by L.T. Ryan
Chapter 6
The adrenaline wore off, and I dozed off, managing to sleep the rest of the afternoon. I awoke to the sound of my cellmate moaning. I opened my eyes. It took a few minutes to remember where I was and why. I looked around the cell. The reddish orange light of the setting sun filled the room. I swung my head over the side of the bunk and looked at the injured man below me.
His eyes darted to mine. He held his hand to his jaw. Guttural sounds formed in his throat as he tried to speak. His wide eyes teared over.
“Shut the hell up unless you want the other side broken too,” I said.
He fell back onto his pillow, looked away and said nothing.
I continued to stare at him, driving the point home. The cell became quiet again.
A knock on the cell door broke the silence. Someone shouted something through the hole in the middle of the door, then a key clanked into the lock. The door swung open and an MP entered carrying trays of food. He stopped when he caught site of the man on the bottom bunk.
“Jesus Christ,” the MP said. “What the frig happened to him?”
“He slipped,” I said, “and hit his chin on the sink.”
The MP put the trays on the table then clicked a radio on his upper chest fixed to his shirt. “I need medical in echo wing, first floor, cell four.” He fixed his brown eyes on me. “Tell me what happened. The truth.”
I sat up. “I told you already. He fell and hit his chin on the sink.” I leaned over the side of the bed and looked at my cell-mate. “Ain’t that right?”
He grunted then moaned.
I smiled.
“Yeah, well, we’ll figure this out,” the MP said.
“You do that,” I said.
“Why don’t you get down and stand in that corner for now.” He pointed toward the toilet and sink.
I swung my legs over the side and hopped down and moved slowly to the corner of the room without taking my eyes off the MP.
He didn’t take his off of me, either, keeping his palm rested on the handle of his tear gas gun.
I sat down on the stainless steel toilet and placed my hands on my knees. The MP seemed jumpy, and I didn’t want to give him a reason gas me.
Two medics followed by two more MPs entered the cell a few minutes later. The medics attended to the injured man on the bottom bunk while the MPs focused their weapons on me.
“Jaw’s broke,” one of them said. “Bruised to hell on the left side.”
The MPs looked at me.
“He fell,” I said.
The short medic left the cell then returned a moment later with a wheel chair. They helped the man off the bed and into the chair and wheeled him out of the room. I found myself alone with the three MPs.
One closed the door and leaned back against it. His wide frame blocked the hole in the middle of the door. The other two approached me and boxed me into the corner. Their names were affixed to their uniforms, Bates and Sanders.
Bates spoke first. “Like to beat up on our prisoners?”
I didn’t respond.
Sanders reached down and grabbed my shirt and pulled up on the collar, presumably trying to lift me to my feet.
I didn’t move.
“Get up,” he said.
I didn’t.
“Now,” he said.
I still didn’t.
They both reached down and pulled me from the toilet and slammed me against the back wall. I turned my head and caught a glimpse of the final sliver of the orange sun before it set behind the expanse of trees that ringed the brig.
The MPs jammed their elbows into my chest as they leaned into me, taking turns punching me in the stomach, making sure to avoid my ribs. I kept my abdominal muscles tight as long as I could. Eventually the blows wore me down and they landed successive shots that knocked the wind out of me.
They backed off, and I slid to the floor. I clutched and dragged my nails across the concrete in an effort to get to my knees and fill my lungs with air. The edge of my vision darkened. Finally, my lungs expanded and air rushed in through my mouth. I gasped and exhaled several times.
“We’ll be back for you later, Noble,” one said.
The last one left the cell, and the door slammed shut. I knelt on the floor until the sick feeling in my stomach subsided. Then I pulled myself off the ground and checked the trays on the table. Chicken, green beans, bread and lukewarm coffee. I hadn’t eaten in nearly a day and it had been at least that long since my last cup of coffee. It ended up being one of the best meals I’d ever had.
There wasn’t much to do in the cell, and the nap combined with the attack by the MPs left me too amped up to sleep. I paced the space between the bed and the table, walking from the door to the back window. Stopped and stared out the window. A few lights flickered in the distance. Other than that it was dark and quiet and serene.
A bang at the door jarred me back to reality and I spun around with my arms held in a defensive position. The door opened, just a crack.
“Noble,” a voice called.
“Yeah,” I said.
The door opened further and General Keller stepped in, stopping just inside the entrance. His close cut grey hair gave way to a face that looked like it was cut from steel. There were deep lines etched into his forehead, thinner lines spread out from the corner of his blue eyes and from the sides of his mouth.
I nodded at the man and felt relief wash over me.
He smiled, looked to the ground then back up at me. “Christ, Jack, what did you get yourself into?”
“We didn’t do anything.”
Keller looked over his shoulder. “Leave us.”
“Sir, that man physically injured his cellmate earlier. It’s not safe for you—”
“Dammit, I said leave us. Do you want me to kick your ass, Corporal?”
“No, sir.”
“Then get the hell outta here.”
The MP disappeared from sight, and the cell door shut and remained unlocked.
I cast a glance toward the door.
“Don’t think about trying to run, Jack,” Keller said. “Not now, at least.”
“OK,” I said.
“And what is this mess all over your face? And your hair?” He shook his head. “I remember when you were a clean cut kid. Now you look like… like one of those bums my daughter used to bring home.”
“With all due respect, General,” I said, “I’ve seen your daughter. Do you think she’d be interested in me with my present look?”
Keller tried to look stern, but gave up and laughed. “Sit the hell down, Jack.”
I sat across from him and waited for him to continue.
“I don’t know where this is coming from,” he said. “But I’m having a bitch of a time getting you two out of here. Did you piss anyone off over there?”
“Other than Martinez?” Jack said. “Not that I can think of.”
Keller nodded. “Someone is issuing this order.” He looked over his shoulder, then back at me. “I talked to someone, someone up high, who admits you had nothing to do with the murder of that family. Off the record of course.”
“Of course,” I said. “You think it’s the CIA then?”
“It’d have to be, wouldn’t it?” he said. “Who here would do this? I run the damn show and it’s not me. There’s no one between us.”
I nodded. “Have you spoken to Abbot?”
“Yeah. Haven’t been able to talk to him about it yet. But I’ll keep trying. I’m not as connected as I used to be, Jack. That’s what everyone says, at least.” Keller stood. Reached into his pocket then threw a pack of cigarettes on the table. “You keep those, Jack. Maybe you can trade them for something.”
I thanked him and rose. He stuck out his hand, palm facing me, indicating I should stay where I was.
“I’m working on getting you out of here. Stay alert, you got it?”
“Yes, sir.”
