nuts.” He looked at Dilya and said, “This Commie geek has a point though. We were recruited to help find the missing gold. If this FBI broad needs to be saved, why doesn’t Jones send in the marines?”
“We’re the closest,” she said.
“And we’re untraceable,” said Storm.
“You mean expendable,” Casper complained.
“This woman knows the location of the gold,” Dilya said. “If she talks before we can rescue her, we could be walking into a trap.”
“We either need to rescue her or silence her then,” Casper replied.
“We’re going to rescue her,” Storm snapped. “No one is going to harm her.”
Casper rested his palm on his knife and said, “I’m not like our little Commie friend here, Stevie boy. You grab my shirt and push my head down on the table and I’m going to come up swinging. I’ll give you a souvenir just like our Uzbekistan princess here has.”
“Why don’t you two just drop your pants and get this over with?” Dilya said. “This is not a democracy. Jones has given us an order and all of us, for various reasons, have to listen to him.”
Casper removed his hand from his knife and said, “Where are they holding this broad?”
Dilya jabbed her finger down on the map. “This is the city of Jizzakh. Jones has arranged for transportation and a satellite tracking device to be waiting for us on the other side of the mountain after we cross the border tomorrow morning. He has told me to use GPS to get our team to where the woman is being held captive. When we reach the location, I am supposed to turn over leadership to Casper.”
“Casper?” Storm asked.
“Yes,” she said firmly. “Jones was very clear about this. We are not to try to call or communicate with the Agency while we are in Jizzakh, because our signals will be picked up by the Uzbekistan authorities. Jones said it is up to Casper to formulate a plan to rescue Agent Showers.”
“Jones clearly doesn’t want you to screw this rescue up like you did in Tangiers,” Casper said.
Although he was boiling inside, Storm kept himself under control.
Dilya said, “We rescue Showers first and then go after the gold.”
“Assuming she’s still alive,” Oscar said.
Casper grinned, revealing a missing front tooth. “Better be nice to me, Stevie boy. You’re girlfriend’s fate is in my hands now.”
“That’s right, this time you’d better plan a perfect rescue.”
Storm was worried. Not for himself, but for Showers. He didn’t want to think about what might be happening to her at this very moment.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Where was she?
April Showers stayed perfectly still. She didn’t want her captors to know she was conscious. She needed to assess her situation. How long had it been since she’d been kidnapped in England? How long had she been sedated? Through half-closed eyes, she carefully checked her surroundings. It was dim in the small room, but there didn’t seem to be anyone watching her. Good. She opened her eyes fully and searched for a video camera. There was none that she could see.
The chamber that she was in felt cool and damp. A low-wattage bulb dangled from the center of a concrete ceiling. The walls were also made of concrete. There was a metal drain in one corner and a water hose coiled around a stainless steel hanger bolted to a wall. She saw meat hooks attached to the high ceiling and realized that she was being held in a room where animals were slaughtered. The smell confirmed her suspicions. It was a putrefied mixture of a hundred foul odors. Flies landed on her skin. When she tried to swat one, a pain shot through her right arm. In her drug-induced stupor, she’d forgotten that she was recovering from her wound. She felt her shoulder. Someone had applied fresh bandages. Her right arm was dangling at her side. She could move it, but not without great pain and with only limited mobility. She was wearing the same jeans and T-shirt that she’d been dressed in when she left the hospital. Only her baseball cap was missing. Her sling was still around her neck. With her left hand, she guided her right wrist through it. That felt better.
Showers used her left hand to sit up. She had been lying on a thin mattress that had bloodstains on it and smelled of urine. A leather collar had been fastened around her right ankle. The binding was connected to a two- foot short chain anchored into the floor. If she had a knife or something sharp, she could cut the collar. But she could not break the chain. There was only one entrance into the room and it had a solid door. There were no windows. Escaping was going to be difficult.
She pulled her legs up to her chest. When were they coming? She had no concept of time, and that frustrated her. Was it night? Was it day? Were they sleeping?
Showers had never been a patient person, and after several minutes of aimlessly swatting at flies and wondering what might happen next, she decided to take charge of her situation.
She screamed, unleashing her pent-up rage.
“Here I am! C’mon inside.”
She waited, listening. But there was no reaction. Only silence. She decided to try again.
“Hello!” she called. “Let’s get this party started.”
Still no reply.
There was no way for her to know that Hasan Sadikov was only a few yards away, resting on a metal folding chair outside the room. His back was facing the door and he was reading.
Books were Hasan’s escape. He ignored Showers’s calls and instead focused on the novel. He wanted to read another thirty pages before he would stop to interrogate her. The wait would be a good thing. He’d done this many times before and had always found that his victims were uncomfortable with uncertainty. The imagination could be worse than the reality, especially with Westerners. They’d watched too many horror films.
Hasan was teaching Showers a lesson, too. He wanted her to understand that she had no control over her current situation. She was at his mercy.
It had become quiet inside the slaughter room by the time he finished reading and placed his book into a well-worn satchel that he had brought with him. It was time to go to work. He stood, unlocked the door, folded his metal chair together, picked up the satchel, and carried it and the chair into the room.
Showers still had her face pressed against her knees when he entered. She quickly lowered her legs.
“I think we should speak in English,” he said politely. He moved close to her, opened his chair, and took a seat. To Showers, Hasan looked completely unremarkable. He was a middle-aged man of medium height with a belly that hung over his belt. He reminded her of a man you might see riding the bus to work or walking with his children in a store. He could have been anyone.
“I’ve visited the United States,” he said, smiling. “New York, Washington, D.C., and, of course, Orlando. Have you been to Disneyland?”
“Disney World,” she said, correcting him. “Disneyland is in Anaheim, California. Disney World is in Orlando.”
He ran his right hand through his black hair. He turned his neck from one side to the other, as if he were a boxer getting limber before a fight.
Showers said, “I’d like to use the toilet.” She was testing him.
He paused, considering her request, then said, “I am a reasonable man.” He called out, and a younger man entered the room. “Bring us a pail.”
“I’d rather use a bathroom,” Showers said.
“Of course you would, because then you could try to escape from this room. But a pail will have to do.”
The aide placed it next to Hasan’s chair, and he slid it with his foot toward her.
“You can do it here. I’ll wait,” he said. “I might even turn my head.”
Considering how much trouble Showers had had when she’d undone her pants in the bathroom at the English service area, she decided to wait. She kicked the pail back over to him. “I’m not using that.”
He shrugged.
