The interrogation room was struck silent by Westcott’s recitation. He allowed his hands to fall from Babel’s forehead and gasped for breath, brushing a sweat-soaked lock of hair from his forehead and resting his hand on the cable plugged into his datajack for a moment as if it pained him. He reached into the pocket of his white labcoat and withdrew a white handkerchief. Lanier noticed a small trickle of blood dripping from Westcott’s nose that he dabbed at with the cloth.