by Zoe Dawson
Okay, this kid was disillusioned with his uncle and Zasha. That was good. Good for them. As an intelligence officer, she was not only well-versed in acquiring and turning assets for the United States, but she was keen on reading a potential candidate. She’d been successful with her every attempt. Alek was a different matter. First off, he was underage, and that went against everything inside of her. But not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, if he was primed to help them survive, she might persuade him to help them escape. That was also problematic. If the kid got involved, Darko could find out it was him who had given them the means to escape. But what choice did she have? It was either turn Alek into an outside source and convince him to help them get out of here or die at Zasha’s hands.
She had no illusion that the US would negotiate and turn Fast Lane over, not that they should. That went against not only policies, but human decency. That was Zasha’s fantasy and had no basis in reality. But if she were a guessing woman, Darko had hedged his bets and had placed them in an area where he was king and could control the US that way…politically. She wouldn’t put it past the bastard. He had the upper hand right now, but Chry had some things up her sleeve.
She hated it, but she would have to risk not only their lives, but Alek’s too. She could flip him. She was sure of it. He was already halfway there by offering her and 2-Stroke sustenance and information. He was primed.
It was time to remember her vow. No mercy.
5
“Hey,” a voice called, and 2-Stroke opened his eyes. It had been a couple of days since Zasha’s ultimatum video aimed at the US, and 2-Stroke was still feeling the effects of his beating. His ribs and torso were mottled with bruises, his lip cut, and a gash at his temple all made him feel like hamburger meat.
He focused on Alek standing at the bars. It was as if Zasha had washed her hands of them, tired of her petty game to get him to renounce the SEALs and the US. He had effectively done it when he’d said he would say anything to save Agent Mikos’s life back in Croatia. Maybe that was enough for the psycho bitch.
He blinked a couple of times, clearing his head. For a moment, Alek looked like…Riley. But Riley was dead. Killed by their father in a mad drunken moment. He pushed up to a sitting position, the regular meals helping to get him back to a balance. Alek’s expression brightened when he saw 2-Stroke rise.
“I brought apples,” he said, holding out the bundle.
2-Stroke pushed off the bunk and walked the short space toward Alek. He smiled. The kid meant well, but this was dangerous. Too dangerous.
“Thank you, Alek, but you shouldn’t be risking yourself for me.”
“Why not? You’re being held against your will in a cage with my freaking crazy uncle holding your life in his hands. What do you want me to do? Turn the other way like all his flunkies do, like they don’t care about anyone? I can’t do that. My mom…” He swallowed hard. “…taught me better.”
2-Stroke accepted the apples, and the pensive look on the boy’s face relaxed into a smile. He walked back to the bunk and tucked the fruit under his pillow to eat later. Alek settled into a cross-legged position near the bars. “Chry says hi. Do you know her well?”
“Yes, we grew up together. We’re friends.”
“Oh, she’s pretty…beautiful. Her hair is like moonlight.”
2-Stroke smiled. Did the kid have a crush? “You a poet, Alek?”
He stiffened. “What’s wrong with writing poetry?”
“Nothing. I like to draw. The arts help us to express ourselves, especially when we have a lot to express.”
“My mom read me poetry,” he said. “Poets are artistic social changers. They talk about cultural connection to uplift and educate, create a special place for reflection to feed mind, body, and soul to transform the world. I like to think of the world as one culture, the human race. It can be daunting, but rich. You know what I mean?”
Having an uncle like Darko must be grating for a kid with such intelligence and sensitivity. Once again, he couldn’t help comparing Alek to Riley. His brother had been sensitive and smart and, like Alek, hated his guardian.
“I know what you mean, but there are a lot of closed minds in this world, Alek.” 2-Stroke had spent most of his adult life killing people who didn’t think the same way his culture thought, and he had a job he loved because of that ideology. It wasn’t long ago that Alek’s country had also clashed over ideology and religion. People who were always ready to fight for their beliefs. “What happened to your mom?”
“She died from a broken heart,” he said softly. “I wrote a poem about it. Do you want to hear it sometime?”
“Yeah, kid. I do. I lost my mom when I was eight.”
“How?”
“Cancer.”
“I’m sorry.” He took a breath. “I don’t know what Zasha hates about you and Chry. But that’s her problem. My uncle is helping her because he loves her in his own sick, twisted way.” He looked around and leaned in. “I have a relative, my mom’s cousin, who lives near Washington, DC. You know this place?”
“Yes, it’s the seat of our government. It’s a federal district not associated with any state. It’s a place where we govern.”
He sighed. “Yes, freedom, democracy. Is it true that you can just walk to school and hang out with friends there without armed guards?”
“Within limits. But yes. Whatever you want to be, you can accomplish that in DC.” He shifted on the bunk and walked to the bars and sat down across from Alek. “Is that what you want? To be a poet?”
“Yeah. Is that stupid?”
“No. Not at all. Like I said, you can be anything you want to be. We are all shackled in some way, Alek. Some of us by our past and others by circumstance, like you with your oppressive uncle.”
“He has tried to make me be like him. I’m not like him. I will never be like him.”
I’m not like him, Neo. I’ll never be like him. Those words echoed in his head and again, for a split second, he thought he was talking to Riley. He shook his head. No, his brother was dead.
“I want to go to DC. My mom’s cousin said he would take me in. He would help me to become a citizen.”
A chill radiated through 2-Stroke, his insides balling up into a hard, cold knot. He didn’t like the direction Alek was headed. It made him feel sick. “Alek…”
“No, I already agreed to do what Chry asked me to do. I will help you escape. If you live, I live. Really live. Do you understand?”
Feeling as if his insides had been excavated, 2-Stroke got it, but he didn’t like it. He gripped the bars, his knuckles turning white. Forcing aside the surge of concern, he rubbed a sudden tight spot in his temple, softening his voice from the harshness that had threaded through it. “I do. But I don’t think it’s a good idea. What if your uncle finds out?”
“I don’t care. I can’t live like this anymore with all this death and destruction. He wants me to be like him and I can’t. I won’t. I want something better. My mom wanted me to get out, go to DC and live with her cousin. She told me to run when I had the chance. Chry promised—”
“She can’t guarantee you will get to DC, Alek. You’d be risking everything.” 2-Stroke closed his eyes and massaged his head, the knot in his stomach getting worse. It was more than a generous offer, and Alek would benefit if everything went off without a hitch. But 2-Stroke knew all about Murphy’s Law, and the best-laid plans never went the way they were intended.
Alek lifted his chin. “Of course, I would. But the reward would be the chance to live my life on my terms. Isn’t that worth it?”
2-Stroke gripped the bars again, and said, his voice low and fierce, “He will track you down and hurt you, Riley.”
Alek tilted his head. “Riley?”
2-Stroke shook his head to clear it. “Sorry, he was my little brother. He’s dead now because he tried to break away. I don’t want anything to happen to you.” This should have been good news. 2-Stroke should have been thrilled, but instead he
felt like throwing up. Taking a deep breath to quell the sick feeling, he managed to push back the bile.
Alek smiled. “My uncle doesn’t think much of me. He won’t suspect me. He doesn’t even know I’m talking to you. Chry and I have a plan.”
2-Stroke groaned. “What is this plan?”
“I am the one who brings the guards their food. I can get some sleeping pills from Zasha’s room. She has nightmares a lot. I will dose their food, and they will be groggy, making it easier for Chry. I will saddle two horses and have them waiting for you just outside the door with provisions.”
“That sounds risky. What about you?” Chry was going to take out the guards? On her own?
“I’m scheduled to go back to that Nazi boarding school he has me enrolled in,” he said in a fierce whisper, gripping the bars just below 2-Stroke’s hands. “I’ll be leaving really early in the morning, four days from now. I’ll be gone before he even knows you’ve escaped. He’s arrogant, and his pride will blind him. He doesn’t think anyone can escape from here, and he thinks I’m loyal to him because he thinks I fear him. I’ve already printed out a map to Banja Luka, and I have some spare marks.”
“It’s not your job to risk your life for me. I don’t matter, Alek. I don’t want Chry doing this alone.”
He leaned closer. “You do matter. Everyone matters, Neo. She’s determined and she has a foolproof plan. Rest up and I will bring you as much food as I can manage.”
He watched the kid walk away, impressed with his convictions and his courage. Just as he had been of his little brother. But he had lost his life trying to get away…
2-Stroke braced his elbows on his knees and covered his eyes. Foolproof plan? What was she up to and how many things could go wrong?
God, he hated this, but he was in no position to stop Chry or Alek.
Four days. In four days, Alek and Chry would risk it all. Dropping his hands, he stared numbly into space, another rush of panic stirring in his middle. It had come to this—and he wasn’t ready for it. He didn’t know how to reconcile it in his mind. Navy SEALs didn’t allow kids and women to do the dirty work.
His insides churning, 2-Stroke clenched his jaw, the panic climbing higher. All his life he had been the ultimate realist. Even before he’d left LA, he knew what he was getting himself into. And the reality was that innocents always seemed to pay for the sins of those stronger than them. But this was a strange reality. Being locked up and having to rely on help from someone who shouldn’t have to make these decisions galled him. The new reality was that Alek was going through with the plan he’d worked out with Chry.
Suddenly unable to sit, he got up and paced back and forth, the agitation splintering into a dozen different reactions. Grateful. He was grateful that Alek would offer to give them the chance at their freedom. And he was terrified—the thought of the consequences to the boy scared him to death. And he was angry. So angry. Angry at Chry, angry over his helplessness, over having to rely on a teenager.
It wasn’t like he had an alternative, and that’s what SEALs did, think outside the box. But this was an impossible situation. He knew it. It was too damned complicated, too entangled with too many things that could go wrong. Sending his hands through his hair, he forced himself to stand still, dread beating at his chest.
He had to face the cold, hard facts.
Without Alek’s help, they would be executed. There was no way the US was going to negotiate with Zasha.
Cold to the core, he gritted his teeth. There was nothing to do but wait.
As the next few days passed, Neo kept having nightmares about the night Riley died. Sometimes it would be Alek, other times his brother’s face would haunt him even when he woke up. As the time passed, he found his anger got worse.
But inevitably, the night of their escape would come, and he’d be ready.
The night of the planned escape, Chry pulled her courage together, relying on her training from The Farm. No hesitation. When the targeted guard brought her food, she gave him a soft frown. She looked him in the eye and said, her voice soft, “It would be wonderful to have a piece of fruit. Do you think that would be possible?”
He smirked. “Not likely.”
She pressed against the bars. “I would make it worth your while.”
He stilled and looked her up and down, his eyes a bit glazed. Alek had done his job. When the guard looked over his shoulder, she knew he was committed. She was sure that Zasha had given strict orders to leave her alone. She was aware that CIA officers were capable of luring in men with their womanly wiles. But this guy had been leering at her since she got here. He was ready to cross the line.
“You give me what I want first, then you get what you want.”
She smiled and backed away from the bars, reaching for her shirt and giving him a peek at her cleavage. When the back of her legs hit the bunk, she slipped the knife Alek had given her from beneath her pillow and concealed it in the sleeve of her shirt while he was busy turning the key in the lock.
When he stepped inside, she smiled at him with her meaning clear Come on, honey. I’m all yours.
He smiled as if she were sincere and reached for her.
That’s all she needed. She grabbed his wrist, dug her thumb into the apex of his finger and thumb, and twisted hard, forcing his arm and elbow backward. He reached for her, but she slashed at him and threw her weight into her hold, lowering him toward the floor. Then she slammed her knee into the side of his head and slashed his throat. He dropped like a stone. Chry stepped back, breathing hard, her gut churning as blood pooled beneath him. Coming out of the initial shock, she reached down and grasped the keys.
“Chry?” Alek’s voice was muffled.
“It’s all right,” she whispered back.
Alek entered the cell, his face going a bit pale, but he swallowed and handed her one of two bags. He turned around as Chry stripped down and dressed. “Do the boots fit?” Alek asked. “They’re mine. L.L. Bean is the best.”
“Yes, they’re perfect. Thank you!” She’d tucked her hair up into the knit hat. “Take me to the armory.” She followed Alek down several corridors until they reached a door. Using the keys, she unlocked it and found a storehouse of weapons. Chry strapped on one of the sidearms and slipped her head through the strap of the semi-automatic, adjusting it on her small frame. She chose two more weapons for 2-Stroke. “Now to his cell. Hurry.”
“Neo,” Alek called, Chry right behind him. 2-Stroke was ready as Chry fitted the key into the lock and turned it. Alek entered the cell with a bag. “Here are warm clothes and boots. I took them from the guards. Also, an automatic rifle and a sidearm along with ammunition.” He gave him the heavy bag. “Hurry and change.”
“Neo,” Chry whispered, and he met her at the bars, covering her hands. Her eyes brightened as she took in every inch of his face.
“Hey. This kid is the real deal.”
“Yeah,” she whispered. He could hear the regret in her voice. “It’s so good to see you.” Some of his anger melted, but the leftover tight ball of it had to be subdued. He needed all his focus right now on getting out of here. He couldn’t allow Alek’s sacrifice to mean nothing.
Inside the bag were long johns, warm pants, underclothes, a flannel shirt, thick socks, waterproof boots, and a heavy sweater along with a winter coat, hat and gloves. This kid thought of everything. Layering was the best course of action when it was cold outside.
2-Stroke stripped off his clothes and dressed quickly, settling the strap of the rifle across his chest, then securing the leather handgun holster around his waist and tying the strip of rawhide to his thigh. He took out the Glock, adjusted to the feel of the gun in his hand, checked the clip, and chambered a round, leaving the safety off.
“Lead the way,” she said as she turned to Alek, but abruptly threw her arms around 2-Stroke, hugging him hard when he emerged from the cell.
“Ready? Follow me,” Alek said.
Alek didn’t hesitate. He starte
d to jog. Soon they were at the outside door, where two horses were saddled with packs on each of them, including a blanket roll.
“There are backpacks in each saddlebag if you have to ditch the horses. They’re good animals. I picked the best. Even-tempered and know this terrain well.”
Chry wrapped her arms around Alek and hugged him as hard as she’d just hugged 2-Stroke. “I will find you when all this is over. We can’t thank you enough for risking everything to help us. Stay safe.”
2-Stroke one-arm hugged the kid around the neck. Echoing Chry’s words, he said, “Stay safe.”
Chry was already mounted and was consulting the map as 2-Stroke settled his butt in the saddle. “Let’s go. We need to put as much real estate between them and us. The chopper will be tied up taking Alek back to school, so that will give us an extra advantage,” she said as she kicked the sides of her horse and he sprang into an immediate gallop. Jarred by the unfamiliar movement, she hung onto the reins for dear life.
2-Stroke followed suit, turning once to find Alek standing there for a few more seconds, then heading back inside. They owed that kid their lives.
After an hour of hard riding, she pulled up to allow the horses some time to rest by dismounting and walking them.
“The sun won’t be up for a few more hours,” she said. “We have a two-day ride to Banja Luka, but we need to make a detour before we go there.”
His anger at Chry hadn’t abated as he gave her a hard stare. He was just hoping that Alek was safe.
She hadn’t missed his non-response and the fact that now there was this awkwardness between them.
She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. “It’s not like we had a choice,” she said solemnly, leveling him with a bitter stare. “A week from now we were dead, and Alek gave us a chance.”
“He’s an innocent teenager, Chry, not some CIA asset.” He watched her for a moment, then stared back at the star-bright sky, trying not to think at all. He felt as if everything was closing in on him, and he didn’t know why.
