“Can I help you?” he asked.
“Just getting some stuff for the commander,” Archer said. The lie came quick to her lips. “Can’t tell you about it. Sorry.”
“But…” He lowered the clipboard and tucked the pencil behind his ear. “He wouldn’t send civilians. Where’s you guard? This isn’t appropriate at all. We have protocols.” The longer he spoke, the louder he got. And now, his gaze went to the shelves on his right, the ones Archer had cleared. “What…what the hell is going on here?” Confusion became sudden fear, his face seeming to melt as the situation became clear to him. “Who are you people?” He opened his mouth wide as if to yell.
Run and gun, Malin thought. That’s what the staff sergeant had said. Was this the moment?
But Archer hadn’t moved yet, and Malin saw why. Somehow, Spence had slipped through the tent flap behind him, and he rose up behind the man now. Malin found his sudden appearance disturbing, a real horror movie moment. As Spence clapped a hand over the man’s mouth and drove the long black blade of his KA-BAR knife into the side of his neck, he was loudly, hungrily chewing one of his damn Mentos.
The blade went into the side of the man’s neck like it was sliding through warm cake, the tip poking out the other side. Then Spence dragged it forward, cutting carotid and jugular as he’d done before. Blood gushed out onto the ground, and the doctor slumped in his arms with gurgle. As Malin’s stomach turned upside-down, Spence dragged the man into the tent and laid him on the nearest cot.
“Was that necessary?” Malin asked.
“You people need to move faster,” Spence said, wiping his hands on the man’s shirt. “You should’ve been in and out in, like, three seconds. Come on. We’re leaving before someone raises the alarm.”
And with that, Spence turned, pushed back through the tent flap, and disappeared. Archer followed him, but Malin hesitated a second, looking at the giant puddle of blood on the rug. He grabbed a blanket off a cot and tossed it onto the puddle, hoping it might hide the evidence for a second or two, then rushed after Archer. As he moved, the heavy pack flopped back and forth, making far too much noise, so he tightened the straps against his shoulders as much as he could.
Stepping outside, he saw another man walking toward them. Dressed similarly, in a button-up shirt with a red cross on the pocket, he also held a clipboard. He gave Malin a strange look.
Well, we’re about out of time here, he thought. Hell is going to break loose any second now.
15
Elna let Prig take the lead as they moved through camp, giving him occasional directions while trying to make herself as small as possible behind him. She thought it fit the costume. Most of the civilians in the camp went about like whipped dogs, tails tucked between their legs. Prig did a pretty good of job of acting casual as he passed others, not really looking around, not really trying to hide, just strolling along with gun in hand and a civilian slinking along behind him.
Still, she felt terribly exposed. All it would take was for one guard to notice something out of the ordinary or for someone who had been present during her last trip to the camp to recognize her.
Oh God, what if we run into Garret? she thought. There’s a face I never want to see again. He would raise holy hell the second we crossed paths.
The camp was starting to wake up, civilians gathering here and there to begin their various daily tasks, guards marching about. Prig seemed to be attempting to avoid direct, face-to-face interactions with guards, which meant they were weaving a zigzag pattern through the camp.
Finally, they stepped between two tents, and she spotted a larger tent to one side that she recognized. No guards were posted in front this time. Off to one side, in a large open area, a group of civilians seemed to be preparing a large meal. They had a fire going, and a large wire framework had been balanced over it. Multiple pots hung from the framework. A few feet away, a stack of open crates contained vegetables, grains, and what appeared to be dried meat. A group of three women and two men were moving back and forth between the crates and the fire, throwing ingredients into murky, bubbling water.
The smell that reached Elna wasn’t entirely pleasant. As they approached the large tent, she caught up to Prig and tried to speak just loud enough for him to hear.
“This is the place where we were held captive,” she said. “I recognize the tent.”
Prig paused for a moment, gazing toward the tent. The flap was shut and staked in place. “It doesn’t look like a prison cell,” he replied. “Looks like every other tent in this camp. How’d they keep you here?”
“Posted guards,” she said. “They wanted us to think we were guests being watched over for our own good.”
“That old trick?” Prig replied.
Elna heard the workers at the firepit talking to each other. She couldn’t make out the words, but she resisted the urge to glance back at them. Prodding Prig in the back, she pointed off to her right.
“There’s a row of iron cages not far in that direction,” she said. “That’s the most likely location of your captive friend.”
Prig nodded, turned, and started in the direction she’d indicated, heading for a narrow gap between two small tents. As Elna moved to follow him, however, she heard one of the voices behind her getting closer, then she heard the scuff of shoes on dirt. She intended to ignore it, but then someone grabbed a fold of her loose shirt from behind and tugged at it.
Elna spun around, ready to either lash out or run away. However, rather than a guard standing behind her, she saw a small, weary woman, her hair in cornrows, her
