A break room of sorts is next, and then it’s the general’s office. He sits behind his desk, hands folded one on top of the other, that insincere smile along with his shiny medals making him look like a demented clown.
“Leave us,” he says to the soldiers as he rises and rounds his desk to stand in front of me. The moment the door shuts, he backhands me, and I stumble, dizzy, my right cheek exploding in hot pain. “That is for taunting me.”
I don’t fight the tears that well in my eyes, nor the tremble in my voice. “Please. I just want to know Trevor’s okay. You said—“
Another blow to my other cheek, and this time, I go down. The room is spinning now, and stars dot my vision. I struggle to get to my feet, falling over twice before I let my shoulders slump and stay down. The general, apparently bored by my pathetic struggles, turns and walks over to a side board where he pours a tall glass of water, and that gives me the opportunity I need.
The piece of rubber in the sole of my shoe doesn’t look or feel any different from the rest, but Ryker made me practice a hundred times with my eyes closed, so I know exactly where I need to wedge my fingernail to pry it loose and palm the comms unit.
“I’m…s-sorry,” I manage as I cup my cheek, shoving the little device into my left ear at the same time. Now, I have to hope he won’t hit me again. “I just…he wouldn’t have even come here if it weren’t for me. I have to tell him how sorry I am.”
“You will have the opportunity. After you prove yourself useful,” the general says as he drains the glass and pours another, then holds it up to the light. “This is the freshest, purest water in Venezuela. In my office, and in my private quarters, there are only the finest things. Out there,” he waves his hand towards the door, “it is very different.”
In my ear, a tiny hiss of static is followed by Ry’s voice. “If he touches you, he’ll die screaming.”
As pleasant as I find that mental image at the moment, there’s nothing I won’t do to get to Trevor. “Wh-what do I need to do to stay…here?”
“Cooperate. Luis Rojas has given up many secrets during his time here. But not all. There are pockets of the Democrática Resistencia that still hide from us. Rojas knows how to find them, but he will not tell me, no matter how many times I send him to Sublevel Five. With his daughter in danger, however, the daughter he risked everything to smuggle out of this country, I believe he would give me the information I need.”
“You want to hurt me to get him to talk.” I scoot away as the general approaches, but before I’ve managed to move more than a foot, my back hits a chair.
“Not seriously, you understand.” He holds out his hand, then nods at me to take it. I don’t have much choice, so I let him pull me to my feet, then steady me as I wobble, still a little dizzy. “You would heal.” He reaches out to skim my cheekbone.
What the hell is he doing?
“You are a beautiful woman, señorita.” I hold my breath as he drags a finger from my neck to the first button on my shirt, then flicks it open and traces a line just above the cup of my bra. “A small amount of pain is worth your freedom, no?”
“And after? After he tells you what you need to know?” I don’t have to fake the tremble in my voice now. Having him this close to me makes me want to vomit, and I’m scared I’ll never see Trevor again, even with Ryker in my ear.
“Well, there is another matter. The CIA spy you say is so important to you? I need information from him as well. The names of all the other CIA assets in Venezuela. He will not break so easily. Unless you were to beg him.”
Austin growls, “He’d die before he’d give up a single goddamned name,” and Ryker tells him to shut up. If I could respond to them, I’d tell Austin the same thing. This isn’t helping. I should have waited to put the earwig in, except now, they can hear—and record—everything the general’s saying. It was always part of our plan. One of the contingencies Ryker built in.
“If I can get the names…get him to…to talk. Then what?”
“Then you will all be free to go. You, Rojas, and even the CIA spy. I will have no use for him after that.” The general leads me over to the sideboard where he pours a second glass of water and hands it to me. “I am a reasonable man, Señorita Monroe. Or…Daniella. May I call you Daniella?”
“Y-yes. Daniella is fine.” It’s not. The only person I ever want to call me Daniella ever again is Trevor. While we’re in bed. Safe. Away from this monster and everything he’s built here. “I just want to see Luis—my father—and Trevor. Please. I’ll help you. Hurt me if you need to. Just let me live.” My words come faster and faster now. “I’ll even send an email to my editor at the Post and tell him not to publish the story. I’ll tell him anything you want me to.” I set the water down and reach for the general’s uniform jacket, holding on tight. “Please. General Ochoa, I’m a reporter. Getting people to talk? To believe me? It’s what I do.”
The general’s lips curve into a smile, and this time, I think it’s actually genuine. He believes he’s broken me. Hell, I think I’d believe it if I were watching. Austin always said I could have been an actress.
“Then let us begin, Daniella.” He stares down at my hands, still clutching his jacket, and I let go, sliding one of his medals free from his lapel and hiding it inside my clenched fist. If he notices, this could all go sideways in a hurry. But if not, it’s one more weapon. And I have a feeling I’m going to need it.
General Ochoa pours a generous shot of rum into a rocks glass and offers it to me. “To strengthen you for what is coming. There will be pain, Daniella. That cannot be avoided.”
“What the hell?” Ryker says in my ear. “Alpha Team, prepare to infil on my mark. We’re not waiting for shift change.”
“I’m fine,” I say and hope Ryker understands I’m talking to him as much—if not more—than the general. “I can handle pain. It’s nothing Lois Lane wouldn’t do for Superman.”
The general gives me a look that might be respect while Ryker swears. But he also tells the team to stand down.
“Very well.” Pressing a button on his desk, Ochoa calls for the guards, and they march in, then clasp their hands behind their backs, awaiting his next order. Alvarado and Guerrero are in front, and my stomach does a somersault as I flash back to the moment I thought they were going to assault me before I squeeze my eyes shut and force myself to return to the present.
“Take her to Sublevel Three.”
Alvarado and Guerrero don’t let go of my arms until they force me down into a chair inside a small room. Another chair sits facing me, empty, and they tie my wrists and ankles down, then step aside.
I managed to slip the general’s pin into my pocket when I was in his office, but in this position, there’s no way I can reach it.
Long minutes pass, and my insides are doing jumping jacks as my nerves ratchet higher and higher. When the door behind me opens, my entire body jerks.
“Dios mio.”
I crane my neck to see Luis being dragged into the room by two of the general’s men with Ochoa following closely. He’s no longer clean-shaven, or even clean. His face has aged a decade in the few days since the interview.
When he’s tied to the chair facing me, I hold his gaze, hoping with everything in me that he won’t give the general what he wants.
“Luis. Lo siento,” I whisper. I’m sorry.
He shakes his head, his eyes glistening. “General Ochoa, what is the meaning of this? She is innocent of any crime.”
“She is not. She came here under false pretenses. She lied, and she will pay for those lies unless you tell me where the Democrática Resistencia is keeping their money.”
“I cannot. Por favor. I have been here for too long. There were plans in place if one of us were to be captured.” Luis’s desperation climbs with every word, and he struggles weakly, panting from the effort.
“That is unfortunate,” Ochoa says. He slides a folding knife from his pocket and flicks it open. My stomach lurches, and I sha
ke my head, unable to stop myself from whimpering.
It does no good as he lunges for me, grabs my hair, and forces my head back. The slice to my cheek is so fast that, at first, I don’t even feel it. But a heartbeat later, my scream echoes off the walls and my thoughts fuzz. Something warm drips down my jaw, and fiery pain consumes the entire right side of my face.
The taste of blood makes me retch, which only makes the pain worse.
“Tell me!” General Ochoa shouts. “Where can I find the last of the dissidents? Who leads them? You will talk or she will suffer so much more.”
“Please do not harm her!” Luis’s cry rouses me from the haze of pain, and I force my head up, blinking hard to make sense of the shifting shapes before me. Darkness threatens to obscure everything, but after I manage a deep breath, the general’s satisfied grin is the first thing I see.
Another flash of the knife and more flames lick along my collarbone. Shit. How much blood can I lose before I pass out?
“Do you wish to see her die?”
“No!”
“Then tell me what I need to know.”
Yes. Si. I will,” he says. “Anything. Do something for her, por favor. There is too much blood.”
Ochoa’s eyes take on an odd glean up as he pulls out a lighter and runs the knife through the flame. My entire body starts to shake. No. He can’t. He wouldn’t.
“General Ochoa,” I whimper. “I was wrong...about that drink.”
He ignores me and presses the red hot blade to the wound on my cheek. The world goes quiet and dark, only muffled shouts reaching my consciousness as I drown in an ocean of agony.
“Stop. She cannot take any more!” Luis’s voice sounds like it’s coming through a long tunnel. One I have to fight my way through.
“S’okay,” I mumble and blink back my tears. His horrified expression shifts in and out of focus.
Think. You need to focus. Tell him something. Anything.
“Catherine would want you to be free.” I hold Luis’s gaze. My birth mother never went by Catherine. It’s the only thing I can think to say that might stop him from giving up everything he knows, because the truth is written all over his face.
Seeing me in pain broke him.
The soldiers untie him and drag him towards the door, but as he passes me, he reaches for my hand. His fingers slip quickly from mine—bound to the chair, I can’t move to hold onto him, but he whispers, “Catherine would have loved you.”
I hope to God that means he got my message, and when it’s just the general, me, and Alvarado left in the room, I swallow hard and look up at Ochoa. “I did my part.” Every word hurts as the very act of speaking tugs at the newly cauterized wound, but it has to be getting close to shift change, and I still haven’t seen Trevor.
“Si. You did. If Rojas tells me what I want to know, he will be released.”
“Let me see Trevor.” When his eyes harden, I quickly add, “Please. He’ll listen to me. Just…let me hold him. I can’t do this from across a room. Not with him. After that, there’s nothing else you can possibly want from us. Trevor hasn’t been in the CIA for years, and I promise we’ll never return to Venezuela again.”
He inclines his head. “And the news article?”
“I’ll call my editor. After I see Trevor. Bring me a phone, and I’ll say whatever you want me to say. How much longer do I have to wait?“
“Not long at all.” Ochoa nods to Alvarado, and they both leave, slamming the door on their way out.
Lowering my head so my hair hopefully hides my lips from the cameras at opposing corners of the room, I whisper, “What time is it at the Daily Planet?”
“Sixteen-forty-four,” Ryker hisses in my ear. “One to ten, how bad off are you?”
I can’t tell him. Not and be honest about it. My entire body hurts, and the cut on my collarbone is still oozing blood. At least that one wasn’t as deep. So I lie. “Three.”
“Roger that. Be ready.”
If I could risk a reaction, I’d laugh. I was ready to get out of here exactly point-oh-one seconds after I walked through the door.
“I am.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Trevor
The soldiers took Luis maybe thirty minutes ago. I don’t know where. I just know they haven’t brought him back. Another patrol comes through, and heavy, booted feet stop outside my cell.
I squint up at the two meanest of Ochoa’s soldiers—the ones who go off shift just before we’re fed—as they unlock my cell and drag me out by my arm. Sparks of pain race down my fingers as the cuffs dig into my wrists.
That’s good. It means my hands haven’t lost all sensation in the cold.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask. The words are slow and unwieldy. It has to be close to mealtime again. The constant frigid air blowing over my skin means there’s no fucking way a single cup of water can keep me from dangerously severe dehydration.
They don’t answer.
Dani. I don’t know how I can be so certain, but I am. She’s here. And if she’s here, I hope to God she’s not alone.
Thoughts of rescue and escape help me focus, and though I only open my eyes to slits, I take in everything around me. The code one of the men enters on the electronic keypad next to the elevator: six-seven-two-three-nine. Where on their belt they clip the cell door keys. Each of the cameras we pass, including the one inside the elevator.
“Your eyes, ears, and brain are the three best weapons you have.” My instructor at Langley used to repeat that bit of wisdom every fucking day. After the first week of training, we all joined in every time he said it. And he was right.
“You’re taking me out for dinner, aren’t you? Or to the spa. You shouldn’t have.” Joking with these assholes isn’t going to end well for me, but their reactions are valuable intel.
Two swift punches to my gut follow in rapid succession, but I’m prepared, and while they hurt, they don’t do any real damage. As the guards let me fall to the floor, I force out a hoarse chuckle. “A massage then. Great.”
The guard on the left tenses like he’s going to hit me again, but the other one stops him. “Not yet.”
They don’t want me to be a complete mess. Either Dani’s here or she’s demanding to see proof of life. Either way, it still means I’ll have some sort of contact with her.
The guards stop just outside a closed door and remove the belly chain. “Stand up,” one of them barks.
I try, but my legs won’t hold me. “Fat chance of that. Should have gotten me that massage first.”
General Ochoa emerges from the elevator with a look of pure excitement on his face. “You are a fortunate man, Señor Moana. To have someone who cares for you as much as Daniella? It is a wonderful thing.”
I want to punch him in his smug face for calling her by her first name. But I can’t. “What did you do to her?”
“Nothing she did not volunteer for. I give you my word.”
Fear snakes cold tendrils around my heart. If he’s hurt her...I won’t be able to live with myself.
“She’s the best of all of us, you know that?”
Austin’s words from so long ago haunt me. She is. She always has been.
The general rests his hand on the door knob. “You have five minutes with her. After that, you will give me the information I require, or I will be forced to have her moved to Sublevel Five as well.”
“You even show her Sublevel Five, asshole—“
“Watch your tone, pendejo,” he snarls. “You have no power here, and unless you want Daniella to become a permanent resident of La Cripta, you will not speak to me that way again.”
Ochoa punches in the code for the door, and the two guards shove me inside.
“Trevor! Oh, God.”
I’m going to kill Ochoa. Painfully. Her face… Blood stains her cheek, all the way down to her jaw, and a thick line of burned and blistered skin follows the contour of her cheekbone. Another long cut along her collarbone is still bleeding. Fu
ck. She has to be in agony, and it’s all my fault. Her just being here is my fault. I can’t find my voice as she nudges my arms up so she can duck under them and rest her uninjured cheek against my neck.
“You’re so cold, TJ. Just…hold on to me.”
I do. For too long. But I might never get this chance again. As soon as Ochoa pulls me out of here, I’m going to kill him for what he did to her. I don’t know how; I’m too weak to stand, but I’ll find a way.
“Dani. What—what did he do to you?”
“It doesn’t matter. You’re all that matters,” she says as she holds me tightly. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“For what?” Having her pressed against me makes everything else in the world fade away, if only for a few minutes, and I can’t think of a single damn thing she should be sorry for.
“The article. It wasn’t me. My editor published it. I left notes at the end of the article that said it couldn’t go out, that it wasn’t done, that lives depended on this staying quiet until I gave the word, but he did it anyway.” Her tears soak into the dirty red prison shirt, and she hisses in pain. I don’t give a fuck about the article. Or about anything but getting her out of here alive.
“Look at me, baby. Please.”
Dani wriggles out from under my arms, and when I lock on to her haunted gaze, I hate myself for everything I’ve done. Pushing her away all those years ago. Not trusting her with my past—and Gil’s—not protecting her from that bastard general, but most of all, for thinking, even for a minute, that she might have put her career ahead of my safety.
“You’re not the one who should be sorry. I am. But we don’t have much time. Ochoa said five minutes. If I don’t tell him what he wants to know, he’s—”
Her lips brush mine. Gently at first, then with pure, raw desperation. “Ten minutes,” she whispers against my ear, her breath warm on my chilled skin. A low tone buzzes from somewhere close, and I don’t understand what it is until she corrects herself. “Seven.”
Call Sign: Redemption Page 18