by Robert Clark
The pair laughed.
‘So yeah,’ said Whyte. ‘Five hours is all you’ve got left. After that’s up, you’re going to wish we’d offer you a fine meal like this. Hell, you’re going to wish for us to put a bullet through your skull and end that sorrowful existence of yours. So have a think about your choices. A real think, I mean. Decide whether you want to eat up, because it’s the last choice you’re going to make.’
Two
Out of the Frying Pan
The man with the pistol looked at me.
‘Who?’ he snarled.
‘James Stone.’ I said. ‘Seriously, you’ve not heard of me?’
‘Why would I give a damn about you?’ He kept the pistol pressed deep into my cheek. My arms were throbbing from the handcuffs although they had at least kept me from tumbling around like a penny in a washing machine.
‘Because just about every other criminal or government in the world does. Have you really not heard of me?’
He shook his head.
‘What do they want you for?’ he asked.
This time I shook my head.
‘That information comes at a price, pal.’ I said. ‘Let me down and I might be willing to help.’
‘I don’t have time for this.’ he snarled. He lowered the weapon and stormed out of the ruined truck. For a moment, I thought he had given up, but when he returned with a circular saw, that thought turned quickly to fear.
‘Easy now,’ I said, trying to back away. But he ignored me. He raised the saw up and placed it against the chain. A quick burst of the machine was all it took to cut through the links. As my hands were freed, the pistol came back up to meet me.
‘You’re coming with me,’ he said. ‘Resist and I’ll drop you where you stand.’
‘What on earth makes you think I’d resist?’ I asked. ‘You realise you just stopped me from seeing how comfortable an electric chair is, right?’
He grabbed hold of my collar and hauled me out of the truck. My hands were still cuffed together, but at least I had my freedom. Whoever he was, and wherever he was taking me was a damn sight better than death.
Not that death was entirely off the table.
‘So now you know who I am, what about you? Why’d you risk your life for me?’ I asked.
He didn’t respond. He dragged me around and forced me towards a haggard old car I didn’t recognise the model of.
‘Open the trunk,’ he said. ‘Now.’
‘Come on man, I’m not going to run off. Can’t I just sit in the front with you?’
A quick bash of the pistol was all the answer I was going to get. Reluctantly, I pulled open the trunk door, and stared inside. A sniper rifle and a trio of circular saw blades lay inside.
‘Man, I’d love to hear the explanation you’ll give if you get pulled over,’ I said.
He didn’t look amused.
‘Get in,’ he snapped.
I did as commanded. The saw blades were sharp, and I didn’t want to cut myself on them, but that seemed of little concern to the guy with the gun. I nestled down on top of the blades with the rifle pushed up against my back and looked up at my new captor.
‘This really isn’t necessary,’ I said as he slammed the lid shut.
It was dark and cramped trapped in the boot. The scope of the rifle dug into my lower back, and the blades scraped menacingly against one another as the car bumped along the dirt road. But at least I wasn’t in the hands of the FBI. I was out of the frying pan, and into the… what? Was this the fire, or was this a chance of redemption? I had to admit I was relieved, but whatever was next to come was the truly worrying prospect. How long would it take my captor to decide whether I was worth keeping alive, or if he should count his losses and dump my corpse at the side of the road?
He was a competent guy, my captor. Probably a little shorter than myself, but not by much. Definitely a bigger build. His face had been disguised under a coating of mud, and he wore camouflaged combat gear. An average sniper if I had to guess. Judging from the brief glimpse of the outside world as he’d hauled me from one cage to the other, I hadn’t seen a lot of vantage points for a sniper to attack from. The closest hill that would have a decent view of the track was directly north. From up on the rise, someone would be able to watch the truck approach for about a mile before making their move. I sure as shit couldn’t hit something at that distance, but it had taken the sniper three shots to hit his mark.
The first bullet had been almost inaudible. Had it not been for the following shots, I would have dismissed the distant pop as a broken tree branch or a closing door. The second shot had cut through the roof, allowing me my first spec of light in over nine hours. The final round had been the clincher. The driver had picked up the speed after the second shot hit the roof, which had to have made him a harder target. The road was wildly unstable. Getting a kill shot would be as easy as popping a pinball in action. He had fumbled two easy shots and scored on the harder.
So yeah, an alright marksman in all.
I decided to try for some rest. There weren’t a lot of available options left for me. Even if I somehow managed to break free and hurl myself out, the driver would notice. If fate took pity on me and he didn’t notice, I was still cuffed and stranded in the middle of nowhere to survive an early December night all alone and without proper clothing. It was cold in the boot, but it would be nothing compared to outside.
After hours on the dreadful dirt track, we finally stopped. The squeal of the rear brakes screeched about a foot below my head. The engine died, and the door opened, then a moment later the boot lid was opened.
‘Get out,’ said the captor. The pistol was back in his hand. ‘No funny business.’
I did as asked and hauled myself out. We were in the middle of a forest. Enormous trees swayed and creaked high above us. The only light came from the moon. The ghostly glow illuminated the guy’s face. He had cleaned off the dirt. His face was clean shaven and lean like a soldier.
‘Where are we?’ I asked.
‘That doesn’t matter. We won’t be here long.’ He dragged me by the hand into the tree line. The ground beneath my feet was uneven and damp. The slippers provided by the FBI were not exactly outdoorsy, neither were the orange prison scrubs. I shivered violently as the cold crept into my skin. The temperature had to be in the minus numbers. I longed for a thick coat and a warm fire.
But neither was likely to happen anytime soon. After a short walk, my captor thrust me up against a tree.
‘This is your one and only chance to piss,’ he said. ‘We’ve got a long drive ahead.’
I took his advice. I had been given the chance for a bathroom break before the transfer, but that was a long time ago. I relieved myself and was dragged back towards the car.
‘I understand you’re being precautious,’ I said. ‘But can I please ride on the backseat? My back is killing me.’
‘It’s trunk or bust,’ he snapped. ‘I didn’t have to let you out in the first place.’
I sighed and climbed carefully back atop the saw blades. The brief respite had been nice, but I needed proper rest. My knees contested as I tucked myself back inside, but there was little else I could do.
‘Could you spare some food, perhaps?’ I asked, but the lid slammed down again over my head, my question unanswered.
‘This isn’t good, James,’ said the familiar voice in my head. The Wolf had awoken. Oftentimes he manifested as a clone of myself, surveying the world from the deepest recesses of my subconscious. But there was little space for him to conjure here, so he conceded to little more than a voice in my ears.
‘What can I do?’ I sighed. ‘I’m out of options.’
‘We have a sniper rifle. We could do some damage with it.’
‘How? It’s not exactly a flexible weapon. I can’t even get my hands around to touch it.’
‘There has to be something we can do.’
‘The simple fact you’re saying that surely means we’re stuck. At least t
he guy let me take a piss.’
‘But he won’t feed you. You’re his prisoner, James. He doesn’t want you soiling yourself in his vehicle.’
The boot opened once more, and a packaged sandwich and bottled water were thrown on top of me.
‘Thanks,’ I said as the lid shut a third time. ‘See, I told you.’
I ate my meal without another word from the Wolf. He retreated and sulked alone. The sandwich was alright. Chicken, bacon and mayonnaise tucked inside a chunky white bun. I’d certainly eaten worse meals. I chased it off with half the bottle of water, but left the rest for the long haul. There was no telling how much further I had to go.
I attempted sleep again. With some sustenance in my stomach, I had at least rid one discomfort from my world. I wiggled my arms up over my head, and nestled between them as though they were two cold, rigid pillows. That took care of some noise and stopped my head from bashing off every available surface. With the slight changes, I was at last able to sleep.
My dreams were full of chaos. I stood amidst a terrible storm. Wind and rain lashed against my face, yet I could not feel it. As I staggered forwards, a figure appeared before me. It was a woman, small and slender. She stood shrouded in darkness, watching me, waiting for me, but with every step I took, she drifted further away. I tried to run, but my legs were too lethargic. The ground too waterlogged. The wind too ferocious. As the woman faded away into the storm, words formed on her lips.
You broke your promise.
I awoke suddenly. The road was no longer bumpy, and through cracks in the boot, I could see tiny pinpricks of light. We had to have been on the road for at least ten hours, depending on what time I’d been rescued. Despite the nightmares that had plagued me, I felt rested. The kind of full rest that only came from a long, uninterrupted sleep.
The car began to slow, and I felt it pull off the road. After a couple of minutes down another potholed, uncomfortable track, the driver stopped once more. Again, the engine was killed, the door opened, and I was hauled out of the trunk for a second time.
This time however, we were not alone. Three armed men clad entirely in black combat gear stood between me and a large black Humvee. Assault rifles trained at the ground. I had no doubt that they could have them up and ready to fire within a second.
From the passenger seat, a woman climbed out. She was eerily tall and spindly, like a stick insect. Her face was long and resembled that of a rat, her skin the colour of coffee. Her brown eyes flared as they rested on me. If looks could kill, I’d have died on the spot.
‘What is the meaning of this, Corser?’ she snapped at the driver. Her voice sat somewhere between the smooth, silky tones of the Portuguese, and that of a strict, stubborn school headmistress. It was a fine, and truly unique line to linger.
‘He’s the prisoner,’ said the driver. ‘There was no one else there.’
‘That cannot be possible,’ she snarled back. ‘This man is not who we wanted. The intelligence was very specific.’
‘The Intel was bullshit. Someone screwed up,’ snapped the man named Corser. ‘Cage was misled.’
From the look on her face, you’d have thought Corser had slapped her across the cheek.
‘Then why did you bring him here? Your orders were to leave no witnesses.’
‘He says he’s important. I thought it was best to leave it up to Cage to decide.’
‘Do you not understand who this is?’ she snarled. ‘Cage cannot be associated with this… criminal,’ she shot me a sour glare. ‘Kill him now before someone finds us.’
The three guards raised their weapons and pointed them at me.
‘That would be a bad idea,’ I said, trying to ignore the impending execution. ‘Trust me, your boss is going to want to hear what I have to say.’
‘Listen, you reptile, I do not care what you have to say. You are a liability to everything we have worked for. I will not allow you within one hundred miles of our leader. I will not let you poison his mind with your detritus.’
‘So that’s a no then?’ I asked.
‘Get him out of my sight and get rid of him.’ She twisted on the spot and headed back for the Humvee.
‘Wait,’ shouted Corser. ‘This isn’t your call to make. Cage sent me out there. I delivered. If the plan changed, then so be it. Shit happens, you know? This is all we’ve got. I won’t let you piss it all away before the chief gets his say.’
She paused. Her head twisted around like an owl, and her eyes pierced him.
‘You dare oppose me?’ she snarled. ‘Have you not taken the time to consider why this vermin was all you had? He is a wanted felon. He has been on the run for over a year and evaded capture on multiple occasions. And now, shortly after being arrested, he stumbles into your path? Tell me, Corser, how many people were guarding him? How fast did the backup vehicles arrive? How much of a struggle did they put up before you downed them all?’
Corser didn’t respond.
‘There were none, were they?’ she spat. ‘The Intel we received specifically detailed one truck with minimal security. That is not the procedure for transporting someone with the grandeur of this snake. Therefore he is a spy. There is no other explanation. He has bargained for his pitiful life, and become a turncoat, a traitor. Have you even checked him for a tracking device?’
Corser glanced hastily at me. He had not checked, not that there was anything to find. The shrill woman summoned her entourage, and they hustled forwards. Without a word, they began to search me. My orange jumpsuit was torn free, and my body was inspected. I stood, bare and shivering while a trio of men checked every inch of scarred, burned skin that plastered my ruined body. I didn’t object. Protestation would do no good. It would imply I had something to hide.
Satisfied I was clean, the guards ceased their search. I pulled back on my torn rags and addressed the woman again.
‘All good, or do you want to do a cavity search as well?’
‘Listen to me, James Stone,’ she snarled. ‘I do not trust you. I do not believe you have found yourself in our company by mistake. A criminal like you will have the entire country hunting for your blood.’
‘Except the country doesn’t know.’ I said. ‘As far as they’re concerned, I’m awaiting trial in some godforsaken prison cell. The FBI couldn’t let the public know they were going to have a bash at torturing a foreign fugitive, could they? They didn’t want it publicised. That would take the fun out of it for them. If every news station in the country wanted to put my pretty face in front of their cameras, they would be held accountable. It would implement a timeframe. I could only be detained for so long. That’s why they put me in an unmarked truck with one guard, they didn’t want anyone to guess what they were transporting. They are the FBI after all. They think they’re the best. They wanted to know what I know, which of course they couldn’t if the world was watching. They figured they could beat the horse, when as we all know, it’ll work twice as hard for a carrot.’
Corser and the woman stared at me in silence.
‘What I’m trying to say is, I could really do with a carrot.’ I said.
The woman turned to Corser. ‘This is on you, Corser. Take my advice and put a bullet in his skull before he destroys everything we have worked for.’
She climbed back into the Humvee with her detail before Corser could utter another word and were gone in seconds. We watched the mammoth vehicle roar away across the dirt track with the ease of asphalt.
‘In,’ Corser barked. ‘We haven’t got long.’
‘She seemed nice.’
‘You’re lucky she didn’t shoot you on the spot. Now get in.’
For what I hoped was the final time, I climbed back into the trunk. Corser closed the lid a little calmer than he had before. Perhaps he was warming to my indomitable charm, or maybe he had realised the gravity of his decision. If I wasn’t all I was cracked up to be, his life was well and truly on the line.
Only time would tell. The only thing I had to work with w
as the fact that they had come for me even if I hadn’t necessarily been their target. I was all they had from their little heist. If they shot me in the head, it was all for naught. So it was in their best interests to hear me out.
Out of the frying pan? Then why did my arse feel so hot?
Three
Dust and Bone
Agent Jonah Miles entered with another officer. He wore a royal blue three piece suit over a white pressed shirt and a vivid red tie that made him look more like a wall street banker than a governmental official. The second guy held a length of chain, new and sparkling. Miles pulled out one of the chairs and spun it around so that his arms leant over the backrest, and his transformation into total and utter tool was complete. The roast dinner was just a couple of inches from his outstretched hands. It didn’t look very appetising anymore. The warm, fluffy potatoes had sunk. The gravy had solidified, and the steak looked more like leather. Miles slid it aside with one casual swipe and smiled at me. I could practically see my reflection in his glistening, obnoxious teeth.
‘How’s the drip?’ he asked, looking at the tube protruding from my hand up into a clear hanging bag beside me.
‘It could do with a dash of salt, but overall it’s not bad.’
Miles chuckled to himself.
‘See, this is the man I wanted to meet. That award-winning wit. You Brits do it like no other. You know, I visited London once. A consultancy gig. Nothing special. You’re from near London, right?’
‘No.’
‘Everything in England is near London,’ he said. ‘It’s so small. You could fit the entire island into Texas almost three times over, yet it has over double the population. It must feel so claustrophobic. Such a tiny place, with such a loud voice. Like an annoying little terrier.’
The second officer strode around the table and unhooked the IV bag and catheter from my hand. A small dribble of blood trickled out of the wound and dripped onto the floor. With my hands shackled to the arm rests, there was little I could do to stem the flow, and the officer’s empathy didn’t stretch that far.