A minute feels like eternity, and eternity feels like a moment.
"Song... Heping..."
Lemont slowly says the name, the sound amplified through speakers, repeating at every frequency.
Milosh's lips move slightly.
The interrogator leans in close.
He is repeating the same word in Serbian: "Njet... Njet... Njet..."
"What does that mean?" the interrogator asks curiously.
Lemont is silent for two seconds: "It means 'no'. He is saying 'no'."
But at this moment, amidst the confusion, Milosh utters a phrase: "...White House... sand..."
The interrogator immediately records.
Lemont raises a hand to signal a pause on all stimuli.
"White House? The White House in the desert?" Lemont feels there might be a breakthrough in the interrogation, quickly asking: "Continue, Milosh. Where is the White House?"
But Milosh's consciousness has already slid into deeper chaos.
He is merely repeating: "White House... sand... stone..."
