Secret Soldier (8 page)

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. Resting 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.

The nasty thing skittered toward the wall. She moved, too, to keep the largest possible distance between them at all times. She tried to calm herself with the thought that scorpions were probably scared of people. Few animals attacked without being provoked.

She mirrored its movements as the scorpion ran along the perimeter of the room. She had to get rid of it. Now. She glanced at the hole. If one came in, so could another. That freaked her out so badly she couldn’t even think about it.

She took off her veil and moved toward the animal, bent at the waist, and standing as far from him as possible, lowered the end of the cloth to the ground in front of him. The animal backed away from the black material. Excellent. All she had to do was to herd the damn thing outside.

For an insane moment she felt infinitely grateful to her captors that they had left her light on. Spike had been in the dark. She shuddered at the thought of that happening to her, scorpions crawling over her body.

She shooed the animal back, but it bolted sideways. She jumped away, her heart clamoring in her chest. Scorpions and humans had coexisted in these regions for thousands of years, she told herself. It didn’t make an iota of difference to her frantic mind.

She had to get it out.

She moved forward, pushing the veil toward the animal. It stared at the cloth. Would it attack? She stopped. The scorpion backed away. Toward the hole, thank God. She took a cautious step. The scorpion skittered back to the wall. Almost at the hole. Her hands trembled. Just a little more. She shook the veil and, holding her breath, watched the animal back out of the room. She jammed the cloth in the hole with trembling hands, blocking it from any other intruder, and sank into the farthest corner.

She was breathing heavily, her blood rushing through her veins, the picture of the nasty thing still in front of her. Rubbing her arms didn’t help. She seemed to have permanent goose bumps.

She cringed when she heard footsteps outside the door. They couldn’t possibly interrogate her again. Not now. She couldn’t take it. She had had all that she could bear for one day.

When the door opened, the man who came in didn’t grab her, but set a plate of food and a flask of water on the floor instead. He stared at her hair, the veil jammed into the hole in the wall, but he didn’t say anything as he left.

She fell on the food, starving all of a sudden, as if her body were just now remembering how hungry it was. She could barely taste the round noodles and sauce as she shoveled the meal down, breaking only for greedy swallows of water now and then. Then it was gone, too soon, and she felt slightly sick to her stomach. She’d eaten too fast.

She lay down, pressed a hand to her abdomen. After a while, the nausea passed. They’d given her food. The significance of it hit her finally. They wanted to keep her alive, at least for a while yet. A day or two? More? Hopefully long enough for someone to figure out where Spike and she had disappeared to and to come get them. She didn’t want to die. Not this way. Not here.

“WHAT DO THEY say?” El Jafar tapped his gold-ringed finger on the desk.

“Nothing.”

He nodded. “I think the woman is just a pawn, but Thornton—he wasn’t in that cellar by accident.”

“We’ll get him to talk.”

“Do.” He shot the man a level look. “Then get rid of them. I want no trace left of either one.”

“It will be done.”

“By tomorrow night. I’m going to need every man. I don’t want the distraction of prisoners. I can’t spare enough people to guard them.”

The man bowed and backed out of the room.

Damn the Americans. He tapped his fingers on the desk. How much did they know about him? It couldn’t be a lot. He’d gone to extraordinary measures on security. He’d been careful. The two at camp were an irritation, but hardly a threat to him. He worried more about the ones who had sent them.

What had “Gerald Thornton” seen at the house, and had he been able to report back any of it? He would have given anything to know. Allah willing, his men would get the answers from the prisoners. They knew what they were doing and were not the squeamish kind.

THE DOOR OPENED. Spike pulled up his knees to protect himself and watched as a guard shoved Abigail into the room. This time, the man turned the light on. Probably so Spike could see the pitiful shape she was in. She looked thinner than ever, her hair unruly-she had lost her veil. Her eyes were swimming in tears. Damn. She looked like she was at the end of her rope.

The door slammed closed and they were alone.

“Hang in there,” he said, feeling like a bastard.

The look she shot him told him she was of the same opinion. She was trembling slightly, her nerves and her body pushed to the edge.

He had to calm her down, distract her, boost her spirits somehow. If he found a way to escape, she had to be ready and strong enough in both body and spirit to go with him.

“Tell me about Uganda.”

She looked at him as if not comprehending his words. But then, after a while, the clouds cleared from her eyes and she nodded.

“I was there with the Peace Corps.”

“Working with war orphans?” He knew what she’d been working on, but wanted to get her talking.

“Some, but not all of them. I worked with young women who escaped from or were returned by the rebels. A lot of young people had been captured and taken into slavery.”

He waited, hoping she would go on.

“I helped them locate their families, worked with the local governments. Just talked to them. Tried to make them understand that what happened to them was not their fault, that their families still loved them and wanted them back. They’d survived terrible abuse.”

“Some of the strongest people I’ve met in my life are women. If you don’t lose hope, you can survive anything,” he said, relieved when she nodded at his words.

“We held some classes, too. I taught English, another woman from Michigan gave sewing lessons. We got a dozen sewing machines donated. They had this amazing spirit. Both the volunteers and the girls.” A little bit of spark returned to her eyes. “Like anything was possible.”

“Weren’t you scared? It’s not the safest of countries.”

She pulled her lips into a flat smile. “I was frightened out of my mind every single day. I’m such a coward. I kept expecting that the government would be overthrown again and we’d be all murdered in our beds.”

“But you stuck with it.”

“How could I not? I couldn’t leave them.” “And then you came here.”

“I found out about the grant from the Barnsley Foundation, that they wanted to do something in Beharrain. I did a little research and what I found… I don’t know.” She looked away. “It just broke my heart.”

“And then you came. Alone.”

She blew out a puff of air. “That decision might have been a little too rash.”

Yeah. It had sure sent the CIA scampering. He grinned despite the pain that even the small movement caused. “You’re going to be fine.”