by Tiffany Snow
“You’re the dog shit,” Ratched retorted. “And I’m through playing nice with you.” He stepped back from the table and a cold dread gripped Jackson.
“So melodramatic,” Jackson taunted. “Are you sure you’re not really a teenage girl underneath those effeminate trousers? I hear black is slimming.”
This time, Ratched ignored him, taking a step backward as one of the men who’d wrestled him down stepped into his line of sight. It was the one whose nose he’d broken. Blood had pooled and been soaked up by his shirt, a gray long-sleeved thing that fit like a second skin over muscles that could only have been accentuated by steroids.
“You should use some stain stick,” Jackson said. “I hear blood is a bitch to get out of polyester.”
“Shut the fuck up,” the man growled.
“I thought you wanted me to talk,” Jackson said, slanting his eyes toward Ratched. “Now this monkey is telling me to shut up. Make up your mind.”
In response, the man threw a towel over Jackson’s face, using his hand to hold it down. Jackson felt the icy hand of fear curdle his gut. This was make-or-break time. But even as he steeled himself against what he knew was coming, he was unprepared when the icy water hit his face.
It was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Once, when he was little, he’d gone to the city pool with his grandma. Three local boys had decided to pick on the scrawny white kid, tormenting him and ultimately holding him underwater until his lungs had burned for air. He’d fought for his life then, fought like he never had before. He’d finally emerged, choking and coughing up chlorine-tinted water, panic clawing his gut. The feeling of almost drowning was something he’d never forgotten.
It was the same feeling, only worse, because he couldn’t move, couldn’t see, couldn’t do anything to save himself. The water was endless, filling his mouth and nose, the slant of the table accentuating it even more. He strained at his bonds, the leather cutting into his wrists, as he fought with no avail to take a clear breath, but all that entered his lungs was water.
It felt like an eternity before it stopped. Jackson coughed and retched, blinking in the sudden light as the sodden towel was removed.
“Now do you want to tell me who’s running that software?”
The answer was China, and there wasn’t a chance in hell that Jackson was going to give up her name to this fucking asshole. He’d fucking drown on his own vomit first.
“I’m really looking forward to that new J.J. Abrams movie,” Jackson panted. “I bought tickets ages ago. I hear it’s really good.”
It was almost worth the burning in his throat to see Ratched’s face get all mottled with rage. He motioned to the man and dread consumed Jackson. Before, it had been the fear of the unknown. Now, he knew exactly what was coming and somehow, it was worse.
He tried not to take a breath to keep his nose and throat from filling up with water, but he couldn’t help it. The unending water seemed to trigger an almost primeval survival response, forcing him to take a breath, even though logically he knew he’d only get water in his lungs.
Time ceased to have meaning. After the fourth time, he couldn’t keep up with the smartass responses and just remained quiet, concentrating on breathing.
He’d have given anything to stop the water . . . anything but China. He kept her image firmly fixed in his mind. Her dark hair—long, thick waves tousled from making love and spread on the white pillow in his bed. Her smile, bright and clear when she found something amusing. Her eyes, so blue and trusting as she looked up at him. Intelligence shining from their depths. The confusion in them when there was something she didn’t quite get. Her literal take on everything, though she was getting better at recognizing hyperbole or a joke.
He loved her. It had been a surprise to realize, but he did. Why else would he let himself go through this otherwise? She was innocent and naive, despite her genius. She was young and didn’t deserve what he’d dragged her into. Because when it came down to it, Jackson had been the one to set her life on its current path.
But at the moment, he had the first serious doubt that he’d ever see her again.
His breath hitched and he coughed, spoiling the small break he’d been given. It was then he decided that even if he didn’t make it out of this, he wouldn’t regret his loyalty to China. And he would be loyal. He would not break.
Exhaustion consumed him after more water, until he wanted to beg for mercy, beg for death, beg for anything that would stop it. It was only by the thinnest thread that he clung to his resolve. And now the terror wasn’t of the waterboarding, but that he’d betray China.
He couldn’t tell if it was the water or if he was crying when they finally removed the towel. Everything was mixed up in his head and he could only hold tight to the image of China. Unending tremors shook his body and his throat was raw and burning. He was beyond the ability to joke or be sarcastic, his only thought was getting to the next minute without breaking, then the next after that, then the next after that.
“You’re a tough son of a bitch,” Ratched said. “I must say. I’m impressed. But now that you know what awaits you, I think a little time to dwell on it will do you good.”
Hands undid his straps and hauled him to his feet. To his mortification, his knees immediately gave out and they had to hold him up so he didn’t collapse on the floor. His clothes were soaked and the room was dank and cold.
With little ceremony, they dragged him down the hall to a room that was most definitely a cell, complete with a dingy cot and steel toilet in the corner. They dropped him right inside the door, his knees hitting the hard concrete. The metal door clanged shut and he was alone.
Jackson took a minute to catch his breath and get his bearings before climbing to his feet. The room was even smaller than the last and he sat heavily on the squeaky cot. Even as he was taking stock of his physical condition, another part of his mind was turning facts over in his head.
Ratched was taking one hell of a risk, treating him like this. The only reason Jackson could even fathom that he’d be so reckless was because he thought Jackson wasn’t going to get out and have an opportunity to strike back. Or that public opinion would be such that even if he did get out, he’d be unable to press charges.
He hoped that China had been able to find that thumb drive and taken it to Lance. But if that had been the case, he would’ve been out of here by now. Lance had strict instructions to plug that thumb drive into Jackson’s workstation and execute one line of code Jackson had made him memorize. If that failed . . . Jackson didn’t want to finish that thought. He didn’t know how long he could hold up against the waterboarding. If he was honest with himself, he might not even last another round of it.
The thought of being dragged out of the cell for another session of it made him want to retch. Nothing had prepared him for that. Nothing could’ve prepared him for that.
The door flew open, startling him, and he jumped to his feet despite his aching body. It seemed too soon for more, but it wasn’t the goons from earlier at the door. It was his lawyer, flanked by two men in Air Force uniforms. Ratched stood behind them.
Relief swept him, so overwhelming that he had to tighten his hands into fists to keep them from shaking.
“It’s about time, Conrad,” he said, his voice a grating rasp. “Did you get lost or something?”
Conrad looked horrified, then furious. “Is this where you’ve been keeping my client?” he asked, rounding on Ratched. “Are you out of your mind?”
“Your client is accused of collaborating with enemies of the Unites States,” Ratched replied, game-faced. “We were hardly going to handle him with kid gloves.”
Conrad hurried to Jackson. “We’re leaving. Immediately. Come on.”
Mustering what reserves of strength he had left, Jackson straightened his shoulders and walked out. When he got to Ratched, he paused and leaned down.
“My condolences on losing your 401k, your savings, and defaulting on your mortgage,” he
said so only Ratched could hear him. “That’s too bad.”
Ratched got all mottled in the face again. “I’ll keep the bed reserved for you,” he retorted.
“Payback’s a bitch.”
With that, Jackson and Conrad followed the two uniformed men down the hallway and up the elevator until finally, warm sunlight bathed his skin and fresh air teased his nostrils. It wasn’t until they were in the backseat of Conrad’s car and the driver had pulled away that Jackson spoke.
“What the hell took so long?”
Conrad was rummaging in a duffel bag and handed him a shirt. “Here, this is dry,” he said. “We have a press conference to do.”
“Fabulous. I have some things I want to say.” He discarded the still-sodden shirt and pulled on the fresh polo.
“I have a statement prepared and you’re going to have to stick with it.”
“What kind of statement?”
“This one.” He handed Jackson a single sheet of paper along with an electric razor.
Jackson read it through once, then again. “Are you kidding me? A pardon? How?”
“You tell me,” Conrad said grimly. “I knew you said I’d be getting information that would get you out, but nothing came. I’ve been working through back channels, trying to find out where you were being held, then the paperwork came this morning. A preemptive pardon. I thought you donate to the other party?”
“I do, or I did,” Jackson said. “I have no love lost for the current administration.”
“Then why in the world would he do this?”
“I have no i—” He stopped. It couldn’t be. That thumb drive had his private encryption key. No one could’ve broken it. Not even China. Right? Even as he thought it, he doubted. That was the only explanation, but the idea that she’d blackmailed the president with what was on that drive made his blood run cold. “We have to make a detour first.”
“What? Where to? Do you need to go to the hospital?”
“No. I need to see China.” What had she offered in return for his pardon? Had she really thought she could blackmail someone with that kind of power and remain unscathed?
“We don’t have time, Jackson. I called the press conference—”
“Damn the press. Where the hell have they been the past few days? Clamoring for my release? Of course not. I’m surprised they haven’t already tried and convicted me. How much did Cysnet’s stock drop?”
Conrad hesitated. “Thirty-five percent.”
Jackson cursed under his breath. “I’ll worry about that later. Release the statement if you want, but I don’t have time for a press conference. Take me to the airport.” Conrad handed him his cell and with one phone call, he’d arranged for his jet to be fueled up and waiting for the trip back to Raleigh.
It was dark by the time Jackson parked his car in China’s driveway. He’d tried calling her cell, but it went right to voice mail. He’d tried texting as well, but got nothing. By the time he got to her door, he was fighting panic. Rapping hard on the door, he called out, “China! Are you in there?”
The door flew open, but his relief was short-lived. Mia stood there instead of China.
“Is she here?” But he knew already that she wasn’t. Mia had been crying, her face pinched and white.
“I can’t find her,” she said. “And she’s not answering her phone.”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“Yesterday morning. She said she had some things she needed to do, then she left.”
“She didn’t say where she was going?”
Mia shook her head. Tears overflowed her eyes and she flung herself at Jackson. “I’m so worried! I’m afraid something’s h-happened to h-her!”
“Shh, it’s okay,” Jackson said, awkwardly patting the teen on her back. “Let’s go inside.”
She sniffed and stepped back, swiping at her wet cheeks. Jackson followed her in and shut the door behind him.
Nothing looked different or out of place, he noticed as he walked through. He knew where China kept her computer and that’s where he headed. Upstairs and into her office; he noticed Iron Man was not in his usual spot.
Strange. She hated anything moved from its designated location. And that thing wasn’t light. He should know. He’d had to move it before.
Settling in front of her computer, he switched it on. It booted in less than ten seconds, but a network error popped up. Frowning, Jackson followed the network cable and saw the router was unplugged. An overabundance of caution while she wasn’t home? Or something more?
The log-in screen came up and he typed in the log-in she’d created just for him. A big relationship milestone, that—log-ins for each other’s computers. Akin to exchanging apartment keys for normal people. But neither of them fit the definition of “normal.”
Now to find out what she’d been up to while he’d been off the grid . . .
Jackson went through the normal suspects—web history, recently accessed programs and files—and saw she had tried to get into his thumb drive. It didn’t look as though she’d been successful, though, which made it even more mysterious as to how he’d gotten the pardon. If indeed it had been she who’d done it.
In the middle of what he was doing, a window suddenly popped up and text appeared.
It’s about time. China’s been taken. You need to go get her.
Jackson stared at the screen. “Who the hell are you?” he muttered. To his surprise, more text answered him.
A friend.
Nice. Only China would have a virtual friend who could pop in and out of her network at will. Then he remembered.
“Kuan, right? China told me about you. Said I should hire you when you graduate.”
I wouldn’t mind that.
“So you should be able to tell me who took her and when. Where is she?”
Lu has her. They flew from Virginia to LA, then west from there. I couldn’t tell where. I’m working on getting the flight plan.
Lu. How had he gotten to her? Or taken her out of the country without anyone finding out he was smuggling her on board? China’s reminder about a possible NSA mole was looking more certain by the moment.
“And how do you suggest I ‘go get her?’” Jackson asked.
Money can buy anything. And you have a lot of it.
True. “Okay . . . Kuan. I’ll be in touch. Let me know if you find out anything else.”
Roger roger.
A Star Wars reference. Birds of a feather . . .
Mia was waiting for him when he came downstairs. “Did you find anything?”
“Yes. She’s currently . . .” How much to say? “. . . out of the country. But she may need some help, so I’m going to go help her. You stay here, and don’t leave. Understand?”
Another jerky nod.
A harsh knock on the door sounded and Jackson automatically reached for the nonexistent weapon at his waist. They’d confiscated that.
“That’s probably Clark,” Mia said, rushing past him to the door.
“Clark?”
“Yeah. I called him earlier. He’s Aunt Chi’s partner. She said to call him if I couldn’t reach her.” She swung the door open and sure enough, the son of a bitch himself stood there. “Thank God you’re here,” she exclaimed.
Hold the phone, what the heck was he? Chopped liver?
Clark came striding in, all Charles Bronson swagger and shit, his black jeans and black leather jacket completing the cliché uniform of Man of Mystery.
“What are you doing here?” he asked Jackson. “Aren’t you under house arrest, or something like that?”
“I got a hall pass,” Jackson replied. “Where’s China?”
“I don’t know. I found her car, abandoned, outside of Virginia Beach. One window was shattered.”
“There’s no way she’d leave that car voluntarily.”
“I know.”
“What are we going to do?” Mia wailed, then burst into tears again.
“Mia,” Clark said,
his voice hard. “Mia.” She looked at him. “Get ahold of yourself. This isn’t doing anyone any good, especially Ma—China.”
“You’re right,” she sniffed. “I’m just so scared for her.”
“It’ll be okay,” Clark assured her. “I promise.”
“Are you going to help Jackson get her back?”
Clark glanced at Mia. “What do you mean?”
“He said she was in another country and he was going to get her back.”
And there went Jackson’s plans for working alone.
“You know where she is?” Clark asked, his voice sharp and accusing.
“Maybe. It’s a slim lead, but better than nothing.”
“Then why are we still here?” He was out the door without another word and Jackson followed, giving Mia a glance on the way out. She was chewing her nails and looked on the verge of tears again. “Feed the fish,” he told her.
He confronted Clark outside in the form of a hard right to the jaw.
“What the fuck was that for?” Clark snapped, rubbing his face. “You want to do this now?”
“All I know is that you’re supposed to be her partner, the one who looks after her. And she’s gone. Lu has her. Where the fuck were you while she was being run off the road and taken?”
Clark’s face turned a shade paler and Jackson knew he’d hit his mark. Figuratively more than physically. He doubted he could do anything to hurt Clark more than whatever thoughts were running through his head.
“Blame can wait until later,” Clark rasped. “If we don’t find her in one piece, I promise, you get the first shot at me.”
“I’ll hold you to it.”
Jackson followed Clark to his car and got in the passenger side. “Do you have any sources that can help find her and get her out?”
Clark nodded. “Yeah. But it’s going to take capital. The liquid kind.”
“That’s not a problem.”
Clark snorted. “I didn’t think it would be.” He shoved the car into gear and tore off down the road.
19
Nausea clawed at my stomach, wrenching me from a fitful doze. I grabbed for the little tin bowl they’d given me and retched. I’d eaten nothing, which meant throwing up was even more miserable on an empty stomach.
