prisoner. And you're goin' to stay here until the cops let Dimitri Mirov go. It's up to you how fast they spring him."
The huge man lifted a telephone from an end table adjoining the sofa and set it on the floor alongside Tom.