They were both silent for a good five minutes. Richard clung to the tibia, the last piece of his best friend, and felt his defenses begin to crumble. The weeks of tension and years of pain, the people trying to kill him, Zak’s terrible death, and now the responsibility of another mission, and Jennifer’s life, all added up to more than he could take. A tidal wave of grief reached up to overwhelm him, and his delicate psyche began to break down. He started sobbing quietly. Jennifer tried to kick him out of it.
“You need to keep it together, Richard. You have to reach inside yourself and focus with whatever strength you have left. You’re no longer chained, and that piece of bone probably belonged to a total stranger. Get over here and help me get loose.”
Richard tried to gather himself. “I’m okay, Jen. I’d have figured it out eventually. I’m not totally addled… not yet anyway,” he grunted, wiping a small trickle of blood from his forehead. “You know, if my ring came out, maybe yours will too. They were probably constructed at the same time. And this place hasn’t exactly seen any upkeep. Let’s see what we can do.”
Richard walked over to her side of the cell, and reached for the iron peg to which her handcuffs were chained. He tried to jiggle it back and forth, but it didn’t budge. He whacked it a couple of times with the iron ring assembly still handcuffed to his own wrist, but there was still no movement. He hit it a few more times before Jennifer asked him to stop.
“They’ll hear that clanging, Richard. Try and pry it loose with that metal rod attached to your ring. Maybe you can lever it out,” she said.
Richard, momentarily forgetting his own pain, stuck the short iron prong attached to his own ring through the ring that secured Jennifer’s handcuffs to the wall. He put one foot against the wall, high up next to the ring, and pulled on the free ring and prong with all his might. His grip slipped loose, and he was sent hurtling across the cell once again, smashing the back of his head against the wall on which he had been chained. He cried out at the impact. More blinding pain. More stars. Seemed to be a pattern today, he thought wryly. He felt like he’d gone a few rounds with Mike Tyson. The back and top of his head, and both temples, were cut open and bleeding extensively. He clutched his jacket and found the second bottle of Vicodin. He took two at once.
“Richard, don’t,” pleaded Jennifer. “If we get out of here — and that’s a big if — you’ll need to have your wits about you.”
“My wits are just fine,” said Richard. “My head hurts, for reasons that I trust are obvious. I’m holding a chunk of tibia that came out of my best friend’s body. I’m locked in some sort of torture chamber with no immediate chances of getting out, waiting for those bastards to come back for me. And I’ve been tasked with taking care of you and keeping those guys from destroying my country. Under the circumstances, I’d say I was doing pretty good. Now let me try again.”
He walked back to Jennifer, slid the rod through her metal ring, found a firm fulcrum point in the damp stone wall, and pulled again. Jennifer marveled at the sudden change in his mood. He was babbling, barely coherent, and pitiful one minute, and the next he was rational and focused, planning for the next move. In truth, it was pretty amazing that he was lucid, nevermind being able to think or communicate logically. She couldn’t even imagine the physical and emotional pain he was feeling. She was distracted from her thoughts by the movement of her ring.
“I think it’s coming loose, Richard. Try again.”
“Think so. Hold steady.”
Three more yanks, and Jennifer’s iron ring was definitely starting to come free. Richard pried it back and forth a few more times, and after one last gigantic effort, it sprang free from the wall. Richard fell backward yet again, but this time was able to break the fall with his shoulder.
He moaned loudly, then looked up at his partner. She was free. Now all they had to do was find a way out of the room.
Zak stopped his digging. This time he was sure about it. He’d heard the racket when the guards brought new prisoners into the dungeon. They sounded like they were in a cell in the chamber that connected to his. Not long after they’d been brought in, Zak had heard them speaking to each other. One man, and one woman. There had been a lot of crashing in the cell, as though they were trying to get out. He’d heard the screech of metal, and what sounded like a body hitting the floor, or maybe the walls, repeatedly.
There had also been a cry or two, and quite a bit of cussing. The first time he heard the voice of the man, he thought he was delusional. He was in enough pain, and had been through so much psychological torture, that he was actually starting to hear things.
The second time, he’d become more curious, and started listening a little harder.
At the third cry, and the next string of profanity, muffled by the intervening wall, he’d been sure. He knew the voice. He knew that tonality. He knew who was on the other side of the wall.
“Richard?” he mouthed silently.
Jennifer stared at the ring assembly attached to her wrist in shock. “I’d love to say ’free at last,’” she said, “but we’re a long way from that, I’m afraid. We’ve got to get out of this place, wherever this place is, and get back to friendly territory. I have a feeling friendly territory is a long way away.”
“I think you’re right. We’re somewhere within the boundaries of the Northwest Frontier Province, which is Pakistan’s version of the Wild West,” Richard responded. “There’s no government here. Different people have been trying to gain dominion over these lands for thousands of years, but it’s a non-starter. This is Pashtun country.”
“Nevermind that,” replied Jennifer. “Even if we get back into Pakistan, we’re not out of danger. The Pakistani police are probably corrupt. Like as not, we’re now being advertised as dangerous murderers, to be shot on sight. I’m sure that somewhere in the upper echelons of their law enforcement there’s a link to either the terrorists or the drug smugglers, or both. We won’t be out of danger until we’re back in the Islamabad Embassy, and maybe not even then.”
“I agree. These people have billions of dollars at stake here. All they need is to find someone soft, someone who can be bought,” said Richard.
“So what do we do? We have to get out. We have to find a way to get in touch with the Embassy, to let them know what the target is. Sitting here discussing the problems isn’t going to get us anywhere.”
“I have a plan. It’s a little crazy, but we have to try something. We’re going to have one chance, Jen. One shot. Only one. If we make it, we’re out of this cell, but no guarantees beyond that. If we don’t, we’re gonna be finished. We’re going to be running a gauntlet, Jen, and it’s a big, scary one. Here’s what we do.”
During Richard’s moments of lucidity, they planned it, critiqued it, improved it, revised it, and planned some more. Richard clung to Zak’s tibia throughout. Jennifer was certain that, with the shock, the drugs, and the head injuries, Richard’s stability had long since flown the coop. At one point she was even sure she saw him stroking the piece of bone. But he hadn’t stopped trying yet, and he certainly hadn’t given up. At least that was something.
As it turned out, they didn’t have to wait much longer to try their plan. A door above them clanged open, then shut, and they heard the ominous march of heavy footsteps approaching the cell. It was 3AM local time, September 2.
43
Izzy and Ba’al had reached I-15, and were headed south at a steady 70 miles an hour. They were now approaching the Idaho/Utah border, and were talking about anything that came to mind, trying to keep each other awake.