Testing Lysander

by L. M. Somerton

  Brock lay on the hard floor, cuffed hands stretched forward, his body numb. No matter which way he turned, or how often he stretched and twisted, there was no comfortable position he’d managed to discover. He had a reprieve from more torture and that was something to be grateful for.

  At least the room was cooling down a fraction. He had no idea what the time was but guessed the slightly lower temperature must have come with darkness. He sat up and shuffled across the concrete to get a little closer to the door where he could make out snatches of conversation outside.

  Brock could hear Lupo talking with a couple of others whose voices Brock didn’t recognize. They still didn’t seem able to decide if he was more than just a photographer who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Uncertainty was good. Every hour that passed meant that Kyle had more chance to get the pictures away. Brock listened hard to the conversation, which was in a mixture of English and Spanish.

  “His story about being a photographer checks out. He’s done stuff all over the world.”

  “He’s a Brit, which makes him a fucking nuisance as a hostage. They don’t pay up for anyone. We could have the fucking Queen in there and their upper lips would still be starched.”

  “Still has possibilities. Someone else might stump up for him.”

  “I don’t trust him.” That was Lupo. “He says he was exploring an old cave system and found the exit by accident. That exit just happened to be close to our base camp? I don’t fucking believe in coincidences. There’s something he’s not telling us.”

  “Well, it isn’t safe to keep him here. Too much unwanted attention.”

  “So we take him back to the camp. I’ll have another go at the bastard there. That bullet ant is pissed as hell. He should pack a mean sting and even if his story is true, it will be entertaining to watch.”

  Their voices faded away.

  Brock lay in his prison for what seemed like hours. Strangely, the lack of action was worse. Brock was desperately thirsty. It had been a lifetime since the mug of warm water he’d had. He was hungry, too, and angry that gnawing hunger pains just added to his misery.

  He started to feel sleepy and guessed it must be getting late. He thought about trying to nod off but then he heard boots approaching.

  The door flew open and two men he hadn’t seen before marched in. They gripped his arms—one on either side—and hauled him to his feet. One of them held a pair of filthy trousers while Brock shoved shaky legs into them. Someone tied a scratchy strip of cloth around his eyes, then his captors dragged him outside.

  A gust of humid air played across his bare skin. Chips of gravel punctured the soles of his feet as he was manhandled into the back of a truck. He fell forward onto a pile of rough fabric that smelled earthy, possibly old sacks.

  Brock shunted down a few feet. Two, maybe three men climbed into the back of the truck with him then a tailgate slammed shut. An engine fired up. As the truck rumbled along, Brock tried to maintain some sense of direction. His guards chatted idly and he heard the strike of a match, followed by the scent of strong tobacco. Brock curled up and steeled himself for a long, uncomfortable journey. He didn’t feel afraid—more resigned to his fate. He hoped that everything he was going through was worth it, that Kyle had gotten safely away.

  Chapter Fifteen

  From his hiding place in the trees, Kyle watched in cold fury as Brock was shoved into the back of a jeep and driven away from the campsite. He stayed where he was, seething with frustration, for twenty minutes to make sure that none of the armed men circled back. Sure enough, just as he was thinking it might be safe to come out, two vehicles returned and six men tore through the camp, wrecking everything they could lay their hands on. Then they mounted up and headed out again.

  “Fuck.” Kyle swung down from his perch, landing lightly. He pulled a radio from his utility belt and flicked it on.

  “Jonesy, this is Alpha. We have a problem.” There was a crackle of static, then Jonesy responded.

  “The problem just passed me on the road, heading toward the airport.”

  “Follow them and, for fuck’s sake, don’t get spotted.”

  “Well, color me insulted. Stay put. I’ll come back to you when I know where they are going.”

  Kyle switched off the radio and stuck it back in his belt. He wasn’t good at killing time but Jonesy was in a better position to track Brock’s captors than he was. Once he knew where Brock had been taken, he could make a plan to get him back. Brock’s life was at stake and he had to keep his head. Much as he wanted to give chase, it was far more important that Jonesy didn’t lose sight of Brock’s kidnappers.

  Kyle paced impatiently, his head filled with the imagined horrors that Brock might be experiencing.

  “Fuck, this is getting me nowhere.” He started a methodical search of the camp for any equipment that might be of use. Most things had been systematically destroyed, but he managed to salvage some energy bars, bottled water and a powerful Maglite. He ignored clothes that had been strewn everywhere, dismissing them as useless. Once he had Brock back, they would be leaving the country as quickly as possible and there would be no stopping until they were on friendly soil. In the tent he’d shared with Brock, he righted the cots. To his concern, the sleeping bag on Brock’s bed was stained with blood.

  Kyle’s fingers curled into fists. “He’s hurt. How the hell did that happen? He didn’t say anything at the exchange point,” he muttered, angrier at himself than at Brock. “Keeping things from me is a discussion we’ll be having as soon as possible. My pretty man is in dire need of a good spanking.” Kyle lay down on the bed and fancied that he could still pick up a trace of Brock’s scent. Of course he wouldn’t have told me that he’d been hurt. He wouldn’t do anything to risk the mission, the idiot. Kyle sighed. He saw a lot of himself in Brock. The same stubborn perseverance. An impressive tolerance of severe physical demands on his body. A deep-seated passion for what he believed in. Of course in Brock’s case, that was all about taking the best possible photographs. For Kyle, it was a dedication to making the world a better place by taking on the dirty jobs that no one else wanted to do, but that were absolutely necessary.

  “I should never have dragged him into this mess. It’s too sordid for someone with such an unblemished view of the world. He’s too sweet. Too innocent.” He chuckled. “Well, maybe innocent isn’t quite the right word. He has a kinky streak as wide as mine, even if he is only just coming to terms with it.” And that was what made them so perfect together. Matching kinks. Complementary passions. His dominant, protective personality and Brock’s submissive, nurturing character. Both strong in their own ways. Both in need of the balance provided by the other.

  Kyle slipped into a light doze, but remained alert for any new sounds. He had to give Jonesy time to assess the situation and get back to him. He’d known Jonesy for years and trusted him completely. The man was a seasoned operative and would know to take care not to be seen. Several hours passed and the air in the tent grew stuffy. Kyle headed back outside where he found enough unbroken equipment to heat water for coffee. There were a few bananas and bags of unopened nuts strewn around the communal tent so he had a quick snack with his drink. Doing something helped pass the time and he knew full well that a watched radio never buzzed.

  It was hours before Jonesy made contact. The radio crackled and Kyle grabbed it up.

  “Jonesy, talk to me. I’m stewing in my own juices here.”

  “Charming as always. They’re moving him again. I think they’re preparing to head back to the forest site. Local intelligence has confirmed that the leader is a guy called Lupo. He’s a vicious bastard, well known for taking Western hostages. On the positive side, he isn’t interested in killing them. All he wants is money. So far, he’s had quite a lucrative time of extorting money from terrified families. Two Japanese tourists, an Argentine businessman and a Dutch scientist are the victims that we know of. Undisclosed ransoms were paid for all of them. As of now,
his group is not holding anyone else that we’re aware of.”

  “So where are they now?”

  “In a warehouse about an hour away from the airfield. It’s well guarded and impossible to get close to without being seen. They were in there for about three hours, but they’ve just loaded up their vehicles and headed out. I saw Brock briefly. They put him into the back of a covered truck. He was blindfolded so they don’t want him to know the route they’re taking or where they’re going.”

  Kyle paced up and down, gripping the radio.

  “Was he badly hurt?” It wasn’t a question of if, but the extent of any injuries Lupo might have inflicted.

  “Couldn’t tell. He was conscious, I can tell you that much.”

  It was something. “It’ll be easier to get him out from the forest camp. They’ll feel safer once they get back there and won’t pay so much attention to him. Either they’ve swallowed his story about being an ordinary photographer or they’ve failed to get any information out of him. Brock doesn’t know how we’re really getting the pictures out. I told him we needed to encrypt them with special equipment near the airport, so there’s not much he can tell them. The pictures are gone.”

  “Milo and Juan will be back in Cartagena by now,” Jonesy said. “They will have sent the pictures to the US and the UK. As far as they know, they’re just sending Brock’s commissioned work to file dump email addresses.”

  “Which leaves us just one job— to get Brock out. Get back here and pick me up. I’ll start heading down the road toward you. Every minute we save could make a difference to Brock.”

  * * * *

  Much later, Jonesy pulled the jeep over to the side of the track and gestured at Kyle. “This is where you get off. We’re a couple of miles from their camp. I’ll turn around and wait in the trees. Once you get Brock out, you’re going to have to get back here as quickly as possible. Try to lead them in another direction and circle back. Then our best bet is to go hell for leather for the airport. The plane will be waiting.”

  Kyle nodded. Further debate was useless. He clambered from the vehicle and stood out of the way while Jonesy did a neat three point turn, then maneuvered the jeep into the trees until it was all but invisible from the road. Brock checked for a marker, something he would recognize when he got back. There was a rotten tree stump close to the edge of the track with some brightly colored fungus growing on it. He fixed the image in his head. That would do.

  He hefted his small pack into a more comfortable position and grinned at Jonesy. “See you soon. Try not to fall asleep.”

  Jonesy gave him the finger.

  Kyle set off at a steady jog, sticking to the side of the road. He didn’t want to take unnecessary risks, but speed was more important than invisibility at this point. Taking a chance that no one would be leaving the camp so soon after Lupo’s arrival was one he was prepared to take.

  For about twenty minutes he moved through the shadows. The trees were close to the road, and so dense that it was almost like running through a tunnel. When he saw the glow of lights from the camp up ahead, he stopped. He heard only the sound of insects and the rustle of the foliage above him. He moved forward carefully, edging off the track and into the trees. Several large tents and a couple of low, corrugated shacks lay ahead, scattered throughout a clearing. The camp was lit by floodlights positioned at intervals around the perimeter, presumably run from a generator similar to the one at the scientists’ base camp. There were also lights on in some of the tents, but no sign of movement.

  “Where the hell is their security? Are they that arrogant about their position here?” Kyle muttered as he tried to work out which structure was likely to house a prisoner. He stilled as a couple of armed men walked past then stopped less than five meters from his hiding place. Kyle held his breath, but after lighting up cigarettes, the two men moved on. They probably have such an evil reputation that the locals steer well clear, and let’s face it, who the hell else would venture out here unless they had to? Lupo can afford to be complacent.

  Kyle dismissed the larger tents and the metal buildings. Of the smaller structures, only one stood unlit. As he watched, a single guard appeared and took up a position outside it.

  “That must be it.” It was just an educated guess, but that was all he had and Kyle trusted his gut. It didn’t often set him wrong.

  He moved off, keeping low along the edge of the trees, gradually circling the camp until he reached the point behind his target tent. He took advantage of the cover provided by the pouring rain and sprinted the fifteen meters to the canvas wall. He got down on the floor and lifted the base of the tent enough to peer beneath it. As his eyes adjusted to the dim interior, he could see a trembling figure curled up on the floor. A glimpse of blond hair told him that he had the right place and relief flooded through him. He wanted to shout and scream with joy that Brock was alive.

  Kyle pulled his knife from his belt. Even under the cover of the driving rain, he was too exposed. He pushed the tip of the knife into the canvas about two feet from the ground and slid it downward. It was so sharp it slit the thick fabric as if it were silk. Once the cut was made, Kyle slid forward on his belly, wincing at every tiny sound.

  He crawled across to where Brock lay, gave his shoulder a shake and immediately clamped a hand across his mouth. Blue eyes snapped open and widened. Kyle could feel Brock’s hot breath on his palm. He lifted a finger to his lips, commanding Brock to silence before removing the hand gag. He pressed his lips close to Brock’s ear and whispered. “Don’t move.”

  Brock stayed completely still as Kyle leaned forward and sliced through the ropes binding his ankles. There was little he could do about the handcuffs. Brock would have to run with them on—and with bare feet. He had trousers on but no shirt. It wasn’t the ideal escape outfit, but there was nothing Kyle could do about it. If it came to it, he would carry Brock out.

  “Time to go,” Kyle said in an urgent whisper. “Don’t move, while I check the coast is clear. Are you going to be able to run?”

  Brock nodded and gave him an exhausted smile.

  Kyle crawled across the tent and stuck his head out of the newly made exit. He glanced around then ducked back inside and beckoned to Brock. He waited as Brock crept across to him and squirmed through the gap then followed close behind him.

  Kyle didn’t look left or right. He grabbed Brock’s hand and ran for the trees in an arrow-straight line. It was pointless worrying about being seen. He just ran in a stoop to make as small a target as possible, keeping Brock in front, shielding him.

  Staring back through the gloom, Kyle couldn’t see any sign of movement. The appalling weather was on their side. Giving Brock’s arm a tug, he moved deeper into the concealing trees.

  “Can you keep running?” Kyle kept his voice low.

  Brock nodded. “If I have to, I’ll run a fucking marathon if it means getting out of here.”

  “Once we get close to the road, we have to go about half a mile to the jeep. Jonesy is parked up, waiting for us. He’s a much better driver than he is a runner. Couldn’t risk them hearing an engine if we came any closer. There are too many of them to fight. There’s not much movement at the moment, so we’ve got a chance at a clean getaway.”

  “They’ve been checking on me every half an hour or so, since we got here,” Brock murmured. “We don’t have long before they notice I’m gone. Ten minutes at most, I’d guess. Lupo has his evening’s entertainment planned around me, so they’re not going to conveniently forget me.”

  “Fuck.” Kyle didn’t like their odds. “We need to loop around and try to leave a false trail. They’ll know you’re not alone once they see the slit in the tent. I’m going to head for the river, then double back.”

  “Lead the way.” Brock smiled.

  Kyle pulled him in for a quick, urgent kiss. “You’re burning hot!”

  “I think my shoulder wound is infected.” Brock shrugged. “I only took a couple of doses of the antibiotics in th
e first-aid kit you left before they found me. I’ll manage. I don’t feel as bad as I did a few hours ago.”

  “What shoulder wound? Fuck, we don’t have time to discuss this but you and I are going to have a long conversation about this sometime very soon.”

  Brock rolled his eyes. “Best keep me alive then, or you won’t get the chance.”

  Kyle pursed his lips but started to weave his way through the trees. Brock followed, moving stiffly. Kyle could see that he was in a bad way. He wished he had time to examine his lover more thoroughly and perform some rudimentary first aid, but it wasn’t possible. Alive and hurting was better than dead.

  A shout had them both dropping flat to the ground. Kyle held his breath, but it was a false alarm and after an agonizing few minutes they made it across the track and moved deeper into the forest. As soon as they were clear, Kyle started to jog and Brock followed, keeping pace as best he could. Every now and then Kyle paused to listen for sounds of pursuit and to give Brock time to catch his breath. Running barefoot through this terrain in his condition had to be virtually impossible. Kyle was impressed at Brock’s fortitude and endurance.

  Every second brought some new sound, a cracking twig, a howling monkey or a screeching bird that prompted Kyle into moving faster.

  The hunters raced down the track. They exchanged shouts that were mostly swearwords. Kyle kept glancing back to make sure that Brock was keeping up with him. Pale and sweating, his body covered in raw wounds and fresh insect bites, he staggered more than he ran.

  “We’re almost at the water,” Kyle shouted. “It’s our only chance. Once we’re in the river, they won’t come after us.” He pushed hard through the thick undergrowth, trying to clear the way as much as possible for Brock. Kyle could hear rushing water. His lips stretched into a grin as he fought past some thorny undergrowth to a narrow break in the trees. Ahead, the river flowed past, swollen with recent rains. Kyle waded into the shallows near the bank and waited for Brock.