Secret Soldier (9 page)

She looked at him and slowly squared her shoulders, as if pulling strength from deep within. She was the most extraordinary woman he’d ever met.

“You promise?” she asked, holding his gaze.

He reached for her hand, ignoring the pain, savoring the feel of her fingers intertwined with his. She didn’t pull away.

He took a deep breath. “Promise.”

He’d break them out of there or die trying.

HE PROMISED. AND she wanted to believe him. But considering that most everything that had come out of his mouth since they’d met had been a lie, it wasn’t easy.

The door banged open and four men came in. One of them pulled her up by the arm and led her out. The others stayed with Spike. She had a pretty good idea what they were going to do to him.

He looked as if he’d been beaten savagely. She wondered how much more he could take.

The guard led her down the hall, then outside. She held her breath as they walked past the largest of the buildings where she knew the electrodes waited. She didn’t dare breathe until they were past it, heading toward the smaller structure that contained her cell.

The man opened the door, shoved her inside. His eyes stopped on her veil, stuffed into the hole in the wall. He grabbed it and threw it at her. She did not protest, but covered her head, said nothing about the scorpion. If they knew she was scared of them, for sure they’d use that against her.

He left without a word, but she wasn’t alone long. The young man who’d questioned her before walked into the cell. Her spirits sunk. He was bad news. Although he’d never hit her, when pain had come, it’d been always on his order. She cringed away from him, pressing her body into the far corner.

“Dr. Abigail DiMatteo. You say you came here to save children.” He watched her face closely. “Are you a spy?”

“No,” she said, although she knew he wouldn’t believe her. “I’m not a spy. I don’t know how to convince
you
.”

He sucked in his lower lip, let it go. “Your husband is.”

“I don’t know anything about this. We’ve only just met.”

“In my country, men would protect their families with their lives. They do not put them in danger.”

She hung her head, having no idea where this was going.

“You don’t have to die with him.” His voice was nonthreatening, even friendly.

“I don’t know anything,” she said to the floor.

“I’ll come back in a little while. Maybe you remember. I hope you will. Hamid is going to help you.”

He walked out the door, gave some orders outside, presumably to Hamid. She eyed with apprehension the stocky man who came in a minute later. He carried a three-foot steel chain in his scarred hands. Her stomach contracted into a hard ball at the sight.

He grabbed her roughly by her bound wrists and dragged her out of the room and out of the building. She stumbled after him. Fear-hot, visceral panic-flooded her body and mind. Then her thoughts cleared somewhat. Should she fight him? Her gaze settled on the chain. He could do considerably more damage to her than she could do to him. But she had to try something. She threw her weight back, trying to stop the man.

He yanked hard on her wrists in response, the ropes bruising her skin. She struggled despite the pain. He didn’t even slow. She fought on, dragging her weight, pulling back. He was taking her away from the buildings, outside the giant camouflage netting that stretched over them.

She had to close her eyes for a moment when they stepped out into the full sun, its merciless rays blinding as they reflected off the white sand. The bottom of her feet burned. “Stop, please, stop,” she said in her best Arabic. “I didn’t do anything.”

Hamid walked on. She could see his destination now, a tall post dug into the sand about ten yards in front of them. She struggled harder, putting all her strength into it, but he pulled her along as easily as if she were a child.

When they reached the post, he threaded the chain through the loop of her tied arms, then yanked her wrists high above her head and slipped the ends of the chain onto a thick nail driven in the post at an angle.

“You speak, get water,” he said in heavily accented English and, with a last look at his handiwork, left her tied out in the full sun.

She wondered how long it’d be before he came back to see if the heat had broken her resistance yet, and hoped he didn’t overestimate her and she’d be still alive.

The soles of her feet burned on the hot sand. She dug in a few inches to find relief in the cooler layer beneath, bent her head forward, making sure the sun didn’t reach the unprotected skin of her face. The black
abayah
soaked up the heat. Her mouth was already as dry as the desolate landscape around her. How long would it be before her tongue began to swell? Her wrists hurt where the rope cut into her skin. She straightened her spine to stand taller and ease the pull of the chain. She felt marginally better, but how long could she keep that up?

How long before the sun sucked out the last of her strength?

Chapter Seven

Steel scraped against cement. Spike opened his left eye and tried forcing open the right, but couldn’t make it work. It was still swollen shut. A guard entered the cell, making him instinctively curl up on the floor, tuck his head in and prepare himself psychologically for the beating. His body was strong, his mind ready; he could take it. They could not break him. He waited.

Something clinked against the floor, then the door closed and he was alone again. He let his muscles relax as he looked around, his eyes settling on a small metal bowl of unrecognizable food and a goatskin water pouch by the wall. He inched over and smiled, just as wide as his cracked lips allowed. This was what he’d been waiting for-a single mistake he could take advantage of. And they had finally made one.

The strap had been removed from the water pouch and they didn’t give him a spoon-smart precautions, but not enough. He drank first, then ate, enough adrenaline rushing through his veins to dull the pain of chewing. When both the food and water were gone, he dragged himself into the far corner and sat with his back to the door.

He scraped the edge of the bowl against the rough concrete. It didn’t seem to make much of a noise, but he couldn’t be sure. His hearing was far from recovered. He waited a few minutes and when no one came in, continued. Soon enough, the bowl’s edge was sufficiently sharp to cut the rope; but the cutting itself, the slow sawing of fibers, took time. He worked on his feet first, then his hands, not severing the ropes completely but enough so that a good tug would finish them. He didn’t cut in the middle, but instead on the inside of his left wrist, to make the damage as unnoticeable as he could.

When he was done, he turned the bowl over and pushed it into the comer, the sharpened edge hidden, then he lay down to wait. He didn’t have to wait long before Suhaib entered the room, along with another man who was dragging Abigail behind him. Two more guys came in. They pulled Spike from the floor. Every movement hurt, and he let it show, refusing to lock his knees to stand. Let them think he was too weak to hold up himself.

He lifted his head enough to take a good look at Abigail, gritted his teeth as he damned the bastards to hell. She looked worse than before, weak, on the brink of giving up. Fear filled her eyes. And she didn’t even know what was coming. He did. Another favorite interrogation technique-they were going to torture her in front of him.

Two men held him by one wall, while Abigail was led to the opposite corner. Suhaib paced the room but a few feet from her, a handgun tucked into his belt.

“I’ve been very patient with you, he addressed his words to Spike. “But I’m afraid we’re running out of time. I’m going to ask you one more time who sent you. If you choose to lie again, your wife will pay the price.” The man stopped in front of Abigail.

He could not reach Suhaib in one leap from where he was and didn’t dare risk the man pulling the gun.

“I already told you everything I know,” he said, hoping to provoke the man into moving closer to him.

Instead, Suhaib pulled a curved dagger from his belt and lay the blade against Abigail’s throat.

“No,” Spike roared, but even as he did, the man hooked the dagger into the front of her clothes and sliced down to her waist, baring her skin for all to see.

He was going to rape her.

Rage welled, pumping through Spike’s veins, pushing him to jump, choke, pummel. He held back. Not yet. Not yet. If Suhaib moved just two steps in his direction…

Abigail struggled against the man who held her, slipped an arm free and elbowed him hard in the stomach. Suhaib swore, then pulled his gun and placed the barrel against her temple.

They had pushed Suhaib too far. “Wait,” Spike yelled, and lurched forward, hard enough to make the guards holding him pay attention, but not strong enough to break free.

They threw him back against the wall, as he had expected. He let his head hit. “I work for the United States government,” he mumbled as he rolled his eyes back and slowly slid to the floor, then went completely limp.

Suhaib swore again.

Pain exploded in Spike’s ribs when somebody kicked him, but he didn’t move, not even when they threw water into his face.

Then he heard the words he had been hoping for. “Get me when he comes to.” The door opened and closed.

He waited a good fifteen minutes, giving Suhaib time to get out of hearing distance before he stirred without opening his eyes. One of the guards bent over him, blocking the light. The next second his hands were on the man’s head, his ropes dangling, as he smashed the man’s skull into the concrete floor with full force. He kicked the legs out from under the other guy simultaneously, then he was on his feet, his heel crushing the man’s windpipe in one good kick.

The guard holding Abigail went for his gun, but it was too late. Spike was on him in a split second. With his ears still ringing, he didn’t even hear the guy’s neck snap.

Abigail stared at him with wide-eyed horror, trembling, grabbing for the front of her clothes to hold the fabric together.

“Are you okay?” he asked as he searched the bodies.

His search yielded two knives and three guns. Not bad. He cut her ropes, handed her one of the guns. It slipped from her fingers, her hand was shaking so badly.

“Let’s go.” He swung the straps of his two rifles over his shoulder, picked up hers and kept it at the ready.

She didn’t move. He grabbed her hand and pulled her behind him. They had no time to wait until she came out of shock. He found the narrow hall empty and windowless, but riddled with enough bullet holes to see through. Only a couple of men were outside, the heat already merciless.

He turned to Abigail, rage bubbling up inside him again. They’d done a number on her. He made sure his voice was soft when he spoke. “Where did they keep you?”

“In a small cell.”

“Here?”

She shook her head.

Excellent. That meant she’d been outside. “Have you seen any trucks?”

She thought about that for a moment. “They’re behind the main building.”

“How close?”

“I don’t know.” Her gaze finally focused on him. “A hundred yards.”

He pulled her back into his cell, stripped one of the men and put on his uniform, taking the headdress and wrapping it around his own head to cover up his blond hair. When he was done, he took the other two kafehs, folded them then wrapped them around Abigail’s bare feet.

“Keep your hands together at the wrist”

She seemed reluctant to let her clothes go.

“Here.” He removed her hand, pulled on
the
material of the
abayah
and tied it at the neck. The black fabric still gaped in the middle. He salvaged a length of rope and bound it below her breasts. That held. “We have to go.” He grabbed her arm, led her from the cell and then from the building.

The men were a good three hundred yards away. One of them yelled out. Abigail looked back at him, her eyes filled with panic. Spike pushed her forward roughly, mumbling “sorry” under his breath. Another man yelled, but not at them, Spike realized after a moment.

“Don’t look at them,” he whispered, as he searched the camp without turning his head. He spotted two ancient army Jeeps on the other side of the training court and filed that information as backup.

He walked as if taking her to the main building, ducking behind it at the last second. Four trucks lined up in front of him. He couldn’t have planned it better. He walked to the one that held a row of gas cans in the back, determined not to make the same mistake twice. He didn’t want to get stranded in the middle of the desert again due to lack of fuel.

“Get in and get down.” He pushed her up into the cab and breathed a sigh of relief when she soundlessly obeyed.

He didn’t tarry long, just enough to slash the tires on the rest of the vehicles. He was in the driver’s seat and had the truck hotwired within seconds. Then they were flying across the sand. The first shots rang out just a few seconds later.

“Stay down,” he said, keeping his eyes on the terrain before them, not wanting to flip over the truck on a sand dune.

She looked at him, myriad emotions flashing across her face. Determination was the last and it stuck. She grabbed one of the rifles, leaned out the window and returned fine.

Dr. Abigail DiMatteo, peace activist.
He grinned. He could get used to having her around.

He got a good head
start, but it wasn’t long before the two army Jeeps appeared behind them. The lighter vehicles, which were easier to drive on the sand, were catching up. Whoever was riding in them had good guns, big ones. Sooner or later they were bound to hit one of the gas cans in the back and blow the truck to kingdom come. Spike slammed on the brakes and turned the truck so he faced their pursuers head-on. He lifted a rifle out the window. Between him and Abigail, it didn’t take long to pick off the men.

“Are you okay?” He glanced at her as he put the truck in gear again.

“Yes. Are we safe?”

She was speaking at last. A good sign.

“For now” He had a feeling they hadn’t seen the last of EL Jafar’s men.

Eager to put distance between the terrorist camp and themselves, he drove as fast as was safely possible, paying attention to the position of the sun and trying tc figure out which way Tihrin was. He wished they hadn’t taken his watch and cell phone.

“So you work for the government.” Her voice cracked.

He glanced at her, then back at the sand that stretched before them. “Yes”

She took a deep breath. “You could have given me a warning.”

“No, I really couldn’t have.”

She closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head. “Now what?”

“We’ll find the nearest phone and call in the location of the camp.”

“That’s what you’ve been after from the beginning.” She sounded tired, resigned.

He owed her some explanation. “I was supposed to recruit you, but at the end there was no time.” They rode on in silence.

“So the foundation money was bogus?” she asked after a while, then her eyes widened. “The call. In hindsight, it makes perfect sense.”

“I don’t know a lot about that part. I came in later.”

“I got a call from someone at the foundation, saying they were establishing a new grant for work with children in war-torn countries, and they would like to see something done in Beharrain, since it’s gotten so little foreign aid so far. The woman who called said they had read the article I wrote about my work in Uganda and would be delighted if I submitted a grant proposal. I thought it was strange, because one of the girls I went to Uganda with works for the Barnsley Foundation now and we keep in touch and she hadn’t said anything about a new grant.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they made it up just for you.”

“Why me? Why was I picked? Jamal came in contact with a bunch of people at the university.”

“I’m sure all of them were looked at. I think they had other candidates at the beginning, but you seemed the strongest. You had a history of working in a situation similar to Beharrain. They knew Jamal would remember the kind of stuff you were into in college. You had built-in credibility. You are a woman, less suspicious or threatening than a man. You’re athletic. You were on the biathlon team, so they knew you weren’t scared of guns. You weren’t the perfect candidate, but, all things considered, you were pretty damn good. Good enough for the CIA to hedge their bets on.”

“Excuse me if I’m not flattered.”

He simply shrugged. “Why did you leave early? You were supposed to be evaluated, recruited and trained before you left the U.S. You didn’t wait for the grant award to be announced.”

“After I told my girlfriend about the grant, she asked around about it. And then a while later, she saw my name on the paperwork and accidentally found out I won. I was going through a rough time in my personal life. She told me the good news to cheer me up. I needed to get away and I had some funds set aside, so I figured I’d leave early and start setting up.”

“You put your own money into this?”

“I’d been saving for something else that fell through.”

“Another project?”

“Something like that,” she repeated his evasive words back to him.

Okay, so she didn’t want to talk. He could wait her out.

“A wedding,” she said finally when she’d apparently grown uncomfortable with the silence.

There’d been a copy of a marriage license in her CIA file, but no marriage certificate. He’d wondered about that. “You left him?” He couldn’t imagine a man who would willingly leave her.

“Damn right.” Anger gave strength to her voice. “So your people are looking for us? Leave no man behind, right?”

“Not really.” He hated to bring her down but didn’t want to give her false hope. It’d be better if she knew it was all up to them. “My team works on the if-you-get caught-we’ll-deny-we’ve-ever-heard-of-you principle.”

She sucked in a deep breath then exhaled. “Don’t overwhelm me with all the good news at once.”

She was all right. Maintaining a sense of humor

under the kind of stress they were in showed amazing strength. “The real good news is we’re going to make it out of here.”