by Julie Cannon
“I didn’t. You heard me. I answered the questions they asked me. I had no idea what they were going to ask. There was no way I could say anything in some type of code. Besides, I have no idea where we are.” Even though she would do what she needed to get out of here, she didn’t want anything to happen to Kelly.
The Colonel glared at her, and Barrett forced herself to keep her expression neutral and her eyes on his. It seemed like forever before he gestured to Opie and she was allowed to leave.
Barrett’s mind was racing. It had been forty-one days since her photo was taken holding the newspaper. What did this mean? Was this the first radio contact? The second? The eighth? Was it the final one before the money was paid and she was released? She hated not knowing what was going on. The feeling of helplessness was overwhelming and very, very discouraging.
Later that night Barrett and Kelly were finally alone, she told Kelly about the radio contact.
“That’s a good sign, Barrett. It means that they’re talking.”
“And what happens when they stop talking?”
Kelly didn’t answer and Barrett didn’t need her to.
Barrett picked up her walking stick. One hundred and thirty-two. That’s how many notches were carved into a walking stick she’d found while gathering firewood in their last camp. She carved each one with a sharp stone to signify the end of another long day in captivity.
*
Barrett woke to the sounds of screams, gunfire, and explosions. Flashes of light blinded her as they lit up the night sky. They were under some kind of attack. Two men rushed toward her, both carrying large semiautomatic rifles and wearing night-vision goggles. She staggered to her feet, prepared to fight if she had to.
“Barrett Taylor?” one of the men asked.
Barrett was stunned. The man had called her by name. For a moment she wasn’t sure if she’d heard correctly. He repeated it. Finally she nodded. “Your brother Aaron sent us. He said to tell you Windjammer is buried in the backyard, the third fence post from the gate. We’ve got to hurry.”
This couldn’t be. She was being rescued. The rescuer was real. He’d told her something only three people in the world knew. Aaron was with her when she buried her parakeet, and this was his signal to her to go with the men. The other man cut the chain at her feet, shaking her out of her shock of being rescued. They started to move. Barrett heard Kelly scream her name.
“Kelly, it’s okay, they’re for real. My brother sent them.” She was thrilled yet terrified at the same time. She was being rescued and the nightmare was over. She was going home. But it wasn’t over yet. They still needed to get out of here, and that wouldn’t be easy.
“Cut her loose,” Barrett said, pointing to Kelly.
“We’re only here for you, Miss Taylor. Let’s go.”
Barrett froze, the man pulling her arm to get her to move. “What?”
“Our mission is to get you, nobody else. Let’s go,” he repeated.
This couldn’t be happening, Barrett thought. She was the only one they were going to rescue? There were a half a dozen other prisoners in this camp. They couldn’t simply leave them. They would be tortured, or worse.
“What about the others? You have to take them too.” Barrett was too puzzled to try to figure out why they’d come only for her.
“Let’s go.” The voice was strong and the command was firm. Barrett fought through the burning pain, looked over, and pointed to Kelly.
“I’m not leaving without her!”
She fought the hands that held her arms tight against her sides. The man was well over six feet tall and so strong she knew she’d have several bruises from his fingers gripping her arms. His buddy was equally built, and his crooked nose said that he too was used to physical violence to get what he wanted.
“We’re here to get you, lady. Nobody else,” Broken Nose said through clenched teeth.
“I don’t care. I’m not leaving her,” she shouted, accentuating her last few words.
The men had come in the middle of the night under the cover of darkness that the flares and grenades they’d lobbed at her home had obliterated. She was swept off her feet before she was able to stand and hustled into the jungle. She managed to twist around and find the dark eyes of the woman who had shared the terror with her and who was now quickly disappearing out of view.
She fought with every ounce of strength in her, kicking and scratching the man that held her. Her foot made contact with his shin, causing a muffled obscenity to escape his lips.
“Let me go.” She jerked free on those words and had taken two steps in the direction of the woman before he grabbed her again. Their eyes locked, panic and desperation filling the smoky space between them. A sharp pain pierced her shoulder, and her knees buckled. Shouting voices and the sound of gunfire faded into blackness, along with the image of the desperate woman reaching out to her.
*
Kelly coughed as the smoke and chemicals burned her throat. The guards were firing wildly, even though Barrett and her rescuers were no longer in sight. Barrett and her rescuers. The four words echoed in her brain as the commotion and confusion continued. The Colonel shouted orders, and he and eight men disappeared into the jungle in the direction she’d last seen Barrett.
The guards gathered the remaining hostages and brought them to the center of the camp. Kelly quickly did a head count, and except for Barrett everyone was accounted for. They all looked a little shell-shocked and confused, but thankfully none had been injured. Several of the guards weren’t so lucky, and Little Boy dragged her across the camp to the first injured man.
“Sit,” Little Boy barked, and kicked her legs out from under her. Little Boy’s boots were inches from her face and Kelly expected him to kick her. Instead she felt the tip of his rifle pressed hard against her temple. She prayed he would pull the trigger.
*
They moved fast. Very fast. Even with one of her rescuers supporting her and pulling her along, Barrett struggled to keep up. There were three of them, dressed in camo fatigues, with packs and very large guns. One man was in front, one behind, and one was practically dragging her through the jungle.
She knew without being told that they had to be quiet, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out when she stumbled, which was just about every step. The man beside her ripped open what was left of her shirt. The pain in her shoulder was like a hot poker, almost bringing her to her knees.
“Sorry, Ms. Taylor,” he whispered. “We don’t have time to stop right now, but I’ve got to get something on this.”
Using his teeth he ripped the corner of a white package, quickly stuffing the corner in one of his many pockets. He dumped the white powder on a gauze pad he’d pulled from his pack.
“This is going to sting,” he said an instant before he pressed it to the wound on her shoulder. This time her knees did buckle, and the man caught her before she fell.
“Breathe, breathe,” he said a few times quietly in her left ear.
Barrett did as she was told, and the darkness that threatened to overtake her subsided along with some of the pain. She barely felt the needle stick from the shot in her arm. He expertly wrapped a field dressing around her shoulder, effectively trapping her arm against her chest. She tried not to think about how close she’d come to being killed. Now if only the infection from the slug in her shoulder didn’t kill her.
Barrett was about to say she couldn’t go any farther when they stopped. One of the men stood watch and one consulted his map and compass, while the medic handed her an energy bar and told her to eat. He rummaged in his pack and pulled out a pair of fatigues like they were wearing, a pair of socks, and sturdy boots.
“I’ll help you put these on,” he said, handing them to her. “They’ll protect you from the elements, and you can’t go much farther without decent footwear.” Three minutes later they were on the move again, the man looking at his compass every few minutes.
Their travel was slow since they had to tr
ead lightly to minimize any trail they might leave behind. More than once Barrett heard the familiar whack, whack, whack of the machetes cutting away the jungle, and she and her rescuers disappeared deeper into the jungle and stayed out of sight.
When they finally stopped to rest, her rescuers, who identified themselves as Mark, Sam, and Trevor, explained how her brother Aaron had contacted their agency to get her out. They’d been searching for her for weeks before they intercepted one of her proof-of-life radio calls and were able to track the signal.
“We have to go back,” Barrett said. “I can’t leave Kelly there. You don’t know what they’ll do to her.” Barrett’s voice didn’t sound like her own. It was pleading and desperate. She didn’t care.
“I’m sorry we can’t go back,” Mark said gently.
“Then why did you leave her? There were eight more hostages. Why didn’t you take all of them?” She repeated the question that wouldn’t leave her alone.
“Our orders were to get you.”
Barrett interrupted him before he could continue. “And you’re actually going to leave them all behind? You saw them. You saw Kelly. How can you do that?” She was incredulous.
“We only have supplies for you. If we took all of them it would have substantially decreased our odds of getting you out. We all might have died.”
Barrett understood the words but couldn’t hear them over the pounding in her head. She couldn’t shake the image of Kelly calling her name, reaching out to her. The expression on Kelly’s face when she was forced to leave her behind was burned into her brain.
*
Kelly gritted her teeth as she cleaned the wounds on her feet. After Barrett was rescued they’d moved camps three times, never staying in one place for more than a few days. The constant movement had affected all of them, especially the already weakened ones.
Barrett had been gone for almost two weeks, and they’d been punished every day. Juan Cardoba had died two days ago on the way to this campsite, and Kelly had begged The Colonel to bring his body along for a proper burial. He only acquiesced when Kelly said she’d carry him. That had only lasted a few hours until she finally collapsed under the strain and was forced to leave him behind.
She was exhausted. She didn’t know how long it would be before they were on the move again, and she needed to sleep when she had the chance. But she couldn’t.
She thought about Barrett constantly, wondering if she’d survived. She’d been shot, and the image of Barrett’s body recoiling was something she would never forget. Where was she now? Was she out of the jungle? Lost? Dead? How had those men found her? Who were they? Who hired them? Would they come back for the others? Would they come back for her?
*
Barrett heard the whop, whop, whop of a helicopter, a big one. “That’s our ride,” Mark said, pointing to the sky. They’d been in the jungle for days, and Barrett was so tired she could barely lift her head. They’d stopped at the edge of a clearing, and it was all she could do to stay on her feet. Her shoulder throbbed and her vision blurred if she moved too fast, but she didn’t think her wound was infected. It shouldn’t be, for all the shots of penicillin Trevor had given her.
The radio in Mark’s hand crackled, and he said something Barrett couldn’t hear. A few minutes later a helicopter painted in varying shades of jungle green dropped out of the sky and hovered just above the ground.
“Let’s go,” Trevor shouted over the noise of the rotors.
Barrett’s feet barely touched the ground as two of the men practically carried her across the field. The door of the helicopter was open, and another fatigue-clad man was behind a huge machine gun, swinging the barrel left and right, looking for any sign of trouble. The men lifted Barrett into the helicopter, followed her in, and within seconds they were airborne.
Chapter Ten
Someone kept calling her name, and she wished they’d just shut the fuck up. It was dark, her head was pounding, and she wanted to go back to sleep. She felt like her body was swimming in a thick fog and she was trying unsuccessfully to surface.
“Barrett? Barrett, can you hear me?” The voice was vaguely familiar.
“Barrett, open your eyes for me.”
“Shut up.” Pain shot through her head when she tried to lift her arm. It wouldn’t move.
“Come on, Barrett. Open your eyes. You’re in Panama. You’re safe. Open your eyes.”
She opened them a crack, the light piercing her head like an ice pick. “Turn off the goddamn light.” Her voice was hoarse and weak. She heard a click, and the pounding behind her eyelids lessened a bit. She opened them again, this time wider.
Without moving her head, she saw the familiar decorations of a hospital room. The large lights overhead, the curtains hanging from the ceiling, the beep and hiss of machines. “Where am I?”
“Pie-tiya Medical Center in Panama. We brought you here straight from Columbia.”
Finally a face to the voice moved so she could see him. It was Aaron.
“Aaron?” She felt confused and dazed and not quite all together.
“Yes, ma’am. The one and only. How do you feel?”
“Like I fell out of that helicopter. Panama?” Barrett wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly.
“Yes. Panama has some of the finest medical facilities in South America. You’re in good hands here. You’re safe.”
“What happened?”
“You were shot and in pretty bad shape when we got you here. They took you right into surgery and removed the bullet from your shoulder. They cleaned your cuts and scrapes, reset the break in your fingers, and patched you up,” he said matter-of-factly.
“How long have I been here?”
“Four days.”
Four days? She had to get up. Had to go back and get Kelly and the others. She tried to sit up, but stars clouded her view and blackness swam toward her.
“Hey, take it easy. Where do you think you’re going?”
“I have to get Kelly and the others.” She slurred the last few words.
“You’re in no shape to go anywhere right now. You have to rest so we can take you home. Mom and Dad will be back in a few minutes. They went downstairs to get something to eat.” Her brother looked at his watch. “We’re all so happy you’re okay. The doctor said your prognosis is good. It was touch-and-go for a while, but once they got the infection under control that was the turning point.”
Barrett wanted to say something but couldn’t remember what it was or even how to form the words. The machine to her left beeped a steady cadence, and Barrett let it take her under. The last thing she remembered before succumbing to the darkness was Kelly’s face as she reached out to her.
*
“Just one more question, Ms. Taylor.”
“You said that four questions ago,” Barrett said sharply. She was tired, needed to pee, and more important, needed to get out of this room. The hospital staff was exceptional and had done everything to make her comfortable. It wasn’t their fault she was going stir-crazy after three days.
The investigator from the U.S. Embassy asked his question and finally left, taking the ambassador and two others with him. Aaron sat patiently in a chair at the foot of her bed.
“What did Lori find?” Barrett asked before the door closed behind the men. She didn’t need to explain. Aaron knew what she meant.
“Let’s talk about this later. You need to rest.”
“No. I’ll rest after you tell me. I know Lori has something.”
“If I tell you, do you promise to rest?”
Fine.” Barrett acquiesced to his stupid terms. “What?” He appeared puzzled. “I said I’d rest, so tell me.”
“Kelly Ann Ryan. Born July third, 1981. Parents Robert and Fran live in Birmingham, Alabama, where Kelly grew up.” Aaron flipped to the next piece of paper in his hand. “Graduated with top grades for her MSRN from the University of Alabama, moved to Denver, and has been a nurse since 2002. She’s been at Brookhaven Hospital for six
years and has volunteered with Medical Missions for seven years, making eight trips to places like Guatemala, Honduras, Chile, and of course Columbia. “
Geez, Barrett thought. What kind of person intentionally puts herself in harm’s way?
“Divorced from Max Thomas six years ago after eighteen months of marriage. Her credit is stellar, or at least it was before she was kidnapped and couldn’t pay her bills. Her house is in foreclosure and her car has been repossessed. She was grabbed on June twenty-ninth last year and three ransom demands have been made, but no money has been paid.”
“Where’s my phone?”
What for?” Aaron asked.
“I need to call Lori and have her—”
“No.”
“Aaron—”
“You promised, Barrett.” Aaron sounded much like he did when they were kids.
“Just this one thing.”
“No.”
She thought about arguing with him but decided to rest, and then he’d willingly give her the phone.
“Okay, you’re right.” The look on Aaron’s face was priceless. She rarely, if ever, gave in that easily. “Why don’t you go down and get some coffee, and I’ll take a nap till you get back.” She was plotting before the door shut behind him.
*
It was like a scene out of the movie Castaway when the main character returned to civilization. A dozen people were milling around the hotel room, and the banquet table was overflowing with food. Barrett wasn’t interested in either and fought to remain calm. Didn’t they realize she’d been a hostage for, how long was it—seven months? She needed all these people to get the hell out of her room and give her some peace.
They’d all come once they heard she’d been released from the hospital. In addition to her parents and Aaron, Debra had brought their entire staff, who’d cornered Mark, Trevor, and Sam for most of the afternoon and pumped them for details on other missions they’d completed. She was still in Panama, but in a room at the Trump Ocean Club International Hotel and Tower, located on the waterfront in the Punta Pacifica area of Panama City.