by A. J. Quinn
With her hair sweat soaked and clinging to her forehead as she reached for release.
Smiling as she stood on skis on a sunlit mountaintop just before beginning her descent.
Trembling with the joy of finding her alive, it took Tate almost a full minute before she could focus on what was wrong with this picture.
Yes, that was Evan standing less than a mile away. But she was swaying on bare feet. Her hands were bound in front of her and there was a rope wound around her neck, the end held by one of the men gathered there. As Tate brought her into sharper focus, she could see multiple signs of violence. Evan’s lip was split and swollen, and dark bruises shadowed her cheeks. Her head was bowed uncharacteristically, and her shoulders were hunched beneath a filthy and sweat-stained tank top no longer recognizable as white.
Her flight suit, stained with dirt and possibly blood, hung on her thin frame, held together by the twist of rope that also bound her hands. The sleeves had been ripped off allowing Tate to see numerous bruises and cuts in different stages of healing, as well as a filthy bandage covering one arm from elbow to shoulder.
From out of nowhere, a different image superimposed itself in Tate’s mind. A photograph of Evan a reporter friend had taken while embedded onboard the Nimitz. Evan had been standing on the flight deck, dressed in her green flight suit with her helmet tucked under one arm.
She had looked incredibly beautiful. A warrior out of time, with her dark hair windblown, and a half smile on her lips. The glow of the setting sun was slanting over her and reflecting on the gleaming Super Hornet behind her.
The image had made the cover of a national magazine under a banner that proclaimed the new US Navy. It had also singlehandedly done more to increase enlistment than any other recruitment strategy.
But as Tate stared at Evan now, she realized there was no resemblance between the woman in the photograph and the one standing a mile away under the harsh Afghanistan sun. This Evan was barely recognizable. She looked beaten. Beyond exhaustion and beyond defeat. And the knowledge tore at Tate.
“That’s Khalid,” JT said, indicating the man who had separated himself from the group. Tate watched as he approached and said something to Evan.
It was evident Evan didn’t like whatever had been said to her, but Tate saw something else, as well. She might be down, but Evan Kane was not out. Tate could tell by the set of her shoulders, the defiant lift of her chin as she spoke back. By the flash of restrained anger visible on her face.
Khalid retaliated immediately. With a movement so swift Tate barely saw it coming, he backhanded Evan. He struck her quickly a second time, dropping her to her knees without a sound. She could see Walker struggle weakly, only to freeze an instant later as Khalid pressed his weapon hard against Evan’s temple while clearly saying something to both of them.
This time, Evan didn’t move. Didn’t say anything. She simply bowed her head and closed her eyes, the move submissive, yielding. She remained silent and so still she no longer appeared to be breathing.
Oh God, this has to stop.
Scarcely able to breathe, Tate whimpered deep in her chest as panic bolted through her and her mind tried to process what she was seeing. Her world tilted.
She had not come all this way only to stand by helplessly and watch as Evan was executed. Anger welled up inside her and she welcomed the surge of strength it sent coursing through her.
“Take it easy, Tate.” JT grasped her shoulders, holding her back. Preventing her from moving before Tate realized what she was about to do. “He’s not going to do anything. His lookouts will have told him we’re here and he knows we’re watching. He has a reputation for enjoying inflicting pain and he’s doing it all for show.”
“I don’t care why he’s doing it,” Tate said tightly. “What’s happening down there is still real. He’s still hurting her. And more than likely, Evan believes the bastard’s going to kill her.”
Tate met JT’s gaze, saw the change in his expression, and knew she’d hit a nerve. She stood still a moment longer, lips pressed hard together. But then the adrenaline deserted her and her shoulders sagged as she turned away.
An instant later, JT’s radio squawked, and they received the clearance they had been waiting for to proceed.
JT hesitated before moving. “Don’t let this get personal, Tate. And don’t give Khalid the excuse he needs to turn this into anything other than a straightforward exchange. We go in, we get your girl and Walker, and we get the hell out. Nothing less, nothing more.”
Tate didn’t trust her voice, so she simply nodded. Without another word, she followed JT’s footsteps back to the Humvee, and after a short delay, the convoy began its infernally slow progress toward the settlement.
They stopped when they were within thirty feet of their targets—a group of insurgents and two battered and weary pilots who seemed unaware their rescue was at hand. It was Khalid, with his weapon mere inches from Evan’s temple, who signaled for them to stop.
“We’re going to do this slowly and carefully,” JT cautioned one last time. “Stay calm, no matter what happens. Don’t make any sudden movements and don’t make eye contact.”
Sudden movement? Eye contact? Tate would have laughed, but she couldn’t actually breathe anymore. Her hands shook, betraying her as she fought to appear steady and unaffected. And as they exited the Humvee, Tate realized she had shifted into a kind of surreal state where nothing really registered anymore.
Except for Evan.
They were close enough that she could hear Evan’s breathing—harsh and labored. See her face, flushed beneath the bruising and covered with a thin sheen of perspiration. Observe how she was holding herself in a way that told Tate she was favoring one side.
But Evan remained silent, motionless. On her knees, eyes closed.
Tate’s fists tightened. She refused to allow herself to think or feel or imagine as she saw the burns on her neck and throat just above the rope holding her tethered. Saw the blood coming through the filthy bandage on her arm and on the leg of her flight suit.
Sweet Jesus, what have they done to you?
*
Something was happening.
Kneeling in the sunbaked dust, with the hot wind buffeting her face, Evan could feel the escalating tension and hear the incessant whispers from the group of men huddled nearby. Watching but initially unable to clearly hear their conversations, all she could do was wait.
How long, she couldn’t tell. Time had long since ceased to mean anything. But there were instances when the voices were raised, and one particular moment when she thought she heard the mention of an exchange.
That got her attention. Was this what Khalid meant when he said they were out of time? Was he finally going to do what he had threatened? Was he going to execute them and trade their bodies back to the Americans?
Be careful what you wish for. She’d allowed herself to get her hopes up the last time this happened. She had dared to think a trade between cells might bring them closer to going home. Instead, they had landed with Khalid in a place where pain ruled and life had little meaning.
But surely nothing could be worse than what she’d experienced during the past few weeks. Not even death. And at least it would provide some measure of closure for her family. And Tate.
Several lengthy heartbeats passed before Khalid pulled his weapon back and walked away from her. Her shoulders dropped wearily and only one thought held her focus fast—surviving. She tried to remain perfectly still, but as she struggled to breathe, she thought she heard the scraping sound of footsteps approaching from the road.
She turned toward the sound, her senses jumping. But her eyes felt like sandpaper and the pain in her head left her vision hazy. It was like watching shadows approach through a fogged window. Still, she hoped what little she could see and hear was real and not a further sign of delirium.
Ignoring the pain, she concentrated on listening to Khalid speak. And then it happened. She heard an unfamiliar voice,
clearly male and using a local dialect. But he was speaking with an unmistakable American accent.
As a surge of energy coursed through her, she heard the American say something about releasing the prisoners. In the silence that followed there was an unmistakable squawk of a radio, but she couldn’t make out the garbled words as a voice responded.
Apparently satisfied with whatever had just transpired, Khalid returned to her side. Evan could feel the weight of the hostility in his face as he stared at her, and she raised her head to meet his unsettling gaze. He continued to regard her silently for a long taut moment that rattled her more than she cared to admit.
She couldn’t back down. She just wasn’t sure she had it in her to engage in another skirmish so soon after the last one.
Unexpectedly, Khalid broke the silence, issuing a barked order to one of the guards holding Deacon.
Jesus, did she just hear him say—
The guard immediately dropped the rope he was holding. Releasing Deacon. Telling him to move.
Oh God, this was really happening.
Evan watched Deacon take a couple of faltering steps forward, then stop and turn in her direction. He obviously didn’t want to leave without her. He wanted to help her. But it was equally apparent Khalid wasn’t going to allow it. He shook his head and swung his weapon closer to her head.
Seeing the uncertainty on Deacon’s face, Evan gave a quick shake of her head. Don’t do it. She winced as she saw one of the guards further discourage Deacon with a sharp push that sent him stumbling awkwardly. Away from her.
Khalid watched and smiled.
Evan felt a sinking sensation in her chest and her eyes burned with regret as she watched Deacon move farther away from her. But she consoled herself with the knowledge that at least he would be free from this never-ending nightmare. He would make it home again.
Just before Deacon reached the tall American, something caught her eye. At first uncertain, Evan blinked. She tried to clear her vision and for several seconds she willed herself to see more clearly.
But then slowly, like an overlay in her memory, the image became clearer and she stared in disbelief, certain she saw Tate standing there, less than twenty feet away.
*
Tate stayed back, watching JT walk a few feet ahead of her and begin quietly talking to Khalid. She could hear Khalid’s responses but didn’t understand what was being said or know what language they were using.
Briefly she wondered what game he was playing. But then she made the mistake of glancing at Evan, at her freshly bruised and bloodied mouth, and reasons no longer mattered.
A dozen different emotions swept through her and she stopped breathing, stopped thinking. She stood aware only of the blazing Afghan sun overhead, blinding and hot. And how much she suddenly detested the sound of Khalid’s soft, emotionless voice.
God, she wanted this to be over. Sinking her teeth into her bottom lip, she forced herself to remain silent and waited for JT and Khalid to finish speaking. Finally, as if by mysterious command, the conversation ended and JT spoke softly into his radio.
Behind her, she felt more than heard movement, and then the eight prisoners involved in the exchange shuffled past her, while the soldiers in the convoy maintained a state of heightened vigilance.
A moment later, Khalid issued an unmistakable order. Tate had no idea what he’d said, but the rope attached to Walker was released and he was pushed forward. Limping badly, he paused as he drew alongside Evan, who remained on her knees. He appeared uncertain, and then turned as if to help her.
Khalid shook his head and swung his weapon closer to Evan. At almost the same time, Evan looked at Walker and gave a slight shake of her head just as one of Khalid’s men yelled and gave Walker a shove that sent him stumbling.
Khalid smiled. He kept his attention—and his weapon—clearly fixed on Evan. And as Tate stared at the weapon, she suddenly understood all too clearly that luck, like time, could run out at any moment. The realization struck her like a fist.
Once Walker reached where she stood, Greg Turner and a young army medic materialized and helped him into the Humvee. But Khalid made no move to release Evan, holding her tethered to him, his weapon at the ready. Tate stared at her helplessly, willing Evan to remain strong.
Come on, baby, look at me. Stay strong long enough to come back to me. Please.
As if responding to her silent entreaty, Khalid finally spoke. He gestured with his weapon, then watched as Evan struggled to her feet. Her face was pale and drawn but determined, and her legs shook unsteadily. It was apparent she was trying to keep as much weight as possible off her right leg.
Tate wanted to go to her, needed to help her. She didn’t even realize she’d taken a step forward until she felt JT reach out and tighten his grip on her arm, holding her back. She held his gaze, fighting an overwhelming urge to disregard him. But she knew he was right and remained where she was.
Turning back, she could see Khalid staring at Evan as if measuring her determination. Then he muttered something only Evan could hear and pulled hard on the rope that bound her to him. Evan lost her balance and dropped hard to her knees.
JT scowled and swore under his breath.
But not even the air moved as Evan sat back on her heels, breathing hard and looking to steady herself. She didn’t flinch, not even when Khalid raised his weapon and brushed it against her face as he whispered something to her.
And then, in spite of the pain she had to be in, she said something.
Tate had no idea what it was. It certainly wasn’t in English. But Khalid’s response was immediate. He pushed the barrel of his weapon under Evan’s chin and forced her head up until their eyes met.
And then he started to laugh.
Tate heard JT choke back his own laugh. “What the hell did she say to him?”
JT turned and gave Tate a quick assessing look. “She’s got a far better grasp of the local language than I’ll ever manage, so I didn’t catch all of it.”
“Come on, JT. Give me something. What did she say?”
“She said”—he grinned—“the gist is, in the end she wins because she’s going home to a beautiful redhead, while he’ll only have his goat to keep him warm.”
“Oh.” Tate’s breath seized in her throat and she returned the grin. “She always had a way with languages.”
She saw Khalid release the rope, dropping it to the ground as he shrugged and walked away. Watched Evan stare blankly in his wake, appearing momentarily stunned, before shakily getting to her feet. She wavered and seemed to falter.
Tate scrambled forward. Felt Evan’s stare and saw the confusion on her face.
“Evan, it’s okay. I’m here,” she said, purposely keeping her voice low pitched and soothing as she drew near, resisting the urge to move too quickly, to close her arms around her. “I’ve come to take you home. Do you understand?”
Evan didn’t blink. Didn’t move. Didn’t make a sound.
“Evan? It’s all over. Come on, love, we have to get you out of here.”
A moan this time, soft.
Gathering a deep breath, Tate reached for her. She slid her arms around Evan slowly, pausing as she felt her stiffen.
Her expression dazed and confused, Evan swayed, poised between movement and collapse. But then her legs started to buckle, and as she started to go down, she reached her tied hands toward Tate. Tate tried to absorb her weight while JT rushed forward.
“We need to get her into the Humvee,” he said. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around Evan and lifted her, carrying her limp in his arms as a pair of marines ran forward to help.
Once inside the vehicle, JT laid Evan on her back and quickly cut the ropes that bound her hands before removing the rope from around her neck. Simultaneously, the doctor began checking her over while a medic set up an IV to rehydrate Evan and deliver antibiotics.
In the gurney across from Evan, Deacon Walker clutched a bottle of water and looked on, his anxiety radi
ating in waves. “We’d pretty much given up on anyone looking for us, let alone finding us.” Walker took another gulp of water, spilling some as he started to shake. “And the past couple of weeks…man, it’s been brutal. Evan started getting sick and there was nothing I could do to help. She’s going to be okay, isn’t she?”
“We’re going to do everything we can.”
Tate felt something fleetingly brush against her hand. She glanced down and saw Evan, reaching for her with one hand, looking confused, as if she hadn’t quite processed what had happened yet. Grasping her hand, Tate looked into her eyes, dulled by pain and the drugs the doctor had just administered.
They were more black than gray, but Tate thought she detected a hint of recognition, and as she squeezed her hand, Evan responded with a ghost of a smile. Her lips moved and Tate bent her head down to hear her.
“Are you real?”
Her voice was strained and hoarse. A stranger’s voice. Her words were slurred, and her eyes momentarily drifted closed before fluttering open again, as if she was fighting to stay conscious. For just an instant, her gaze locked onto Tate with a force Tate felt physically, and then Evan murmured something else. But with the terror of seeing Khalid with his weapon at Evan’s throat still flashing in Tate’s mind, her words were lost.
The Humvee started to move and Tate tightened her hold on Evan’s hand. “It’s going to be okay, Evan,” she promised. “You’re safe now and we have all the time in the world. All you need to focus on is getting better. And then we’re going to take you home.”
There was no discernible response, and it took a couple of seconds before Tate realized Evan was asleep, or unconscious. Fresh fear riddled her, sending chills dancing along her spine, and she looked to the doctor, ready to beg him if necessary.
“Why don’t you trade places with me so I can get a closer look at my patient?” he said gently.
Tate reluctantly released the hand she’d been holding and moved to the other side of the vehicle. She trembled as memories washed over her, never taking her eyes off Evan while the doctor got to work.