by Dana Marton
The first jolt of electricity shot through her and she convulsed hard, biting her tongue, tasting blood.
Then the pain stopped as suddenly as it began. Her panic did not. But she was still alive. She tried to focus on that as she gasped for air, frantic to come up with something that would stop the torture.
“What do you know about Gerald Thornton?” The young man now stood in front of her, his face hard-set. There’d be no mercy coming from him.
Tears sprung to her eyes. “Nothing—”
He nodded to the guard and the pain began again.
SPIKE CAME AROUND, his ears ringing, every bone in his body feeling broken. His arms and legs were tied together. Damn. He opened his eyes slowly. He was in a small cell. Not alone. But the guard with him left as soon as he saw his, eyes open. The key turned in the lock.
He prepared himself for the coming pain, knowing he didn’t have long. He was right. No more than five minutes passed before the door opened and Jamal’s youngest brother came in with three of his men. Suhaib Hareb. El Jafar. He looked thinner and grimmer than the picture in his CIA file.
“Where is Abigail?”
“It’s amazing how little your wife knows about you, Mr. Thornton,” he said in Arabic.
“What have you done to her?”
“She insisted she didn’t know why you were here.” He paused. “My brother seems to think she might be telling the truth. I’m inclined to agree.”
Then they no longer needed her-in which case, she was probably already dead. The thought hit him harder than he would have expected, a tightness in his gut that squeezed till he hurt. Damn.
This was exactly what was wrong with bringing civilians into an operation. They had all known something like this could happen—the CIA, the Colonel, him. And they had gone ahead with the plan anyhow. Bitter regret rose in his chest. He was more than comfortable fighting any enemy, but civilian casualties got to him. And Abigail—he closed his eyes for a moment. He should have never dragged her into this.
Suhaib came closer. “You tell me what I want to know, and I’ll let her go.”
He had expected a bargain like that. It didn’t mean she was still alive. “I want to see her first.” He stalled for time.
“You’re hardly in position to make demands. I don’t think you fully appreciate your predicament.”
“The police are probably investigating the explosion already. They’ll look for us. They know at the Hilton where we went.”
Suhaib shrugged. “They’ll be told the servants’ kids found a land mine in the fields and brought it home. Boys are always curious about things like that. Very unfortunate, but it’s happened before. The police will be told that the Americans got spooked and decided to leave.”
“You’re not going to get away with this as easily.”
Suhaib looked at him for a long moment. “Maybe not forever, but long enough,” he said, then turned and left, his hands folded behind his back.
His men remained.
Spike strained against his binds. They had tied him tight. It would take time to loosen the ropes, if he could do it at all. And he had no time, or rather, just enough to curl up to protect his head before the first boot connected with an already broken rib.
Son of a bitch. That hurt. He jackknifed his body, kicking the feet out from under one of the men. The guy hit his head against the stone wall in a tremendous stroke of luck and went limp on the floor. The other two pummeled Spike with double savagery.
He ignored the pain, twisted and grabbed for the boot that was coming toward him, twisted again and pulled the man down. Within seconds, his attacker’s head was between Gerald’s knees as he tried to crush the man’s windpipe.
But then the butt of the third man’s rifle came down on his temple and that was the end of that.
THEY WERE DRAGGING her somewhere again. Didn’t matter. It would be over soon. She couldn’t take much more, and they knew it. Abigail squinted against the bright sun as an outside door opened in front of her.
She couldn’t walk so they dragged her along by her arms, her feet dangling in the hot sand. She couldn’t remember when she had lost the beautiful hand-embroidered slippers one of Jamal’s sisters had given her. The opulent mansion and the kindness of the women seemed as if they had been in another lifetime.
Half a dozen buildings stood in haphazard order around them, part of some kind of training course visible behind one. The sun beat mercilessly through the giant camouflage netting that stretched above the buildings. She’d seen enough footage of terrorist camps on TV to recognize this as one.
The men dragged her to a small trailer in the middle and down a short hallway. One of them unlocked a door and opened it; the other shoved her into the darkness. She fell forward, hitting her knees and elbows. The pain brought tears to her eyes. The door slammed shut behind her.
She was alone. No. The short hairs on her nape stood up at the sound of shallow breathing. Somebody or something was in there with her. She scampered away from the sound until her back touched the wall. Maybe they were going to feed her to some kind of beast. She fought the panic, listening for any sound of movement, struggling to stand.
Something growled. A scream rose in her throat, but then the sound came again, and she realized it wasn’t a growl after all, but a groan. Decidedly human.
“Spike?”
No response.
“Spike?” Please, please, please, God. Let it be him.
“Over here.” His voice was raspy, weak,
She hobbled forward and promptly fell over him. He groaned again.
“Sorry.” She rolled off. “Are you okay?”
“I wasn’t—” He took a deep shuddering breath. “I wasn’t sure you were still here.”
“I don’t think they’re going to let either of us go…”
“Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine. Alive.” But for how long? “What’s going on?”
Silence stretched between them, and she suddenly remembered he was the reason they were here. She’d forgotten all about that in her relief that it was him in the cell with her instead of a ravenous beast.
“I hate you,” she said at last. Every word he had ever said to her had been a lie. God, she’d been stupid beyond belief. How had she not figured this out before? “You had no right.”
“I know.” His somber voice reached her in the darkness. “The only reason they put us together is if they’re somehow listening.”
Right. She understood what he meant. He couldn’t tell her anything. So he really was a secret agent or something like that. Her anger grew. How dare he gamble with her life? She had never hit anyone, but the urge to find him in the dark and pummel him seemed irresistible. And yet, as strong as her anger was, her will to live was stronger. She took a couple of deep breaths. She could yell at him later. Right now, they had to stick together. They had to find a way to escape.
“We haven’t done anything and we don’t know anything. We’re only in Beharrain to help the kids,” she said.
“Right.”
She could hear the relief in his voice. And something else. Exhaustion? Pain? “Are you hurt?”
He crawled next to her, his breath hot on her wrist. “I’m pretty much done in. I don’t think I have a single rib unbroken.”
She wondered how much of that was true, and how much was what he wanted them to hear. She felt something tug at her ropes, and understood what he was trying to do-loosen her bonds with his teeth.
“I’m okay now,” she said. “Just sore and exhausted. No matter what they do to me, I can’t tell them anything more than I already have.” She kept on talking, carrying on her one-sided conversation, covering up for the fact that he was using his mouth for something else.
“I hope they’ll let us go soon. My mother has a tendency to go nuts if I don’t check in every couple of days. She’ll be calling every senator in
Washington demanding they send in the army. She lost a child already, so she’s a little on the paranoid side when it comes to me. I’m the only one left.” She turned her hands to make his work easier.
The ropes didn’t give, however, and he gave up after a while.
“I’m sure your sister’s death was hard on all of you. Leukemia is a terrible disease.”
Right. He would know all that. Her entire private life was probably neatly typed up, sitting in some file somewhere. He probably knew everything there was to know about her. How dare they?
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She was too mad to respond. They sat in silence for some time.
“Do you think they’ll kill us?” she blurted out the question that filled her mind.
“I doubt it. If we disappeared, the U.S. would investigate. Dozens of people saw us with Jamal Hareb at the restaurant. The people at the hotel know that’s where we went. Investigators would be at his door in no time. I’m sure he wishes to bring no shame to his family.”
She could hear him move around, then felt his fingers on her hand. He was tugging on her ropes again.
“What do you think will happen?”
“My bet is that he’ll keep us around so he can use us at the right time for bargaining.”
Sounded good, except that the U.S. didn’t negotiate with terrorists. But of course, Spike’s words weren’t meant for her reassurance. They were meant to convince whoever was listening that the two Americans were worth keeping alive, keeping around. And that might give Spike and her a chance to escape. She really hoped he had a plan.
“What are you going to do once your project in Tukatar is up and running?”
She doubted he cared. Most likely he wanted whoever was listening to know her work in the country was real and not connected to bringing down terrorist organizations. Better to talk about her project than think about the many ways they could torture her to death.
“Transition it to the locals, then move on to the next town.” Getting the kids off the streets would be a big improvement. She wanted them to have shelter and food. The government had no money to build and maintain orphanages, that was for sure. She had to help the children to help themselves. “Who knows, with a working example or two, the project might gain some attention.”
“The media loves a success story.”
“Exactly. More international aid would be wonderful.” Of course, that kind of stuff was always very undependable. Attention invariably fell on other new areas and the money was often redirected there without warning. “Foreign aid is valuable, but to make things work in the long run, you need a plan that’ll work without it.”
“Self-sustaining communities,” he quoted one of the headlines from her grant proposal.
“Right. That’s why I’m encouraging the children to learn marketable skills.” They needed those to survive right now in the postwar economy. “I also hope to give them some rudimentary education that will help them in the future.. She fell silent.
“Trying to save the world, huh?”
“No one person can save the world. But I know a couple of kids in Tukatar—”
“How did you pick that place?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Looks like we have time.”
But in the end, they didn’t. Not a minute passed before the door slammed open to admit two men who grabbed her. She barely had the chance to glance back before they dragged her out. The light coming through the door fell on Spike. She gasped at the sight. His face was beaten nearly beyond recognition. It looked like his cheekbone was broken.
One of the men pulled the door shut, the other dragged her on. She followed without resistance, some of her anger toward Spike slipping.
Chapter Six
Spike kicked the wall in frustration, the movement sending sharp pain through his side. He had trained for this. He had to focus on that. He knew what was going to happen, and he was strong enough to take it. But was Abigail? Damn. He wished to hell for the hundredth time, the thousandth, that he hadn’t dragged her into this.
She hated him. The words shouldn’t have hurt. They shouldn’t have mattered. And yet they did.
He shut her picture out of his mind and focused on their predicament instead. Pain pulsated through him. Being prepared for something like this was one thing; being in captivity for real was something else entirely. A first for him. He knew plenty of guys who had been there and made it through. And plenty who hadn’t.
Brian Welkins. He’d gone through his FBI training with Welkins, a good guy with a heart as big and open as Montana, the state from which he hailed. They’d gotten along pretty well, become friends. Welkins had saved his life with quick thinking when that bomb blew and cracked Spike’s head. He’d never gotten to repay the debt. Brian Welkins had disappeared on his very first SDDU mission, almost four years ago now. Had he ended up in a place like this? How long had he stayed alive, hanging in there without any hope of rescue? Welkins had been one tough son of a bitch and had probably fought to the bitter end. Spike stiffened. And so would he.
He recalled the others they’d lost through the years. The job wasn’t without its hazards. Special Forces suffered fifteen times more casualties on average than regular troops. He refused to become part of the statistics. He wasn’t fighting only for himself. He fought to honor those who’d gone before. He fought for Abigail.
And she sure was worth fighting for.
What she was doing in Tukatar, the kids, the fire in her eyes. He’d do anything, kill anyone, to make sure she didn’t lose that.
The door opened suddenly. He hated that—how he was still half-deaf from the explosion and couldn’t hear them approach. The light came on and blinded him.
“One of you has to tell me what’s going on,” Suhaib said. “If you answer my questions, I won’t have to ask your wife again.”
He could see others standing behind him. Three men. “There’s nothing to tell.”
Using prisoners against each other was the oldest interrogation technique in the book. Whatever he told Jamal would have little effect on how they treated Abigail. The decision to kill them both had been made when they were brought here. Suhaib could not afford to let them go.
“Who sent you?” he asked.
“I’m from the Barnsley Foundation.”
The man shook his head and walked out, leaving him with the three thugs.
Damn. They were going to beat him again. He curled up to protect his vital organs.
The first kick hit his kidney and made him see honest-to-goodness stars. He didn’t fight back this time, didn’t want them to know that he still had strength left. If they wanted to kill him they would have shot him in the head. But it seemed the plan was to beat him unconscious a couple of times a day until they wore him down.
He took the abuse, not bothering to hold back his groans. Then he went limp and let his head fall back. The men stopped after a few more kicks. He heard the metal door bang against its frame as it closed behind them.
Hard to breathe.
He lay without moving until the pain abated to a bearable level. He would have given anything to know what was happening to Abigail. And they left him a long time to wonder-all night. Another tactic. He would not allow himself to think of all the horrid things she might be suffering. He focused every ounce of energy he had on exploring all possible avenues of escape.
They had found the camp. He had to let the Colonel know the location before it was too late. He could not let the operation fail, and he could not let El Jafarsuspect just how much the U.S. already had on him. Abigail knew nothing, so they couldn’t get information out of her. His cell phone had a couple of numbers programmed in, not to mention a few special functions, but they couldn’t access those without a code. And he would die before he would talk.
Which didn’t sound half-bad right about now. There was no pain in death. Res
ting pain-free in the cool sand sounded damn appealing. The temperature could be twenty or thirty degrees cooler just a few feet down. Of course, he’d probably get a shallow grave, if any. He pushed away the momentary temptation to give up. He couldn’t die. If he did, Abigail was sure to die with him.
And so would countless others.
ABIGAIL SAT ON the floor and watched the small hole on the opposite wall, about two inches wide and maybe four inches long. The strip of sunshine on the floor beneath it kept appearing and disappearing. Someone was out there moving around. Probably a guard.
The door was locked. She’d tried it. No way to escape.
Her only hope of getting out of there alive was if Spike somehow found a way, or if his supervisors figured out where they were and sent a team to get them.
She hoped he’d been in close touch with his boss. But, of course, even if their captors let them see each other again, she couldn’t very well ask him.
Something poked in through the hole but disappeared before she could see what it was. Had Spike gotten out? Hope rushed through her. There it was again, a thin thing with a little knob on the end-gone as fast as it appeared. Maybe one of those flextube spy minicameras she’d seen in movies. She got up and moved closer. Spike’s people had come for him. They were saved.
She stopped at the hole and bent down, considered sticking her finger through it. “I’m in here,” she whispered. “I need help.”
There it was again.
A scorpion!
She jumped up as the animal scuttled in and backed away from it as far as the small cell allowed, goose bumps covering her from head to toe. She hated creepy crawly things.
The scorpion came in a foot or so. She was ready to climb the walls. She was barefoot and had nothing to defend herself with. What the hell was the damn thing doing there? It was the middle of the day. They were supposed to sleep under rocks in the heat and forage for food at night. It had been one of the first things she’d learned upon arrival to Tukatar-to always check her shoes in the morning.
