Exit Strategy, page 24
part #1 of EXIT Inc. Series
“Where is he?” she demanded. “Where’s my grandfather?”
“What? You want to see him? My pleasure. I just love family reunions.” He pulled a cell phone out of a holder at his waist, tapped the screen a few times and then held it up for her to see. “There you go. Say hello to Grandpa.”
Tears started in Sabrina’s eyes. There, in living color, in what appeared to be some kind of live webcam, was her grandfather. He was chained to a wall, sitting on a bed, his bare toes curled against a sloping concrete floor. There were bruises up and down his arms, but he was alive. He was alive. She frowned. Something about the video seemed familiar. Why?
“Where is he?” she asked.
Ace pushed a button on the phone and put it away. “Not far from here.”
“He’s not in Colorado?”
“What do you think ‘not far from here’ means?” he said sarcastically. “I couldn’t exactly torture him long-distance. We brought him with us when we moved out here for the new office.”
She winced at the word torture. “Why are you holding him? Why would you torture an old man?”
“It’s called following orders,” he spat. “Your grandfather has my boss convinced that he’s hidden some kind of incriminating evidence that could destroy Cyprian.” Ace rolled his eyes. “Trust me. If your grandpa knew something like that he’d have told me by now. He’s just yanking Cyprian’s chain.” He shrugged. “Actually, I kind of admire the old man’s spunk. He’s smart. He made up a story that sounded real enough that it convinced my boss, which bought Hightower some time. If it weren’t for his lies, he’d have been dead long ago.”
That sounded just like her Grampy. A shudder of relief swept through her. There was still time to save him.
He idly pressed the tip of his knife against the stone floor and spun it in a circle, catching it before it fell and spinning it again. “Cyprian’s cleaning house right now. I’m not exactly on his favorites list, but I do know where enough bodies are buried that he’s probably nervous about getting rid of me. I’m playing my cards, waiting to see what happens.”
“What’s any of that have to do with me?”
“You’re one of my cards. Stryker’s out here searching for you. If I kill you outright, he’ll claim he’s the one who killed you. I can’t have that. I want him to go running back to Daddy with his tail tucked between his legs. Then I’ll be the one to bring you in and kill you right in front of Cyprian. Clever, huh? And if I catch that lover of yours by using you as bait, and bring both of you in, all the better.” He shrugged. “Then again, maybe I’ll just kill both of you here and not bother bringing you back to Cyprian. Huh?”
He pushed her bangs out of her eyes, much as Mason tended to do. But where she welcomed Mason’s warm, gentle touch, the tiniest brush of Ace’s fingers had her fighting the urge to gag and shrink away from him. Antagonizing this man wouldn’t help her out of her current predicament. And it wouldn’t help her figure out a way to find Mason and warn him that both Stryker and Ace were gunning for the two of them now.
He twirled the knife again. “You know, I don’t think I’ve talked this much to a woman in over a year. You’re easy to talk to.”
She wasn’t quite sure what to make of his confession. “Where is Stryker now?”
He shrugged. “Not far from us, actually. He has men on both sides of the river and he’s got all the right equipment to follow you, or anticipate your next move. Shouldn’t be a surprise. Stryker’s Cyprian’s favorite at the moment, which means he gets all the fun toys.” His lips curled with menace. “I was supposed to sit at the airport all day and wait for you. But I knew Mason wouldn’t let you go back to Colorado by yourself. It had to be a decoy. So I came back here, figuring you two would be looking for Stanford.” He leaned forward as if sharing a secret. “No need to keep looking, by the way. I sliced his throat before lunch.”
This time Sabrina couldn’t keep from gagging. She turned her face into her shoulder.
Ace flicked her hair again. “Squeamish, huh? Did I mention that Stryker was just seconds away from that platform when you landed? He anticipated you two would cross the river near there and he beat you to it. Lucky for you, I saved you before he could get there.”
He shrugged. “I’m sure Mason wasn’t quite so lucky when he got there. But I figured, given the choice, he’d have wanted me to get you out of the area before Stryker attacked. Mason will put up a good fight. He’s one of the best. If he makes it through the gauntlet, he’ll find us. Actually, I’m counting on it. If he takes out Stryker, and I take both of you out, I become Cyprian’s favorite again. I might hate the son of a bitch, but being favored has its perks.”
He ran the knife down her jaw. “Actually, I have something special planned for a dear, dear friend of mine. Devlin Buchanan. Something quite spectacular actually. But my original plan to draw him out didn’t work. So I have a new plan now. Your boyfriend is going to give me Buchanan. Right after you give me your boyfriend.”
Sabrina glared her hatred at him. If she ever got the chance to shoot him, she wouldn’t hesitate.
MASON HELD HIS knife in his left hand, balancing on the balls of his feet as he turned back and forth on the hard ground, trying to keep an eye on his adversaries. Bodies littered the pine needles at the base of the platform tower behind him. He’d lost count of how many he’d fought off but they kept coming. He’d unloaded his pistol into half a dozen of them, but without more ammo, he was left with the knife and his bare hands. One on one, not a problem. Dozens against one, big problem.
Stryker stood behind the others, out of Mason’s range. Mason wanted to demand Stryker tell him where Sabrina was, but he didn’t want to admit that she was even out here if she’d somehow realized the danger and hid in the woods before Stryker and the others had converged on the tower.
If she was still alive—and he refused to consider that she might not be—then she was still in danger. He needed to find her and get her to safety. But he had a lot of men to mow through before he could go looking for her. The only thing giving him an advantage right now was that they weren’t using their guns. Stryker seemed to want to take him alive and had forbid them to fire. That gave Mason hope, because it might mean Sabrina really had escaped and Stryker wanted to capture him and force him to give up her location. He’d gladly endure torture by pretending that he knew where she was but refusing to tell them, if that meant giving her more time to escape.
Stryker’s men were paying a high price for Stryker’s decision, though, as evidenced by all their fallen comrades. And fewer and fewer of them seemed willing to brave Mason’s knife.
One particularly large fellow suddenly lunged forward, swinging his own knife toward Mason’s neck. Mason did a backflip to avoid it, slamming his shoe against the underside of the man’s chin as he flipped over. He whirled around and followed his adversary’s body to the ground, digging his knife into the man’s soft belly with an upward twist that dissected his vitals. The man screamed and gurgled, then fell silent. Mason slowly wiped his knife clean on the man’s pants as he eyed the others.
“Who’s next?” he taunted. “I can do this all night.”
Stryker shrugged, not seeming particularly concerned with the death of his latest lackey. The whites of his eyes shined in the moonlight as he glanced upward.
Mason tensed and whirled around just as a heavy rope net fell on top of him from the platform above. A cheer went up from the men. Mason slashed in a blind fury at the ropes. Someone kicked his arm. The knife went flying somewhere behind him in the bushes. He twisted and yanked the ropes as they tightened around his body, and the world around him began to fade. No, no, not again. No. He bucked against the hands that were suddenly all over him, pulling the ropes until they burned his skin through his clothes. The air seemed to seize in his chest.
The weight of the men and the burning agony of the ropes brought him to his knees.
“Tie him to the tower,” someone yelled. Stryker?
Mason tried to focus on the men holding him down, kicking out as they dragged him backward. He kicked one of them in the jaw so hard he heard his neck crack. The man fell away into a limp heap on the ground. But another quickly took his place. The sheer force of that many men, binding and tightening the ropes, was too much.
He roared with rage as he was tied against the wooden posts of the tower.
“Good grief, he’s strong,” someone yelled. “Grab his foot. There. Tie it down.”
The grunts and curses faded beneath the buzzing in Mason’s ears. He twisted and bucked and fought the blackness settling over him, hissing at the burn of his bonds. The boards behind him seemed to be on fire too, stinging where they touched his back. The pain was so intense, bone deep, that it had him hissing and arching forward. He shook his head.
It’s not real. The rope isn’t burning. Focus. Don’t give in!
One of the ropes jerked tight, pulling his arms up over his head. He tried to kick but his legs were yanked hard behind him. Sharp pain radiated up his body, settling in the raw ridges crisscrossing his back. A thousand bees sank their stingers deep into his skin. The blackness dipped down over him again, and this time he didn’t fight it.
Mason.
Someone called to him in the darkness. There was no pain there. He liked the darkness.
Mason.
He frowned, shook his head. No. He didn’t want to wake up. It was always worse when he opened his eyes.
Mason!
His eyes flew open. He blinked against the yellow light of the cheap candle dripping wax in its holder a few feet away. He was naked, lying on his stomach in his cot. Outside the tent the wind whipped sand against the thick material. No matter how tightly the flap was zipped, the sand always worked its way in until everything was coated with it. Including him.
A face swam into his vision, kneeling down beside him, his robes brushing against the sandy floor.
The Jackal! No!
Mason tried to jump up, but the wires over his back held him to the cot, biting into his skin. Sand and grit mixed with blood, setting his open wounds on fire. The Jackal smiled like an old friend, dipped his hand into the salt water in his cup, and let the water dribble onto Mason’s skin.
A guttural scream filled the air. Shame washed over Mason when he realized that he was the one screaming. He clamped his jaw shut and bit down on his lip. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth.
“It’s been three weeks, soldier,” the Jackal said. “Twenty-one days. No one, not even you, can hold out much longer. Tell me where your men are hiding and I’ll spare your life.”
Spare his life. Not their lives. No way.
He turned his head to the side, working his mouth.
The Jackal leaned in close to hear him.
Mason spit a stream of blood and saliva in his face.
The Jackal jumped back, cursing Mason in his native tongue and swiping at his wet face. His eyes flashed. He grabbed the cup of salt water and threw all of it onto Mason’s back.
Stinging agony burned across his nerve endings. He went rigid, biting his lip nearly in two to keep from screaming. His world went black.
He drifted in and out for a while. Every time he moved toward the surface, up toward the light, pain slammed into him, stealing his breath. He shied away from the light. Darkness became his friend. “Soldier, open your eyes. Soldier?”
Hands clapped next to his ear.
“Open your eyes, Hunt. That’s an order!”
He pried his gritty eyelids open. He was on his stomach again, but there were real walls around him. No sand. And no Jackal. His commanding officer stood over him beside a medic and others Mason didn’t recognize.
“Sir,” he slurred. “My men?”
His CO shook his head. “Sorry, son. They’re all . . . gone.”
No! Twelve men—good men, with girlfriends, wives, sons, daughters. No!
“The Desert Jackal, sir,” he gritted out. “He killed them?”
“We believe so, but we have no proof.”
“If they’re dead, he’s the one who did it,” Mason insisted.
“Without proof, there’s nothing we can do.”
Mason steeled himself against the agony of the wounds on his back and pushed himself up on his forearms. “Sir, we need to take him out. He killed my men. I know it. We have to stop him. Before he kills again.”
The medic gently pushed Mason’s shoulders. “You need to lie down, sir. Your wounds are bleeding again.”
Mason shook his hands away. He had to make his CO understand. “He’s dangerous. You have to stop him.”
“I’d like nothing better than to put a bullet in his head, son. But that’s not how we operate. Without proof, there’s nothing I can do. We can’t go around killing people because we think they might hurt someone in the future. That’s not how it’s done.” He patted Mason’s shoulder. “I’m here to thank you for your service. On behalf of our country, thank you for the tremendous sacrifice you made to try to protect your men. It’s not your fault what happened. You survived, son. And you’ve paid your dues. You’ll be issued a Purple Heart. And if I have anything to say about it, the Medal of Honor. Relax. Let your injuries heal. You’re one of the lucky ones. You get to go home.”
“But, sir. The Jackal—”
“Will be brought down, once we have proof of his crimes, not a moment before. Let it go, soldier. There’s nothing else you can do.”
The blackness shifted again. Another dark room, this one in a hospital back in the States. A man in a suit in the corner, a newspaper in his hands.
This time, Mason was lying on his back. The pain was a dull ache now. “Who are you?”
The man stood, adjusted his suit, and approached the hospital bed. “I’m your new best friend.” He plopped the newspaper on Mason’s lap.
Mason lifted it, his jaw clenching in fury as he skimmed the front page.
Over two hundred troops feared dead at the hands of suicide bomber at U.S. Embassy. Bomber was known in the region as the Jackal.
The man in the suit held out his hand. “Mason Hunt, it’s an honor to meet you. I’m Cyprian Cardenas.”
OUTSIDE, DIRT AND rocks crunched under shoes. Ace grabbed Sabrina and pulled her behind one of the upright rafts against the wall. He pressed his knife to her throat while circling his other arm against her stomach, locking her to him.
“Don’t make any noise,” he whispered. “Or I will cut you.”
The door to the cavern burst open and slammed against the wall.
“Put him over there.” Feet shuffled and something was dragged across the floor.
Sabrina recognized Stryker’s voice. And she was very worried that she knew who the “him” was. She tried to lean around the raft to see what was going on but Ace yanked her back and pressed the knife harder against her skin. She sucked in a breath when the blade bit into her neck.
“Is he dead?” an unfamiliar voice asked.
“No, but he will be,” Stryker gritted out. “The crazy idiot killed half our men. When he wakes up I’ll make him tell us where Hightower is. Then we’ll kill him. Make sure he’s secure. I don’t want him getting loose. There’s another fool running around out here somewhere. Watch your backs. His name is Ace and he’s just as crazy as this one. I’m pretty sure I saw him skulking through the trees when we crossed the river.”
“What do you want us to do if we find him? Tie him up and bring him back here?” one of them asked.
“No. I’ve never cared for that sniveling troublemaker. It’s too bad he wasn’t inside that church that our boss had me blow up all those years ago to help recruit Ace to the cause.”
“Church?”
“Never mind. Don’t try to catch him. If you see him, kill him.”
Ace stiffened against Sabrina and his breath rattled next to her ear. She had to tilt her neck way back to keep the knife from cutting her again. Every muscle in his body had tensed at the mention of the church.
Shoes clomped across the floor as the men filed out. The sound of the door slamming shut echoed inside, followed by the click of an electronic lock.
Ace’s arm went slack. “Son of a bitch,” he whispered. “He’s the one I’ve been searching for all this time. Son of a bitch.”
Sabrina scooted away from him and was surprised when he didn’t go after her. His arms dropped to his sides and the knife skittered across the floor, forgotten. Sabrina kept expecting some kind of trick. But he stared unseeing at the raft in front of him, his face a mask of hatred and grief.
She scooped the knife up and worked it sideways, cutting the ropes that bound her hands together. A few more slashes and the ropes fell away from her legs. With one last glance at Ace, she rushed around the raft.
“Oh, no,” she breathed. Mason was lying on the floor, his entire body encased in a rope net with more ropes tied around it. His face was ashen, his eyes closed.
Dropping to her knees beside him, she began sawing on the ropes.
MASON FOUGHT HIS way through the layers of darkness. Wires still burned his back, but part of him knew this wasn’t real. There was something important he had to remember.
Sabrina.
He groaned, the tightness against his chest bringing back the fiery pain. The net. The ropes. The wires. No. The wires were a long time ago.
Sabrina. He had to fight for her. He had to help her.
He drew several deep breaths and focused on what his senses told him. The smell: musty, damp. The air: cool, but no breeze. Was he in a cave? Bright lights shined against his closed eyelids, but not bright like the sun.
He lay very still, breathing deep and even, fighting his mind’s attempts to drag him back to the horrors of his past. The rope holding his right arm dropped away. He tensed, ready to spring. The bindings slackened on his other arm, then dropped. Sweat rolled down the side of his face as he kept fighting the darkness, focusing on staying in the here and now in spite of the ropes that still bound his chest and his legs. Slow, deep breaths.
