Lethal Treatment

by S A Gardner

  Thirty-Three

  Excruciating pain.

  Survivable injuries.

  Degradation.

  The usual.

  How nonchalant. How comprehensive.

  I didn’t ask for an elaboration. I was agonizingly acquainted with all forms of human depravity. Through Dad. Through my work with GCA. Through my own work.

  From extensive study and firsthand application, I knew all about the pain and injury a human body could sustain, and still keep on functioning. I knew of the most unimaginable things someone could invent to debase another, to make them beg for the mercy of a slow death. What I didn’t know, I’d been exposed to enough, I could make a highly educated guess.

  So I didn’t need details to imagine what he’d suffered. What he’d endured. What he’d conquered.

  But this was Jake. And his stiff upper lip dismissal made me certain of one thing. The worst my mind could conjure up was still better than reality.

  I took it all back. Uncertainty was fine by me. I’d take living with morbid imaginings over knowing the atrocious truth.

  He took my hand in both of his, seemed bent on examining my very fingerprints. I almost pulled it away. As a surgeon’s and a fighter’s, it was anything but pretty. But he seemed to…need it. I let it go limp in his grip.

  “Seeing the others suffer, I almost broke down and gave them Leonard’s code,” he went on, articulation meticulous, unwavering. Hypnotic. “But like I knew they’d kill us if I gave them what they needed, I knew the torture had become a sport to them. It was perversely the reason they kept us alive. My silence took an extra dimension then. As a doctor I always believed in prolonging survival, at any cost.

  “Then they began showing signs that our entertainment value was waning. I was sure they’d decided to kill us on that day their leaders were injured. When they took me to them as a last ditch attempt, I was too damaged to do anything for them myself, but I orchestrated their surgeons’ efforts, and three out of four survived.

  “It was a light bulb moment for them. They hadn’t considered our group’s skills before, since they thought they already had the medical personnel they needed. But when they saw the difference my abilities and knowledge made, they made me an offer. To stop the torture if I worked for them.

  “After a year of being daily subjected to their escalating and inventive brutalities, I was beyond broken. I’d already changed my mind about prolonging survival and had been looking forward to my execution. Unable to wait for it. I would have done anything to make it all stop.”

  A year. He’d endured the unspeakable for a year. And to think I’d ever considered what I’d gone through during that same time bad, even terrible.

  A thousand questions crushed one another inside my head, and almost my brain. I couldn’t form coherent enough words to ask them, couldn’t make a sound. All I could do was clutch his hand, and try to cling to my reason.

  He sighed. “I was still naive enough to think I could use their new leniency to investigate plans to escape. I found out my mistake soon enough. Now that I was such a favorite, they guarded me with obsessive thoroughness.

  “Not that I was incarcerated any longer. Having the double advantage of being a surgeon and fluent in Russian, they took me on their raids, so I’d dispense my medical services to their injured, and all over the villages where they got their recruits. I was the spearhead of their campaign among the simple people who couldn’t make up their minds which side was the worse evil. With me around, they became the devil that doles death to those who don’t side with it, and healing to those who do.”

  Now that was something I could have never deduced. That they’d used him for their political spread and rise. Ingenious. Seemed their leaders were formidable strategists.

  His gaze seemed to turn inward as he stared ahead. “I began to accept my situation then. I joined GCA, in part, to reach people like those. For a long while I was insanely busy, almost always having hundred-patient days. I set up quite the medical facility. Something close to your mobile surgical trailer. The militants got me all the supplies and equipment I asked for. Some of it was from raiding aid convoys, but I believe most was black market supplies. I never asked.”

  I wondered what Jake would say if he knew what I really did now. That we probably shared the same suppliers.

  “But every time I had a moment to be myself, it still surfaced in my mind that I was a prisoner, that I didn’t have a life. That I couldn’t go back to you.”

  Good thing I was young and strong. A weaker heart would have burst right about now.

  Now mine twisted along with his lips. “I eventually prepared a solid escape plan. Before I implemented it, one of my team, afraid of the consequences for them all, reported me. But they didn’t punish me. My teammate totally miscalculated the situation, and my importance to them. They punished him, and everyone else. I didn’t try again.”

  It was amazing, the control I’d developed. The old me would have gone out there and ended his enslavement at any cost.

  Too bad the new me counted to ten. Counted costs.

  He shifted, sat cross-legged, still examining my hand. “They moved their base to this region just before the refugees settled here. After the first few months of skirmishes with the federal forces, the land mines were planted.”

  One thing that still made no sense was replanting more, after they’d invited us. Anyone else would have been blown up. But Jake wouldn’t know the reason.

  He went on, “While it kept the federal forces away, it also cut the refugees off from the world. And I made a deal with my captors. That they let me come here, offer my services, when they didn’t have need of me themselves, of course. They humored me, but didn’t extend their indulgence to making use of their supplies. It was then that I fully realized the true affiliation of those people. The lack of it.”

  Could he have bought their patriotic hyperbole for a moment? Had his view of them been tinged with a Stockholm Syndrome tint till then?

  “I came here at every chance, did what I could with the supplies they allocated for the refugees. Then something changed within their command. The positive effect I was having on their operations, along with their waking up to other groups using different media to manipulate general sentiment and opinion, made them see the necessity of changing tacks. It was then they decided to let aid come to the refugee camp. Then I found out your aid mission was actually in the camp. For a moment, I thought it could be my chance to escape.”

  Was this how people had heart attacks? Strokes? I couldn’t feel my lips. My left side was numb.

  But I couldn’t afford either.

  “It is,” I choked. “We’re getting you out of here.”

  Something came into his eyes. Satisfaction? It had to be something else. Pity again? For being an overwrought fool, promising him nonsense I’d never be able to fulfill? Probably. He didn’t know what we were capable of. He’d soon learn.

  He finally shook his head. “No, you won’t, Cali. And don’t you dare petition for my release. If they suspect for a moment that you know I’m their prisoner, none of you will leave this camp alive.”

  “Uh, rewind and replay please? If they suspect we know you’re their prisoner? They must know we know.”

  “How would they know that?”

  “Because when you were kidnapped, it made headlines.”

  “When I disappeared. Kidnapping was one of the quickly discarded theories. They have no reason to believe you know they kidnapped me.”

  Okay. I’d just dropped a hundred points off my IQ. “What else could we think you’re doing here?”

  “Working with them of my own free will. In fact, the only reason you know they kidnapped me is because I told you.”

  It was starting to make a crazy sort of sense. Or maybe my mind was coming back online.

  The militants had let us come here to carry a favorable testimony back to the world. They wouldn’t risk us reporting one filled with long-imprisoned humanit
arian operatives. They’d sooner kill us all and explain our deaths in an ambush by a rival faction.

  But in that case, why let Jake come here at all?

  He shrugged when I asked, and I noticed. He hadn’t only retained the elegance that pervaded his every move, but added something more to it. Something commanding, compelling.

  “As I told you, they—indulge me. I’m now, as you saw, treated with utmost respect. They fear for every hair on my head—like an irreplaceable golden-egg-laying goose. And I do lay gold at their feet. I made adjustments to surgical instruments and diagnostic equipment, and they sold the patents to legitimate manufacturers for royalty-paying fortunes. So when I learned you were here, I told them we were once…close, that it would benefit them if I let you know I was alive, to convince you I joined their cause, while convincing you of it, too. They refused. Then suddenly today, they let me come.”

  I had a theory why they suddenly did. And why they’d been prodding Damian into admitting to a blazing affair between us. It removed me as a temptation for Jake. The day after they’d seen Damian hauling me off to his tent, they’d let Jake come.

  “They just cautioned me not to implicate them in my initial disappearance if I cared for your safety. I’m to convince you I stayed because working with them is advantageous beyond my wildest dreams, that I married one of their women and am leading a happy life. And that I could have contacted you at any time, but it was my own fault I never did. And that’s exactly what you must pretend you believe.”

  So he really did think he’d get a glimpse of me, and go back to his prison. Thought I’d leave him to his fate.

  Would the old Calista have done that? Walked away, consoling herself there was nothing she could do about it?

  Probably. I had been powerless then.

  But to convince him I wasn’t now, that I would bring his imprisonment to an end, I had to tell him what I’d become. No time for that now. I had far more important things to ask.

  “Where do they keep you, Jake?”

  “In the lap of luxury.” I winced and he insisted. “I mean it. You wouldn’t believe how opulent their mountain hideaway is. Their rough-living look is just window-dressing, the self-sacrificing rebels living the hard life for their cause. They’re actually warlords who make an obscene living.”

  Not surprising. But I didn’t care how they lived. I wanted information to perfect how they died.

  I heard sounds outside. They probably thought we’d had enough time to catch up, would end our interview. I may have only seconds left. I fired better questions at him.

  “The militants, Jake. What’s their total number, their guard rotation and security system? What level of firepower?”

  “So you can launch an all-out attack and rescue me Rambo-style?” At my impatient grimace, his face relinquished its semi-smile. “Pardon me. You sounded so military-like, I couldn’t resist. I know you must be curious.” Turning, he faced me fully. “There are around four hundred populating the base in biweekly rotations. They commute freely from Georgia. They chose this area so Russian forces can’t attack them without invading another country’s borders, while the Georgians let them be, since they have no quarrel with them. Security is lax since traffic in the area is non-existent and incursions are a thing of the past. As for firepower, it’s considerable. They’re arms dealers, after all.”

  That told me a lot. A few more questions would help crystallize our plans so we’d know when and how to strike, with pinpoint accuracy.

  I didn’t have time for any more questions.

  My tent’s door flew open. I raised my gaze, emptying it. It wouldn’t do for Jake’s “comrades” to feel my animosity.

  Next moment, I let that and more radiate from my every pore.

  It was Damian. Striding in as if he were entitled to barge into my tent. And daring to look angry.

  I sprung up to my feet. “What can I do for you, De Luna?”

  “Not for me, St. James.” His tone was as hostile as mine, with stress enough on my surname to bend a steel bar. “We have a huge schedule today.”

  I couldn’t believe this. The militants putting an end to my time with Jake, I understood. But Damian? Had he lost his mind?

  I crossed my arms on my chest. Mainly to stop from ramming him out. “You can start without me.”

  His glower deepened. “Our leader and head surgeon’s presence is needed for our patient’s follow-up surgeries. If you can bear tearing yourself away from this heartwarming reunion.”

  What the hell was this? Was he putting on a jealous act for the militants’ benefit? If he was, it should have ended the moment he’d stormed inside the tent. Whatever sour chemistry had erupted between the two men on sight, he should have pounced on Jake with open arms, for all possible reasons.

  So was he jealous for real?

  Oh, sure. It had taken a slip of my tongue, after I’d shared my body with him—and much more besides—for him to reveal what he really felt about me.

  So there’d been a tower of grudges between us, and I’d thought he’d never forgive me, loathed my actions and resented desiring me. But never for a minute had I thought he’d ever hated me for real.

  But when he’d said it back in his tent, it had been real all right. Tangible and staggering.

  So he couldn’t be jealous. Even if he was responding to some primitive territorial impulse, I wanted to kick his ass for it. He should be professional enough to control his smarting libido and inflamed ego.

  I advanced on him, my intention of socking him if he didn’t back off clear. “Matt is as good a surgeon as me and better, can handle our patients alone.”

  “This sounds serious, Cali.”

  Jake was getting up. Oh, no. Damian had guilted him away.

  “You stay right there.” Jake froze mid-motion at my harsh order, amusement seeping into his eyes even as I felt Damian bristle. “We’ll leave this tent only when your ‘comrades’ insist and not a second before.”

  Jake regarded me in total composure as he completed his rising motion. “They gave me an hour alone with you, but I have two more in the camp, then I must rush back to the base. I’d like to spend them tending your patients with you. I’ll be an extra pair of hands for a while and free up one or two of your team to go tend other chores.”

  I could see the only way to counteract his resolve was to knock him down and sit on him.

  God, why where men so stupid?

  I had to find out if all wasn’t lost. “So we’ll continue our conversation when you come here again?”

  “I don’t think I will. Not before you leave.”

  No. And the two morons were doing all they could to end this golden window of opportunity.

  “They’re a tad unaccommodating at the moment,” he explained. “My demand to visit you came on the tail of a series of heavy-handed demands, and in the middle of work they can’t wait for me to finish. On the way here they said that this was a one-off, that it was only for me to see you, and to check your mission’s efficacy, but that until you leave, the camp’s inmates have no need of me.”

  “Then they’d be wrong,” I exclaimed, grabbing onto the ray of hope. “I do need every pair of hands, but when they’re your miraculous hands, they’re worth ten times as much as every hand around here including mine.”

  Damian made a disgusted sound.

  I tossed him a murderous glance, before refocusing on Jake. “If you come regularly to help me, we’d multiply our efficiency and results, and consequently have a far better report of ‘your comrades’ when we leave.”

  Jake pursed his lips, nodded thoughtfully. “I can argue that very point. You can add the weight of specific benefits to the argument. As long as you’re careful, as we discussed. I daresay they won’t deny us both.”

  “Great. Let’s go set up your visiting schedule.”

  I pushed him ahead of me, but Damian clamped my arm, stopping me, his whisper fierce in my ear. “What did you tell him about us?”

&nb
sp; Us? Or us?

  Whatever, the answer was one to both interpretations. “Nothing. I didn’t have time.”

  “Don’t tell him anything.” He shredded the words between clamped teeth. “And I mean anything.”

  Okay. That was weird. But I didn’t have time to ponder the reason for his demand.

  As I tried to bolt from his grip to rush after Jake, Damian clung harder to my arm.

  I turned incredulous eyes up, ready to blast him, only for the look in his eyes to silence me.

  And that was before he said, “Trust me. Please.”

  Thirty-Four

  Trust me. Please.

  Instead of an explanation of his adamant insistence to leave Jake, our best possible insider, in the total dark, or even the promise of one, Damian had said those three words. They’d been scrambling my brain ever since.

  For did I? Trust him?

  I’d spent years craving him, resenting him, obsessing over him. I owed him, huge debts of both gratitude and bitterness. I’d just had my life’s defining erotic experience with him.

  But trust?

  Sure, there’d always been loads of that. But my trust had been selective. I’d trusted him with my life, but not with lesser things. It had to do with our wills locking horns from day one. I never trusted him not to do anything to get his way. The only way, in his opinion. That had been why I’d never blindly obeyed him.

  But I had this time. Against every compulsion clawing inside me to reassure Jake, to tell him everything, I hadn’t.

  It had been this “please.” A word I hadn’t thought Damian equipped to utter. A plea to do what he’d asked on faith. When faith didn’t come easy to me. Or at all. I didn’t have faith in people, just in parts of them.

  But those three words had forced me to decide what I thought of him, not only what I felt for him. I already knew I’d come to count on him implicitly. But I now realized, aside from his hating me, I trusted the man. I believed in him. It was a biggie to have faith in almost all of him.