“Fuck,” he groaned.
So he was laid out on a cold, hard floor and zip-tied to a pole in a completely dark room.
When the room pitched and rolled, a slow rocking motion underneath him, he almost puked. With no visual points of reference, and already dizzy from the head injury, nausea swam up his gullet and threatened to spew the contents of his guts onto the floor around him.
He recognized the roll of a ship on the ocean. Closing his eyes, he tried to gauge the size of the ship based on the motion, and figured it had to be a freighter or cargo ship of some kind.
As his senses—and his sense—came back to him, he sat up and sought as much information as he could despite the darkness. The smell of dusty old metal filled his nostrils when he breathed deep, and when he concentrated, the engines somewhere in the bowels of the ship vibrated the floor where he sat. The hum of turbines and deep stirring of ocean water were the only audible sounds, other than the rasp of the zip ties on the metal pole. No voices or other human noises sounded near enough to hear.
So, the Russians had brought them on board a ship to take the long arduous journey across the Pacific. It made sense from their point of view. Even if he and Mindy could escape the ship, they’d still be trapped in the middle of an enormous ocean with nowhere to go. If they couldn’t escape, the long, tedious trip would wear down their determination and resistance so by the time they reached their destination they’d be exhausted and more compliant.
Psychologically and strategically, it made more sense than a comparatively quick flight.
They didn’t count on kidnapping a SEAL, though. Buck would see to it they regretted that oversight.
Unfortunately, tied to a pole in a dark ship’s hold was a new challenge for him. The upside was, they needed Mindy to continue working on her drug, so they wouldn’t hurt her; at least not too badly. The downside was, he had no idea how long he’d been unconscious or at what point they were in their journey. If they made it to Russia—or wherever they were going—all bets were off. It would take a while for anyone to realize he and Mindy were missing, and once that happened, it would take more time to figure out where they were and how to rescue them—if anyone even tried. If they made it to Russia first, rescue would mean attacking or infiltrating enemy territory, which would be more tricky and less likely.
So, Buck had to assume they were on their own for now.
The clank of the door lock disengaging echoed in the darkness, and interrupted his thoughts. Someone opened the door and flipped on a light, which blinded Buck after the darkness. He had to squint to avoid the brightness, but forced his eyes open despite the watery pain it caused. He wanted to see as much detail as he could before they left him in darkness again.
The room looked like a smallish-cargo hold. Though mostly empty, there were still some crates secured at the back end of the room. Otherwise, it looked about as dusty and rusty as he’d expected, with only one door as exit and entry. He glanced briefly at his bindings. His arms were wrapped around the pole in front of him, and he sat with his legs awkwardly slung to the side. At least only his arms were bound. He said a silent prayer of thanks that the bindings were standard zip ties, not military or law enforcement grade zip cuffs.
Three men entered the room. One stayed to guard the door, one led the way with his AK-47 pointed at Buck, and the other—who Buck recognized as the leader from Triada—held Mindy’s upper arm in a tight grip as he led her across the room.
“See? He’s alive,” the Russian said.
Buck managed to get his feet under him and slide his arms up the pole, into a standing position. Mindy tore away from the Russian’s grasp and ran to Buck. She threw her arms around him as best she could.
“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice tight with worry.
“I’m fine. Are you? Are they treating you well?”
Mindy pulled back to look him in the eye. She traced his temple and around his eye with her fingers. “They hit you.”
His face must be bruised, but it wasn’t like he hadn’t been hit before. He hadn’t even noticed the pain, other than the initial headache when he woke up. He’d been too focused on taking in his surroundings.
He scanned her to be sure they hadn’t hurt her. She seemed uninjured—no cuts or bruises—and they’d given her clothes, including a jacket and shoes. She’d pulled her hair back from her face into a ponytail.
“It’ll heal,” he said, smiling for her and hoping it alleviated her worry. He didn’t like that he’d caused that pained look in her eyes. Although, he had to admit, he liked that she cared. It warmed the places in his heart he’d forgotten existed—the places that wished for love, home, stability. All of which was probably a bad idea given his career and his failed history with family.
She leaned in to kiss his cheek, then whispered, “I’m scared.”
That only triggered all his protection instincts. “I know. Hang tight. I’ll get us out of this,” he whispered back, hoping it was true.
“All right, enough,” the Russian said, joining them at the pole and pulling Mindy away. “You wanted to be sure he’s alive, and he is. Now, stop whining about it.”
He started to drag her away. “Hey, Boris, who are you?” Buck asked. “What do you want with her?”
The man chuckled. “The name is Ivan, not that you’ll see me again. You’re insurance that she’ll behave and do as she’s told. You don’t need to know anything,” the Russian said.
“I’m hungry and I have to pee,” Buck said.
“You can make him more comfortable than this,” Mindy said.
“I could, but I choose not to. You can have him alive here, or dead.”
Mindy scowled at him, and crossed her arms in a display of stubbornness. “You can have my cooperation if you treat him well, or not.”
Buck had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from snorting. She must be getting a feel for Ivan and how much she could push him. The fact that he fumed at her, but considered her request indicated how valuable she was to them. She had to be thinking the same thing. It also emphasized Buck’s impression of him from Triada—that he had a shred of humanity contrary to his outward behavior.
Ivan said something in Russian to one of the other men, but grabbed Mindy’s arm again and dragged her out of the room.
The other man approached Buck with caution, pointing his weapon at Buck’s head. “Ivan said to bring you some food and a bucket and a blanket. You can sleep down here like a dog.”
He laughed, then turned on his heel and left, flicking off the lights and locking the door behind him.
Buck shut his eyes and watched the flashes and flares of color and white sparkles swirl behind his lids as his eyes adjusted to the darkness again. He slid back down to sitting, so he could evaluate his situation.
It pissed him off that the Russians had got the drop on them at Mindy’s house. He should have expected after losing her at Triada they’d try to re-acquire her, but he’d been focused on tending to her emotional damage, and he’d let their physical safety slide.
That they overpowered and subdued him, fueled his determination to put right that mistake. Not only was it humiliating to have been captured, but he’d failed his responsibility to keep Mindy safe. He could live with being humiliated, not so much with failure.
He lucked out that the Russians preferred zip ties over handcuffs. Cuffs would be a lot harder to get out of. Not that the ties were easy. But they were easier.
He got back to his feet. The team had gone through captivity, survival, and escape training and had learned some skills for beating bindings. They’d never practiced anything tied to a pole, though.
He bellied up to the pole, allowing as much freedom of movement for his arms as possible. Next, he twisted his cuffed wrists so he could get the long ends of the ties between his teeth and pull them tight and shift the locking mechanism between his wrists. After several deep breaths he’d psyched himself up sufficiently. He only wanted to do this once. If i
t didn’t work, it would probably hurt like hell.
Finally, he reached his arms up overhead as far as he could with the pole in the way, then in one fast, hard motion he brought his arms down and out, pulling his wrists apart as he did. The power of the motion and impact with the pole at the bottom of the downswing snapped the zip ties off his wrists and sent him tumbling backwards onto his ass.
He laughed as he rubbed his wrists.
His ears perked up at the sound of heavy boots on the metal floor outside the door. On his feet in a heartbeat, he rushed for the door as the Russian opened it, slamming it hard with his shoulder and clobbering the guy when he didn’t expect it. The satisfying crunch of what Buck hoped was the guy’s nose breaking, made him smile.
Now that he was free, he could go to work. He dragged the unconscious Russian into the room and flipped on the light. He removed the body armor, weapons, ammo clips, and knife, and dug out a supply of zip ties from a pocket and cuffed the Russian’s hands behind him around the pole, tying his ankles together for good measure.
Buck still had no shirt or shoes, and unfortunately this guy’s feet were smaller than his, so he’d have to remain barefoot. He did slip the body armor over his head and secure it, though.
He checked the handgun clip, then snapped it back into place. “Okay, Mindy. I’m coming to get you.”
Melinda had had better days. Even fainting at Caroline’s barbecue had been better than being captured by Russian terrorists—or whoever they were. Ivan had allowed her to see Buck, to prove he was alive, but he didn’t look so good. Still wearing only his jeans, they’d tied him to a post in a dark, filthy cargo hold.
When she’d seen him, she’d been relieved. It took a lot of willpower not to break down in tears. She was no SEAL, but Buck inspired her to hang on.
Ivan had put her in a small room furnished with a bed, desk, closet, and tiny little washroom with a toilet and sink. When she sat to pee, only an inch or two of open air on either side kept her shoulders from bumping the walls.
She paced the small space of the room. It only took a few steps to cross it. At the porthole she peeked out on the same scene she’d looked at for hours. The endless ocean triggered panic somewhere deep inside. She hated deep water anyway—had never been able to swim because of it—so being trapped in a teeny tiny tin can, relatively speaking, afloat on such a vast amount of water freaked her out. She had no problem with heights. Put her at the base of the tallest cliff and she’d climb it like a monkey, with or without ropes. She loved the thrill of free climbing. Or any other extreme sport, for that matter. The adrenaline helped clear the cobwebs of anxiety.
But she’d never conquered water.
A knock on the door preceded Ivan barging in without waiting for her to give him permission.
“Come with me,” he said.
His pale, round face, high cheekbones, and slicked-back hair reminded her of movie stereotypes of Russian gangsters, but she didn’t dare dismiss him as a caricature. He may look that way, but he wasn’t stupid, and he carried at least one gun, and the ship was crawling with others just like him, some in full body armor.
Plus, she’d already watched him kill people she cared about.
She followed Ivan from her quarters through a warren of narrow passageways and up a couple of levels of metal stairs, to a door where Ivan knocked and waited. The man who opened the door was a completely different level of terrifying. Ivan had thug written all over him. The new guy wore an expensive suit and tie, and had no obvious weapons, but the way he carried himself left no doubt in her mind he was far more dangerous than Ivan.
He said nothing, only stood aside and gestured for her to enter.
She may as well have stepped through a portal from a cargo ship at sea into a Manhattan office suite. The deep red carpet, dark wood and leather furnishings, and wood paneling all represented affluence, even down to the windows along one wall which had been tinted to avoid glare and protect the carpet and furniture.
What was going on?
She stepped over the threshold and looked back at Ivan, as if through the Narnia wardrobe.
“Dr. Emerson.”
She turned back to the room, following the deep, rich, accented voice to find a handsome man—also in an expensive suit—pouring some kind of alcohol into a crystal tumbler.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Would you like a drink?”
“No, thank you.”
“Very well.” He finished pouring his drink as if he had all the time in the world, while she stood waiting. The first hint of nerves started to swirl in her belly. Until then, adrenaline and fear had kept anxiety at bay. The long, boring hours locked in what was essentially a cell, had given her time to calm down, so this guy pouring drinks in this out-of-place room, sparked her unease.
Once he’d taken a sip, he acknowledged her again. “Please, sit. You may call me Mikhail. This is my associate, Nikolai.”
She crossed the room and stood across from him. “Why am I here?” She had a vague idea, but needed detail, even if it scared her. If Buck wasn’t able to get them out, she had to know what she faced.
“We have heard through reliable channels that you’ve developed a cognitive enhancer that we’re interested in,” Mikhail said.
“Who is ‘we’?” she asked.
“That information is unnecessary for you right now.”
“You’re not even going to tell me who you are? I’m just kidnapped by some shadowy Russians and expected to do what?”
“As you’re told,” Nikolai said. His voice had a sharp edge to it that made her flinch.
“You’ll continue your work,” Mikhail said. “Only you’ll do it for us. You’ll be given anything you need, and you’ll be made comfortable.”
“As long as you behave,” Nikolai said.
With some effort, Melinda ignored Nikolai. His hostility fed her fear and distress. Mikhail didn’t fool her, though. He came across as smooth and pleasant, but his eyes were cold. Good cop bad cop must be a universal thing, not just an American movie trope.
“What if I don’t agree?”
“Your boyfriend will suffer,” Nikolai said. His eyes sparkled with too much enthusiasm at the idea. She didn’t want to think about what they’d do to Buck. It made her lightheaded.
“That is why we brought him along,” Mikhail said. “He will remain unharmed and also comfortable as long as you continue your work.”
“What do you want to use the Amaranthine for?”
“What is was meant for,” Mikhail said.
“It wasn’t meant for anything. It was an accident. I was researching cures for Alzheimer’s and came across it unintentionally.”
“Well, it was a happy—and very useful—accident.”
“It’s not safe for people to use. There are too many dangerous side effects,” she said.
“Your job is to fix those problems,” Mikhail said.
He had a glib answer for everything. “How long do you plan to hold me prisoner?”
“Until you’re no longer useful.”
Melinda’s knees trembled wondering how long it would take her usefulness to expire. They’d snatched her from her own bedroom and cut her off from her employer, her friends, her home, her cat, as if she were only a commodity, not a human being. They expected her to accept her situation and do as she was told, threatening Buck’s life if she didn’t. How long before they decided Buck was a burden to keep alive and killed him, relying only on threatening her life to keep her working?
Her knees gave out and she flopped onto the couch behind her.
“You don’t look so good,” Mikhail said. “Have a drink.”
He offered his glass, but she shook her head. “No.”
“You will adjust. There are other scientists where we’re taking you, colleagues you’ll share work with. You’ll come to like it there.”
He talked as if the rest of her life would be spent there—wherever there was. Probably some secret s
cience lab in the middle of Siberia. A wave of dizziness swept from her gut up into her head, fogging her vision and shortening her breath.
“Oh God,” she groaned, bending to put her head between her knees so she wouldn’t pass out again as blood rushed from her brain.
“Do you need to lie down?” Mikhail asked. The confusion in his voice almost made her laugh. He was probably used to his victims screaming or railing against him, or passing out from loss of blood after he’d beaten them, not fainting on the couch. If it weren’t so absurd, she’d be embarrassed that she wasn’t tougher.
“Air,” she said. “I need air.”
From her folded position she heard Mikhail’s pained sigh. Asshole. “Nikolai, will you please escort Dr. Emerson outside for some fresh air?”
Nikolai made a disgusted grunt, but the squeak of leather indicated he’d stood from his chair. Melinda slowly rolled up to sitting, waiting for her vision to clear. Nikolai stood over her, glaring.
She took a couple of deep breaths, and finally stood and smoothed her hair. “Lead the way,” she said, mustering as much dignity as she could.
She followed Nikolai out the same door she’d entered, but rather than head down the way she’d come, he took a left and at the end of a hallway he opened a door that let in a whoosh of cool, salty air.
Melinda followed him out onto an external walkway. She squinted against the mid-afternoon sunshine reflecting off the water. Stepping to the railing, she grabbed the metal bars for balance and allowed her eyes to adjust. Once they had, she almost wished they hadn’t. If the view from the porthole in her bunk was overwhelming, from where she stood now, it was terrifying. Nothing but blue sky broken by a few puffy white clouds, and ocean everywhere she looked from horizon to horizon.
Panic threatened to crush her. The Pacific looked big on a map, but holy shit from the middle of it, she may as well be on a foreign planet. These Russians had kidnapped her and were spiriting her away to some isolated lab in Siberia where she’d never see anyone they didn’t want her to see. Her life would be over.
Special Forces: Operation Alpha: Bang for the Buck (Kindle Worlds Novella) (SWAK Series Book 1) Page 7
