Black Ops 03 - Deadly Games (11 page)

Wrenching the door handle back, Gena threw herself out of the vehicle. The man grabbed for her, catching her shirt, but couldn’t hold on.

She fell from the truck. The ground walloped her, stealing her breath with a wicked punch. She tried
to tuck and roll, but control was beyond her. She heard gunfire and waited for the bullet to tear into her body.

Car tires squealed as she slammed to a stop against a tree.
Get up! Got to get up! Gotta move!

Her hands, scraped raw by the pavement, stung as she pushed to her feet. Dizzy, she fell back to the ground.

“Gena!”

She heard Rocco’s voice and tried again to get up.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart.” His arms closed around her, lifting her and holding her close.

He was safe. She was safe. But Lupe was dead….

“Why are they doing this?” She no longer fought the urge to cry, to scream.

Rocco carried her to his car and placed her on the passenger seat. She grabbed his collar. “Answer me!”

Gently he loosened her fingers. “We’ll talk in a minute. I promise.”

“I don’t want promises!” But he’d already shut her door.

“How badly are you hurt?” he asked as he started the engine moments later.

“I’m fine! Just take me home!”

“We both know you’re not anywhere close to fine.” He reached for her seat belt and tugged it across her lap, snapped it in place. “For now we need to get out of here before our friend in the black truck returns. So hold on!”

Thailand, Uncertain Location
October 4, Unknown Time

Madison Kohlmeyer pretended she was still out cold.

The whispers she heard confirmed someone was nearby. The ever-present nausea burned the back of her throat. She fought it by trying to think of other things.

So where was she now? Had they moved her again while she’d been passed out? The lack of the telltale foggy headache seemed to support the notion she had not been drugged again. But then her captors seemed to save the drugs for the longer trips, when she was transported in boxes or wrapped in rugs. And truthfully, having woken up in both those scenarios, she’d just as soon be heavily sedated.

In the beginning, she had welcomed the periods of drug-induced unconsciousness, the relief it brought her from the overwhelming fear. She’d been certain the stern-looking Asian men who’d forced her car off
a deserted stretch of road in Virginia five days ago had been bent on killing her.

They’d pulled her from her car and shoved her to her knees before encircling her. There had been six of them and each one had kept his compact submachine gun pointed at her. They had shouted orders in what she thought was a Thai dialect, as if expecting her to understand. She hadn’t.

The guy with the light-colored snake slithering around his shoulders had leaned down and touched her hair. “Blond,” he’d said in perfect English.

She’d cringed, frightened of snakes, frightened of him and his friends. The man had laughed and pointed to his snake. “Blond.”

They’d bound her hands and ankles and stuffed her in the trunk of one of their vehicles,
with the snake.
They hadn’t bothered with a gag. She’d assumed because they’d wanted to hear her screams.

At some point, they had opened the trunk long enough to reclaim the snake and to sedate her.

When she’d next come to, she had been both bound and gagged, but had been lying atop a pile of coarse straw in what appeared to be a wooden box. After giving her another dose of whatever drug they were using, they had covered her with more straw. She’d listened as they’d nailed the lid in place.

A coffin.

They were going to bury her alive and leave her alone to die in the dark. Even as the thought had tried to take hold inside her, the drug’s power had pulled her down into a dark nothingness. But just before she’d succumbed, something had moved in the straw beside her.

The snake? A rat? Or just her mind serving up one more nightmare?

She later realized the coffin had actually been a shipping crate. She’d recalled sounds, loud engines, like planes taking off. When they’d next opened the crate it had been to give her water and food. Evidently they weren’t looking to kill her. At least not right away.

The gag had been left off after that and for what turned out to be a very long and uncomfortable trip. The realization that they had taken her out of the United States had been terrifying. She thought she’d been kidnapped for some sex-slavery ring.

A drinking straw was poked between her lips at periodic intervals. She drank—even after she figured out the water was laced with drugs.

She’d woken up in this warehouse yesterday. The three men watching her now were different from the ones who had abducted her. First thing, they’d cut away her clothes and taken photographs. Then they’d dumped buckets of cold water on her, to clean her and revive her.

One of the men had given her an oversized plaid shirt to wear. She had instinctively turned away, seeking a modicum of privacy while getting dressed, only to have the shirt snatched away.

She had begged for its return, finally breaking down into hysterical sobs. While language continued to be a barrier, her captors communicated with hand signals, facial expressions, body gestures, and pain. They had openly mocked her by rubbing their fists in their eyes while shouting, “Wah! Wah!”

Then the men had circled her. She hadn’t been
raped or sexually assaulted, but she feared that was about to change.

Instead the men had pinched and slapped her. Bullied her. She’d been dragged into an adjacent room where a pock-faced man had pressed a cell phone to her ear.

At first she hadn’t understood the dynamics at play. Her fears that no one would ever know what had happened to her had been allayed by the sound of Rocco’s voice.

Rocco would notify Travis, she told herself. And Travis would make certain that whatever ransom they demanded would be paid.

But as soon as the phone was snatched away, her anxiety had skyrocketed. Did her captors know she worked for the CIA, too? Would they try to force classified information from her?

While Rocco was still on the phone, one of her captors had begun tormenting her with a blue-flamed blowtorch, flicking it close to her face and eyes before finally dropping lower and burning her foot, clearly wanting Rocco to hear her screams. She’d complied and promptly fainted, coming to long enough to be drugged again. Not good.

How long had she been out this time? The whispers she’d heard moments ago ceased as soft footsteps approached.

Maddy opened her eyes and took in her surroundings. She had been moved, but just to another room. To a small cot. Her hands were still tied, but they hadn’t gagged her again.

An older woman Maddy had never seen before leaned over her. A doctor, Maddy guessed, by the white lab coat and stethoscope. Without a word, the woman
unwound the stethoscope. She listened to Maddy’s heart, then tugged her shirt up.

“You have been ill?” the woman asked in cautious English.

“A little,” Maddy lied.

She flinched as the woman’s hands palpated her abdomen. Dread churned in her stomach. Maddy had been sick during the flight—and every day since—but so far no one seemed to guess her secret. Until now.

“Bay-bee.” The woman mimicked the outline of a pregnant stomach with her hand.

“Baby.” Maddy felt tears slide down the sides of her cheeks. It was the first time she’d admitted it out loud.

The morning Maddy had been abducted, she’d used one of those drugstore tests. After getting a positive test result, she’d agonized over whether to go away for the week as planned. In the end, she had decided to go, to seek her girlfriends’ collective counsel. They were all trusted acquaintances who would offer sympathy as well as advice. But, of course, Maddy had never arrived at the beach.

A new worry bloomed. How would news of her pregnancy go over with her abductors? Would it put her in a more sympathetic light with them? Or had her admission just endangered her unborn child?

Would her captors increase their ransom demand, thinking they had two hostages? Whatever the amount was, she prayed the Agency paid it quickly.

The stinging of her burned foot reminded her that these men were capable of horrible deeds. The thought of what they’d do to make her scream the next time was terrifying.

“You brand new pregnant?” the woman asked.

At Maddy’s nod, the doctor tugged the plaid shirt back in place and stepped away. The pock-faced man who’d called Rocco came into view. Obviously he’d heard everything.

As the doctor spoke, Pockface leaned sideways and stared at Maddy, showing disdain at the news of her pregnancy.

Tugging out his phone, Pockface punched in numbers. Maddy broke out in a cold sweat. Were they calling Rocco again? Oh, sweet Mary, would she be burned again?

Pockface spoke in Thai, though she knew from hearing parts of his conversation with Rocco that he also spoke English. To Maddy’s surprise, Pockface handed the phone to the woman.

Maddy wished she knew what they were saying.

Or maybe not.

When the call ended, the woman continued speaking with Pockface, ticking off points with her fingers.

Then the woman moved back to Maddy’s cot. “You will be moved to new place,” the woman spoke slowly. “Do not fight. To cooperate is better for baby.”

Bay-bee.

“How long will they keep me?” Maddy asked.

Pockface moved in, cutting Maddy off before speaking angrily in Thai to the other woman.

The woman listened and nodded before turning back to Maddy. “He said to ask you where Dr. Rufin is being held.”

Dr. Rufin?

Maddy’s spirits sank as the significance of the question sank in. She knew from the reports she’d prepared on Max Duncan’s rescue who Rufin was. An
international manhunt was under way for the scientist. Every country wanted Dr. Rufin.

“Dr. who?” Maddy tried to look confused and shook her head. “I don’t know anyone named Dr. Rupert.”

“Rufin,” the woman repeated the name.

Pockface interrupted the woman with what sounded like more rapid-fire questions. Or threats.

The woman sighed and addressed Maddy again. “They need the baby-father, this Rocco, to find Dr. Rufin, in order to free you. He said that if you help, you will be freed more quickly.”

Fresh tears stung Maddy’s eyes. They were both lying. Nothing Maddy did, or didn’t do, would help. The sick feeling that she had been fighting suddenly surged. Twisting sideways, she hung her head over the side of the cot and retched, the vomit barely hitting the bucket the doctor slid into place.

Pockface stormed away as the woman lapsed into speaking Thai again. Even though the woman’s tone sounded sympathetic, Maddy knew it didn’t matter. She was doomed.

If her captors thought Rocco was the father of her child, they had assumed a relationship that wasn’t.

And if her freedom depended on these men gaining custody of Dr. Rufin, she and her unborn child were as good as dead.

Southeast Texas
October 4, 2:10 P.M.

Rocco checked the rearview mirror. They’d been on the road nearly twenty minutes without incident. He’d driven north, then cut west in a zigzag pattern. So far there had been no sign of the black truck.

No police either. Which could change in the flash of a blue strobe light. A shoot-’em-up through town wouldn’t go unreported. And even though Rocco hadn’t fired his weapon, for fear of harming Gena, witness accounts could make him a definite person of interest.

Being held in custody while the cops verified Rocco’s identity and vetted his national-security-get-out-of-jail-free claim meant possibly being separated from Gena. And Rocco wouldn’t allow her to be vulnerable like that again.

Had Minh Tran’s man taken her today because they were concerned she could identify them from last night’s firebombing and wanted to keep her
quiet? Or had their intent been to kill her? To make an example of her, to hammer home the seriousness of the threat Maddy faced?

Like he needed an example.

One thing was clear: Minh Tran’s men were determined to get to Gena. Their attack in broad daylight suggested they weren’t overly worried about the local cops. Which made them that much more dangerous.

He glanced at Gena. She’d obviously managed to shower and change, but now she looked even more fragile.

She was lucky to be alive after jumping from that truck. And while she claimed she was fine, once the adrenaline dissipated from her bloodstream, she’d be hurting. The sleeve of her shirt was torn. More scrapes were visible, new ones and old ones.

Gena continued to stare out the back window of Rocco’s rental sedan, clearly expecting the black truck to come after them. And Rocco had been so livid over the way she’d left him at the hospital that he’d purposely let her stew, hoping she’d think twice before endangering herself again.

Now, however, they needed to talk.

“You’ll be safe, Gena. I promise. I won’t let him harm you,” Rocco began.

She made a derisive sound. “If that’s supposed to make me feel better, or make me more malleable, it’s not working.”

“Let me amend that then.” He struggled to keep his temper in check. Yes, he was mad as hell at her, but she wasn’t the person to blame. Minh Tran was. And the payback Rocco now owed Tran had more than doubled.

“I won’t let anyone harm you as long as you stay
with me
,” he continued. “And I feel fairly certain we’ve lost the guy in the truck, so you can turn back around.”

She shook her head and doggedly kept her watch. “What about the man following you? My guy was pretty annoyed that you’d given him the slip.”

Rocco took his eyes off the road for a second to glance at her. “How do you know I was followed?”

“The guy who grabbed me called his partner and chewed him out. Said you were being watched.”

Damn it!

How had these men gotten word of Rocco’s whereabouts so quickly? Either Minh Tran had a larger network here in the states than they knew—which meant the Agency’s intelligence was seriously flawed—or Tran was accessing inside information, which validated Travis’s ongoing concern about a leak.