And we're right into the next saga! Hope you enjoy...and pay attention throughout, as people from the previous fics might be lurking about!
General Disclaimer: the gang from Campbell, VA is mine, the gang from Quantico, not so much. :)
Landon Parker hated heights. There was something about not having something solid underneath a person's feet that put him on edge. He knew it was irrational, the fear of falling from a great height, but he still froze in place every time he felt as though a cliff or balcony would crumble underneath his feet. Ladders were a nightmare, and so were open-air staircases.
The nineteen year-old pressed himself against the sheer rock face, clinging tightly to the small handholds that presented themselves. He didn't dare look down.
Something quickly brushed his ankle. Landon tore his eyes away from the solid rock for a moment to see a friendly face beckoning him downward. He squinted his eyes to try and read the young man's lips, but the distance was too great.
"I can't," he called out, hoping he was heard.
The figure to his right beckoned again, more animated this time. Landon knew he was saying something, but he couldn't hear it. Focusing his eyes on the rock wall again, he gingerly took a step and clung for dear life. Every part of him wanted to abandon this idea and turn back—except, that idea simply wasn't an option.
Not if they wanted to escape.
--
"Where the hell are they?!"
George looked at the man and saw the dancing pieces of sparkling coal that rested in Luis's eye sockets. "They were here a second ago," the taller man said, offering up his only excuse.
"That's not what I asked, genius. Where are they?"
"The hell if I know?!" George spat, resting a hand on top of a large knife hilt. The weapon was George's favorite, having been given to him by the leader of their faction.
As soon as the words left George's mouth, Luis raced towards the upstairs room. He studied the area again. Two thin mattresses lay in opposite corners, and a pressboard table stood across the room by the door. Two flimsy chairs stood guard in front of the room's only window, and it opened overtop a giant cliff face.
"Ai mierda," he said under his breath. Then he pulled out a small black transmitter and hastily pressed a button. "Yeah, they've made a run for it," he barked fiercely, rage simmering through his small frame. Leaning dangerously far out of the window, he found what had been 'lost'—the sight of two young men inching their way down the cliff face. "Get to the bottom, and fast," Luis ordered. "We lose them, and…"
--
Eamon took a breath and looked down. Why does it have to be so high? he asked himself. Fortunately, rock climbing was one of the ways he stayed in training—it was like swimming up or down a mountainside—and the practice had come in handy. Mud-colored hair blew into his eyes, and the twenty year-old learned to ignore it. Taking a hand off a handhold could mean disaster when climbing—especially when climbing without any harnesses or safety gear.
Above him, Eamon kept an eye on his companion, a kid he'd not thought too much about when they'd first met. Over the course of the past three days, he'd been proven wrong about this Landon Parker and those like him.
Come on, mate, he thought, carefully watching as Landon slowly inched down the face of the cliff. Now's not the time for a hang-up about heights…
Something was happening below, and the Australian could make out the sounds of people and trucks gathering underneath him. There were shouts up to him, but most of these were either unintelligible or in that strange Spanish that most of these people talked. Gritting his teeth, Eamon began looking for a way to avoid the crowd below him. He couldn't go back to that…
--
"What in the hell is he doing?" Marco asked, looking up at the two prizes now climbing the cliff face. One of them—the foreign one, Marco thought—now began moving sideways along the rocks. "He thinks he's getting very far?"
"Who knows?" replied Punta, a squat little man who always wore the same battered straw hat on top of a slightly balding head. "Look, see?" he added, pointing up at the rocks above them. "They'll be short work."
"We'll have to move them," Marco mused. "Luis is gonna be pissed."
"Better to move than to have them try again," Punta countered. "Boss man, he say these two are special. Bring us lots of money, maybe some respect."
Marco shook his head. "Swimmers, hermano?" he asked. "Why a pair of swimmers?"
"Like I said, special."
--
Landon watched as he saw glimpses of Eamon's hair below him, moving towards the right. He himself was stuck in place on the rock face—he'd tried for the foothold nearby and missed by about a quarter-inch. The overwhelming fear that coursed through his veins paralyzed him, and he refused to move.
Suddenly, a hand shot out near him. It was tan, and wrinkled, and had a scar running along the back of the wrist. The hand grabbed him by the arm and pulled, sending Landon slightly off-balance.
"No!" the young man screamed, clawing at the rock in front of him. "No, please, let go of me!"
The hand tugged on Landon harder, trying to pull him up. Terrified, he remained where he was, trying to fight off the strong grasp and make his way downward. "Let go of me!" he cried out again, hoping that his words were making sense. "Please, I'll fall!"
The grip on Landon's arm tightened, and the hand pulled him upward again. The young man knew exactly what that was supposed to mean—you're not gonna fall. Landon looked at the hand's owner, a thin, wiry man who bore a fierce scowl across his face. Another man inched closer, dangling from thick ropes that held him securely and grabbed Landon by the waist, pulling a section of rope around the young man and tying it off.
The scowling man pulled on Landon's arm again, and spoke. "Relax," the young man read. "You won't fall. Now climb." A long finger jabbed sharply at the air above them, and Landon swallowed thickly. In resignation, he placed his foot in the foothold above where he stood, and slowly made his way back to the top of the cliff, guarded the entire way.
--
Eamon watched as the man made quick work of Landon Parker, hoisting him up with ropes and leading him as though he were blind. The Australian quickly continued down the cliff face, determination racing through him. If I can just get to the bottom, or on a road or something, I can escape, he thought. I can't help Parker now, but I can tell his people where he is…
"And where do you think you're going, ese?" a voice crooned, startling Eamon in mid-climb. In front of him, a thick man stared; his eyes on fire with smoldering rage.
"Leave me alone, jackass!" Eamon shouted, and quickly tried to reach the next foothold below him. A sudden grasp on Eamon's right arm stopped him from reaching it.
"Let go!" Eamon cried, remaining in place. His instinct was to shake off the grasping appendage, but the climber in Eamon knew that that was the last thing he should do while balancing precariously on the edge of a cliff.
"No chance, ese," the man replied flatly. "Now, climb. Upwards, if you please."
"I don't."
The next sound Eamon heard was the sound of a hammer being cocked. "Climb," the thick man said, leaving no room for misinterpretation.
"Then shoot me," the young man spat. "What good am I to you dead?"
"It's not you I would shoot."
Involuntarily, Eamon looked upward at Landon, who was slowly being forced back up the cliff himself. "No," he breathed. "You can't…"
The sight of the man pointing the pistol at Landon's back was enough to prove that he most certainly could.
"All right! All right," Eamon shouted, not willing to concede defeat. As the thick man watched, the Australian carefully placed his feet in a nearby foothold, hoisting himself up the cliff ever so slightly.
--
"We've got them, Luis," a voice called back on the radio. "They're climbing back up."
"Good," Luis snapped. He looked down the cliff face and saw the two coming closer to the encampment. A deep scowl crossed his face.
"We'll have to move them," he snapped to George, who looked as though he couldn't care less.
"Wasn't my idea to give them a 'room with a view', hermano," George said simply. "That's on you. And look what happened."
"They're clever, I'll give them that," Luis said. "Why didn't we know they could climb?"
"Because we didn't. The boys aren't the greatest researchers. "Besides, this should have been a non-issue."
Striding down the stone steps, Luis started barking out orders. "Everybody pack up! We're heading to the North Camp! Pack everything, and when those two get up here I want them brought in front of me, comprenez?"
"They're smart," George said. "They'll be more trouble than we think…"
"They're worth three million apiece to us," Luis said flatly. "I don't care if I have to maim them to keep them in place—we're gonna collect on this!"
"The one kid, yeah, he's loaded," George pointed out. "That other one, though…I don't think so…"
"He's getting subsidized."
"By who?"
"Someone who shares our interests. Don't ask me. All I know is, we're keeping them 'til we get the money. Period."
"Luis!" a voice called up the stairs.
"Si?"
"They're back."
"Send them up."
Within moments the two young men were brought before Luis, who eyed each of them carefully. "I suppose you think you were clever," he said, making sure to speak slowly.
Eamon's eyes flashed with hate. Landon remained still, but his eyes were questioning.
"Nice setup you had here, and you screw it up," Luis continued. "Pity. Now you'll be moved, and this time, we won't be as nice."
"Nice?!" Eamon spat.
"Yes, ese, nice." Looking at the guards standing around the two captives, Luis said something in rapid-fire Spanish to them.
"What was that?" Landon asked, his voice low and a little fuzzy.
Eamon shook his head, his eyes wide with wonder. Behind him, something thick wound around his wrists and threatened to cut off his circulation. Landon felt the same thing around his wrists, but cried out when a thick cloth bag was pulled over his face.
"Please, I can't hear," Landon called out, hoping he was understood. He knew his voice was better than his brother or his father's—the advantage of losing your hearing at nine—but unlike his brother Kyle, he was completely deaf. "Don't…"
A hand clapped on Landon's shoulder, and pushed him forward. Trying not to trip over his own feet, he took careful steps towards whatever awaited him next.
A/N: Don't worry, folks, the team will be along soon. Patience.