Testing Lysander

by L. M. Somerton

  “Okay?”

  Brock nodded, darting glances all around. “Time for a swim then?” he asked. “Has to be easier than running.” He waded forward until the strength of the current pulled him from his feet and swept him downstream. At the last moment he grabbed Kyle’s wrist and held on tight.

  The noise of the hunt grew less and vanished.

  For another five minutes they drifted downstream. Kyle kept as close to Brock as he was able. Brock was pale, his forehead plastered with wet hair. A jagged branch swirled toward them. Kyle pulled Brock in front of him and lifted his left arm to protect his head. A jarring blow struck his forearm and pushed the two of them toward the shore.

  Kyle let the current move them closer to the trees and as the river grew shallow, felt for the bottom. He stood and the water only reached to his thighs. He helped Brock stand, flung an arm around his shoulders and together they struggled to shore. It would be getting dark soon and they needed to reach the jeep before they lost the sun.

  “How much farther?” Brock asked in a strained voice.

  “Not far. Under an hour, I’d say. If my sense of direction holds true, we head inland from here and meet the airport road. Jonesy is waiting for us. He’s well hidden, and it should be a while before our terrorist friends realize we’ve changed course. We should get well ahead of them, enough to make it to the airport.”

  “Let’s get going. If I stand still much longer, I’m going to fall over and I don’t think you want to be carrying me the rest of the way.”

  Kyle gazed into Brock’s bloodshot eyes and cupped his cheek. “I will if I have to.”

  Kyle’s arm ached where the branch had struck, but he dismissed the pain as irrelevant. It was nothing compared to the state Brock was in, though Brock appeared to be past the point of feeling much at all. He took as much of Brock’s weight as he could and they half walked, half staggered through the dense trees.

  Kyle didn’t spot the jeep until they were on top of it. He almost laughed out loud with relief. Jonesy hopped from the vehicle and between them they manhandled Brock into the back seat. Jonesy picked the lock on the handcuffs with expert ease and tossed them into the undergrowth. Kyle didn’t dare to speak until Jonesy had fired up the engine and driven off at high speed.

  As they bounced along at a breakneck pace, Kyle grinned at Jonesy.

  “Drive like the wind, Jonesy. If they catch us, we’re dead.”

  “Well, we wouldn’t want that now, would we?” Jonesy grinned back. “I’m far too young to die just yet. There’s wine, women and song waiting for me in Miami.”

  “You two are enjoying this far too much. You’re both cracked in the head,” Brock said wearily from the back seat.

  Kyle turned around and mock-glared at him. “I knew I couldn’t leave you alone without you getting into trouble.”

  “Why are you here, Kyle? What the hell are you doing? What about the pictures? I risked my fucking neck for those. You should be getting them safely home, not chasing after me.”

  “Don’t worry! They’ve been transmitted by now. Milo and Juan took them as soon as I got back to camp, along with all the other memory cards you filled up.”

  “But that’s not what you told me was going to happen… Oh, more secret spy stuff, I suppose. Better that I had the wrong information, just in case. Is that it?” Brock scowled.

  Kyle nodded. “Exactly. I was concerned that our camp might be compromised, so as soon as the photos were on their way, Jonesy and I headed back from the airfield. Jonesy parked up to watch the road and I walked back to the camp, but Lupo and his men must have passed us while we were seeing Milo and Juan off. They were already approaching the camp when I caught up with them. All I could do was hide and watch while they took you away. Not my finest moment.”

  “I was so tired when I got back that I forgot to hide like you told me to. I fell asleep in the tent and only woke up when Lupo and his men arrived. It’s my own stupid fault they caught me.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up,” Kyle said. “Even if you had managed to hide in time, they would probably have dug you out. We need to get you to a doctor. You look like crap.”

  “Thanks. You’re such a boost to my ego.” Brock pulled the rug from the back seat around his bare shoulders. “Just get me to a plane. I won’t feel safe until we’re out of the country.” He sagged back in the seat and closed his eyes.

  Kyle took in the cuts and bruises, the blood that spattered Brock’s filthy torn clothing, the rope burns and bruising around his wrists.

  “Lupo really did a number on you, didn’t he? I’m sorry I couldn’t get to you sooner. There were too many of them at the warehouse for us to do anything.” His voice tailed off.

  “Did I just hear you apologize? No—they obviously rattled my brain more than I thought.” Brock’s eyes closed again but the corner of his lip quirked as he attempted to hide his smile.

  Kyle raised one eyebrow. “I’ll let that attitude pass, Brock, under the circumstances, but don’t think I’ll forget.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Brock drifted on a sea of heat and pain.

  He was aware that he dreamed, but could do nothing to change the progress of the scenes in his mind. He watched the procession of distorted images and colors dispassionately. In his dream he was unable to move. Vague gray figures moved around him. He struggled to remember where he was but fighting his way back to reality was too much effort. His eyelids were heavy and deep in his mind, something told him that hiding in the darkness was safer than stepping into the light.

  When dreams changed to nightmares filled with pain and captivity, he came awake, shaking, his skin damp with sweat. A weight rested on his forehead and, though it was cool on his fevered skin, he attempted to lift an arm and shove it away. Weakness overcame him, followed by a searing pain. He swore, making little sound from a throat that seemed to be lined with sandpaper. The effort sapped his remaining strength and tears rolled down his face.

  A man’s voice spoke but at first it was just muffled sounds rather than words that seeped into Brock’s head. Gradually the sounds morphed into words that he could understand. The voice seemed familiar and he fought to remember whom it belonged to. Convinced that if he opened his eyes he would see Lupo’s sneering face, Brock squeezed his eyelids shut. He couldn’t take any more of the whip. He just wasn’t strong enough and that made him want to cry even more at his own weakness. The weight left his forehead and coolness wiped across his cheeks. Some of his tension dissipated and he sank back into sleep.

  His first impression when he awoke again was of warmth and a light breeze. He gathered his courage and opened his eyes, blinking at the brightness. Sunlight streamed through an open window and he could hear birdsong. Brock moved his head to the side and the person who’d been sitting in a chair next to his bed rose and came into his line of sight.

  “Kyle.” A wave of relief swept over Brock as Kyle looked down on him, gray eyes narrowed, forehead creased with concern.

  “It’s about time you rejoined the land of the living. Did you know you talk in your sleep? Well, not talk so much as shout and swear.”

  Brock smiled. He couldn’t do anything else, despite the fact that Kyle was haggard with exhaustion.

  “Where am I?” he asked, his voice cracking. He coughed and winced as various parts of his body protested.

  “Here.” Kyle lifted a plastic cup of water to Brock’s lips. “Drink this.”

  Brock sipped the cool liquid and swished it around his dry mouth before swallowing.

  “You’re in a military hospital in Miami—a guest of the United States government,” Kyle said. “Do you remember anything at all about the journey from Colombia?”

  Brock concentrated. “I remember reaching the airfield after you rescued me from the camp. Jesus, Jonesy drives like a maniac. I’m surprised we made it there at all. After that… All I can remember are flashes and odd images.”

  “You were in and out of consciousness most of the
way, which was to your benefit. US Air Force troop planes are fucking uncomfortable. That’s how we got from Cartagena to Miami. It was a little Cessna that got us out of the forest.” Kyle offered more water and Brock took a longer drink. “Those of us who were awake suffered a lot more than you did, I can tell you.”

  Brock chuckled. It hurt.

  Kyle laid a hand on his shoulder. “Lie still and I’ll go and tell the doctor you’re awake. Be good… She’s a bitch from hell. Keeps trying to make me leave.”

  As Kyle left the room, Brock closed his eyes and mentally explored his body. The worst pain was in his shoulder where the shard of wood had rammed into him. His wrists ached, as did his face. He wondered how bruised he was. Lupo had hit him pretty hard. He couldn’t feel his back at all, which he tried not to worry about. The rest of his body ached, as if he had been beaten all over. He snorted. That wasn’t far from the truth.

  The prickle of stubble brushed his hand as he touched his face with tentative fingers. He guessed that he’d been unconscious for longer than the flight back to the States. Questions bounced around in his head but he forgot them all when the door opened and the doctor came in, followed by a male nurse and Kyle.

  The doctor, a young woman with ebony skin and a serious expression, came and stood beside the bed. She had a clipboard in her hands and lifted a couple of sheets of paper and read them before meeting Brock’s worried gaze.

  “I’m sure you have a lot of questions to ask, Mr. Brock,” she said in a melodic, comforting tone, “but I want you to be patient and save your strength. I will give you the basics, enough to set your mind at rest so that you can concentrate on getting better. Would you prefer we talked alone?” She gestured at Kyle.

  Brock reached out and Kyle came forward to take his hand. “No. I need him here.”

  “Very well. The man is as stubborn as a mule and refuses to leave anyway. Nothing short of a cattle prod is likely to get him out of here.”

  “Love you too, Doc,” Kyle said with a disarming grin.

  The nurse stuck a thermometer in Brock’s ear and checked his watch, timing the procedure.

  “You have been here two days,” the doctor said, “delivered by military ambulance direct from the airport. You will remain here until you are recovered enough to travel back to England.”

  She paused as if deciding how much to say. “Your injuries are serious, but not life-threatening. If all goes well, you will recover completely and regain full use of your arm.” The doctor smiled grimly. “We have been pumping you full of antibiotics to fight the infection in your shoulder wound. Once the infection has cleared, you will require surgery. The lacerations on your back are coated in anesthetic cream. Three were particularly deep and you may need some cosmetic surgery to avoid scarring. I’m afraid that you will continue to be in pain for several days, though we can manage that for you.” She placed a plastic device in Brock’s free hand. “This controls the release of morphine in your drip. It’s a controlled dosage, so you can’t administer too much. You must move as little as possible but for now, rest is the most important thing. You need your strength to fight the infection. In a few days, I’ll send a psychologist in to talk to you. You’ve suffered significant trauma and should talk it through with a professional.”

  The doctor contemplated Brock for a moment, then turned brusquely to Kyle. “You may stay, but you must let him rest. If you tire him out, I will call a couple of military policemen and have you thrown out.”

  “You are one scary woman, Doc,” Kyle muttered.

  She gave him a broad smile, as if he’d just paid her a great compliment, and left the room.

  Kyle pulled up a chair and took a fresh hold of Brock’s hand while the nurse took his blood pressure and made some notes on the chart before leaving them alone.

  “The doctor seems nice,” Brock said. “I think she likes you…secretly.”

  “Everyone likes me.” Kyle grinned. “But it’s you she loves. She thinks you’re cute and angelic. I’m the devil incarnate.”

  “You’re making that up!” Brock protested.

  “Well you’ll never know, will you, because you’ve been in the land of nod for two days.”

  “Still infuriating…” Brock smiled.

  “Of course. However, I do have some sense of self-preservation so I’m not going to talk at you for long. Suffice to say that the pictures got where they were supposed to and my employers are suitably impressed with you.” His expression became serious. “As am I.”

  Brock’s face heated. “It was all worth it then.”

  “Yes, it was. You’ll need a thorough debriefing, but that can wait for now.”

  Brock snorted. “I like the sound of a ‘thorough debriefing’. Though I don’t think I’m wearing any briefs at the moment.” He gave Kyle a coy glance.

  It was Kyle’s turn to blush. “Cheeky brat. You are so overdue a spanking.” He shook his head. “But seriously, people back home are very excited that you’ve met Señor Lupo. He’s been on the radar for some time, but apart from a couple of grainy images, no one even knows what he looks like.”

  “Well, he didn’t feel the need to tell me his life story while he was torturing me, so I don’t think I’ll have much useful information, but I’ll try. I could describe him to an artist, maybe.” The words sent Brock back to the intense heat and horror of the room where he’d been whipped and worse. Sweat beaded on his forehead and a deep throb of pain crawled up his spine.

  Kyle frowned. “Relax, love,” he said. “I shouldn’t have pushed you. It’s all over now. You’re safe.”

  Brock relaxed a little, but his eyelids fluttered with fatigue.

  “The doctor’s going to have my ass for tiring you out,” Kyle said, peering nervously toward the door. “Now I know you’re back with me, I’m going to get a shower and something to eat.” He checked his watch. “Will you be okay for an hour or so?”

  Brock grinned. “Of course I will. Take as long as you need. You look like crap.”

  “Hey! That’s my line.” Kyle protested. “You should reserve judgment until you’ve been in front of a mirror.” He stood quickly as the doctor stormed into the room. She took one look at Brock and turned on Kyle.

  “Out,” she ordered.

  Kyle just had time to wave and blow Brock a kiss before he allowed himself to be hustled through the door. Brock listened to the doctor chewing Kyle out until their voices faded. He lay back, exhausted but happy, and drifted into sleep.

  * * * *

  Brock still had a huge number of questions, but Kyle insisted that they had to wait. In the meantime, Brock made good progress toward recovery. Other than a few halting trips to the bathroom, he hadn’t left his bed. He was not allowed to shower or take a bath, so Kyle took charge of sponging him down. He even shaved him, balancing a bowl of warm water on Brock’s lap and using a disposable razor.

  “It’s good practice,” he said with a grin.

  “For what?” Brock asked.

  “For when I shave more interesting bits of you.”

  Brock’s mouth dropped open. He had no idea what to say to that but the idea made him hard. Not that he would ever admit that to Kyle.

  Three days passed and the doctor declared Brock fit for surgery. Though he wasn’t looking forward to going under the knife, it was one of the steps he needed to take before he could go home and that was something he desperately wanted. He’d weaned himself off the morphine drip and now managed the twinges of pain with ordinary painkillers. His body mended and Kyle’s presence kept his mind from playing horror film repeats over and over.

  Kyle, sitting in his usual spot next to the bed, glanced at his watch.

  “They’ll be in to give you your pre-med soon. I have a meeting in town, but I’ll be back for when you wake up afterwards, so be good for the witch doctor.”

  “I’m always good,” Brock said with a smug grin. “I won’t ask who you’re meeting with. Just tell me you’re not doing anything dangerous.”
>
  “I’m not. I’m meeting the head honcho of the local CIA office. He has a few questions about our little ‘vacation in coffee country’, as he charmingly puts it.”

  “Your attempt at an American accent is appalling.”

  Kyle rose to his feet laughing. “That’s exactly what he usually says.” He squeezed Brock’s hand. “See you later.” He paused at the door. “Get that shoulder all fixed up. I won’t be able to tie you up until it’s healed.”

  Brock groaned. “Don’t say things like that. Now I’ll be going into surgery with a hard-on. I have to lie on my front so by the time I’m done, my dick will be broken and it’ll all be your fault.”

  Kyle opened the door and stopped on the threshold. “You mean the dick that will be surrounded by smooth, hairless skin…? Shaved all nice and clean?” He winked and with a wave of his hand, he shut the door.

  “Bastard!” Brock shouted after him.

  * * * *

  Kyle kept his promise. When Brock came round from his surgery and was wheeled into the recovery room, Kyle was there. It was a bittersweet moment because Kyle used it to tell Brock that he had to leave.

  “I have to go back to work. I’m sorry. I tried to get a few more days’ grace but I have no choice. I have to go back. There are things that need to be done and, apparently, nobody else can do them.”

  Brock, still feeling a little woozy, fought back his disappointment.

  “It’s your job. Of course you must go. I understand.”

  Kyle stroked his fingers, careful to avoid the cannula in the back of Kyle’s hand.

  “I’d rather you yelled at me than be so understanding. I don’t deserve you.”

  “Well, that’s a given,” Brock replied cheekily.

  Kyle smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He bent forward and gave Brock a tender kiss.

  “Don’t forget me, sweetheart.”

  Then he was gone.

  * * * *

  Brock tried to stay positive. He had a lot to be thankful for, even though Kyle’s absence hurt more than any of his healing wounds. The doctor talked regularly to Brock about his progress. There would be no long-term effects from the terrible battering his body had received. She always sounded positive and encouraging but Brock wasn’t reassured. All his self-confidence had disappeared with Kyle. His shoulder was still swollen and bruised and his back ached with a vengeance. His nightmares had returned and Brock had to accept that Lupo had scarred his mind as well as his body. He spent some time with a psychologist, talking through his fears, and it did help a little, but Brock knew that only time would make the horror of his experiences fade.