by J Theron
Ryan studied Director Martin. He knew a loaded question when he heard it. He chose his words carefully and said, “I got to know her pretty well. She was my primary physician. We were stuck in a very remote, mountainous area of Afghanistan and the injured could not be evacuated. The Taliban had us surrounded and brought in so many women and children that airstrikes were out of the question. It took months for the ground forces to reach us. She was transferred to a different unit when the Taliban was defeated and I haven’t had any contact with her since.”
“Did she share any details of her personal life?” Martin asked.
“She was my doctor. Any personal relationship would have been unprofessional,” Ryan replied.
Martin seemed to contemplate Ryan’s answer before sitting forward in his chair. His ice-like eyes seemed to bore straight into Ryan’s soul. He folded his hands with his elbows on his legs and rested his chin on his fingers before saying, “I can assume then that Gabrielle never told you her father was the director of the CIA?”
Ryan did not blink as he stared at Martin. He never suspected that Gabrielle was the daughter of the man sitting in front of him now. “No sir, she did not.”
“I know you were lovers, Ryan,” Martin replied.
Ryan carefully placed his glass on the table before replying, “May I ask how you know this, sir?”
“My daughter told me. What she did not say was whether you loved her.”
Ryan knew he was backed into a corner and the only way out was to tell the absolute truth. “I have loved only one woman and her name is Gabrielle Durand, but she left me without saying goodbye. I never found out why she did what she did, but I’ve moved on. I joined the CIA and here we are.”
Martin sat back in his chair and a look of extreme anguish came over his face. Ryan was taken aback by the sudden change in Martin’s demeanour and he was momentarily speechless when Martin whispered, “They have my baby.”
“What do you mean, they have your baby?” Ryan asked, fear making ice in his veins.
“She left the military shortly after you parted ways and she joined a non-profit organization doing surgery in a remote area of Colombia,” Martin said.
Ryan nodded. He knew this, but he decided to keep that bit of information to himself. He listened intently as Martin said, “I haven’t heard from her in two weeks, but that was not unusual. This morning a report from the Colombian authorities landed on my desk, informing the CIA that one of the most notorious drug cartels in Colombia might be responsible for the abduction of an American doctor, by the name of Gabrielle Durand. ANIC believes it might be related to the arrest of two high ranking cartel members that were caught in Miami last month.”
Martin got up and poured another shot. He continued in a strained voice and Ryan could see that he was barely holding it together. “She’s my only child. Her mother died shortly after childbirth and it has been only the two of us since she was born.”
Jake finally spoke and he asked the question Ryan also wanted the answer to. “Why is she Gabrielle Durand and how did you manage to hide the fact that you have a daughter? Correct me if I’m wrong, but we never knew you had any family.”
“Before I became the director of the CIA we decided to keep her existence a secret. We erased all traces of our connection. She changed her name to Durand, her mother’s maiden name. Only a select few in the CIA know about her. I was scared that she would become a target because of who I was and now my worst nightmare has been realized. I’m terrified that the Colombians will find out that they have the daughter of the director of the CIA. It will become an international incident and I can only imagine what would happen to her if they found out. That is why I only have the two of you here. The agent tasked with finding her and the superior authorising the mission. Nobody else can know.”
Ryan rose from his chair and he leaned forward to place his hand on Martin’s shoulder. He looked Martin straight in the eye and said, “They will never find out because I’ll find her and bring her home and I’ll put a bullet in the head of anyone who has so much as harmed a hair on her head.”
CHAPTER TWO
Afghanistan, three years ago.
Gabrielle was glad when she looked up and the soldier with the injured leg was awake and alert. She had to concentrate to remember his name because there were so many injured men under her care. Ryan, she remembered suddenly and smiled at him because she wanted to reassure him. He did not smile back, but she assumed it was because he was in pain. She turned her attention back to the chart in her hand, wrote down her examination notes, and placed it back in the holder at the end of the bed. She gave her patient a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder and proceeded to walk in Ryan’s direction.
“How are you feeling this morning, Captain Evans?” she asked while examining his chart.
“I’ve been better,” he replied in a clipped voice.
Gabrielle looked up and studied his face closely. “Are you in pain?”
“What do you think, Doctor?” he replied sarcastically.
She frowned. She was used to soldiers taking out their frustration on her. They were angry because they were injured and a lot of them felt guilty for surviving when others in the unit did not. She had long ago decided not to be goaded into a reaction when her patients were being difficult.
She placed the chart in the holder before replying, “I was able to close the wound in your upper leg. You had a small arterial bleeder but no significant tissue loss. I think it should heal well if we can keep the wound from becoming infected. You also had a mild concussion and a large scalp laceration but no skull fracture.”
He stared at her for a few seconds and then narrowed his eyes. “How many men from my unit made it?”
“Fifteen,” she replied softly.
“Sergeant Anders?”
“He didn’t make it. I’m sorry.”
“His two children will now grow up without a father! What kind of doctor are you? Go back to medical school because you’re useless,” Ryan said, his voice filled with contempt.
Gabrielle was quiet for a few seconds before she said in a gentle but firm voice, “I’m sorry, Captain Evans, but I did all I could. Only twenty of the forty-five men in your unit made it to the hospital alive and five were mortally wounded. Regardless of your opinion of me, I’m still very grateful that I was able to help you. I’ll see you tonight when I do my rounds.”
When she realized he had nothing else to say, she turned around and walked away. She did not look back, but she could feel his eyes on her all the way until she exited the makeshift hospital.
Ryan continued to watch the doctor as she left the hospital tent. He wanted to shoot himself in his good leg for the way he spoke to her. He was angry with himself because he had lost so many men in the ambush. He was responsible for the safety of his unit and because of him thirty men were going home in body bags. Thirty men with wives and children and parents. It did not excuse his behaviour though and he felt like a complete idiot.
He tried to close his eyes to sleep and it seemed like an eternity before he began to feel drowsy. His leg was killing him, but he did not want to ask for more pain medication, partly because he did not want to be dependent on anything and partly because he believed he deserved to suffer.
As soon as he drifted into slumber, he started to dream about the explosions that ripped his unit apart. He was running in the direction of his injured men when another explosion hit, causing him to fly through the air and land on his back. It was carnage and the blood was everywhere. He could hear the agonizing screams of his soldiers and he wanted to help, but the sand was sucking at his body, making it impossible to move. He looked down and saw a severed leg in the sand next to his body and when he looked at his feet there was only a stump where his left leg was supposed to be.
He sat up and he felt as if his heart was going to explode as the panic attack hit full force. He was hyperventilating and images of mangled bodies were flashing through his brain. Everything was going dark and h
e was vaguely aware of a voice trying to reach him in his panicked state.
“Captain Evans, Ryan, look at me!”
All Ryan could see was Sergeant Anders lying in a pool of his own blood as he clutched the side of his neck. Blood was streaming from a large gash which had severed the muscles and blood vessels in his neck. Ryan tried to reach him, but his severed leg held him back. He kept falling down as he tried to get up.
“Ryan. Stop it!”
Ryan finally focussed on the source of the voice and realized that it belonged to Gabrielle. He barely noticed as she injected something into his intravenous line.
“I’ve given you a sedative, you’ll start to feel better,” she said in a soothing voice.
“What are you doing here?” he groaned.
“I’m your doctor. The nurse called me. She was afraid that you were going to hurt yourself in your panicked state.”
“It’s my fault that they’re dead,” he whispered. “I keep seeing an image of my injured leg, except it’s not bleeding, but completely severed and I can’t get to Anders to help him. I failed Anders. I failed my whole unit. I don’t have anybody, not even a mother or father to grieve my death. He has a wife and children. Why did he die, and not me?”
“Please stop doing this to yourself. Anders knew the dangers and he chose this life, as did all the others. It’s not your fault. I saw the report. There was no way you could know that your MRAP All Terrain Vehicles wouldn’t be able to withstand the improvised explosive devices. The road was desolate. What were the odds?” she replied emphatically.
“But I still see them, dead all around me, whenever I close my eyes, Doc. It doesn’t make a difference if I could have prevented it or not. I’m scared to go to sleep.”
“Do you trust me?” she whispered.
Ryan turned his head away. He didn’t want her to see the tears running over his face. “I don’t trust anybody.”
“You can trust me. I’ll help you, if you let me.”
He looked back at her, no longer caring that she could see him crying. “Okay.”
She leaned forward and he could see she was relieved. “You won’t be sorry.”
“I’m so sorry about what I said earlier,” he replied with difficulty because he was becoming drowsy.
“I know, Captain. I understand,” she said and then sat down in the small chair next to his bed.
Technically she was off duty, but she decided to stay. In the back of her mind she knew she should rather go to her tent and sleep, but she could not make herself leave and she chose not to ask herself why.
CHAPTER THREE
Colombia, present day.
Gabrielle woke up slowly, as if she was being dragged out of a black pit trying to suck her back in. It was dark outside, but the small openings between the wooden boards of the hut where they kept her captive, let in some light from what she guessed was spotlights outside. She was lying on a thin mattress on a bare wooden floor and the coldness was seeping through the floorboards of the hut, chilling her to the bone. She was momentarily confused and it took a few seconds before she realized where she was. She struggled to get rid of the aftereffects of the sedative they gave her, which she guessed to be some sort of benzodiazepine.
Years of being on call had conditioned her into instant awareness when she was paged in the middle of the night. The mental lethargy was driving her crazy, along with the gaps in her short term memory after her abduction, which was another side effect of the benzodiazepine. She looked down and noticed that she was still dressed in hospital scrubs and running shoes. It was her usual attire when she was working in the small hospital where she spent all her days and most nights as the only general surgeon in a 200 mile radius.
She was feeling more alert and sat up when she heard the sound of someone fiddling with the door handle. She watched in fear as the door opened and a man she recognized as one of the enforcers in the cartel stepped through the door. She had encountered him around the village many times and had taken to crossing to the other side of the road when he was around.
He was in his late thirties and he was tall and muscular. He had long, oily black hair and a jagged scar that stretched from his left brow down to his jaw, ironically a laceration that she had sutured after he was injured in a drunken brawl with a broken bottle. He smiled as he focused on her face and the malice evident in his expression stunned her. She was no stranger to dealing with sociopaths during her medical career, but she had never known complete terror when facing another human being until that moment
“Good evening, sleeping beauty,” he said as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He had some bread and a flask of water in his hand and he placed it on the floor, close to the door.
“I was wondering when you’d wake up,” he said as he approached her slowly, as one would approach a dangerous animal.
She did not say or do anything. She watched him carefully, trying to anticipate what he was going to do. Keep calm, she kept saying over and over in her head.
“I have some food and water for you, but I want some payment first. I’ve watched you strutting around in town, avoiding me when you saw me. Yes, I noticed,” he said when he looked at her face which must have registered her surprise.
“I’ve often wondered what it would feel like to fuck your lily white ass into submission. In fact it’s been keeping me awake at night the last few weeks. I have so many plans for you, little girl! You American women don’t know your place. Women are good for fucking and nothing else and I plan on showing you all the ways I fuck.”
“Please don’t do this, Hector?” she whispered. “I helped your brother when he had the knife wound that collapsed his lung.”
“Luis! That fucker deserved it!” he laughed.
“I’m the only surgeon in the region. What will you do if someone gets hurt?” she tried again.
“Mr Rodriguez will find us another doctor, I’m sure. I doubt if the new one will be as pretty as you, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” he said as his eyes travelled slowly over her body, leaving no doubt as to what he was contemplating.
Gabrielle kept absolutely still when he kneeled on the mattress next to her. She could smell the rank odor of his body and she had to control the urge to retch. He reached over, grabbed her left arm, and pulled her towards him. He smiled at her and she noticed that his teeth were yellow and tobacco stained. She allowed him to pull her closer and then she swung with all her might, hitting him on his larynx with her closed fist.
He fell back and clutched his throat with both hands, clawing on the skin of his neck with his filthy hands. She could hear the stridor as he struggled to breathe. He had a terrified, desperate look on his face, as if he knew that he was going to die if he did not get help. She had to clamp down on her instinct to rush to his aid and watched in dismay as he fought for every breath.
It was not her intention to deal him a fatal blow, but she knew she must have fractured his larynx. He started coughing and she could see the blood splatter on the wooden floorboards. He tried to speak but only a wheezing sound came out. She crouched next to him and her mind was frantically trying to work out what to do. His companions outside would soon realize something was wrong if their friend did not come out.
It was then that she heard male voices outside. It sounded as if they were arguing and she scrambled against the wall when she heard two shots echoing through the night. It was quiet for a few seconds before the door to the hut opened with a loud thump and banged on the inside wall.
She raised her head and looked into the face of Carlos Rodriguez. She recognized him immediately, even in the darkness of the hut, because everybody knew who Carlos, the Killer was. He was in his mid-thirties and looked as if he had just stepped from the pages of a fashion magazine. He never dressed in anything other than expensive tailored suits from Europe and his shoes cost more than Gabrielle made in a year. He was devastatingly handsome with short dark hair and almost translucent blue eyes, prob
ably inherited from his Swiss mother and his German grandmother on his father’s side.
He was the head of the largest drug cartel in Colombia, taking over when his parents were killed by a rival cartel years ago. He was dubbed Carlos, the Killer when he singlehandedly killed every man responsible for his parents’ deaths. He hunted them ruthlessly until the last one was dead. Or so the legend went.
Gabrielle did not move from her position against the wall and watched in fear as Carlos approached. Hector lifted his hand to Carlos in a desperate gesture for help. He was already turning blue in the face due to a lack of oxygen and she knew he was close to losing consciousness. She was convinced that she was living the last moments of her life as Carlos lifted the gun in his hand. She squeezed her eyes shut and for a brief moment she saw Ryan’s face and experienced an intense regret for what would never be. She also felt an enormous sadness for leaving her father all alone.
She suddenly decided she would not cower in fear and will face her death with her eyes open. She looked up and was taken aback when Carlos turned the gun on his henchman and shot him between the eyes. She turned her face away in horror as the blood splattered over the floor.
Carlos cleared his throat as if he was getting ready to make a speech, seemingly unperturbed. He knelt in front of her and took her hand in his.
“Gabrielle, are you okay?” he asked with concern in his voice. She could not see his face clearly because the light from the spotlight came from behind and cast his face in darkness.
“What do you want me to say, Carlos?”
“I want the truth, of course,” he answered simply.
She watched him and her stubborn streak took over. She knew she should keep her mouth shut, but she was beyond caring. If he wanted to kill her, so be it. “Your men abducted me from the hospital, drugged me, and then locked me in this hut with no food or water. And Hector there just tried to rape me. I’m not a fan of Hector after his heinous plans, but I’m angry about the fact that I had to witness his head being blown off.”